#kamala stop lying when?

[tuxebo]

Can I just say, the debate is so much worse than I expected?

[artyandink]

cheque xyz 4 — steel nerves

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, post shower!dean, reader thirsting over Dean, very not professional stuff, Dean being a thirst trap, smut, besties being besties, attempted murder by proxy, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

STW: mentions of smut, masturbation (f. + m.), imagined smut

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: Shameless by Camila Cabello

You were the President.

POTUS.

A symbol of feminism and reform.

But you were being kept awake by Dean Winchester, your bodyguard, with whom you should have a very strict, professional relationship, but no, you didn’t, instead you had thoughts in your head that had turned from almost getting shot to what would go on below the belt.

Oh, hell, you were going insane.

“Shit.” You breathed, turning over in bed before finally coming to rest on your back, staring up at the ceiling— ugh, when would this stop? The thirsting, seeing him all sexy, and you were so wound up your hand took over for itself, inching towards your panties, inch by inch.

Your career had been built on discipline, control, and unwavering focus. And yet Dean had managed to undo it all. It wasn’t just his looks—though, God knew, that man could have been carved from marble—it was his presence. He was steady and unflinching, a reassuring constant in a life full of chaos. And maybe that’s why your thoughts kept circling back to him. He made you feel safe, but worse than that, he made you feel alive.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "This is ridiculous," you muttered to yourself, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it true.

Dean Winchester had faced down danger in all its forms: gunfire, car chases, and even a stint in the country’s most secure prison. He was supposed to be unshakable, calm under pressure, immune to the chaos around him. But here he was, lying in the dark on a too-small bed in his room, wide awake, because of you.

You, Madam President. The most powerful woman in the country. His boss.

And the single most maddening person to ever walk the earth.

Dean groaned softly, dragging a hand over his face. He was supposed to protect you, not lie awake picturing you in every way but presidential. He should’ve been running through security protocols or strategies, but no. His brain was stuck on the curve of your smile, the soft way you’d looked at him earlier in the day, and worse — much worse — the way you’d looked that night in a fluffy white robe.

That damn robe.

Dean turned over on the bed, punching his pillow in frustration. “Shit.” The fabric of his plain t-shirt stuck to his chest as he shifted, the heat in the room matching the heat in his veins. He’d been trying to ignore it for hours, but the memory kept playing like a highlight reel he couldn’t shut off.

He hadn’t meant to linger in the doorway when he knocked earlier, but when you’d opened the door, barefoot and wrapped in that ridiculously soft-looking robe, his brain had short-circuited. The way it cinched around your waist, the way your skin glowed under the soft light of your room, and the way you’d looked up at him, your lips parting slightly in surprise — it was enough to make his chest tighten and his pulse quicken.

You hadn’t even done anything overtly suggestive. You’d just stood there, looking at him with those sharp, intelligent eyes that always seemed to see right through him, and it had been enough to unravel him. He’d barely managed to stammer out a question about your safety, and when you’d assured him you were fine, he knew he should’ve turned and left immediately.

But he hadn’t.

You should’ve stopped your hand from slowly pulling down your panties, thighs rubbing together in a last ditch attempt at friction, but nothing came, obviously, other than a mild relief from the ache and the throb you were experiencing… like, 24/7. It made you think that Bella and Steph were right, that you really were down bad for Dean, even though you were very adamant to say no.

You gasped softly when two of your fingers found your clit, rubbing in small circles, your head pressing back against the pillow and thanking the thick walls as a small moan slipped past your lips after, your thumb taking over as those two fingers dragged up and down your cunt, imagining Dean whispering in your ear, either sweet nothings or dirty words, pushing two fingers into you so fast it made your head dizzy. And you didn’t even need to slow down.

“Dean,” The name slipped past your lips just as your vision turned hazy for three seconds before clearing, thanking whatever deity that Dean wasn’t sleeping outside of the door and instead back in his own room so he couldn’t hear you.

You blamed him.

You so blamed him for being so sexy, with that deep voice that made your panties soak, green eyes that pierced you to your very core, the way his strong hands would grab you and pull you to safety in the face of danger and how the corner of those pouty lips would quirk up every time he was amused. The water from the hose dripping down his chest as he watered the flower.

You probably shouldn’t sexualise him watering a flowerbed.

And you definitely shouldn’t sexualise his job.

Ok, Dean couldn’t exactly help the low groan and the way the heel of his palm began to grind on his cock over his sweats, other beginning to work those and his boxers down over his hips and ass so he could free himself, just imagining you on top of him, blouse unbuttoned just enough to admire those gorgeous tits, skirt or trousers — he wasn’t picky, it’d be ripped off anyway — off so he could fixate on that glistening, pretty pussy.

This was so wrong. Fuck it, we ball.

His thumb traced the vein on the base of his cock, his jaw clenching and the veins on his neck popping as he let out a strangled moan through gritted teeth, hand wrapping around his base and moving up and down slowly. God, if it was you, whether it be your mouth or cunt, moving on him like this, he’d probably go insane. Oh, Lord save him, he already was.

He blamed you.

Dean blamed you for the moans and grunts leaving his mouth as he pumped his cock in his fist, hips bucking up off the bed, eyelashes fluttering against the apples of his cheeks as his free hand gripped the sheets so tight he was almost fully sure they’d rip in his blunt nails. It played in his head, seeing you in your pyjamas, wearing that robe, the little Spitfire you were when he first arrived in chains and shackles.

He’d never seen a hot President. At least not one like you.

Your fingers were pumping in and out of your slick pussy, which was embarrassingly tight— probably from the hours spent campaigning and stressing over votes and legislation planning, not to mention multiple assassination attempts over the past two weeks that Dean had miraculously saved you from.

The image of him shoving that first hitman forward played in front of your head, and you wanted him to do that to you on a mattress instead.

Hell, you’d thank him.

“S’good, Dean, shit—” Little praises went to midair as your thumb worked over your clit, your fingers curled, only to just miss the spot inside you by one fucking centimetre, cause your fingers weren’t long enough. At least you made up for it by rolling your nipple between your forefinger and thumb through the fabric of your tank top, the friction against the soft fabric making you shudder.

Oh, you really shouldn’t be doing this, but you knew you couldn’t stop thinking about him, the way his eyes would rake over your body when you wore that robe— ugh, were you down bad and you couldn’t stop.

With a soft cry, you felt yourself come around his your fingers, panting a little when you realised that you’d just come to the thought of your bodyguard. Oh, Jesus.

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off the come on his hand, cursing himself. Shit, shit, shit. Did he just touch himself to you— better yet, did he just come to the thought of you? This was bad, he wasn’t meant to be thinking of you like that, let alone touching himself to his thought about you. Sure, you’d look so pretty riding him, but no. No.

He grabbed a tissue, groaning as he slid his sweats and boxers back on to clean up the mess before chucking it to the very bottom of the bin and bundling the sheets to throw them in the laundry basket. “Fuckin’ idiot, Dean, she’d never think’a you like that.”

Would you?

He didn’t know, you just seemed so… far away. Unattainable, if anyone was to gain your hand it would be someone like some wealthy, full of shit politician.

Not him.

He came from a poor background, where sawed-offs and tales of blood made up most of his childhood, as well as the drone to keep Sammy safe, make sure Sammy has enough food, a warm bed— he’d never wanted anything for himself until now. Until you, until freedom.

The morning sunlight poured into the room as you sat at your desk, brushing over the papers in front of you with little interest. It wasn’t your work occupying your thoughts today. No, it was the conversation you’d been rehearsing in your head for hours. You wanted to visit your family. You needed it—needed the familiarity of their voices, the warmth of their hugs, and a brief respite from the chaos of your new role. And the fact that you touched yourself to the thought of Dean last night.

When the door opened, and Dean walked in, his towering frame filling the space, you straightened your back and set your pen down. His presence always had that effect on you, like you had to pull yourself together whenever he was around.

"Morning," he said, his voice gruff as usual, his sharp green eyes scanning the room out of habit. He wore his usual suit, but the top button of his shirt was undone, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d already fought off one disaster this morning. It gave him that rugged, commanding aura you found all too distracting.

He bit his tongue to avoid a blush, to avoid a raging boner too.

"Dean," you started, trying to sound casual, even though your nerves had already started buzzing. "I need to talk to you about something."

He quirked an eyebrow, folding his arms across his broad chest. "What’s on your mind, Madam President?"

You rolled your eyes at the title, though the corners of your lips twitched. "I want to visit my family next weekend."

Dean’s reaction was immediate and expected. His arms unfolded, and his expression shifted into one of disbelief. "No," he said firmly, the word coming out almost like a growl.

You blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"No," he repeated, stepping closer, his tone resolute. "It’s too dangerous. You know that. After everything that’s happened—"

"I’m aware of what’s happened," you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. You stood, meeting his gaze head-on. "But I’m the President of the United States, Dean. I don’t need your permission to see my family."

He exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair. "It’s not about permission. It’s about keeping you alive."

"And I appreciate that, but I can’t let fear dictate my life," you argued, stepping closer to him. "I haven’t seen them in months. My mom, my dad—my little sister, Dean. They need to see me. I need to see them."

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. When he turned back to you, his eyes were burning with something you couldn’t quite place. "You think I don’t get that?" he said, his voice lower now, more intense. "You think I don’t understand what it’s like to want normal, to want family? But this isn’t normal. You’re not just some woman visiting her parents. You’re the goddamn President, and there’s a target on your back."

"I know that," you said, your tone softening slightly. "But I trust you to keep me safe, Dean. Isn’t that your job?"

His shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, the room was filled with a tense silence. Then, in one swift motion, he moved closer, crowding you against the wall.

Your breath hitched as his hands came up, planting on either side of your head, boxing you in. His body was so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent—a mix of clean soap and faint cologne—invading your senses. His green eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in them enough to make your heart pound.

"Do you think I don’t take that seriously?" he said, his voice low and rough. "Keeping you safe? It’s all I think about, every damn second. So don’t stand there and tell me to just ‘trust’ that it’ll be fine. Because if something happens to you, I—" He cut himself off, his jaw tightening as he leaned in slightly, his face just inches from yours.

Your heart was practically slamming against your ribcage now, your mind screaming at the proximity, at the way his gaze kept flickering to your lips. Is he going to kiss me? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying, and you couldn’t stop your breath from quickening.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat felt like it had closed up. All you could do was stare back at him, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence, the weight of his body so close to yours making it hard to think straight.

And then, just as suddenly as he’d crowded you, Dean’s expression shifted. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he let out a slow breath, his hands dropping to his sides.

"No," he muttered, almost to himself, before stepping back. The space between you felt like a sudden, cold void.

You blinked, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that had just passed through the room. "Dean—"

"Fine," he interrupted, his voice flat now, his face unreadable. "We’ll go. But I’m doubling security, and you’re not leaving my sight the entire trip."

It wasn’t the answer you’d expected, and it took you a moment to catch up. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah," he said, already turning toward the door. "I’ll handle the details. Just… don’t pull something like this again."

His hand was on the doorknob when you found your voice again. "Dean."

He paused, his back still to you.

"Thank you," you said softly.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. There was something there—something raw and unspoken—but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he gave you a small nod and walked out, leaving you alone with the echoes of your racing heart and the feeling. That feeling.

The sun hung high in the sky as you stood in your parents’ backyard, the familiar scent of freshly mowed grass and blooming flowers enveloping you in a blanket of nostalgia. Your father, Mark, was at the grill with Ryan, the two of them animatedly discussing something about football, while Austin darted around the yard with an energy only a twelve-year-old could muster. Your mom, Odette, was inside with Wyatt, cooing at the baby as Eden leaned against the picnic table beside you, sipping lemonade.

It was peaceful here. Normal. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe. The weight of the presidency, the looming threats, and the constant tension all seemed to melt away in the warmth of your family’s love. You turned to Eden, who smiled knowingly at you.

“You look like you’ve needed this,” she said softly, brushing a stray hair from her face.

“More than I can even say,” you replied, sipping your own lemonade. “It’s been… a lot.”

Eden gave you a playful nudge. “And how’s it going with the bodyguard? What was his name again? Dean?”

Your cheeks warmed immediately, and you looked away, focusing on Austin’s wild antics as a distraction. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please,” Eden teased, leaning closer. “Ryan told me he’s practically glued to your side. And he’s hot. Tell me you haven’t at least thought about it.”

Before you could answer—or even come up with a deflection—the sound of a distant car engine caught your attention. You turned instinctively, scanning the driveway where Dean stood near the gate, ever-watchful. He hadn’t said much since you’d arrived, just a few gruff instructions about staying within sight and letting him handle security.

Eden followed your gaze, her eyebrows raising slightly. “He’s not just hot. He’s smoldering. How do you even focus on work?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words never came. A sharp, deafening crack split the air, and time seemed to slow.

Gunfire.

Dean moved like a blur, faster than you’d ever seen anyone react. He was sprinting toward you before your brain even registered what was happening. His shout came as he dove in front of you. “Get down!”

The impact of his body hitting yours sent you stumbling backward, and Eden’s scream echoed in your ears. You hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from your lungs. Above you, Dean grunted, a low, pained sound, and you saw the crimson bloom of blood spreading across his side. Your heart stopped.

“Dean!” you gasped, scrambling to sit up. “You’re hit!”

“Stay down!” he barked, his voice a growl as he clutched his side. He drew his gun with his free hand and fired toward the direction of the shot—a figure in the treeline, partially obscured by the shadows. “Mark, Ryan—get everyone inside! Now!”

Your father and brother didn’t hesitate, shouting for the rest of the family to move. You watched as they ushered Eden and Austin inside, your mother clutching Wyatt tightly to her chest. But you couldn’t move. Your feet felt rooted to the spot as you stared at Dean, who was now kneeling, using the picnic table for cover as he returned fire.

“I said get inside!” he shouted, his eyes locking onto yours, fierce and unyielding.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m not leaving you.”

Dean swore under his breath, but there was no time to argue. The shooter was still firing, bullets splintering the wooden table and chipping the patio stones around you. Dean’s gun clicked empty, and he cursed again, fumbling for a spare magazine.

Without thinking, you reached for his backup weapon, the one he always kept holstered on his hip. Your hands trembled as you gripped the cool metal, the weight of it foreign and daunting.

Dean’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Tell me what to do.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and something that almost looked like pride. Then he nodded sharply. “Safety’s off. Point, aim, and squeeze. Don’t jerk the trigger. Focus on the target.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you peeked around the table. The shooter was still in the treeline, barely visible through the foliage. Your hands shook as you raised the gun, the sights aligning on the dark figure.

“Breathe,” Dean said, his voice calm despite the chaos. “You’ve got this. Just breathe.”

You inhaled deeply, steadying your hands as best you could. The shooter fired again, the sound sharp and jarring, but you didn’t flinch. You squeezed the trigger, the recoil jolting your arms as the shot rang out.

Dean fired again too, having reloaded, his movements precise despite the blood staining his side. Between the two of you, the shooter faltered, retreating further into the trees. Dean didn’t hesitate. He rose to his feet, grabbing the edge of the picnic table for support, and turned to you.

“Stay here,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind. “Keep that gun ready, just in case.”

“Dean, you’re hurt—”

“Stay here,” he repeated, cutting you off. “I mean it.”

And then he was gone, moving toward the treeline with a determination that sent a chill down your spine. You wanted to follow, to help, but you knew better than to disobey him now. Instead, you stayed crouched behind the table, gripping the gun tightly and scanning the yard for any sign of danger.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, your heart pounding in your chest. Finally, you heard the sound of heavy footsteps, and Dean emerged from the trees, dragging the shooter by the back of his jacket. The man was groaning, his face bloodied and his hands bound with a zip tie.

Dean’s expression was grim as he approached, his eyes flicking to you briefly. “It’s over,” he said, his voice rough. “You did good.”

Relief washed over you, and your knees buckled as you sank to the ground, the gun slipping from your fingers. Dean dropped the shooter unceremoniously onto the patio, his attention immediately shifting to you.

“Hey,” he said, kneeling beside you despite the obvious pain it caused him. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your hands were still trembling. “You’re the one who got shot.”

“I’ll live,” he said with a faint smirk, though his face was pale. “You? You were a goddamn natural out there.”

The praise warmed you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the reality of what had just happened. Your family was safe, but the thought of how close you’d come to losing them—or Dean—was almost too much to bear.

Dean seemed to sense your thoughts. He reached out, his hand settling gently on your shoulder. “We’ll get through this,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded again, leaning into his touch for just a moment before the sound of sirens in the distance reminded you that the fight wasn’t over yet. But for now, you let yourself believe him. Dean always kept his promises.

You were a politician, not a medic.

Dean wasn’t gonna apologise for taking a bullet for you, you were the president and he was your bodyguard— a controversial bodyguard, since you’d hired him when he was still in the ADX, but was he gonna complain? No. But he hadn’t saved you purely cause he was fearful for his job, he liked you, for some odd reason.

So he was here, guiding you on how to re-bandage a bullet wound in his side, which could be added onto the list of things he’d taught you, like how to thrown a grown man over your shoulder and how to shoot. With it came a bunch of praise between the instructions, cause you got really nervous, he knew that.

You wouldn’t complain about the view either. He had built muscle, smooth skin, an amulet that hung from his neck, along with abs and biceps— oh, he’d make you drool. But he was your bodyguard, so you had to keep on listening to his instructions on how to clean and wrap this shit up. Yeah— yeah.

Honestly, seeing you all nervous to bandage up what — in his experience — was a small bullet wound, but in his and your defence, his line of work kind of consisted of everyday death in gruesome ways, so he’ll cut you some slack. Even if it was funny. But ok, ok, he’ll stop now, just kind of let his eyes drift on how pretty you were, how gorgeous, cause he’s never had a hot president before. Sweet.

"Fuck," he hissed, then chuckled— oh, shit, that hurt, but it was just, y’know, antiseptic, he was used to it, "ok, s’ good.” That jawline that could cut steel clenched slightly, but he didn’t move— except those delicious, lip-bite inducing abs rippling.

“Good, sweetheart.” Well, he had to be encouraging, it’s your first time bandaging. But it’s funny.

“You sure? Cause you just kinda made that sound and I have no idea what I’m doing, so…” the cloth with antiseptic was held aloft, having been snatched away when you first pressed it to his skin. You couldn’t trust yourself.

This was— really, really bad but also kind of cute. He shook his head, chuckling quietly, almost rolling his eyes, “yeah, I’m sure.” The words were said so calmly, like it wasn’t a big deal that you kept removing the cloth whenever it touched his wound, it wasn’t like he was in major pain or anything and it didn’t even phase his face. His eyes fluttered open to look at you, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Go ahead, press it down. I promise I won’t move.”

“Yeah, I see.” You nodded, looking like you were scared of the cloth. “It kinda worries me how you’re acting like this is an everyday Tuesday.” Toned stomach, hot body, toned everything, sculpted biceps, panty-dropping everything—

“Hey, when you do what I do, it does become everyday Tuesday. Besides, it’s not that bad." He shook his head as you both just held the cloth against his abs, but he was paying more attention on how focused you looked on his wound and the bandage, cause it was cute, or maybe he was just focused on the fact you were touching him. Yeah, probably that.

But his abs were flexing slightly beneath your touch, well, beneath the cloth as he watched you watching your own hands hold the cloth, a soft amused smile on his lips.

You looked up, saw his smile and rolled your eyes with a laugh— the little shit. “Ugh— stop it. I’m a politician, not… whatever y’all called yourselves in the shady side. Never knew I’d have to help patch up my bodyguard.” Dick.

“I suppose you have a good point.” He chuckled, he had that same, sweet and sexy voice to match his charming, handsome face. "You weren’t meant to have to patch me up though." He shook his head, "suppose that’s part of my job description."

He couldn’t help but admire you and your features, pretty face, pretty eyes, soft laugh— oh. Pretty voice too, but of course. "I can take over if you need me to?" He’d ask softly, but honestly, he’d rather just have you continue.

“I’ve started this, I’m gonna damn well finish it.” You snorted, then looked through the medical materials— ooh, that looked like a lot, and so you cringed a little, looking between the wound, bandaging materials and him. “What— the fuck do I use next?”

The wound in question was on his lower left side, he’d definitely have another scar to add to the collection on his body, but it wasn’t that deep. Dean watched you, his lips twitching into another small smile at your tone of voice.

His eyes followed you looking between the wound and materials, and he reached forward, grabbing a gauze pad and handing it you, while he held a bandage roll of your choice in his other hand. "You’ve gotta put the pad over first then you wrap the bandage around." He explained, like a teacher would to a student, which really, he was.

“Ok, thank you,” You smiled — at least that was out of the way — so you took the pad and pressed it to his wound just firm enough, wrapping the bandages firm, not like a delicate flower, you knew that wouldn’t compress shit. “Ok? That good?”

Dean inhaled the moment you pressed the gauze to his wound, but he didn’t pull away, cause he was used to having stuff pressed, pushed, shoved, stabbed, sewn into his skin. He felt the slight burn of pressure, but he was fine.

That sounded dark.

He looked at your handy work, you were a damn quick learner, his own hand grabbing the bandage to help you to wrap. "Good job, sweetheart, you done well for your first time." Maybe he was a little proud— actually, he actually was.

“Really?” You looked up, then bit your lip excitedly, giggling— ok, that probably was just the Dean Winchester effect, giggling like a schoolgirl. “How do I, y’know, secure it? Stop it from falling?”

That sight definitely did something to him. He wasn’t about to turn on his president, but the giggling, fuck, had him biting the inside of his cheek. He just loved the sight and he was definitely going to be getting that image stuck in his brain.

Once you were done wrapping the bandage around the gauze pad, the only thing that kept it in place was tape. "You need some tape to secure it." He guided your hands to tape the bandage, grinning.

Too late, already turned on— you knew exactly what your sheets would be messy from this night. “Ok, is that done?” You asked, your hands springing off as if any move you made would make the bandage combust… or somethin’.

The little moment you moved your hands off like that made him chuckle, his head shaking a little. He noticed you were, you know, turned on-ish, his tongue darting out of his lips to wet them as he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, it is." Pretty good.

He pressed his own hand against the bandage, before looking up at you, his eyes flicking down and up again, "you did a damn good job, sweetheart. For real."

“Good.” You nodded, then swallowed, rubbing your neck. “I should’ve taken your advice, going to meet my family was a bad idea. You got shot out of it. I’m sorry.”

Dean had been able to put two and two together with the moment you mentioned family, and with the mention of getting shot, he knew. Your parents didn’t have a good reaction to you becoming president, it wasn’t that surprising to him either. "You’re fine. Not your fault I got shot, sweetheart."

He said it genuinely, his tongue flicking out again to wet his lips, like a bad habit he had. "You needed to see them, even if it went to hell, you needed to see." He shook his head.

“I still care, y’know. About you.” You sighed, tilting your head. “Even if you tell me not to worry, I’ll… I’ll always worry. You’re human too.” That right there was a president who gave a damn.

God, you’re gonna make him do something. That sentence alone made his heart flutter, made a small smile form on his face, it was a gentle one. Hearing someone actually care about his wellbeing, made him feel things.

He was speechless for a moment, just looking at you, and that statement really sunk in. Yeah… he wasn’t used to people caring this much anymore. He always cared about someone in his line of work, but he? He didn’t really expect to be cared for. "Thank you." He said gently, honestly, sincerely.

"S’ alright. Didn't want to fuck it up." You smiled awkwardly, then felt the distance close, his hand going up, but at the same moment you jumped a little, he pulled away to check you were ok.

Did he mess it up? Was he gonna get fired? Oh, shit —

Then he felt your lips on his; gentle, soft, nothing like the kisses he'd had with girls before. Your cheek— god, your skin was so soft, his fingers so calloused, he really shouldn't be here right now, not when you were way out of his league. Extremely, you were the President, and he was your bodyguard, and—

Ok, your lips tasted like coffee. His brain could shut down now.

It was soft, and you let out a small gasp as you held him tighter and closer, tighter and closer. That little gasp was like music to his ears, that quiet sound was what he wanted to hear — he couldn't resist, he could feel the warmth from you, from your soft lips against his. It felt too good, like some sort of forbidden fruit. He just couldn't stop tasting it.

It's just a gentle kiss, slow kiss and his tongue was staying in his mouth for the time being, but his nose just slightly bumped against yours. There was a quiet groan that escaped him, that just felt too good.

Your lips pressed soft and slow againsthis, small stamps on him that told him he was yours- he couldn't be anyone else's now, he just couldn't, not when he had a hit of you, when he was crazy for you and he'd continue to be for the rest of his life, damn it. And each one got more feather light, less of a claim and more of a brush, but it still sent his neurons firing and his every muscle shivering underneath your gentle touch on his bare chest, amulet hanging on his collarbones.

"Ma'am..." Dean began when he finallyopened his eyes to meet yours— how the fuck does an ex-hitman go from the Supermax to this? Well, if this what it's like, he'd never complain again. He'd never want to leave anyway, as if he could resist your gorgeous ass. Your thumb rubbed his chin, looking so pretty with your cheeks flushed and lips all kiss-swollen, you were like his own angel. From the moment you'd ordered his shackles to be taken off him, you were his guardian angel.

"Shh," The sound came so gentle from your lips, we'll talk about it soon, I promise, we— we just both need to get some sleep."

You both laughed at the notion, grinning ike idiots, or like two teenagers after realising that they liked each other wher everyone implied they did. Idiots in a nutshell.

"Yeah, gotta hit the hay." Dean grinned, the backs of his fingers brushing the apple of your cheek before he cupped it his palm warm against your cheek. You couldn't help it; your eyes fluttered slightly, though you still let the smile play vaguely on your lips. He leaned forward, his hand cradling the back of your head as his own lips met your forehead preathing in, letting the kiss linger before he pulled away. "G'night, sweetheart. l've got you, aight?"

You couldn't help the broad smile butterflies, and even though you felt like you were in a Wattpad story, you'd take it all a thousand times over. "You've got me?"

'Course." He smiled, holding your head up high with his thumb and index holding your chin, pretty green eyes soft. "Gotta protect my angel." My angel.

His angel.

Even as he put on his shirt and left, you couldn't help how you fell back onto your bed, covered your face with your hands and squealed with giggles, because you'd kissed him, and it felt like fire and ice and electricity and warmth and heaven, shit.

Steph and Bella were right.

Frank Russo paced the length of his luxurious office, his polished Italian leather shoes clicking against the marble floor. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides as he glared at the framed cityscape visible through the wide windows. The skyline of New York stretched out before him like his own personal empire, but it offered no solace today. The news had come in just moments ago, and it was nothing short of infuriating.

He spun around sharply, his cold, steely eyes locking onto his assistant, Lou, who stood by the door. Lou was a wiry man in his late forties, his once-black hair now streaked with gray. Though usually calm and composed, even Lou seemed unsettled under Frank’s intense scrutiny.

“You’re telling me not one of them could get the job done?” Frank hissed, his voice low and menacing.

Lou hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his words carefully. “It’s not for lack of trying, boss. Winchester… he’s not like the others. He knows every move before it’s made.”

“Of course he does!” Frank bellowed, slamming a fist against the heavy oak desk in the center of the room. Papers scattered, and a glass of whiskey wobbled precariously before settling. “He’s one of us—or he was until he decided to play hero. That’s why I chose him in the first place. But now…” He trailed off, his lip curling in disgust. “Now he’s a liability.”

Lou nodded slowly, his hands clasped in front of him. “Dean knows the playbook inside and out. The hitmen… they don’t stand a chance. They’re predictable to him.”

Frank ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, letting out a slow, sharp exhale. His frustration was palpable, the room practically vibrating with his anger. He couldn’t afford another failure. The President had to be eliminated—her reforms, her policies, everything she stood for was a direct threat to the empire he’d spent decades building. And as long as Dean Winchester was standing in the way, it was impossible to get close to her.

“What do you suggest, Lou?” Frank asked finally, his voice eerily calm. “You’re supposed to be my problem solver. So solve the problem.”

Lou’s eyes flicked to the desk, avoiding Frank’s piercing gaze. “We need someone different,” he said cautiously. “Someone who isn’t just another gun-for-hire. Someone who can outthink Dean.”

Frank snorted, a humorless sound. “You’re saying I need a ghost to take out a ghost.”

Lou gave a small shrug. “Something like that. Dean’s good—better than good. But there’s always someone better.”

Frank stared at him for a long moment, the weight of the silence pressing down on them both. Then, finally, he nodded. “Fine. Find this ‘someone better.’ I don’t care what it costs, who they are, or what they want. Just find them and get them here. And make sure they understand the stakes.”

Lou straightened, clearly relieved to have a task to focus on. “Understood, boss. I’ll start making calls right away.”

Frank waved a dismissive hand. “Go. Now.”

Lou turned and exited the room quickly, leaving Frank alone with his simmering rage. He walked over to the window, staring out at the city once more. It wasn’t just about the President anymore; this had become personal. Dean Winchester, the man he’d once trusted as one of his own, had turned against him. He’d become a traitor to the very world that had shaped him.

Frank clenched his teeth, his hands gripping the edge of the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wasn’t a man who tolerated betrayal, and Dean’s defection was the ultimate insult. It wasn’t enough to kill the President—Dean had to pay, too. The man needed to know what it meant to cross Frank Russo.

Meanwhile, Lou sat in his dimly lit office, a phone pressed to his ear. His fingers drummed against the desk as he listened to the static-laced voice on the other end of the line.

“This job… it’s not just anyone who can pull it off,” Lou said, keeping his voice low. “We’re talking about taking out the President of the United States. The target is surrounded by the best security detail money can’t even buy. And then there’s Winchester.”

The voice on the other end responded, though the words were inaudible to anyone but Lou. He nodded along, his expression serious.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Exactly. That’s why we need someone who can outmaneuver him. Someone who can think like him, but isn’t bound by the same rules.”

Another pause as the voice continued. Lou’s lips curved into a small, grim smile.

“I knew you’d say that,” he murmured. “All right, I’ll make the arrangements. But remember, this isn’t just about the money. You pull this off, and you’ll have the gratitude of the most powerful man in New York. That’s worth more than any paycheck.”

He hung up the phone, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. The person he’d contacted was an enigma, a shadow in the criminal underworld. Their reputation was unparalleled, their methods ruthless and efficient. If anyone could get past Dean Winchester, it was them.

Lou stood, smoothing his tie as he prepared to deliver the news to Frank. He felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension. The wheels were in motion now, and there was no turning back. If this plan failed, it wouldn’t just mean trouble for Frank—it would mean the end for all of them.

As Lou re-entered Frank’s office, he found his boss standing by the window, the city lights casting an eerie glow across his face. Frank turned, his eyes narrowing expectantly.

“Well?” he demanded.

Lou nodded. “I’ve got someone. They’re on their way. If anyone can get past Winchester, it’s them.”

Frank’s lips curled into a sinister smile. “Good. Make sure they understand that failure is not an option.”

Lou hesitated for a moment before replying. “They understand. But there’s one thing, boss. This person… they don’t play by the usual rules. If we bring them in, there’s no controlling what happens next.”

Frank’s smile only widened. “I don’t care about the rules, Lou. I care about results. Now get out of here and make sure everything’s ready.”

Lou nodded and left the room, leaving Frank alone once again. He returned to his desk, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully. The game was changing, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to win.

Dean Winchester had made his move. Now it was Frank’s turn. And this time, he wouldn’t miss.

The motorcade glided through the bustling streets, the presidential limousine flanked by sleek black SUVs, their tinted windows concealing the elite security detail within. Outside, the city hummed with its usual rhythm, but inside the vehicle, the air was thick with anticipation. You smoothed your blouse, a hint of nervous energy crackling through you. Today wasn’t just another meeting; it was a calculated move toward a greater goal—uniting efforts with someone who once stood as your rival.

Amara Shurley.

The very name carried a weight of respect and a tinge of nostalgia. She had been your fiercest competitor during the presidential race, her campaign marked by poise, intelligence, and a quiet determination that had made her a formidable opponent. Yet, through the fiery debates and the clash of ideals, there had always been an unspoken camaraderie.

You were both women striving for a better future in a world that wasn’t always kind to ambition.

As the limousine pulled up to the understated entrance of Amara’s private office, you glanced out the window. The building was sleek and modern, its glass façade reflecting the afternoon sun. Dean Winchester, as always, was a shadow at your side, his sharp eyes scanning the perimeter before opening the door for you.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. It was more an order than a suggestion, but you nodded, stepping out into the crisp autumn air.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you approached the entrance, flanked by members of your security detail. Dean remained a step behind, his presence a constant reassurance. The receptionist, a young woman with a polished smile, greeted you warmly before leading you to the elevator.

The ride up was silent, save for the hum of the machinery. When the doors opened, Amara was there, waiting.

“Madam President,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice as she extended her hand.

“Amara,” you replied with a smile, shaking her hand firmly. “You can drop the formalities. This is just a friendly meeting.”

Her lips quirked up into a knowing grin. “Friendly? That’s not the vibe I got during the debates.”

You laughed, shaking your head as she led you into her office. It was a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. The décor was minimalist but sophisticated—dark wood furniture, a few tasteful art pieces, and a large desk that dominated the space.

Dean and the security detail lingered by the door as Amara gestured for you to sit on the plush couch. She poured two glasses of sparkling water, handing you one before sitting across from you.

“So,” she began, crossing her legs elegantly. “What’s on your mind?”

You took a sip of water, gathering your thoughts. “I’ll get straight to the point. I need your help.”

Her brows arched in mild surprise. “With what?”

“With credibility,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “I have a lot of ideas—big ideas—about what I want to achieve during my term. But I also know that change can’t happen without collaboration and input from people who understand the nuances of policy-making.”

Amara nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve never been one to shy away from ambition. What kind of changes are we talking about?”

You launched into your vision, laying out your plans with the same passion that had driven your campaign. Legalizing abortion nationwide, reforming healthcare to include more accessible mental health services, implementing renewable energy initiatives to combat climate change—it was all there. As you spoke, Amara listened intently, her sharp mind clearly dissecting every point.

“I want to make sure these legislations aren’t just bold ideas but practical, impactful, and sustainable,” you concluded. “And I believe you’re the person who can help me achieve that.”

Amara was silent for a moment, her fingers lightly tapping against the armrest. “You’re asking me to cross the aisle and work with you.”

“I’m asking you to do what’s right,” you corrected gently. “You’ve always been about progress, Amara. This isn’t about politics—it’s about people.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she was going to agree. But then she smiled—a genuine, warm smile that softened her features.

“All right,” she said. “I’m in.”

Relief washed over you, and you returned her smile. “Thank you. Truly.”

Amara shrugged, a glint of humor in her eyes. “Don’t thank me yet. I might tear some of your ideas apart.”

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The conversation shifted to specifics, and the next hour flew by in a flurry of discussion and debate. Amara challenged you on several points, offering insights and suggestions that made your proposals stronger. It was invigorating—a reminder of why you respected her so much.

Dean remained by the door, his gaze occasionally flicking to you as you spoke with animated passion. You caught his eye once, and he gave you a small nod, his expression unreadable but approving. It was a brief moment, but it steadied you.

As the meeting wound down, Amara leaned back against the couch, a satisfied look on her face. “You’ve got some solid ideas, Madam President. I think we can make this work.”

“We will,” you said with confidence. “Together.”

She extended her hand again, and you shook it firmly, sealing the partnership.

As you stood to leave, Amara walked you to the door, pausing to glance at Dean. “You’ve got quite the guardian angel there,” she remarked, her tone light but perceptive.

Dean’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond. You smiled, glancing at him. “He’s the best.”

Amara nodded, her gaze lingering on Dean for a moment before turning back to you. “Good luck, Madam President. You’re going to need it.”

You laughed softly, stepping into the hallway with Dean at your side. The motorcade was waiting downstairs, but as you walked, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. Amara’s agreement was a victory—not just for you, but for the people you served.

And as you glanced at Dean, his steady presence a constant in the whirlwind of your life, you felt a quiet reassurance. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you weren’t facing them alone.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait—” Steph’s voice pitched to an impressive decibel as her eyes widened, practically sparkling with excitement. Bella, sitting cross-legged on the couch, let out an ear-piercing squeal that had you cringing and glancing at the closed door to make sure no one outside could hear. “You what?” Steph exclaimed again, gripping your arm with both hands.

“I kissed him,” you muttered, already regretting telling them anything.

Bella bounced in place, her red curls bouncing with her. “Oh my God!” she squealed. “You kissed Dean? Dean Winchester? The human embodiment of danger and hotness? This is like—this is straight out of a fanfiction!”

You buried your face in your hands, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s a big deal,” Steph said, leaning forward, her voice laced with dramatic emphasis. “The hottest bodyguard in the history of the great States, sworn to protect the President, and now— kissed by her? Girl, this is Wattpad-level gold.”

Bella nodded fervently, her grin stretching ear to ear. “Okay, okay, but details. We need details,” she demanded. “Where were you? What was the mood? Was it passionate? Was it—”

“Steamy?” Steph interjected, waggling her eyebrows.

You groaned, slumping back against the armchair as you covered your face with your hands again. “It wasn’t like that,” you mumbled through your fingers.

Bella and Steph both froze mid-gush, exchanging quick glances. “Wait,” Bella said slowly, lowering her voice as though the room had grown ominously serious. “Are you telling me… it wasn’t steamy?”

Steph’s mouth fell open, a hand pressed to her chest in mock outrage. “No. Way. What do you mean it wasn’t steamy? He’s Dean Winchester! Tall, broad-shouldered, killer jawline, the whole sexy-mercenary-in-a-suit package! How was it not steamy?”

You peeked through your fingers, feeling mortified but also exasperated. “It just wasn’t, okay? It was—” You struggled to find the right words, your mind flashing back to the moment. The electricity, the hesitation, the heat that had simmered under the surface without ever truly boiling over. “It was… nice.”

“Nice?” Bella repeated, her voice heavy with disbelief. She leaned back, throwing her hands up. “Nice is the word you’re going with?”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t something out of a Harlequin romance!” you snapped, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your embarrassment. “It was when I was bandaging him up. It just… happened.”

Steph squinted at you suspiciously. “Was there tongue?”

“No!”

“No tongue?!” Bella threw her head back dramatically, clutching at her chest. “Oh, what a waste of prime romantic real estate!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be some grand, sweeping kiss,” you argued, though you could feel the tension creeping into your tone. “It just… it felt right in the moment, okay? That’s all.”

Steph shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “You’re telling me you’ve got the lead in what could be the most epic slow-burn romance of all time, and you settle for a ‘nice’ kiss?”

Bella sighed dramatically, leaning over to pat your arm. “Honey, you’re the President of the United States. You’re supposed to be setting standards.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small laugh escaped despite yourself. “I can’t believe I told you two anything.”

“Oh, please,” Steph said, grinning. “You would’ve combusted if you didn’t. You’ve been looking way too pleased with yourself all morning.”

Bella nodded sagely. “We had to pry it out of you, but it was worth it. Even if the kiss itself was, let’s face it, a little underwhelming.”

“Underwhelming?” you repeated, incredulous. “You weren’t even there!”

“Which is exactly why we’re relying on you to live vicariously through,” Bella said, giving you a pointed look. “And what do we get? A middle-school hallway kiss. I mean, come on.”

You groaned again, though this time you were laughing despite yourself. “You two are impossible.”

Steph grinned. “You love us.”

“Debatable,” you muttered, though your smile gave you away.

The teasing continued for another few minutes, with Bella and Steph tossing out increasingly ridiculous suggestions for how you could “improve” your next kiss with Dean. By the time you finally escaped to your office under the guise of needing to review your afternoon schedule, you felt both exasperated and oddly lighter. They may have been impossible, but they were your impossible—always ready to tease, push, and support you in equal measure.

As you closed your office door and leaned back against it, the memory of the kiss resurfaced, unbidden but not unwelcome. It might not have been the steamy, earth-shattering moment Bella and Steph had been hoping for, but it had been… something. A spark. A promise.

And deep down, you knew you wanted more.

The phone rang just as you were settling back at your desk, still smiling faintly from the ridiculousness of Bella and Steph’s earlier antics. You reached for it, expecting it to be Becky with an update on your schedule or perhaps an international call you’d been waiting on. But the name flashing across the screen made you pause.

Ryan.

Your older brother never called during the day unless something was important—or, more likely, because Bella or Steph had stirred up some sort of nonsense. You sighed, bracing yourself, and hit the green button.

“Hey, Ryan,” you said casually, leaning back in your chair. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” he repeated, his voice laced with a suspicious drawl that immediately made your stomach sink. “You tell me, Madam President. Or should I say, kissing champion of the White House?”

Your heart stopped for a moment, and then you groaned loudly, pressing your free hand to your forehead. “Oh, for the love of—how do you even know about that?”

“Bella,” he said simply, the word landing like a punchline. “She called me, giddy, might I add, and filled me in on all the juicy details. Well, what little details there were. Seems like you’re not one to kiss and tell, huh?”

You closed your eyes, wishing you could teleport through the phone to strangle your sister-in-law. “Bella has a very loose interpretation of the word ‘juicy.’”

Ryan laughed, and you could practically hear his grin through the phone. “So, it’s true then?”

“Do I even have the option of denying it at this point?”

“Not really,” he admitted cheerfully. “But you should probably know she gave me a full rundown. Apparently, you and this Dean guy have some kind of slow-burn tension, and she’s ‘living for it.’ Her words, not mine.”

You sighed, slumping forward against your desk. “I’m going to kill her.”

“She’ll probably make it worth your while by live-streaming her death on Instagram,” he said, clearly amused. “But more importantly—do I need to grill this guy? Or beat him up?”

You snorted despite yourself. “First of all, I’m the President of the United States. You can’t just go around beating up my bodyguard.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t,” Ryan said, his tone suddenly serious. “You’re my little sister. I don’t care if he’s a decorated Secret Service agent or a Marine—if he’s messing with you, I’ll set him straight.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the protective note in his voice. Ryan had always been like this—teasing and sarcastic most of the time, but fiercely loyal when it came to family. “Relax,” you said. “Dean’s not messing with me. He’s… fine.”

“Fine, huh?” Ryan said, dragging the word out in a way that made you roll your eyes. “That’s not exactly reassuring. You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“What do you want me to say?” you asked, exasperated. “He’s smart, he’s loyal, and he saved my life—more than once. I trust him completely.”

“Uh-huh.” Ryan’s voice was skeptical. “And what about the kissing part? That part seems a little outside his job description.”

Your cheeks heated at the memory of Dean’s lips on yours, the brief but intense moment of connection that had left you reeling. “It was… it just happened,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I wasn’t planning it, and neither was he. It just… felt right.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you could almost hear Ryan processing your words. Finally, he sighed. “You sound serious about this guy.”

“I don’t know what I am,” you admitted, the weight of your feelings suddenly pressing down on you. “It’s complicated, Ryan. I’m the President, and he’s my bodyguard. This kind of thing isn’t exactly… simple.”

“Well, you’ve never done anything the simple way,” Ryan said, his voice softening. “Look, I don’t know this Dean guy, but if he’s good to you—and I mean really good to you—then I’m not gonna stand in your way. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you said, smiling faintly. “Thanks, Ryan.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone brightening. “But seriously, if he steps out of line, let me know. I’ll fly down there and take care of it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Now, go do some presidential stuff or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later,” you said, hanging up the phone with a shake of your head.

As you set the phone down, you found yourself thinking about what Ryan had said. You didn’t know exactly what was happening between you and Dean, but one thing was clear: it wasn’t going away anytime soon. And maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t such a bad thing.

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[qqueenofhades]

can you assuage my creeping fear about the debate between harris and trump? my brain is like. the media will be salivating over any chance to get the story HARRIS FLUBS THE DEBATE MORE AT 6 unless she's 100% perfect for it. i keep telling myself that she's an incredibly seasoned prosecutor who knows exactly what to do to unravel these sorts of people, she has plenty of time to prepare, he's completely gone over the edge into incoherence most of the time, but i also keep thinking of how, after weeks of her absolutely pile-driving the republican party, the media will be circling for any mistake, mis-step, or imperfection to blow out of proportion to make it seem like she's failing. i guess what i'm afraid of is the other shoe dropping? or the bubble bursting? i'm afraid of this hope?

i was barely aware of obama in 2008, too young to vote and not paying attention, so i don't know how this kind of momentum turned into the juggernaut that got him elected. i know you believe that the same can happen here, how did he take on the predatory press?

Well, first, we need to recognize that the media treatment of the debate WILL be wildly unfair, full stop. If Trump shows up and puts on pants, he will be applauded by the media, because they have the lowest imaginable bar where he is concerned and everything that would have been multiply-disqualifying for any other candidate makes them just shrug and find a way to make excuses for him. So yes, he will literally be congratulated if he shows up on September 10, because that is how the media works. See: three relentless weeks of bullying Biden out of the race after the bad debate, barely mentioning Trump's equally insane diatribes at the same debate, and now, when he's gone full-on demented and is raving about AI-generated crowds at Kamala's events? Nary a peep. Lol.

However, the main narrative that's emerging from the Harris takeover is that voters and the media are miles apart on where they actually see this race going, and without the media's favorite chew toy of Biden's shortcomings, it has become increasingly difficult to avoid focusing on Trump's flaws, even tangentially. See the mainstream media reporters whining constantly that Harris hasn't given them a press conference and congratulating Trump for lying to them nonstop for an hour; they simply have no frame of reference that's remotely useful, because they are so beholden to making Trump look like a normal candidate and focusing on Harris's "flaws" as if they are remotely comparable to his. But at the same time, there has been a far heightened level of pushback on this BS manipulation, and everybody can see through it, precisely because the media and/or the right-wing smear machine has tried this so many times before and their tactics are now completely transparent. Ordinary voters don't give a shit whether Harris WiLl tAkE qUesTioNs fRoM tHe mEdiA; they're too busy flooding her campaign with donations, attending her rallies, signing up for volunteer shifts, and so forth. In fact, the reason the media is trying SO HARD to kill her momentum is because they, like Trump, rely on doing so. The more they try and don't succeed, the more panicked they'll get. We have to prepare for that, and we have to have her back.

That said, we should recall that Harris easily crushed Pence in their debate in 2020, and Pence was actually halfway presentable at it compared to Trump (which is a low bar, but still). The way Trump "wins" is that he just repeats a lot of lies forcefully and over and over, which Biden was ill-prepared to counter because he has a far more deliberate and decisive speaking style (related to stutter/speech difficulties, temperament as a politician, etc). Everything that I have seen from the Harris campaign in terms of communication so far, however, has been the exact kind of clapback that makes Trump look stupid and which shows that they are very attuned to the kind of strategies that work against that nonsensical bullying Gish gallop. Therefore, I have to trust that they have INTENSIVELY studied what went wrong with Biden/Trump in June, and also empowered Kamala to do what she does in her fashion and which has been extremely successful thus far at knocking down Trump's BS. Also, she's just a better and more fluent communicator than Biden, she looks and sounds more energetic, and those stupid aesthetic Vibes are half of the battle when it comes to convincing the public.

Also, we should recognize that Trump looked deeply creepy on stage at the debates with HRC in 2016, and that was when he was downright sane compared to now. He stalked her, he stood behind her, he rolled his eyes, he bullied her, and people noticed that (he subsequently won the election, yes, but if nothing else, 2024 feels nothing like 2016). If he has to stand on stage with a black woman kicking his ass, after his appearance at the NABJ event in Chicago quickly became a touchstone for how badly he fucked it up, he is going to just look BAD, and when that's the case, people will immediately fit it into the existing narrative (that he's scared of Harris and deeply racist and unglued). You can also play your part in making sure it does. At least half of the Bidengate furor came from Democrats melting down and yelling about it afterward, and that led into the knives-out media coverage that spiraled for 3.5 weeks until Biden withdrew. We can, yknow, NOT DO THAT this time!

So: yeah. We have to be aware that yes, the media coverage of the debate will find absolutely every excuse to praise Trump and bash Harris, because that's just baked in. However, we can also understand that there's a wide-and-getting-wider CHASM between how ordinary voters see things right now and how the media is desperate to play it, and the more transparent they get, the more easily we are able to call it out. (See Lawrence O'Donnell's rant the other night.) We are going to have to keep doing that and not let up, but it's not going to go well for Trump either way and it's still an open question as to whether he even shows up after trying SO hard to dodge. It's not out of the question that he'll announce on September 4 that by Harris not showing up to the Fox debate she never agreed to and which exists only in his deluded mind, he doesn't have to do the same on September 10. He is a scared fucking orange chickenshit who KNOWS he's badly outmatched against Harris and whose entire campaign strategy at this point relies on lying low and trying not to make voters remember again how much they hate him, which is already backfiring. And with your help, we can make him MORE scared all the way to prison. Let's do it.

[femboy-c-cups]

The "trump working with netanyahu to prevent a ceasefire" thing doesn't really hold much water as a reason to vote democrat when they could have stopped the war at literally any moment by simply not sending arms to israel. I'm not talking about bombs over a certain size or whatever, all of it. This has always been the case.

When kamala says she wants a ceasefire, she's lying, like are you fucking stupid?

[samueldays]

I see this shit and I wonder: is there, even theoretically, anything which can be done about it in general?

(To back up Domenech, here is the 2021 interview, the clip is taken from about twentyfive minutes in.)

The obvious first problem is the lying. Legally, this is protected by the First Amendment, and one has to clear a high bar of showing specific harm (such as being defrauded) to prosecute lies in America. Socially, it is one of a great many lies being told by a great many liars. Getting just one to stop would be ineffective, getting them to stop en masse would be a Herculean task. Specifically a task like cleaning the Augean Stables.

The second problem that comes to mind is that even if there were a remedy like "Legally compel @harris_wins to issue a correction", such remedies are extremely prone to abuse as a class. It would take law-writing that is both unusually clever and unusually moral to give Vance some way of punishing @harris_wins for this, without also risking collateral damage to speech protections, and exploitations of the power to punish.

The third problem is that an account like @harris_wins is disposable and replaceable. It is not the official Kamala Harris account. It's a sort of credibility-printer or the product of one, that can be spun up, tell loud and flashy lies, and be ditched when it comes under fire. It's cheap chaff, it's moderately polished with the signs and language of journalism like screaming "BREAKING" on everything, and it gets a million views.

The sort of punishment one can practically inflict on an account like this is only a cost of doing business for whoever's paying the cut-outs and interns and troll farms for Kamala's campaign.

Fourth, I think, is the aggravating nature of this particular lie.

Trump's lies usually involve saying he's the best, he's the greatest, everyone loves him, he'll fix all your problems, et cetera, which are colloquial English for him being moderately above average, some people love him, he might mitigate a couple of problems. I'm autistic and I dislike the way people casually lie in ordinary speech and say "it's hyperbole", but it's hard for me to feel any extra hate for Trump over exaggeration-to-the-point-of-falsehood when it's so common.

Whoever is running @harris_wins does not have the hyperbole excuse. This is not partial support for Project 2025 being exaggerated into complete endorsement, this is a false source and they're claiming it contains something it does not contain at all. Vance never mentions Project 2025 at all (how could he, in 2021?) in the clip, he is saying routine politician things about taking power and replacing the existing ruling class, that is not "Vance completely endorses Project 2025".

[bamgyw]

right, so he won.

we tend to be cynical and laugh him off, but it’s so painfully clear and scary how this ignorant fucking narcissist cosplaying as the poor man's idea of a wealthy man could become president of the united states—not once, but twice.

a man who seems barely literate, whose statements have been nothing but blatant, poorly constructed lies, yet he’s secured power. again. and while i can’t fully predict the implications, i know they don’t look good.

i fear for american citizens trapped in a dystopian neoliberal state where food is made of plastic and a lack of money can cost you your life on a hospital gurney.

i fear for europe, also scarred by fascism and blindly following the united states. every week for the past year, our prime ministers have appeared on television, warning us to prepare to defend our values in coming wars, most, if not all of which, are initiated by the u.s.

i fear for the palestinian people, undergoing a fucking genocide at the hands of israel—a state powered by the immense machinery of the american arms industry. if the u.s. withdrew its support, israel would be forced to stop. they're nothing. a flimsy geopolitical construct fuelled by pure evil. but like israel, the united states is a settler colony, built on the displacement, massacre, and erasure of the people who originally lived there. they both justify their actions as a divine mission for the land they claim was promised by god. imperialistic bullshit.

i fear that palestinians have lost their last glimmer of hope and the faint promise of a two-state solution that even kamala harris claimed to defend. flawed and half-hearted as it was, it at least held the possibility of a ceasefire.

i fear for trans and racialized people in the united states, who have become primary targets of brutal, baseless hate speech, a rhetoric now normalized among more than half the american electorate.

i’m not going to take the easy route—the classist one—and say that a bunch of uneducated rednecks voted for another uneducated redneck.

truth is, we’re living in unsafe times, and that fear makes us vulnerable to hoaxes, propaganda, and manipulation. education was supposed to be the antidote—the tool to help us see when politicians are lying, when a vulnerable group is scapegoated for society’s problems. and yet, here we are, repeating history. it’s been less than a century since world war II, and a fascist has been voted into power.

i don’t know why i felt the need to go off on this tangent, but this issue is global, and it’s genuinely terrifying. i don’t trust our politicians. it feels like being abandoned by a parent—the state, which is supposed to protect us, leaving us to fend for ourselves. we've seen that with hurricane milton, with the floods in valencia.

many of us have never had to experience extreme poverty or coexist with death, so it’s easy and fun to live blissfully unaware. but we’d better hope it stays that way. and i also hope that instead of letting our fear turn into paralyzing anxiety, we can make the effort of turning it into determined, militant anger.

and yeah… that’s about it, i think. there’s a lot i haven’t mentioned, a lot of people, a lot of rights lost today. but i haven’t slept. i’m really tired. gonna sleep bye.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

You Look Happier

Part 4 of the Family, Pawns, and Sins of the Family

Summary: After every thing you've been though, it's time to move forward. While doing just that you run into a unlikely friend that looks past the scars you bare.

Warning: panic attack, mention of past abuse, suicidal thoughts, fluff, Kamala is a joy and I love her, small scene of a guy grabbing the reader, mention of nightmares, facing past abusers in court.

Word Count: 5.4k

Note: Ignore the fact that I said the next chapter of Second Chance will be posted today, I finished this one shot instead lol. Also, this will probably be the last part of this!

*

Healing was not linear. If this whole experience taught you one thing, it was that. Some days were good. They were great. You smiled and laughed without restraint. Those good days bleed into good weeks. Then, the darkness over your shoulder would rear its ugly head. All your hard work to overcome everything seemed pointless when you couldn’t leave your bed and your moms stayed by your side out of fear you would hurt yourself. There were close calls. The overwhelming urge sometimes became too much. You wanted to feel anything besides their hands on you.

Tonight was the end of a terrible day. You shut down after your therapy appointment. The mid-afternoon nap you took was ruined by a nightmare, and the court called, and they needed you to testify against Principal Cook. It was not your day. Still, you managed to pull yourself out of bed when the Avengers came over for a cookout. You sat at the fire pit with a marshmallow on the end of the stick. The flames engulfed the sticky treat and fell into the fire. Sighing, you blew out the flame and leaned back into the chair. You pulled the blanket to your chin and watched the get-together.

“Hey bug,” Natasha slid next to you. The chair was big enough for you two to sit comfortably without touching it, but you folded it against her. You buried your face in her shoulder and felt her hand draw shapes on your back. “How are you feeling?” Lying was never an option when they asked you this question. They would rather have the brutal, honest truth than a lie. It was a hard thing to overcome in the beginning.

“I’m,” Tired. Sad. Angry. “Struggling.” You sighed.

“Yeah,” Natasha kissed your forehead. “Today was a lot.” You nodded against her.

“Have you heard from the lawyers?” It was Natasha’s turn to sigh and kiss your forehead again.

“Not yet. They are talking with Cook’s defense team and hoping the man will take a plea deal.” You nodded and closed your eyes. The constant motion and her soft humming almost sent you to sleep. “Your mama and I have to go to the tower tomorrow. Is it okay to have your therapy session online?” The other thing was they refused to let you stay home alone on terrible days. It made sense. Through all of this, they wanted you to be safe.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “That’s fine.” There was no need to open your eyes because you knew there was a smile on her face.

“I love you, our firefly.”

“I love you too, mom.”

*

Today was better. Your therapist let you discuss your relationship with Wanda, Natasha, and the twins. It was a breath of fresh air to talk about something positive. The two Avengers were still in their meeting, so you waited for them on the common floor. It was half your fault. You were looking at your phone when a body slammed into you, causing you and your phone to fall to the ground. “Are you okay? Is your phone okay? Do you have a concussion?” You blinked at the girl with long brown hair and bright brown eyes. “Oh my god, I’ve concussed you.” She cried, placing her hands on top of her head.

“I’m not-wait. Who are you?”

“I’m Kamala Khan,” she offered you her hand, which you took to stand up.

“I’m-”

“Oh, I know who you are. Peter won’t stop talking about you. He says, You’re super cool.”

“I’m-” broken. Hurt. Sad. “Okay,” she laughed, and the sound erupted butterflies in your stomach. You noticed you were still holding her hand, and you dropped it suddenly. “Sorry,” you whispered. She smiled, picked up your phone, and looked it over.

“It’s not broken. I would have hated it if I gave you a concussion and broke your phone.” you were surprised by the laugh that you let out. It only made Kamala’s smile grow. “Here you go.”

“You should put your number in it,” a surge of confidence washed through you. Her eyebrows went up. “I mean, you did assault me. I think you owe me,” her mouth opened and closed like a fish. It was cute.

“I see why Peter likes you,” she said, handing you the phone so you could open it, and she quickly put her number on it. “I have to run-”

“Hopefully, not into someone again,” you said with a playful smile. She rolled her eyes.

“But I’ll see you again. Text me so I can have your number, too.” You waved bye as she ran off. Flopping onto the couch, you sent Kamala a simple hello with your name. For some reason, your cheeks were hurting from your smile.

*

You giggled at the funny meme Kamala sent you of Yelena and Kate that she made. You befriended the girl three days ago, and her goal seemed to make you smile. Even after a tough day at therapy, you were welcomed with messages from her that made it better. “Alright, enough,” your phone was ripped away from you. You gasped as you watched Yelena go through your phone. “You’ve been giggling all night. Who are you texting?”

“Mama, tell her to give me my phone back,” Wanda chuckled, standing over the stove to make dinner.

“Give her the phone back, Belova,” the witch laughed. “But I am curious who has got you smiling so much.” Yelena refused to give you the phone.

“First off, you’ve met Kamala,” she handed Wanda your phone. Instead of looking through it like the Black Widow, she returned it to you. “Second, I am going to kill her.” You smiled.

“We ran into each other at the tower,” you texted her, letting her know Yelena saw the memes she made. “Literally,” you mumbled. Every time you thought about how you met your new friend, you laughed. This was amplified when Kamala responded, saying you betrayed her trust.

“Hey,” Yelena snapped her fingers in front of your face. You jumped, not expecting it. “Your mama was talking to you.” The Blonde rolled her eyes and left the kitchen.

“Sorry,” you apologized. “What were you saying?” Wanda smiled with a shake of the head.

“I said dinner is almost ready. Can you go wash up and get your brothers?” You nodded and closed the book you were trying to read, but you were distracted by your phone. “And sweetheart,” you stopped to look at Wanda. “She’s making you smile a lot. Is there more going on?” You felt your body heat up.

“N-no,” you stuttered. “We are just friends,” Wanda smirked. “Mama, we are.”

“Okay, I’m just teasing,” you huffed and walked to your room. You dropped your textbooks and notebooks on your desk. Friends. That was all you and Kamala were. Nothing more. Right?

*

You were nervous as you stood outside Natasha’s home office. You could do this. You could do this. Knocking the door, you heard her voice on the other side telling you to come in. You entered and closed the door. “Hey bug, what -” she stopped mid-question. “Are you okay? You look like you are going to be sick.” Instead of answering, you walked to the front of her desk.

“Can I ask you something?” Natasha nodded, the worry evident on her face. “Can I go to the movies?” The Black Widow blinked at once, twice.

“Jesus, kid, you were about to give me a heart attack,” she let out a shaky breath and placed her hand on her chest for added effect. “Who would you be going with?”

“Uh Kamala,” you played with the fidget ring Yelena gave you after they saved you from Dmitri. “She and a few of her friends are in the city, and they invited me to see Detention Disaster with them.” It was a comedy. You looked at an in-depth review of it, so you knew nothing would trigger you.

“Are you sure? That’s a big step,” you knew what she meant. You rarely went anywhere besides the tower, the park down the street, and your brother’s school. Natasha and Wanda were with you even if you went somewhere outside your comfort zone.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, but you wouldn’t grow or heal if you stayed constant. “But I’d like to try.”

*

“That scene in the cafeteria was so funny,” Bruno said as he walked next to Nakia. “And it was shot so well,” Kamala chuckled and shook her head at her friend.

“Did you enjoy the movie?” She asked you. You were walking behind Bruno and Nakia.

“Yeah, it was funny.” Even after reading the very in-depth review, the movie still managed to make you laugh. Also, the comments Kamala and Bruno made to one another throughout the entire movie added another layer of comedy. They thought they were being quiet. Still, they walked no matter how often Nakia threw popcorn at them. You liked Kamala’s friends, who included you in their group.

“Hey, there is an arcade over here. Do you guys want to go?” Bruno asked. He stopped walking so you could catch up. The arcade was loud and unpredictable. There were too many things to account for.

“It’s up to you,” Kamala said. I can take you back home.” Home was safe and predictable—well, your brothers were not, but they knew your boundaries. But you shook your head.

“An arcade sounds fun,” you said. Today was good, and you wanted to keep hanging out with them. If they wanted to go to an arcade, then you would go no matter how much anxiety swirled in your stomach.

Luckily, it wasn’t busy. A small group of kids was at the basketball game, and some were looking at the prizes through the glass box. You bought a card with your tokens, and Kamala grabbed your hand to show you all her favorite games. You were worried that she thought you were clingy, but she kept a tight hold on you. Playing video games with your brothers helped you with some of the games. You beat Kamala on some of the two-player games.

It was fun, and you pretended you were a normal kid for a split second. No deep trauma that kept you awake at night. No scars that ached when it got cold. You were a kid having fun with her friends.

Until you walked alone as you decided on the next game, you needed a few more tickets and could get a new fidget toy. Suddenly, you felt a body crash against your back, and you stumbled forward. Your first thought of who it was was Kamala. For an Avenger, she was very clumsy. “Hey, watch where the fuck you are going,” you turned around to see a guy; he had to be 18.

“You ran into me,” you said. “You should listen to your advice.” You turned away, but he grabbed your arm and spun you back around. He pushed you against the arcade machine. The corner dug into your lower back, and you let out a pained yelp. Fear washed over you. His mouth was moving, but nothing he said mattered to you. It was happening again. Why? You felt frozen. The way his hands felt on you transported you to Jason, Conner, and Dmitri. Then, a new pair of hands were touching you.

“Hey, Y/n,” the voice said. “You’re safe. I need you to breathe for me.” Your chest felt tight, and it was impossible to get air into your lungs. “What do you need?”

“Hands,” you managed. “Get your hands off of me.” They were removed instantly, and you slid down to the ground, bringing your knees to your chest.

“You know you missed me kicking Bruno’s ass in basketball,” it was Kamala. Kamala was in front of you. “I mean, I was cheating, but don’t tell him that.” You managed a chuckle, which Kamala smiled. “Are you back with me?” You nodded, licking your dry lips. “Bruno and Nakia brought that guy to the manager, and he’s calling the police.” Again, you nodded. “Do you want me to call your parents?”

“No,” you finally spoke. The reality of the situation caught up with you, and embarrassment washed over you. You jumped to your feet. “Shit, sorry that was-”

“Whoa,” Kamala stood up slowly with her hand sup. “It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.” But you did, and if you just walked away from him, none of this would have happened. “No matter what happened, he should have never put his hands on you.” You nodded again. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more private.” She let you go to a small back room used for birthday parties. You were grateful she kept her hands to herself when she opened the door. You slumped in one of the chairs and placed your face in your hands. You heard Kamala sit in front of you. “Are you okay?” She finally asked. You sighed.

“I wanted today to be good and normal,” you said. “But it’s like one step forward and four steps back.”

“Isn’t that the point?” You removed your hands and looked at her. “Healing. Some days are better than others. It’s how it is,” she carefully took your hand, and you allowed her to. “And today was fun. I had fun hanging out with you.”

“I had fun, too,” you admitted. She smiled.

“These things will happen,” she continued. “And that is okay. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I will be there to help you. If you want me to, at least,” she added quickly. You smiled.

“As long as I don’t scare you off.”

“You could never,” she spoke with so much confidence, and without hesitation, you almost believed her.

Delete Created with Sketch.

Today was a bad day. You had to go down to the courthouse to prepare for your testimony against Principal Cool. He wasn’t there, but you had to relive the whole ordeal. After that, Billy and Tommy begged to get ice cream. However, a man mistook you for someone else and grabbed you by the arm. The cherry on top was Kamala was on a mission with Carol. You missed the way she could make you smile and laugh.

It was past midnight. No matter how many times you tried to go to bed, every horrible thing flashed through your mind. Your phone buzzing caused you to jump, not expecting a phone call. Somehow, just seeing her name made you smile. It felt like your first genuine smile all day. “Hi,” you answered softly.

“Did I wake you up? I am so sorry. I can never figure out what time zone I’m in,” you giggled and rolled onto your back.

“No, I’ve been up. What are you doing calling me?” you asked. “I thought you said it was impossible to find cell service up there.” She was quiet, but you heard shuffling as if she was lying down.

“We usually can’t, but we found some. So Carol is calling Val, Monica is calling her mom, and I’m calling you.” Oh. That was a surprise.

“Why are you calling me?” She had her parents, brother, and her high school friends.

“Because I wanted to silly,” she answered. “Now, why can’t you sleep? Are you okay?”

“I’m,” Kamala knew bits and pieces of what happened to you. You strayed away from the more graphic details. It wasn’t easy to open up to your therapist. “I’m,” you sighed. “I miss you,” you admitted instead. Sometimes, it was easier to change the direction of the conversation.

“Awe, I miss you too,” you heard the smile in her voice. “I’ll be home soon, but you failed to answer my question.” you rolled your eyes.

“I’m tired,” you pushed the calm of your hand to your eye. And you were. You wanted to move past all of this and live a normal life.

“Get some sleep. I-shit. I’m sorry, I have to go. Carol needs me.” You were lucky she couldn’t see you, or she would have seen your frown. “Look, if you need anything, you call me, okay? I may not respond right away, but I’m here.” You nodded.

“Stay safe, superhero.”

“Always.”

*

Soft knocking woke you up. Slowly, you sat up and looked towards the sound. “Kamala,” you whispered. The girl was smiling on the other side of your window. You climbed over to it and opened it. “What are you doing?” She smiled.

“To see you. Can I come in? It’s cold,” you stepped out of the way, and she crawled through the window. It was a little clumsy. Her foot got caught on the window ledge. A small yelp, and she rolled off your bed and onto the floor. You cringed at the sound and were grateful that your room was on the first floor. Soon, your room was filled with laughter.

“Are you okay?” You closed the window. Kamala nodded and rubbed the back of her head.

“My pride took a hit,” you giggled and helped her. “Hi,” she smiled and sat down on your bed.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be in space?”

“Well,” she took off her shoes. “The mission is almost over, and Carol doesn’t need me, so she said I could go home.” You raised her eyebrows at her.

“The last time I checked, this isn’t your house,” she said, looking around the room with a confused expression.

“You know, I thought my room looked a little different. There are not enough Captain Marvel posters,” you rolled your eyes. Besides, Carol may not need me, but you do,” you looked at the ground. Kamala placed her arm around your shoulders. That’s okay, you know that? It’s okay to need people.” You shrugged.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered. “You are an Avenger. You have more important things to worry about than someone as broken as me.” Kamala removed her arm and forced you to sit more on the bed. You crossed your legs to give her more room. She grabbed your hands.

“You are not broken. You are healing. That is a big difference. Soon, all these scars will heal,” you stared at your connected hands.

“What if whatever they broke inside me can never be fixed?” Kamala was quiet. She moved your hands so your palms were facing up. Her fingers were arms as she traced the lines on your hand.

“Then you learn to live without those parts,” she bite her lip. “When I discovered the true nature of my abilities, the old me was gone. I had to embrace the person I am now. It’s scary, terrifying really, but you have your family to help you,” she squeezes your hands. “You have me.” You looked at her, and she had a soft smile.

“Can you stay the night?” You whispered.

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” you stood up to get some clothes to change into. Once she was ready for bed, you climbed under the covers with her next to you. “For what it’s worth,” she broke the silence. “I think you are pretty great.” You bent your arm to rest your head on your hand. She was lying on her back.

“You think I’m pretty, superhero,” she rolled her eyes and mirrored the way you were laying.

“What if I did?” You raised your eyebrows in question. “I think you are pretty.”

“Oh,” you squeaked and cringed at the nose that escaped. “Scars and all?” You questioned.

“They are kind of badass,” she said. “Makes you all hot with the ladies.” She wiggled her eyebrows. You chuckled and pushed the girl on her shoulder. She fell onto her back.

“You are such a flirt.” You said.

“Just for you, khobsurat,” you titled your head at the foreign word. “It’s Urdu.”

“What does it mean?” You questioned. Kamala faced you.

“Beautiful.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted. You were never in a normal relationship. Everyone wanted something from you. Everyone tried to hurt you. “I’ve been hurt by so many people that promised not to.” Your biological parents used you to get money. Jason promised to love you. Principal Cook and Coach Griffo were hired to protect students. They all hurt you.

“I can’t promise I won’t mess things up because I’m an idiot,” you smiled. “I can be aggressively passionate, overwhelming, and loud, but I will never hurt you like they hurt you.” You nodded, looking down at the shapes on your blanket. “You don’t believe me.” You wanted to. You tried to jump head first, but you weren’t sure if your heart could handle any more heartbreak. It was already bruised, bandaged, and broken.

“I want to. It’s just-”

“Hard?” Kamala guessed. You nodded. “That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere,” she yawned, covering her mouth. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“Get some sleep. It’s been a long day.” She nodded and closed her eyes.

“Night, khobsurat,” she whispered. Was it weird that you watched her fall asleep? Maybe. But you liked how peaceful she looked. You weren’t sure when the last peaceful night of sleep you had. You were a little jealous. Sighing, you turned to your side and hoped for a nightmare-free sleep.

*

The sound of thundering footsteps woke you up. It was your only warning before your door opened, the force almost falling off the handles. “Breakfast - hey, what are you doing here, Kamala?” You heard the girl behind you groan. Sometime in the middle of the night, you gravitated towards each other. Her arm is secured around your waist. It wasn’t an uncomfortable position. You only allowed your parents and sometimes your brothers to cuddle you.

“Not sleeping,” she mumbled. Her breath caused goosebumps on your skin. That was uncomfortable. Your mind flashed back to every time someone held you down, breathing against your neck. You tensed up. “Hey, are you okay?” You shook your head.

“Mom!” Billy yelled. “Y/n has a friend over that she didn’t ask permission ,and she’s having a panic attack.”

“Billy,” you hissed, but your brother ran off. Kamala removed her arm and created some healthy distance between you and her. You needed some space, not your brother getting Natasha and announcing you were having a panic attack, which you weren’t. Now, the hurried footsteps were from the Black Widow.

“Is she going to kill me?” You heard Kamala whisper as Natasha slowed down. That was a great question you weren’t 100% sure about.

“Kamala, what the hell are you doing here?” She asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in space?”

“Well, you see, Mrs. Romanoff,” Kamala said slowly. “I requested to leave my mission early because she seemed upset.” Your head whipped around to look at her.

“You told me your mission was almost over, and Carol didn’t need you anyone.” Her eyes widened, frantically looking between you and the Russian.

“I did say that, didn’t I? It was a white lie,” she said. “I knew if I told you the truth, you would make me go back, and you sounded so sad on the phone,” she held up her hands, almost to defend herself. “Carol knows the truth, and she approved it. I couldn’t lie to her,” she pointed to Natasha. “She scares me more than you,” she whispered. Her comment made you laugh, but you were still angry at her even though her heart was in the right place. Natasha scuffed.

“I scare you now. Is that so?” You looked at your mom. Her arms were crossed, and she was leaning against the doorway.

“No, ma’am, Mrs. Black Widow, sir.” You laughed so hard that you snorted, which sent Kamala into a fit of laughter. Natasha had a soft smile on her face.

“Breakfast is ready, girls. Come on,”

“Thanks, Mom,” the Black Widow nodded and walked back towards the direction of the kitchen, not bothering to close the door. Kamala let out a shaky breath and slumped back into the mattress. “I can’t believe you lied to me.” You pinched her side, and the girl yelped.

“It was for a good reason,” you rolled your eyes. “Are you telling me if I told you the truth, you’d let me stay?” There was no good reason you had. “Exactly,” she pinched your side back. “How did you sleep?” She sat up and stretched her arms above her head.

“Good, actually,” your mind was blank; no nightmare woke you up.

“Good,” she climbed out of the bed. “Come on. I’m hungry. Your superhero needs food,” she rubbed her stomach.

“My superhero?” She winked at you.

“I like the sound of that,” she teased and grabbed your hand. You were a little stunned, but you led her to the kitchen, where the rest of your family was. My superhero, you liked the sound of it, too.

*

“I’d like to call Y/n Romanoff-Maximoff as my first witness to the stand,” the prosecutor said your name, and your stomach still dropped. This moment was what you were preparing weeks for. All you had to do was take the stand, tell the truth, and be free. Easy minus facing Principal Cook and the side full of his supporters. But you weren’t alone either. Every Avenger that was not on a mission seemed to be there; even the Bartons made the trip to the city. Still, you felt frozen in your seat. Until you felt a hand on your shoulder squeeze it.

“We are right here, bug,” Natasha whispered. “Eyes on us the entire time.” You nodded and forced yourself to stand up. The prosecutor smiled at you as you passed her and headed for the witness stand. You tried to keep your eyes on your section. Even when the Bible was brought over to you so you could swear the truth and nothing but the truth. But you were curious, so your eyes flickered to his defense team. His lawyer was whispering to him, but Cook was watching you. The man smiled and gave you a little wave. You looked away immediately, eyes scanning your section until you found Kamala. She smiled, and the weight on your chest disappeared. You let out a shaky breath. You could do this. You could do this.

*

“I am so proud of you,” Wanda said for what felt like the 10th time once the trial ended. Her arms were wrapped tightly around you.

“Alright, darling,” Natasha smiled. “Don’t hog her. She’s got other people to thank for coming.” With a sigh, she let you go. You made your way around the large group right outside the courthouse. You thanked everyone for their support and tried to ignore the press taking your picture. Kamala was the last person you went up to. Immediately, you slumped into her arms.

“Hi,” she whispered. “Are you ready to go home?” You nodded against her. She took your hand and led you to your parent’s car. There was no need to say goodbye as everyone was invited to the house for a small party. It was your one request to do after the trial. You wanted everyone close by for a gentle reminder you weren’t alone.

Once again, you found yourself at the fire pit as you watched the party. Kamala sat down next to you and handed you a plate of food. “Are your parents enjoying themselves?” You saw them talking with Natasha and Wanda. They weren’t at the trail; they stayed at the house to set everything up.

“They are. I hope you are ready to hear many stories of when I was a baby,” you smiled and took a bite of your hamburger. “You know Yelena gave me the shovel talk,” your eyes widened. You knew when the Blonde found out you were dating Kamala; it was only a matter of time before the ‘talk’ happened. “It was nothing bad. She did not threaten bodily harm,” you laughed, a little surprised, and sipped your water. “She did make me promise something.”

“Are you going to tell me what that promise was?” Yelena was with the Bartons. Nate was handing on her back with his arms around her neck. She caught you staring and winked at you.

“She told me this has been the happiest she’s seen you,” you looked at the girl next to you. She was looking forward, but you saw her eyes flick to you. It wasn’t the first time you heard that statement. You look happier. Everyone said it in their way. “Is that true? Do you feel happier?” It was a complicated question because there were days you were on cloud nine. Others felt it impossible to move forward. But she made it better.

“Yeah, I am,” you admitted. “So, what promise did you make to her?” She took her free hand in yours.

“Just to keep you happy,” she kissed your cheek. “And you know how much I love making you smile.” You rolled your eyes and felt your body warm up.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you heard Kate yell. “I think you should cool off.” You gasped as the cool water drenched you and Kamala. You ignored Kamala’s laughter and looked at who was responsible: your brother, the Bartons, and Peter.

“Tommy, Billy, I’m going to kill you.”

“Awe, why?” Tommy whined. “It wasn’t just us.” That was true, but you had a free pass to bully them.

“Besides, it was mom’s idea,” your head snapped to look at the Black Widow, who was now with her sister and Laura. She was smirking at you. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Give me your water gun,” you said to Billy. Your brother looked at you, then Natasha.

“I’ll speak kindly at your funeral, soldier,” he saluted you and handed you the water gun. You placed your now ruined food on Kamala’s plate.

“Khobsurat,” she stood up and grabbed your hand. “Are you sure about this? You have a lot of life to live.”

“Oh my god, guys,” you laughed. “I’ll be fine.” Well, you hopped anyway. Besides, you knew Wanda wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You were secretly her favorite. You pumped the water gun and looked at the Black Widow. She shook her head and mouthed ‘no.’ You winked at her and used your powers to turn invisible. Since the Avengers saved you from Dmitri, you rarely used your powers. Besides the occasional training session Natasha and Wanda put you through. You were grateful for that; what they taught you kept you alive. It felt good to use your powers for fun.

You watched the Black Widow walk over to Wanda and wrap her arms around her waist. She was talking with Maria and Sam. Clever or suicide to use the witch as a shield, but it would not stop you. Carefully, you walked closer to them. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” Wanda asked. Natasha placed her head on her shoulder.

“Can I not love on my beautiful wife?” The witch narrowed her eyes at her.

“Who did you piss off?” You slapped your hand over your mouth to stop the sound of your laughter. Wanda glanced around the yard. “Get off of me.” But Natasha held onto her tighter. “Natalia Alianovna Romanova, I will not be your shield because you messed with our enhanced daughter.” Sam laughed, throwing his head back.

“You got your full government name,” he teased. You are in the dog house.” The Black Widow pouted, but her arms remained locked around Wanda.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Wanda’s voice echoed in your head. Usually, it would scare you. Now, it was a calming presence when you felt her magic enter your mind.

‘Sorry, mama,’ You appeared behind Natasha and unleashed your water onto her back. Natasha gasped and moved Wanda to take some of it. You stopped immediately but still got her wet. You cringed. “That was not my fault,” you said. The witch sighed.

“I know,” Red Magic took the water gun out of your hands. “Run Romanoff.” The Black Widow’s eyes were filled with fear, and you laughed as she took off towards Tommy, who threw his water gun at her. Yes, you were happier—all thanks to them.

[porterdavis]

When I was young, like six years old or so, I used to hold my breath when we drove past a cemetery. I feared breathing in dead people air. Heaven help me if we had to stop.

Well, I’m now holding my breath. We need to get past this before I can breathe freely again.

I think when the smoke clears Kamala will be President. I can’t imagine a world where more people choose a lying conman, a felon and adjudicated rapist.

I want no part of that world.

[soon-palestine]

Tim Walz is a regular speaker at the Minnesota Israel lobby where he said anyone who refuses to recognize the genocidal Israeli rape-torture entity is an "anti-Semite", just recently said he fully stands behind Israel's rape and genocide of Palestinians, and wants the Zionist lobby to write the curriculum on Israel and Palestine to erase Palestinians from existence. He literally wants to indoctrinate and brainwash children in school into Zionism and anti-Palestinian genocidal racism. He said that explicitly. He wants to teach kids to hate Palestinians and support their genocide. That is fucking insane. This guy is a fucking deranged freak. And they're memeing him into an epic based radical.

Tim Walz is a fanatical deranged fully owned Israel lobby plaything, exactly like Kamala Harris, and Shapiro, and all the other Democrats. There is no difference in policy that is going happen with these fucking freaks in charge. They're identical to Genocide Joe. Anyone who says otherwise with bullshit coconut memes is lying to you.

They are liars, intentionally lying to you, and pretending like there will be any difference. There will be no difference. Both will keep supporting the genocide of Palestinians because they're owned by the Israel lobby like John Mearsheimer just recently reiterated. As he says, without the US, Israel is nothing. It is beset with crises and on the verge of collapse, but the US keeps bailing it out with endless weapons, funding, and their own military moving in to protect this rape-torture death-cult masquerading as a society.

They will allow Israel to do whatever it wants, because it is Israel Uber Alles for these genocidal Zionist scum.

The only thing that has a possibility of changing it is when Palestinians, Arab and Muslim Americans and all those who oppose the genocide in states like Michigan say explicitly that they will not vote for Genocidal Zionist Queen Kamala Harris and Tim Walz unless they right now, at this very moment, make a policy change. Not bullshit abstract rhetoric and promises, right now. Now.

Don't buy the bullshit about "well she's just VP now, she has no power but she and Walz get in they will suddenly become epic and based and stop the genocide, just vote for them!" She is the head of the Democratic Party as the nominee she can force Genocide Joe to take a position if she wants to rescue her Presidential campaign and announce her own explicit policy of stopping funding, arms and diplomatic and military protection to the Israeli rape-cult. If she chooses not to, it means she is fine with losing and sticking with the Israel lobby.

I want you to reflect on just how unbelievably deranged the Tim Walz position of "we need to change the curriculum to brainwash our children into supporting Zionist genocide of evil Palestinian sub-human barbarians" is. His main selling point is "I was a high school teacher!", and he's endorsing pushing genocidal propaganda onto children to get them to support genocide. Holy shit. This by itself is disqualifying. Just change the context. Imagine he said: "All these people who oppose the Russian war on Ukraine, they're all brainwashed by TikTok and Twitter. We need to change the curriculum and you, the Russia lobby in the US, will have to change it for us, so we can brainwash our kids into supporting the war on Ukraine." Or even more absurd because it's difficult to even imagine it: Say he said it about Israel. Reverse the order: "All these people supporting the genocide of Palestinians are doing it based on propaganda from the Israel lobby and Zionists. We need to change the curriculum in schools to ensure that our children will learn the true history of the Nakba and the genocide and rape and massacre of Palestinians by Zionists and oppose it." He would not only not be VP, he would not be a dog-catcher in Minnesota, even though this is actually true. This curriculum would actually be based in actual history and not deranged Zionist propaganda. But he said it about Palestinians. He said he wants the genocidal Zionist Israel lobby in his state and every other state and country on earth to determine the curriculum of what children are forced to learn. Because his policy is not state-limited, he's expressing a universal view there about what he believes is best to teach all children everywhere. Tim Walz wants every US state and country on earth to let genocidal Zionists write their high school curriculum such that the rape and genocide of Palestinians is made justifiable by Israeli propaganda about how pristine Saintly white European Zionist Jews came to an empty desert land and made it bloom and then those fake Arabs made up their Palestinian identity to kill them because they're by their nature evil sub-human monsters. That's the Israeli Zionist narrative that Tim Walz wants every child on earth to be brainwashed into so that TikTok and Twitter posts of Israel beheading, maiming, massacring and raping Palestinian babies, children, boys, girls, women and men will be acceptable to them. They'll see it and go: "They deserve it, my high school teacher taught me they're evil barbarian terrorists." Tim Walz wants to dehumanize Palestinians through mass universal brainwashing of children so that their rape and genocide is made justifiable to them. This is utter madness. This guy is a fucking deranged and depraved monstrous freak. Holy shit.

[mtftm-ironman]

Hey, it's been a minute.

Let me tell you boys and boys in progress what happened.

I got into this kink for political reasons. I'm American. You may notice that I stopped posting around when Kamala showed up because I foolishly allowed myself to hope that she had a chance in hell. I sort of assumed back in, what, late May, that the very worst I'd heard was a foregone conclusion. So I figured I would just get out ahead of it. Hence, this blog.

I've come to my senses and realized that that is kind of ridiculous. It reached a head in October when I had a panic attack and went to the hospital. I'm okay now...I just needed to change some things.

I made an appointment the other day to yeet my balls into the phantom zone. So that's pretty cool. We will see if it actually happens.

Andi is a character, I'm sorry, I've been lying to you. This is just a kink. In case it wasn't obvious this whole post is ooc. Please tell me in my DMs and the replies that it really isn't a kink though, I promise I'll jerk off to it like a good boy. 👉👈

I'll be around. This is still hotter than hell, and I like writing. I'm a little scared of what I'm capable of writing if I allow the muse to take me. So watch for that.

Sorry to burst your bubble. Continue jerking off to whatever it was you were jerking off to before. Good boy. <3

[pocketsizedquasar-3]

you know. white liberals would be far less annoying (still deeply annoying) and far less difficult to take seriously (still deeply difficult) if they stopped lying to themselves and everyone else about what they were doing. ‘cause y’all either sound completely stupid and removed from reality at best or violently callous at worst.

(and before anyone fails their reading comprehension here, i am not telling anyone to vote or not vote or who to vote or not vote for. get off my dick.)

but no, you’re not doing “real leftism” by voting for kamala (something i have actually seen countless people say. “real leftists” would vote for kamala!!1!!1!! if you don’t vote for her ur not a “real leftist!!!!”). that’s not what that is. words mean things. you’re actually engaging in pretty textbook liberalism. it’s not “real leftism” to vote for a genocidal fascist who is actively employing genocidal fascistic policies both overseas and domestically, and who has pledged gladly to continue doing so. (again, bc this is the bad reading comprehension website, i’m not telling you if you vote for kkkamala ur not a “real leftist” (mostly because that’s meaningless); i’m saying that that act itself is not a """leftist""" action). if you feel the need to justify what you’re doing to yourself by pretending you’re doing ~real leftism~, stop.

you're not “stopping fascism” or “saving democracy” or whatever else. you’re not “stopping fascism” by voting for a fascist. you’re not “saving democracy” by voting for a fascist. if you genuinely can’t see in this current moment that kamala harris & the democrats are fascists, you are deliberately ignoring and excusing fascism as long as it’s happening to nonwhite people. it is willful, deliberate ignorance at this point and it is violent. you genuinely do not see victims of fascism unless it happens to white people.

you’re not “protecting palestinians” by voting for kamala. you’re not making their chances better or being better for them or improving their conditions. you’re not “more likely” to sway kamala on palestine; you can’t even threaten to withhold your support for her because of her wanton slaughtering of palestinians. 13 months of ongoing genocide and ongoing mass protest movements and multiple polls showing that she would literally guarantee the win in key swing states if she would just call for an arms embargo / ceasefire as part of her platform have not swayed her. she constantly, constantly reaffirms her willful, enthusiastic support of this genocide. she has said over and over again that she will not end her support for israel, that she would not have done anything differently than biden, that she has no intentions to stop sending israel arms and money so they can keep slaughtering palestinians and now lebanese. you are not “protecting” or helping palestinians by voting for her. keep their names out of your mouths.

you’re not protecting """minorities""" or """poc""" either. not when the candidate is a cop whose administration has already funneled billions of dollars into the police and the military, who is priding herself on wanting to create the most lethal military, on being tougher on the border&immigration than trump, who is happily continuing to perpetuate racist atrocity propaganda to justify the mass slaughter of palestinians, who continues to reaffirm and support the escalation of imperialism and war even elsewhere in the so-called middle east, who is gladly seeking (and securing) endorsements by racist white supremacist republicans (like dick fucking cheney. come on), whose administration has been for four years enthusiastically accelerating the climate crisis, whose campaign has been littered with examples of both their supporters and the politicians themselves being virulently racist. you’re not protecting us. you’re not helping us.

your candidate wants us dead. your candidate wants me dead. your candidate wants my people in iran dead. your candidate wants my sister peoples in palestine and in lebanon dead. your candidate is actively orchestrating their slaughter.

kamala might be better for you, white liberal american. fine. vote for her if you wish. no one is stopping you. but stop white knighting about it. stop pretending you’re doing this for anyone but yourself. stop lying to yourself and everyone else about what you’re doing. stop speaking over us the with fucking audacity that you’re somehow doing us a favor, and stop talking down to us, palestinians especially, like they are children who need to be ~explained~ the right way to save them. stick your white savior complex up your ass.

vote however you want, but stop lying about what you’re doing and who you’re protecting.

and if you want my vote too? fucking earn it.

[mythica-ithaca]

I've decided to stop typing out the same responses to the same braindead US Liberal questions so I'm making this post in order to save time.

•"But Kamala has called for a ceasefire!"

She has called for a temporary humanitarian pause, which she and Biden have worked tirelessly for months to completely rebrand into a call for "ceasefire". If they truly wanted a permanent ceasefire they wouldn't have just sent Israel $20+ billion in financial aid and weapons. Use your brains. That is not something that someone who opposes more violence would do. Empty words mean nothing. She has not taken any actions so far that actually demonstrate a work towards a permanent ceasefire, in fact all her actions have been in complete opposite to her calls for one. She is lying to you and telling you what you want to hear in order to get elected. And you are letting her by falling it and not demanding any sort of results. And just because she wont spell it out for you like Trump will, her "ironclad support" for Israel translates to her allowing them to "finish the job" should it come down to it as well. There is no other way to interpret that.

•Trump can't be reasoned with but Kamala can be convinced/pushed left after we vote her in!

You people said this about Biden as well and look how well that worked out. Around 200k Palestinians are dead, and so is Roe v Wade, which they had the opportunity to codify and they didn't. His own staff were protesting in front of the white house and he didn't budge an inch. Neither will Kamala. You are deluding yourselves into believing that after you give these people all the power in the world that you have any sway over them whatsoever. Our votes are our leverage, and you are throwing yours away by voting for words over actions. You get exactly what you vote for, there is no putting in the work afterwards. And a vote for Kamala at this point is a vote for Genocide.

•"Why are you protesting Kamala and not Trump?!"

First of all. Do you people think he can be reasoned with or not? What is the point of going to his rallies with his violent supporters if you think he can't be swayed anyways? Cause if he's not going to change his position and he's not going to drop out, what exactly do you think it would accomplish?

Second of all, Trump isn't the one committing genocide right now. The democrats are in power. They are the ones responsible for this and the ones with the power to stop it. They deserve to be protested.

Third of all, we aren't voting for Trump regardless. Kamala is the one who needs to change her position and show actual results in order to earn our votes. If you think you can "push them left" then prove it and stop bitching when people actually start pushing instead of sitting around in complacency just because the dems are in charge. Supporting a genocide hurts her prospects way more than having anti genocide protestors at her rallies does. She wants to be president of the united states, she deserves constant pressure and criticism.

•"Trump will be even worse for Palestine! Vote for the lesser evil!"

This is incredibly callous, cruel and dismissive of what is happening to Palestine under the democrats right now. Gaza is completely destroyed already. Families are torn apart. Thousands of babies and children and men and women are literally being torn apart every. single. day. And every single day Kamala and Biden wake up and decide not to stop it. To not even condemn it. Their administration actively lies about it. We are far past the point of it getting worse. There is nothing worse than hell on earth. Would you ever tell a jewish person that the holocaust "could have been worse", simply because not every single jew was wiped out? By saying it can always get worse, you are ignoring and tolerating how catastrophic things are right now.

This is what voting for the "lesser" evil and voting blue no matter who has come to. There is no option that doesn't result in continued genocide. There is no lesser evil anymore. Only one that you will personally benefit from more than the other. You cannot look at what is happening in Palestine and Sudan and Congo and begin to tell me that the democrats are in any way "less" evil. You are downplaying the severity and suffering of these conflicts by implying that, and it's disgusting.

You need to realize that this line of thinking is enabling you to tolerate and excuse certain levels of depravity and that is unacceptable. In no world is the a "less evil" form of genocide.

•"What you expect Kamala to do about it right now? Shes not even president yet!"

This is probably the most pathetic attempt to absolve her of any responsibility. She is the fucking Vice President. She is not just there for show, she has power and influence. She is 100% able to disagree with and speak out against policy. She could have even resigned in protest if she was truly disgusted by Bidens actions. She acts his advisor and is currently not giving any push back to Biden on his policies. Biden can't just fire her and she's already the nominee.

•"We need to save ourselves first in order to help others!"

We are in a sinking ship and you are pushing peoples heads underwater and drowning them in order to get yourselves to a lifeboat, all while promising that once you're safe you'll help pull others up. But by the time you save yourselves everyone else is already dead and you're stranded all alone.

Nobody wants your fucking help. They want you to stop giving power to people fundamentally indifferent to human life so you can live just a bit more comfortably at the expense of everyone else's suffering. Stop trying to play the saviors of the world. They know that you will always have an excuse as to why it's not the right time for you to help anyways. They know you will never put anyone or anything before yourselves. And you all know it too.

•"There's never going to be a perfect candidate! Get over it!"

In what world is demanding someone be against genocide equal to demanding a perfect candidate? I'm aware that I am not going to ever agree with a politician, or anyone really, on every single issue. I'm absolutely willing to make sacrifices in certain areas. Genocide is a red line. Just like I wouldn't vote for anyone who was against abortion or lgbt rights, I'm not voting for anyone who is fundamentally indifferent to human rights.

•"So you want to just sacrifice (insert any vulnerable group in America)?"

No. It is a myth that you can sacrifice one group to liberate another. You can't sacrifice Palestinians in order to save your own rights. Ask yourselves why you should even have to. There are better ways to secure rights like abortion and healthcare than voting blue no matter who. Stop letting the democrats dangle abortion right over your heads in order to scare you into silence. Our rights and Palestinian live are not mutually exclusive, you are allowed to demand both. You are not allowed to act like our lives are somehow more important than theirs. What are you going to do when it's abortion, lgbt, disabled, or bipoc rights that have to be sacrificed to save democracy? Because it will eventually come to that if we let this "lesser evil" shit continue and refuse to fight for our rights and just keep giving more of them up in order to preserve others just a little longer.

•"You want a revolution and yet you haven't firebombed a Walmart??"

I mean. Considering that you all insist you can just sit back vote your way out of fascism by backing whatever candidate they decide to throw at you without making a single demand. Yeah, you're right, it's starting to look more likely that violence will be the only solution to this problem. But we aren't there yet. Because far too many of you are too comfortable living the way we do at the expense of people suffering all over the world. Until a significant amount of you become actually uncomfortable with the way things are, instead of just saying that you are and then continuing to reap the benefits of living in the empire, there won't be a revolution. Violent or otherwise. Because you're all content to play this rigged game. You are just comfortable enough with the way things are to be more scared of losing what little you have than fighting for what we deserve. A better world is still too inconvenient for you to do more than cast a vote every four years.

RIP to Aaron Bushnell btw. He lit himself on fire in order to protest Americas role in all this. I'd say that's braver than firebombing a walmart.

•"So you want us to just not vote at all then!?"

I want you to stop voting for empty words and demand action before throwing away your leverage. There is no pushing them left after you give them all the power in the world. You get exactly what you vote for. You say that voting third party is throwing your vote away, but what the hell do you call voting for empty promises over and over again? Bullshitting harm reduction? Because I don't think constant school shootings and police brutality is harm reduction.

The democrats have been promising $15 minimum wage for so long that it isn't even sufficient anymore. Promised to codify Roe. Didn't deliver. Promised assault rifle bans. Didn't deliver. Haven't abolished ICE. Haven't defunded or reformed the police. Haven't guaranteed parental leave or child care. Students are still drowning in debt. Kamala has stated that she will not push for medicare for all. How is it that they've been incapable of any of these things for years after having majority multiple times, and yet somehow the republicans are supposed to be able to pass project 2025 with ease?

I am telling you to demand that these people start earning your votes. Because you have made them entirely too comfortable by telling them to their faces that you will vote for them no matter what their policies are by chanting, 'vote blue no matter who'. Every single time you do that, you sacrifice something else instead of gaining anything for the vulnerable people you say you care about.

•"Democracy is on the ballot! We have to save democracy!"

You mean the democracy in which we have two choices, except one choice will be the end of democracy, so we really only have one choice, and that choice was chosen for us because the current president refused to step down until after the primaries, where his party made sure he had no real opponent in the first place, so they just went with his right hand man as a replacement? The democracy currently forcing you choose the annihilation of an entire people in order to maybe secure some of your own rights for just a little longer? That democracy? Does that sound like a system worth saving anymore in the first place?

You will not save democracy by committing genocide in front of the entire fucking world. And if you could, it wouldn't be worth saving.

[foxy-kitsune-fox]

Black people tell me vote Kamala Harris but it will never happen, I see her as an Indian not Black, so stop lying. Donald Trump is a better option to be trusted and he’s the opposite of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris when it comes to economy, immigration, inflation and uncensored.

~ Baron Tremayne Caple A.K.A. Foxy Fox/Foxy Kitsune Fox/Fox Man/Fox King/King Fox/Gemini Man/Autism Man/Rainbow Man Is A Metrosexual/God Of Autism/King Of Autism/God Of Asperger/King Of Asperger 🦊

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Josephine Harvey at HuffPost:

Lara Trump, without a hint of irony, on Jan. 6 accused Democrats of lying about wanting a peaceful transition of power and claimed that they are “trying to thwart the will of the American people.” Earlier on Monday, Vice President Kamala Harris oversaw a smooth congressional ceremony certifying Donald Trump’s election win, four years after the president-elect’s lies about voter fraud incited a mob of his supporters to attack the U.S. Capitol in an attempt to stop that same process for President Joe Biden. Trump has still not stopped lying that the 2020 election was “stolen” from him and asserts the violent offenders that day were “peaceful.” But Lara Trump, former co-chair of the Republican National Committee, says it’s Democrats who are “great at lying and great at gaslighting.” “They’ve lied about just about everything,” she said on Fox News’ “Hannity,” claiming Democrats “lied when they said they wanted a smooth and peaceful transition.”

She accused them of “throwing everything in Donald Trump’s way, trying to thwart the will of the American people” and called it “absolutely disgraceful.”

Hey Lara: Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

From the 01.06.2025 edition of FNC's Hannity:

[mugiwara-lucy]

Wow just when you think Couch Boy can’t sink any lower:

So he’s not only applauding a woman for being trashy and crass but he’s also saying women voting for Harris are doing so on “Menstrual Madness”:

And DON'T forget, he admitted to LYING about Haitians eating dogs and cats just for clicks:

This guy is a disgusting piece of shit and with nine days until the election, I’d just like to say this serves as a reminder to NOT get complacent just because things are going great for us! If we take our feet off the brakes and stop now, not ONLY does that mean Trump wins but given his poor condition (the mother fucker has been canceling events and sways like a lost puppy), I have no doubt we’ll end up with PRESIDENT VANCE after a year or two. 🤢

And given his comments; DEFINITELY expect for the 19th Amendment to be repealed. If not outright repealed, I have no doubt it’ll be “sent back to the states” 🙄 And sadly that's best case scenario.....

BUT to AVOID that hell; Here is the link to register to vote along with the deadlines varying by state! Also, your own vote isn’t enough! Get as many people as you can to vote for Kamala be it your friends, cousins, parents, grandparents, old friends from high school and college, coworkers, boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives, stepchildren (if they’re 18 and over) and the list goes on and on but every vote counts! ALSO PLEASE check your registration DAILY because MAGA WILL purge your voter registration!!

And early voting has started! And if you don’t wanna vote on November 5th, Early Voting is another option! Like I said get as many people as you know and try early voting that way you can avoid MAGA fuckery on November 5th! Here’s the link down below listing the dates by state:

Mail in Ballots are ANOTHER option I highly recommend!! And like I said get as many people as you can to take advantage of this option! BUT if you decide to go with Mail In/Absentee Ballots; PLEASE mail your ballots at the ACTUAL USPS office!! That way MAGAts won't fuck with it.

And lastly voting abroad is something I’ve seen people take advantage of and i HIGHLY recommend it!! Here’s the link!!

I'll end this post with this:

If you get complacent AGAIN like in 2016, you WILL end up with PRESIDENT JD VANCE.

Choose Wisely.

[eaudrey35]

All these ppl running criticizing Kamala Harris just STFU. She did what she was suppose to do.

Blame falls squarely in these lying white women who went n a booth and voted their whiteness first and womenhood second

Blame goes to these black men who even when Kamala Harris laid a plan out for them it wasn't good enough. They went into a booth and voted for stop and frisk and complete police immunity to kill them

Blame goes to the Hispanic and Asian community who need to be close to whiteness will hurt plenty of their family members

The Blame goes to the elderly who can barely make it but put their Social security at risk.

Blame goes to Union workers who voted against their interest and now will see collective bargaining be destroyed

Blame goes to the middle class working ppl who saw that Elon Musk himself said there will be temporary suffering yet never gave a time limit r said millionaires and billionaires would have to suffer.

All these groups of ppl will have a fuck around and find out moment