#that would actually be hillarious

[the-crimson]

Omg what if la cucorucho put a wire tap in bbh’s lamp knowing he’d treasure it and cary it everywhere with him XD

Biggest plot twist ever lmao

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

anyways. some ieytd character opinion headcanons bc i've been thinking about doing it for a little while. its read left to right (character in question is the column, character who they're reacting to is the row)

also made a separate version beneath the cut with ieytd3 spoilers, but the first one is spoiler free tee hee 💕sorry it's so small its because i have too much to say smh

[ribbonknot]

sometimes i feel like rn it's really understated just how bad things could be if trump wins. like, actually. i feel like it's being forgotten that despite how bad things are right now, they would surely get WORSE.

[stuckcampinginalaska]

simon “receding hairline” henriksson

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

i want my life series ace attorney au to be made as a fangame and i want one of the ccs to play it and voice it if that happened i could die happy

[oldbaton]

Tbh I don’t think anyone would have beat Trump in 16. Now that we have the benefit and clarity of hindsight, the DNC was pretty unaware of the forces at work and was taking certain states for granted. And they would have whether it was Bernie or Clinton or had Biden decided to run in 16 after all. That said, picking a hugely unpopular candidate was. A choice.

[iceclew]

Epilogue:

(No for real I loved this, lemme give you a smooch on the cheek for gifting us this treasure of slutty Capon right here)

Hello, yes, I did the thing!

In which Hans spends the duration of a feast whispering filthy things into his bodyguard's ear. 2.7k words, rated somewhere between M and E (there's dirty talk but they don't fuck on-page).

⚔ ⚔ ⚔

With one hand on his sword and the other curled at his side, Henry looks around the room. The fine banqueting hall is full of chatter, nobles discussing - well, whatever it is they talk about when a war isn't on. Tonight, for once, he doesn’t have to care.

He's acting in official capacity this evening: not as a false noble, but as Lord Capon’s bodyguard. Which means that while Hans gets to strut about the hall in his obscenely tight pourpoint, Henry has been dressed head to toe in the finest armour Capon can afford.

Which means, of course, that it is very fine. 

Hans knows the difference between armour where the expense comes from aesthetics and that which is actually useful, at least. The armour is surprisingly light, well made and moveable. But there's still a stiff layer of metal between Henry and the rest of the world: between him and Hans’s flesh.

Hans himself is in his element this evening. He swans about like he owns the room, chatting up nobles and charming serving girls. Once, it would have made Henry jealous, watching Hans pour his attention upon other people. But now that bite is gone: Hans is his, just as much as he belongs to Hans.

He knows full well that Hans is aware of this, too. It's a fight with no true sting. He may be whispering into the ear of a blushing kitchen girl, but he's looking at Henry, waiting for a response. 

Even Hans’s smiles are filthy. After the initial shock of consummation - something that left them both softly reeling - Hans is back to being his true, typical, randy self. And now uninterested in a string of bath wenches and merchant's daughters and eager ladies, the full unconstrained force of Hans’s passion is pointed squarely at Henry. Henry has never been in a joust, but he suspects the the feeling he gets in his chest when Hans stares at him across the hall is akin to the feeling of being struck with a lance.

It's addictive. Henry isn't some pure untouched virgin, but it's never been like this.

He watches as Hans detaches himself from a group of lords and saunters over. Henry lets himself drink in the sight of him, his hair falling in his face, that God-cursed waist. Hans is looking at him with equal hunger. Henry swallows heavily under his mail.

“Everything alright, my Lord?”

It feels a little odd using such formalities, but no one here knows them. They don't know about Lord Capon and his odd relationship with his page-turned-guard. They have to play a part, tonight.

Hans grins. His teeth flash. “Quite alright, Henry,” he replies. “Nothing to report. If anything it's quite dull.”

That it is. “No invaders today then?”

“Doesn't look like it.” Hans licks his lips and steps closer, lowering his voice. “At least, not yet. I am fully expecting an invasion…” he draws the word out, “upon my person later tonight.” 

Hans reaches out - Christ, it's such a tiny movement that no one else would even notice, yet it makes Henry sweat - and rests a fingertip gently against Henry's breastplate.

“So you best be prepared.”

Henry cannot manage a true response before Hans sweeps away, immediately dragged into another conversation. 

So it's going to be one of those evenings. Hans's tongue is skilled in more ways than one, but his favourite use for that particular muscle is using it to drip sweet words into Henry's ear.

Although sweet may be the wrong way to describe it. Hans speaks utter filth, and he does so constantly. It doesn't matter if they're in Hans’s chambers or on the road or in a tavern or attending a fucking feast, Hans will be there, a string of sumptuous promises tripping from his lips.

His promises are often absurd, often overblown; bawdy and keen and salacious. He is not, perhaps, the best wordsmith in Bohemia. But something about his words makes Henry trip over himself.

He takes a breath, trying to regain his composure. The chances that he'll be needed as a bodyguard are slim, but the part of his brain that is always alert is clamouring at him. Hans and his syrupy promises are of no use to either of them if they're dead.

Still, he can allow himself a little indulgence. That pourpoint really is indecent, and the new hose - which Hans claims are extremely fashionable - are so tight that the bastard may as well not be wearing any at all.

Henry shuffles on the spot, finally ripping his gaze away. It's going to be a long night.

“Henry!” Henry’s head snaps around at Hans's demanding tone. “Over here, would you?”

It seems that Hans’s requirements are for a more personal bodyguard. Henry makes his way over. Hans's smile is devilish.

It's going to be a very long night.

Henry places himself by Hans's side. Hans could be planning all manner of things: he could have detected a genuine threat, and wants Henry close. He could be showing off how important and wealthy he is to require a personal guard. Most likely, he's bored, and desperate for someone else to talk to.

The man Hans is talking to looks Henry up and down. His nose wrinkles, but he's clearly spotted the expensive armour. 

“So this is the one you've been telling me about, Lord Capon? Your bodyguard?”

Showing off, then, Henry thinks.

“Indeed it is,” Hans boasts. “My God, you should see him fight. He can do things with his sword that would have a man on his knees, begging for release. A relentless swordsman.”

He catches Henry's eye. Hans gaze flicks down: eyes, sword, the spot where Hans damn well knows Henry's cock is half-hard behind layers of metal and cloth.

“Is such protection required at a simple banquet?”

Hans turns back to his new friend.

“You are clearly uneducated in the banquets I have attended in the past,” Hans grins. “He is absolutely required. Him and his sword.” He glances again at said sword. “I hope you brought some oil for that thing. Would hate for you to go in unprepared.”

“Absolutely,” Henry responds. “Nice and slick, sir.”

The other man doesn't seem to realise what's going on.

“Well done on finding yourself such a capable man,” he says, ignoring Henry entirely. “If only we could all be so well-guarded.”

“I count myself extremely lucky,” Hans says, preening a little. “Come, let's find more wine.”

As he leads the nobleman away, he shoots a look over his shoulder back towards Henry. He smiles, then in a slow, languid movement licks his lips.

Henry grips the hilt of his sword a little harder and follows him.

It's a short while after that Hans is sauntering towards the tables, where their hosts have laid out a fine spread. He looks at the morsels on offer, then, with deliberate slowness, takes an overripe plumb between thumb and forefinger and pops it into his mouth. Juice drips slowly down his lip. His wine-darkened tongue darts out to chase it.

Not once does he break eye contact.

“Now that looks like something I want in my mouth…”

Henry stills as Hans leans past, reaching for a plate just behind him. Hans steps closer, bending down in such a way that when he speaks, only Henry can hear him.

“Although I can think of one thing I’d prefer to have my lips around,” he says. “But the filling isn't nearly as sweet.”

He rights himself, a kolach in his hand. No one else is around: no one close enough to eavesdrop, at least.

“How long do you think it would take them to notice,” he drawls, “if I dragged you behind that curtain—” he gestures with his head, but Henry can't break his gaze— “And got on my knees for you? Do you think they’d hear you moan?” 

Hans grins. God, those teeth, that forked tongue behind them. Henry can hardly breathe. It takes all his self control not to tug Hans into a kiss right there and then; to Hell itself with their unsuspecting audience. But he tightens his shoulders, sets his feet, focuses. Still, it feels like there’s a fucking fire in his belly.

Before he can mount any suitable reply, Hans leans back. He hasn’t moved that far away, yet it feels like miles.

“Bit hard with all this on, though.” Hans flicks a nail against Henry's armour with a ping. “And they'll definitely notice if you take all that off. Some poor bastard will trip over it.”

“I suppose you'll have to wait,” Henry mutters, finally regaining the ability to speak. 

“Not so fast,” Hans laughs. “I bought this for you for a reason. It's got plenty of movement in the knees, I made sure of that. Your cock might be covered, but your mouth—” he looks at Henry’s mouth like it's a sugar-coated tart, ready to bite— “is perfectly serviceable.”

Fuck. Henry wishes he were as quick as Hans in this game; Hans can tease and tempt like there’s no tomorrow, but Henry’s attempts to riposte often get smothered by the fog of lust that Hans inevitably leaves his mind swimming in. Before he can respond with much more than a mumble, Hans gives him an enormous smile and heads away from the food.

“Come on, bodyguard,” he calls over his shoulder. “And grab something to eat, will you? I don’t want you complaining about how hungry you are later.”

Henry does as he’s told.

It continues like this all night. Hans is always cockier when he’s bored, and this evening - stuck with people whose most interesting stories are about escaped pigs or fucking taxes - he is extremely bored. He gets even bolder, waiting until whoever he’s speaking to has only just turned away before leaning down and muttering something to Henry, voice low and dark:

I wonder how this wine would taste licked off of your neck? 

I hope you can remember how to do that thing with your fingers.

I wonder if you’ll still call me ‘My Lord’ when I’ve got my hand wrapped around your cock.

It’s terribly risky, Henry knows - any one of the guests could hear Hans and call him out. But then again, who would argue with him? Who would risk the ire of the Lord of Pirkstein over what could easily have been a misheard command? And who would risk the ire of his bodyguard? 

That, he suspects, is why Hans does it. It’s the risk. He loves playing the part, getting away with something, being something other than the men around him. He loves riling Henry, too: loves heating his cheeks and boiling his blood and getting his prick stiff without even touching him.

He’s lucky that Henry loves it just as much.

The evening is, at last, coming to a close. Drunken nobles are stumbling to their rooms and horses, the hall thinning out. Hans is preparing to make the final rounds: a memorable goodbye is more important than a generous greeting, after all. He’s chatting to an elderly widow, who is keen to take him to talk to someone before he leaves, when he pauses before she can drag him away.

“One moment, my good lady. I just have something to tell my bodyguard: one can never be too careful, after all.”

She’s heard of Hans’s previous adventures. She gives him a knowing smile. “Of course, Sir.”

Hans quickly darts forwards, angling his head down towards Henry’s ear like a man bestowing a deeply important and thus, utterly secret, command.

“When we return to my room, I'm going to ride you harder than you ride your fucking horse.”

And then he lets the widow lead him away without a look back. Henry feels as if he is cooking beneath the armour. He needs to get it off before he bursts into flame. But all he can do is stand there like a fucking statue, waiting for his lord to finish his business. Every hair on his body is on end, every nerve ending alert, his palms sweaty and his mouth dry. He’s thankful, yet again, that the length and thickness of the gambeson beneath his armour conceals how obviously aroused he is.

Finally, finally, Hans does one final, maddening round of the room and comes to join Henry’s side again. He gives him a look of contrite innocence. Henry isn’t sure if he’d rather slap it off or kiss it off.

“Shall we?”

Henry doesn’t need telling twice. He’s close behind Hans all the way through the courtyard and up the staircase and into the guest chambers that Hans has been given for his stay. He wonders if Hans can feel the heat coming off of him, radiating out of his skin and off of the armour like it’s been warmed by the sun instead of the burning in his belly.

“So!” Hans claps his hands and turns around as soon as Henry has locked the door behind him. “Dice?”

Henry makes a low noise in his throat. Hans laughs.

“You’re so easy, love.”

He makes his way over, slowly, languidly; like a cat stretching in the sun. He runs a gentle hand down Henry’s jaw. It’s not nearly enough. Henry grabs him before he can resume his teasing, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a desperate, breathless kiss. Hans hums, allowing Henry to manhandle him, held against the sturdy metal of his armour.

The fucking armour.

“Can—” Henry breaks the kiss. “Can you help me get this stuff off?”

Hans grins. “Of course.”

He steps back. He does— nothing.

“Hans?”

Hans has that sly look back again. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking what?”

“How good it makes you look. Do you think you could fuck in it? Asking philosophically, of course.”

Right now, Henry doesn’t feel like he can even breathe in the armour. “I don’t know,” he says, simply.

“Maybe we should test it out.”

“Hans.”

Hans is back on him, back into the push and pull of this little dance. He kisses Henry again - softly, this time, dragging a hand around to the nape of his neck and tangling in his hair. He smooths his other hand down Henry’s armoured chest, grasping at the gambeson beneath. Henry can’t help but laugh; he won’t have much luck against the armour, no matter the strength of his desire.

“You won’t be able to—”

Hans is on his knees. The floorboards thud beneath him. Henry’s legs are dressed in hose and plate, but that doesn’t stop Hans. He reaches beneath the fabric of the gambeson, tracing his fingers beneath the edges of the armour, cupping Henry’s balls and his straining cock; or what he can cup, as trussed up as Henry is.

Henry’s breath comes out in a gasp - Hans - but Hans does not stop. He coaxes Henry even harder, apparently pleased with himself.

“You know,” he says, “I think you could fuck me like this…”

“Hans—”

“What was that?”

“Lord fucking Hans, help me out of this god damned armour so I can fuck you.”

“Oh alright.”

He stands again, swift and sure. He looks downright delighted with himself. And, Henry can tell, now they’re face to face, just as flushed and eager as Henry feels. He doesn’t draw it out, this time, but reaches up and quickly sets to work on all the straps and buckles keeping the armour in place. As it loosens around him, Henry sags, finally free, finally able to breathe. Hans even gets back to his knees to remove the leg plate, tossing it aside with a lack of care that does not match how much he’s been bragging about the expense of it all.

Now dressed only in his hose and the light undershirt that he’d worn beneath the gambeson, he tugs Hans to his feet and pulls him to his chest. Henry can feel him at last; feel the soft warmth of his body, the lithe brush of his hands. He buries his face in Hans’s neck, nipping and nibbling and coating it in little kisses. He grabs his waist, the fine fabric sliding beneath his hot palms. It’s too much to bear after an evening trapped in that maddening armour with Hans’s words pouring into his ear.

They’re both stripped in moments, the too-tight hose bundled on the floor beside Henry’s armour.

Hans slings a leg over Henry’s thighs. He perches atop him like a lord, his cock jutting, his strong arms flexing.

“Now be a good, well-trained guard,” he drawls, “and get that sword of yours ready for me.”

[review-anon]

I was just thinking about a title/epithet you would have in the Afterlife Theater, since Review Anon wouldn’t really make sense in a non-askblog context. So, I hereby dub thee, The Drowned One. That shall be your deific designation in the Afterlife theater

//Ironically enough this would be a title that Review Anon would HATE.

//Especially as she has hydrophobic, and doesn't really like being reminded of her death.

//Maybe she would accept it later on, but this could be why Review Anon's default mood is so gloomy all the time.

[riverhands]

how is it eight years later and we still haven’t learned anything from the 2016 election like WHY did you keep going further right. the way to oppose extremism isn’t to follow them it’s to swing hard in the opposite direction

[mini-leafster]

apparently evil babies make you get drunk.

-🌿

🔥-ssigh 😔

[afloweroutofstone]

I think that one of the most common and most harmful tendencies which a lot of people fall into when thinking about politics is outgroup homogeneity, the idea that there's a much wider diversity of opinions among those close to our beliefs than there is among those far from our beliefs.

This is most commonly exemplified by the foolishness of "horseshoe theory," which places Centrist Liberal Democracy in the middle of all political thought and then argues that the various ideas diverging from this viewpoint are all basically the same. But virtually every ideological tendency has their own versions of this. Large portions of the right think that there's practically no difference between Hillary Clinton and Karl Marx. Meanwhile, on the left, there's often very little effort made to distinguish center-right liberal democrats, conservatives, libertarians, and reactionaries from one another.

But fascism is not communism, social liberalism is not Marxism, and conservatism is not white nationalism. These are all different ideas with different ways of viewing the world, offering different solutions for different problems. Being able to distinguish between them is very important for understanding the world! The conflicts, tensions, and overlaps between seemingly-allied ideological factions have huge implications!

I've always found a lot of value in the idea of an ideological Turing test: can you describe a given political ideology's viewpoint on an issue in such a way that a neutral observer would have trouble telling the difference between your description and one offered by an actual believer in that ideology? If not, you might not understand that ideology as well as you think

[homoerotictext]

ooooooh i fucking HATE democrats who "hate" the """"bernie or bust people"""" ..... you mean the people who just want universal health coverage? period and that's it? YOU are the reason nobody knows what the left even fucking wants. y'all just want to "make things better" well be fucking specific. i don't think one single fucking human should have to pay exorbitant amounts of money out-of-pocket for necessary medical care. do you want that? or do you just want to tell republicans they're wrong? BE FUCKING SPECIFIC! GROW A SPINE! make this healthcare shit less complicated and you will WIN sooooooo easily it's insaaaane...... but they are in the pockets of the 1% :D YOU CAN'T FORCE ME TO VOTE FOR 1% JOE BIDEN! AND I'M NOT SORRY! stop taking shady money you fucking spineless faggots

[cathymee]

also. napoy and elaine bonding pls

[beatrice-otter]

You’re seriously still blaming Trump on “Bernie Bros”? Time for democrats to start taking responsibility for putting up shitty candidates and deflecting blame toward everyone else, for once

Trump was elected by a very narrow margin. And there was a ton of polling and data crunching and statistical modeling going on during and after the election, so we actually know what the factors that tipped the needle Trump's direction are.

One of the biggies is leftists who thought Hilary was insufficiently far left. If every leftist who loved Bernie and disliked Hilary because she wasn't perfect enough had held their nose and voted for Hilary, Trump would have lost. They're not the only demographic that's true of; there are a number of others who, if they had turned out in force, would have turned the tide of the election. For example, if a higher percentage of Black women had voted, Trump would also have lost. You know what the difference is between your average Bernie Bro and your average Black woman? Your average Bernie Bro is white and thus a hell of a lot less likely to have his vote suppressed. He is a hell of a lot more likely to find it easy to vote. This is not me saying this because I don't like them, or because I think Hillary was a perfect candidate. This is me saying that when you look at the actual numbers, leftist ideologues who refused to vote for a candidate who was not their perfect choice was one of the main reasons Trump got four years in the White House.

In general, regardless of the candidates involved, if 55% of American adults vote in a national election, the Republican wins in a landslide. If 60% of American adults vote, the Republican wins by a bare margin. If 65% of American adults vote, the Democrat wins by a bare margin. If 70% of American adults vote, the Democrat wins by a landslide. If 75% of American adults voted--and voted regularly in every election--the Republican party would cease to be a significant force in American politics.

This has been known for decades. Republicans will show up and vote no matter what; a very high percentage of Democrats and left-leaning voters will only show up if the candidate in question is perfectly in line with their views. That's why we have a Congress that is dominated by Republicans despite most of the country not liking them, and that's why we have most of the political problems that they do. By waiting for a political candidate who is good enough, you are directly ceding power to the people who are making the world worse.

Elections are decided by the people who show up. If you do not show up to vote, your vote does not get counted. If politicians want to get re-elected, they have to listen to the people who will vote for them. If they try to listen to the people who don't regularly vote, they are far more likely to lose re-election than if they listen to the people who show up every election. And conservatives show up every election. If liberals and leftists changed our voting habits and voted in every single election--voted for the furthest left candidate in the primary, and whoever got the Democratic nomination in the general election--we would prove ourselves to be a voting bloc worth listening to and the party would move left in response.

You want a candidate who perfectly fits your vision and ideals for what America should be? That doesn't happen in a vacuum. That takes work, and the most basic level of that work is showing up to vote now and every time there's an election to vote in.

[rafesproperty]

Rafe Cameron x Reader GF <3

Rafe with a girlfriend that loves to read. He doesn’t get it. Really. But he’d do anything to make his girl happy. ❤️‍🩹

Just Rafe being disgustingly sweet and spoiling reader…

I wanna make a part 2 where he finds out about annotating cuz that scenario is just hillarious to me 😭 lmk if you want it!

» masterlist

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Hey, baby,” Rafe mumbled as he walked into the kitchen, it was early in the morning and his voice was still rough, his hair messy and his eyes barely open as he reached for your coffee and took a sip. You were staying at Tannyhill for a while because his dad was on some family trip with Sarah and Rose.

You chuckled and reached for your coffee, snatching it from his hand. “Morning.”

He started to make coffee for himself as well, you’d normally admire his back in the white shirt he was wearing, but you were almost finished with your book so you kept reading, eyes glued to the page. Rafe noticed and looked over his shoulder at you. “Wheezie’s still sleeping?” His eyes trailed down to the table, one singular book laying there but a bunch of mini colorful papers and pens laying around it. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed there was no notebook tho. Weird.

“Mhm,” you gave a quick nod, clearly more focused on the text in your book than on him. “Made you some waffles.” You added and kept reading the page quickly. Suddenly you let out a gasp.

“What?” Rafe quickly turned around, his flight fight or fight mode on immediately. Then he let out a frustrated groan when he realised why you gasped and he leaned against the table, flexing his arms (not happy that you didn’t even look), and sneaking a glance at the page.

“Oh, my fucking God. I need to know the rest.” You let out a tortured moan and looked up at him, suddenly realising you were not alone and that your very much judgy boyfriend was staring at you. You felt your cheeks flush. “Sorry, um… it just… was intense is all.” You closed the book shut, avoiding eye contact with him.

Rafe grinned. “You’re so weird.” He mumbled and ran a hand through your hair. “So, so weird it actually makes you cute as fuck.” He whispered as he leaned down to you, you closed your eyes and purred softly at his touch. He smirked, satisfied that he finally got your attention.

You chuckled at his comment, looking up at him. You knew Rafe didn’t get it. He was very much reality-oriented and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to force him to read a book if his life depended on it. Yours maybe… but you’d probably die anyway. Plus there was no way he’d ever find the time in his schedule to read something. He was either taking care of business or spent all his free time with you and you only, and intended to keep it that way.

He went back to making coffee and you pulled out your phone, looking up the next book in the series you were currently reading. The thing is it was still a fresh release and everyone loved this series so it was sold out everywhere, hard to get and if a store had it they put an insane price on it, knowing some people would buy it anyway.

“30 fucking dollars for a paperback? Fucking assholes.” You slammed your phone down and Rafe turned around, giving you a look of genuine confusion.

“What’s wrong?” He had no idea what a paperback means, or how much books even cost. Thirty dollars sounded normal to him… cheap even.

“What’s wrong? Baby 30 bucks would be insane even for a hardcover.”

“A what?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s fucking ridiculous. They put a big price on it because they know people want it and some people will buy it but I-“

“I’ll get it for you.” Rafe stopped your rant and sat down next to you with his coffee and the waffles you made earlier.

“What? No, Rafey, no. It’s so fucking expensive.”

He genuinely grinned at your statement. “Baby, it’s 30 bucks.” He rested his hand on your knee, drawing little circles with his thumb, trying to ease your mood. He was still sleepy, normally you’d admire how pretty he looked with his hair all messy and eyes puffy.

“No. That’s not the point. It’s too much for a book. Baby a paperback is usually around 10 dollars.”

“So?”

You groaned. Oh how you wanted to rant to someone about how stupid it was, but of course Rafe didn’t understand. Where was Wheezie when you needed her?

Rafe grabbed your phone and checked the location of the bookstore. You both ate your waffles and chatted about some other things for a while. He eventually got up. “Get dressed, we’ll go get it.”

“Rafey it’s really okay-“

“Shut upppp,” it was his turn to groan in annoyance now and you chuckled at his expression. “Wanna make you happy baby, I don’t give a fuck if it costs a thousand. Get dressed.”

There was no arguing with Rafe once he made up his mind. You were on his bike within a few minutes, holding on to him as he parked in front of the bookstore. He grabbed your waist as he led you inside, holding you close to him — it was a thing he did whenever you went to public together.

You immediately knew where to look for the book you wanted, but your eyes lingered on some new releases on your way over to the fantasy isle anyway, remembering you wanted some of them.

Rafe followed closely behind, texting Barry back on his phone about something.

There were two girls standing next to the fantasy isle and you heard them rant about how overpriced this specific book is and how unfair it is. You really couldn’t agree more. You reached for it and sighed. “Oh God,” you mumbled to yourself when you saw the price. Not thirty, but thirty fucking two.

“Right?!” One of the girls looked at you, obviously also pissed off. “I mean, how greedy can they get.” She ranted.

“Yeah I threw a tantrum when I saw how much it is this morning.” You laughed and she laughed as well, the other girl adding in her own complaining and you were chatting about it for a while, talking about the events of the first book in the series. Rafe was behind you for a while but he got annoyed with Barrys shit over the phone so he found a chair to sit on and let you talk to the girls.

“Right, um, I’ll get going.” You eventually said to the girls when you noticed Rafe was now just scrolling on his phone. You didn’t really wanna keep him waiting.

“Wait you’re actually buying it?!”

“Um,” you let out a nervous laugh, “yeah, well, no… my um, boyfriend’s getting it for me.” You admitted, you didn’t want to brag but you also didn’t want to say you’re getting it and take the credit for something he’s paying for.

“Oh wow, lucky.” One of the girls smiled, sneaking a glance at him. You could tell just from the look in her eyes that she found Rafe scary. Most people did.

“I’m jealous,” the other whispered, whether about your boyfriend or the book was not clear. You smiled and said your goodbye, and went over to Rafe who was now on his feet, leaning against the wall.

He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw you only came back with that one book. “Did you fucking read the whole thing already?”

“What do you mean?” You grinned, ignoring his grumpiness.

“I thought you were picking shit. What were you doing?”

“Oh no, I was chatting with some girls. Sorry. They also had a lot to say about the pricing.” You smiled at him apologetically.

“Well yeah, but go pick more books.” He said annoyed. He didn’t really mind waiting for you but he didn’t understand why you only grabbed one.

“No, baby, this one’s already overpriced as fuck I don’t wanna-“

“For Gods sake Y/N, we’re already here. Get more. Wanna spoil you baby.” He brushed his finger against your cheek and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. You smiled at him and tried to hide your blush.

“Okay, alright. Can you—“

“Mhm,” he knew what you were asking immediately and grabbed the one you already had so you can go look at some more.

You were walking around the isles, checking out a bunch of books. You’d lie if you said you didn’t want almost every single one. As you were reading the back of some modern romance Rafe appeared behind you, he came closer to you and put one hand next to your head, leaning against you. You could feel his breath at the back of your neck and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Isn’t that just about sex?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, not noticing that the girls you were chatting to earlier were standing next to you and Rafe.

He seemed genuinely confused. “Why’d you read about it when we can do it?”

“Rafe,” you laughed again and turned around to face him, giving him a look, blushing when you noticed there were other people too.

“What? I’m serious. Bet I can make you feel better than some words on paper.” He brushed his hand against your back and you felt your whole body tense up… that is until you heard the girls next to you giggle.

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumbled, embarassment evident in your face. But Rafe just smirked, always eager to make you flustered.

“Besides,” you added, putting the book back, “you’d be surprised what a few words on paper can do to you.”

He gave you a susprised look, “Seriously?”

“Yeah where do you think I learned all my tricks?” You said jokingly and he grinned as well.

“Dunno, you were pretty innocent before I corrupted your pretty mind.” He mumbled next to your ear and nibbled at the skin of your exposed neck, softly kissing a mark. His mark.

Rafe smirked when he noticed the way your body reacted by leaning closer to him, and reached over you to grab the book you placed back. “So we’re buying it?”

“No.”

“Why not?” He raised an eyebrow. You were obviously intrigued by it, he thought.

“It doesn’t sound that interesting,” obvious lie, “’m gonna look for something else.”

“Get something else and this as well?”

“No, Rafey, books can get-“ but he just rolled his eyes and held it next to the first book you picked. Already made up his mind.

You knew he’d just get it no matter what you said. “Wait, it’s a sequel, can you—“ You looked up, not only was this store overpriced as fuck but they obviously also had zero respect for small people.

“Hm, here,” he leaned even closer, brushing his lips against your ear, trapping you a little, your back pressed against the bookshelf. “Which one?” He teased you with a smirk, his fingers brushing your hair aside to make the marks he left there the other day visible, his breath brushing over them.

Then he got the book you pointed at, leaving you shivering just a bit more. “Needing me so bad for everything…” he murmured happily.

Rafe figured quickly that you’d act all humble the whole time. You always picked up a book, read the back, smiled at it… and put it back. Every. Damn. Time. And after an hour of him waiting you had the audacity to come to him with only two books. He didn’t say anything, just got up, grabbed them from your hands and made his way to the cashier.

“Hey, princess, hold this for me.” He handed you the four books as he wanted to reach into his pocket for his wallet on the way. You took the books without questioning him, and he quickly grabbed most of the books he noticed you were checking earlier. He also grabbed the better ones, the ones that were more expensive… hardbacks? That’s what you called it, right? So quickly you didn’t even really get the chance to protest.

“Rafe-“

“Shut it,” he growled and this was the first time today he didn’t say that in a joking manner.

So you did.

“Everything alright, sir?” The cashier asked. Rafe gave her a quick nod and noticed they had some snacks — mostly chocolates — there. So he grabbed a few and added that to the pile of books.

He waited for the cashier to finish her job when you suddenly realised something.

“Rafe, wait.” You mumbled and ran off. He didn’t really understand but you came back with one more book a second later. He didn’t mind at all. Tho it didn’t really seem like your style, compared to all the other books… this one was colorful and seemed like some rom-com high school bullshit, but he didn’t question you.

“Your total’s $273, sir…”

You felt your body freeze. “Rafe you don’t-“

But he already pulled out his card without blinking an eye. “Told you to shut it.” He whispered and grabbed the bags with your books and threw his free arm around you, leading you out of the store.

He let out a sigh when you both exited the store and you were afraid for a second that it was because it really was too expensive.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

Fuck.

“The worst sugar baby ever.” He added and gave you a relaxed smile.

Oh… that’s what he meant. You felt relief as you smiled at him as well, laughing at his nickname for you.

“Thank you, baby.” You mumbled and wrapped your arms around his waist as you both made your way to his bike.

“Mhm, anything for you. Anytime.” He kissed the top of your head and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Wheezie was already up when you both returned to Tannyhill. She was excited to see all the books you got so you sat down on a couch with her and showed her everything, telling her about each one. Rafe didn’t really care… plus all the fantasy terms started to give him a headache so he minded his own business, dealing with something on his phone again, occasionally resting his hand on your thigh.

“Oh yeah, this one’s for you. I knew you wanted it.”

That caught his attention. He looked up from his phone and saw Wheezies eyes sparkle as she flipped through the book you picked for her. He felt his heart warm up. You really were thinking of his little sister too… He’s so going you wife you up one day. Probably soon.

He sneaked his arm around your waist and squeezed you gently, thanking you.

[mariacallous]

The first thing to say about the hate and scorn currently directed at the mainstream US media is that they worked hard to earn it. They’ve done so by failing, repeatedly, determinedly, spectacularly to do their job, which is to maintain their independence, inform the electorate, and speak truth to power. While the left has long had reasons to dismiss centrist media, and the right has loathed it most when it did do its job well, the moderates who are furious at it now seem to be something new – and a host of former editors, media experts and independent journalists have been going after them hard this summer.

Longtime journalist James Fallows declares that three institutions – the Republican party, the supreme court, and the mainstream political press – “have catastrophically failed to ‘meet the moment’ under pressure of [the] Trump era”. Centrist political reformer and columnist Norm Ornstein states that these news institutions “have had no reflection, no willingness to think through how irresponsible and reckless so much of our mainstream press and so many of our journalists have been and continue to be”.

Most voters, he says, “have no clue what a second Trump term would actually be like. Instead, we get the same insipid focus on the horse race and the polls, while normalizing abnormal behavior and treating this like a typical presidential election, not one that is an existential threat to democracy.”

Lamenting the state of the media recently on X, Jeff Jarvis, another former editor and newspaper columnist, said: “What ‘press’? The broken and vindictive Times? The newly Murdochian Post? Hedge-fund newspaper husks? Rudderless CNN or NPR? Murdoch’s fascist media?”

These critics are responding to how the behemoths of the industry seem intent on bending the facts to fit their frameworks and agendas. In pursuit of clickbait content centered on conflicts and personalities, they follow each other into informational stampedes and confirmation bubbles.

They pursue the appearance of fairness and balance by treating the true and the false, the normal and the outrageous, as equally valid and by normalizing Republicans, especially Donald Trump, whose gibberish gets translated into English and whose past crimes and present-day lies and threats get glossed over. They neglect, again and again, important stories with real consequences. This is not entirely new – in a scathing analysis of 2016 election coverage, the Columbia Journalism Review noted that “in just six days, The New York Times ran as many cover stories about Hillary Clinton’s emails as they did about all policy issues combined in the 69 days leading up to the election” – but it’s gotten worse, and a lot of insiders have gotten sick of it.

In July, ordinary people on social media decided to share information about the rightwing Project 2025 and did a superb job of raising public awareness about it, while the press obsessed about Joe Biden’s age and health. NBC did report on this grassroots education effort, but did so using the “both sides are equally valid” framework often deployed by mainstream media, saying the agenda is “championed by some creators as a guide to less government oversight and slammed by others as a road map to an authoritarian takeover of America”. There is no valid case it brings less government oversight.

In an even more outrageous case, the New York Times ran a story comparing the Democratic and Republican plans to increase the housing supply – which treated Trump’s plans for mass deportation of undocumented immigrants as just another housing-supply strategy that might work or might not. (That it would create massive human rights violations and likely lead to huge civil disturbances was one overlooked factor, though the fact that some of these immigrants are key to the building trades was mentioned.)

Other stories of pressing concern are either picked up and dropped or just neglected overall, as with Trump’s threats to dismantle a huge portion of the climate legislation that is both the Biden administration’s signal achievement and crucial for the fate of the planet. The Washington Post editorial board did offer this risibly feeble critique on 17 August: “It would no doubt be better for the climate if the US president acknowledged the reality of global warming – rather than calling it a scam, as Mr Trump has.”

While the press blamed Biden for failing to communicate his achievements, which is part of his job, it’s their whole job to do so. The Climate Jobs National Resource Center reports that the Inflation Reduction Act has created “a combined potential of over $2tn in investment, 1,091,966 megawatts of clean power, and approximately 3,947,670 jobs”, but few Americans have any sense of what the bill has achieved or even that the economy is by many measures strong.

Last winter, the New York Times columnist Paul Krugman, who has a Nobel prize in economics, told Greg Sargent on the latter’s Daily Blast podcast that when he writes positive pieces about the Biden economy, his editor asks “don’t you want to qualify” it; “aren’t people upset by X, Y and Z and shouldn’t you be acknowledging that?”

Meanwhile in an accusatory piece about Kamala Harris headlined When your opponent calls you ‘communist,’ maybe don’t propose price controls?, a Washington Post columnist declares in another case of bothsiderism: “Voters want to blame someone for high grocery bills, and the presidential candidates have apparently decided the choices are either the Biden administration or corporate greed. Harris has chosen the latter.” The evidence that corporations have jacked up prices and are reaping huge profits is easy to find, but facts don’t matter much in this kind of opining.

It’s hard to gloat over the decline of these dinosaurs of American media, when a free press and a well-informed electorate are both crucial to democracy. The alternatives to the major news outlets simply don’t reach enough readers and listeners, though the non-profit investigative outfit ProPublica and progressive magazines such as the New Republic and Mother Jones, are doing a lot of the best reporting and commentary.

Earlier this year, when Alabama senator Katie Britt gave her loopy rebuttal to Biden’s State of the Union address, it was an independent journalist, Jonathan Katz, who broke the story on TikTok that her claims about a victim of sex trafficking contained significant falsehoods. The big news outlets picked up the scoop from him, making me wonder what their staffs of hundreds were doing that night.

A host of brilliant journalists young and old, have started independent newsletters, covering tech, the state of the media, politics, climate, reproductive rights and virtually everything else, but their reach is too modest to make them a replacement for the big newspapers and networks. The great exception might be historian Heather Cox Richardson, whose newsletter and Facebook followers give her a readership not much smaller than that of the Washington Post. The tremendous success of her sober, historically grounded (and footnoted!) news summaries and reflections bespeaks a hunger for real news.