#Black Voices For Trump

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Stephen A. Crockett Jr. at HuffPost:

I’ve always been stunned at former President Donald Trump’s physical prowess.

I mean, who can forget when his White House director of communications, Anthony Scaramucci, gushed about witnessing Trump throw a perfect spiral through a tire? Or his claim that he’s seen the confirmed thousand-aire at Madison Square Garden in a top coat at the foul line swishing free throws? And despite all of us knowing that the former president’s diet relies heavily on fast food, that didn’t stop his White House physician, now Rep. Ronny Jackson (R-Texas), from praising his genetics. “Some people just have great genes,” Jackson told reporters in 2018. “I told the president if he had a healthier diet over the last 20 years, he might live to be 200.” So it has been quite the show watching the gymnast-like contortions of the former president to avoid getting to know, or actually court, Black people to support his campaign. Earlier this month, in his latest episode of “See? Black people like me!” the president stood during an obvious photo-op at an Atlanta Chick-fil-A while smiling Black workers appeared to pose while taking his order. Trump reportedly ordered 30 milkshakes and some chicken, dealing out fast food for free publicity before heading to a high-dollar fundraiser in a largely white neighborhood.

A Black woman in the restaurant said, in her best untrained actor voice, “I don’t care what the media tells you, Mr. Trump, we support you!” I later found out the Black woman was in fact Michaelah Montgomery, a conservative activist who had arranged the entire scene. To her credit, the bigger story was supposed to be a conversation between students from nearby HBCUs and the presidential candidate about conservatism and possible inroads with the Black community. The moment became a meme. As with most Trump moments. Because what Trump and those around him don’t understand or care to involve themselves with is that Black people, more specifically Black women (also known as the spine of the Democratic voting bloc), are three dimensional, alive, actual human beings.

In Trumpland, Black people are caricatures of all of the worst stereotypes that have ever been imagined. They are rapists, thieves and murderers who want to terrorize… wait, no, that’s immigrants. But the point remains: The idea of even possibly courting Black voters never moves past stereotypical ideology. Which is comical when you consider that in 2024, the year of our lord Dawn Staley, an actual presidential strategy for winning the Black vote was… wait for it… sneakers. In February, Trump unveiled his $399 “Never Surrender High-Tops” at SneakerCon in Philadelphia. Trump didn’t just premiere the gaudy gold high-top decorated with an American flag motif, the sort of faux patriotism that’s truly become Trump’s signature brand, he actually went to the event to help hawk the ridiculousness that was an attempt to capture not just youth culture but ... well, I’ll just let Fox News contributor Raymond Arroyo say the quiet part out loud. “This is ... connecting with Black America. Because they’re into sneakers. They love sneakers. This is a big deal. Certainly in the inner city.”

Arroyo got bashed for his take, as he should, but his take was a glimpse into how many Republicans, especially Trump, see Black people as sneaker-loving, inner-city dwelling and easily swayed by shiny, expensive things. It’s Republican typecasting in which a Black person remains the villain/magical negro who serves only to further the white protagonist’s storyline. And make no mistake about it, in the story of Trump, as told by the narcissistic narrator, the former president is always the hero.

Which brings us to Blacks 4 Trump (aka Black Voices for Trump), you know, that hodgepodge group of Blacks (mostly men) who have proclaimed their allegiance to Trump and who stump for him despite his lackluster attempts at any tangible metrics with the Black community. Don’t act like you don’t remember Michael Symonette, Maurice Woodside and Mikael Israel (these are not three people; it’s one man who has gone by three names), more commonly know as “Michael the Black Man” (his name for himself, not mine) who magically appeared behind Trump at a 2017 rally in Arizona. Always strategically placed in the camera’s view wearing a shirt that says “Trump & Republicans Are Not Racist” or “Blacks 4 Trump.” The funny thing is that the group Blacks 4 Trump didn’t ever seem to really do anything other than allow their Blackness to be co-opted for the then-president’s political gain. The group didn’t have an agenda or a political manifesto (at least it never presented one) that noted how Trump could actually earn the Black vote. They just showed up and allowed their images to be used to sell a product.

Because, never forget, Trump is always in the Trump business. Which leads to arguably the most disturbing attempt by Trump’s campaign to court Black voters, which Trump’s camp openly admits they need to win over in the upcoming election: Insisting that because Black people have been the victims of an unjust criminal system, they relate to Trump more because he, too, is a victim of the Man.

[...] Trump acknowledges that there is discrimination and, more important, that Black people have been discriminated against. This means nothing to him, of course, as that only serves to get him to his second point, which is that he can relate, which therefore makes him more relatable to the discriminated class. He doesn’t want to fix the problem, he only wants to leech off of the sympathies related to it. It is in this brushstroke that Trump ― who has been charged by Fulton County District Attorney Fani Willis, a Black woman; Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg, a Black man; and New York Attorney General Letitia James, a Black woman ― that he, too, is a victim of systemic racism.

“When I did the mug shot in Atlanta, that mug shot is number one,” Trump said. He added that the Black population “embraced it more than anyone else.” He also said: “I’m being indicted for you, the Black population.” First, the obvious. I’ll just let President Joe Biden’s campaign spokesperson Jasmine Harris explain it. “The audacity of Donald Trump to speak to a room full of Black voters during Black History Month as if he isn’t the proud poster boy for modern racism. This is the same man who falsely accused the Central Park 5, questioned George Floyd’s humanity, compared his own impeachment trial to being lynched and ensured the unemployment gap for Black workers spiked during his presidency,” Harris told The Washington Post.

“Donald Trump has been showing Black Americans his true colors for years: an incompetent, anti-Black tyrant who holds us to such low regard that he publicly dined with white nationalists a week after declaring his 2024 candidacy.”

Stephen Crockett Jr. wrote in HuffPost that Donald Trump's attempt to court Black voters is based on stereotypical traits of Blacks from a conservative POV, including by claiming to relate to being victims of an unjust criminal system that Black folk face.

[ausetkmt]

Topline

A Georgia judge on Friday denied bond for Harrison Floyd, the only one of 18 co-defendants in former President Donald Trump’s election interference case in Fulton County to stay in jail, and the former Black Voices for Trump leader has a history of politics and legal trouble.

Key Facts

Floyd, a 39-year-old U.S. Marine veteran, served as the director of the political group Black Voices for Trump during the 2020 election cycle, and was charged last week in the Fulton County case with violating Georgia’s Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act, for influencing a witness and conspiracy to commit solicitation of false statements.

According to the indictment, Floyd pressured Ruby Freeman, an election worker in Fulton County, after she refused to change the results of the county’s vote in the 2020 election for Trump, with Freeman testifying before the House January 6 Committee last year that she was forced to leave her home for two months and quit her job after receiving threats after the election.

Floyd, a graduate of George Washington University, had become a prominent Republican in Georgia in recent years, running in 2019 for a Congressional seat.

Floyd dropped out of the race just over a month after announcing his candidacy, saying he “might be the guy doing this in the future,” while expressing his support for a GOP state representative in his place (Democrat Carolyn Bourdeaux won the district in 2020).

In 2020, Floyd led the organization Black Voices for Trump, and also served as executive producer of right-wing outlet Bright News and as a partner at Washington D.C.-based Commonwealth International, according to his LinkedIn page.

Floyd had been charged in a separate case in May with second-degree assault and arrested for allegedly attacking an FBI agent who had served him a grand jury subpoena in the Department of Justice’s investigation into efforts to overturn the results of the 2020 election.

According to a complaint in federal District Court in Maryland, Floyd refused to accept the subpoena, putting his finger to the face of one of two FBI agents who arrived at his residence, yelling: “You haven’t given me anything; I don’t know who the f**k you are.”

Later that night, Floyed called 911, accusing the agents of accosting him and saying: “They were lucky I didn’t have a gun on me, because I would have shot his fucking ass,” the Huffington Post reported.

Forbes has reached out to Floyd’s court-listed attorney in Maryland, Carlos Salvado—Floyd does not have an attorney listed in the Georgia case.

On Friday, Fulton County Judge Emily Richardson denied bond for Floyd after he determined he posed a flight risk and a risk to commit further criminal felonies if released on bail (Georgia state law requires defendants to be determined to pose no “significant risk of fleeing” and pose no “threat or danger to any person” or of committing a felony to be released on bail).

What To Watch For

Richardson said in her determination on Friday that the terms of Floyd’s bond “will be addressed,” but that the full terms fall on Fulton County Judge Scott McAfee, who is overseeing the case. Floyd, however, has contested his bond denial, telling Richardson on Friday: “There is no way I’m a flight risk. I showed up here before the president was here.”

Tangent

Trump was indicted by a grand jury in Fulton County last week on 13 felony counts, including racketeering, solicitation of violation of oath by a public officer, conspiracy to commit forgery, false statements and conspiracy to impersonate a public officer.. After just over a week, Trump surrendered to authorities in a brief procedure on Thursday, posting a $200,000 bond after giving a mug shot and his fingerprints before promptly leaving Georgia. All 18 of his co-defendants also turned themselves in by Friday, with Pastor Stephen Lee becoming the last to do so before the 12 p.m. deadline, following a group of former Trump aides and attorneys, as well as so-called fake electors in Trump’s legal team’s dubious plot to overturn the results of his election loss to President Joe Biden.

Further Reading

Trump Co-Defendant Harrison Floyd Denied Bond: Why He’s Still In Jail (Forbes)

[makingdonalddrumpfagain]

...assault on a federal agent 🤪 oops

[wolfofwritingstreet]

Hello

If you’re into the marauders (i know you are), a cat animagus interacting with the marauders without them realising that she’s not a real cat please.

AN: Hello there... It is I... The man the myth the legend... I am two of those things ... my p is large ... enjoy

Reblog, vote, comment, request.

KITTY

FEM!READER X PLATONIC!MARAUDERS

Currently, your butt was being scratched... Now, this would be weird if you weren't a cat. Well, you weren't like a cat-cat, but you were an animagus - curtesy of being a part of the infamous Marauders. Though, you were an illegitimate animagus, so only: Sirius, Remus, James and Peter knew that it was in fact you on Lily's lap rather than an actual stray.

"You are such a cute kitty." Lily cooed, scratching your ears with her nails whilst her other hand flipped through the charms homework you were yet to start reading. Oh well, hopefully Remus would do it for you if you promised him chocolate on the annual Hogsmead trip.

"I want to hold it-" You bristled at Alice's use of 'it', and Marlene lent forward to smack her leg.

"She is a she, A."

"Oooh, my bad kitty. You are a lady."

"What are you ladies fawning over." You flopped back onto Lily's legs in defeat, hearing the cocky voice of Sirius wash over you. That boy constantly claimed it was the 'household hierarchy' that dogs trumped cats. But you knew that was in terms of idiocy, as you had caught the grey-eyed boy chasing his tail when he thought none of you were watching.

"Kitty?" James stared at you, and you stared back with big yellow eyes.

"Yes, James. It's a cat." Lily rolled her eyes, and you hissed when Sirius flicked your ear. The problem with being a cat, is ear flicks hurt ten times more.

"Don't do that!" Dorcas cried, scooping you up into her arms and carrying you to safety as you smugly watched Sirius get verbally beaten down by the girls who's group cat you had become since the start of the year. You'd told them all you were practicing quidditch after hours, and nobody questioned it- well the boys didn't have to.

"Let it go now, Dorc. She needs to go now, we've had her long enough." Marlene didn't even crack her eyes open when she took a long drag from her cigarette, before pointing it at the common room door.

"Fine." Dorcas gently lifted your front paw and waved it, you would have flushed at the boys grins if you were human, but alas you could do nothing but wave a floppy paw. Dorcas eventually made it outside the common room and placed you down, giving you a toe curling scratch behind the ear. "See you later, Kitty."

Dorcas gave a little wave, before disappearing back into the common room. By the time someone came back out, you had changed back and were pulling a piece of cat hair from your mouth with a grimace.

"Evening, Kitty." A low voice drawled mockingly from the doorway.

"Don't say a word, Black."

------------------

THANK YOU FOR READING, will be making shorter posts to keep me motivated. VOTE, COMMENT, REBLOG, and REQUEST.

Marauders master list ->Here

[vin-taege]

hii am i doing this right?🫠 i hope so lol i saw you saying your requests were open and wanted to ask for chishiya x reader who is really shy or has social anxiety and something like niragi bothering them? i want all the angst and all the fluff lmao

if you aren’t comfortable or just don’t want to do it that’s totally fine of course!:) i hope you have a great day :3

I'll Handle It

Summary: Niragi has been fucking with you mainly to get on Chishiya's nerves—but this time, he's gone too far.

Genre: fluff, a smidge of angst (Niragi being inappropriate)

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 1.4k

Note: This is set before Arisu and Usagi came to the Beach! I've been caught up in school, so I apologize for being absent for so long :((

You tried to steady your grip on the glass, despite the condensation making your hold on it slippery. The poolside was significantly more difficult to weave around after Hatter's return from his game. Bodies were slick with sweat and adorned with glowstick necklaces, bumping and grinding all over the tiles. The air was thick with the scent of chlorine and alcohol, and the night wasn't dwindling to an end yet.

You normally would be as far away from here as possible, but your willingness to help a friend trumped your despise for large crowds. Earlier in the evening, Tatta had asked you if you spotted Ann anywhere, with him saying that he needed supplies from the locked storage closet in her office. You had shaken your head then, and you could've left the conversation at that. But you thought that he already had a lot on his plate, especially after being the Beach's errand boy. So, here you were, trying to find An in this beer-fuelled rave area.

The earphones Chishiya gave you helped to block the loud bass from the speakers. You had "swiped"—technically, borrowed, but the man thrived off teasing you—them from him during the morning. It helped calm you down and prevented the feeling of being overwhelmed. When Chishiya figured out this habit of yours, earphone pairs started to mysteriously pop up on your bedside table. When you confronted him about it, he only said that it was for you to stop getting his own pair.

Typical.

Unbeknownst to you, Kuina and Chishiya were presently on the other end of the party, trudging through the thick crowd as well.

"Are you sure you spotted them here?" He glanced back towards her, raising his voice a little so Kuina could hear him above the music.

"Yeah, I saw them just leave the bar a couple of minutes ago," she shouldered past a particularly rowdy guy. "Why'd she come here?"

"Knowing them, it's probably a favor," he sighed.

It was when they got into the middle of the crowd that he saw you standing anxiously near the beach chairs. Your back was towards them, an oversized jacket covering the majority of your body. You usually didn't care about showing skin, but you didn't want to give the militants fuel to bother you. But no matter what you wore, people like Niragi always found a way to be a creep.

"Shit, we need to get there," Chishiya muttered to Kuina. His eyebrows knit, gaze hardening as he saw a familiar black and white giraffe-print polo coming closer and closer to you. "Kuina, remember the medicine I gave you a while back?"

You felt a hand on your shoulder, gripping you firmly before spinning you around. You scrunched your nose, greeted by the sight of Niragi's crooked smile.

"Are you lost, little puppy?" he mockingly cooed.

Instinctively, you cupped a hand over your drink. Taking a step back, you stood your ground and peered up at him. Despite mustering all your courage, your voice came out wavery. "Go away, asshole."

He cackled as you warily looked at the gun slung over his shoulder. With a wicked glint in his eye, he closed the distance between the two of you, a hand snaking behind your lower back and forcefully pulling you towards him. "All that bark from such a small bitch. Where's your pussy of a boyfriend?"

"Not wasting his time getting shit-faced here, unlike you," you snarled. Your heart was thumping, skin crawling in disgust. He reeked of alcohol and his touch was uncomfortably getting lower. "If you won't let go of me right now, I'll break your fucking nose."

"I'd like to see you try. You won't be so mean after I'm done with you. Why don't you just give in and sleep with a real man tonight, huh?"

Before you knew it, you slammed your fist into his face. The music blared on in the background, but you swore you heard a faint crack. Your drink spilled all over him, ice cubes flying out. He staggered backward, clearly not expecting you to actually do it. Despite being good at games, everyone knew you to be mild-mannered, usually avoiding conflict.

But damn, it was so difficult for you to restrain yourself any further from people who gave you the ick.

A hand was suddenly on your elbow, tugging you away from the now undoubtedly fuming man. Chishiya landed a kick square on Niragi's chest, hurtling him towards the pool.

"We should run," he whispered close to your ear. Taking your hand in his, you slid out of the crowd and into the protection of the halls. Chishiya led you towards his room before shutting the door behind him. He peered out the peephole, waiting for a few minutes before deeming it safe.

When he turned to you, you were sitting quietly on his bed, busying yourself by winding your earphones up and tucking them away.

"Why were you at a party?" He sat down next to you. To your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting hug. You knew he wasn't one to initiate physical contact, and you respected that. But having him be this affectionate to you was admittedly a nice change.

"Was trying to help Tatta find An," you murmured into his chest.

He hummed, starting to stroke your hair with his hand. "You okay?"

"I handled it," you lazily grinned at him. Truth be told, you felt proud of yourself.

"I know you did. But I'm asking you if you're okay, not if you handled it," Chishiya's voice was muffled against your hair. He was still very paranoid of what the militants could do to you, especially after news broke out of the two of you dating.

You looked up at him, cupping his face with your hands. "I'm okay now. I just really want to take a shower."

You offered him a small grin, one which he didn't reciprocate. You could tell he was still mad over what happened. You wondered how much of it did he see in general. This type of anger within him was familiar to you—one that was silent, but by all means, still threatening. Above all, it was the type of anger that only showed when it was directed towards himself.

"Shiya, I'm okay, I promise," you firmly repeated.

"I saw how he had his hands on you," he said darkly. "I'll make sure it won't happen again."

"Don't get into trouble because of me okay?"

"Niragi can't keep harassing you all the time. Even if Hatter did something about it, he wouldn't listen," he tsked. "I'll handle it, okay?"

One look at him told you that there was no convincing him otherwise. You just gave him a hesitant nod, before allowing yourself to be cuddled again. His lithe fingers pressed softly against your waist, his other hand twirling strands of your hair.

Outside, you could still hear the faint sound of the party, but it seemed miles away now. At that moment, there were only you and him—and nothing else mattered.

   .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

"I'm sorry for dragging you into that mess, ___," Tatta looked at you mournfully.

"You should be." You dug an elbow into Chishiya's side lightly, making him roll his eyes.

"It's okay, Tatta. I'm fine now," you offered him a reassuring smile.

You were seated in the lounge, basking in the silence of the morning—mainly because a majority of the Beach's population was hungover.

"You know, if it makes you feel any better, I heard Niragi was bed-bound since last night or something," Tatta said, before munching on the bread he had for breakfast.

"Wow, I didn't know I could hit that hard."

Kuina let out a light chuckle, Chishiya smirking next to you. You flitted your glance towards the two, raising an eyebrow in question. Kuina caught your expression, giving you a playful shake of her head.

"Tell them why, Tatta."

Tatta let out his own tiny smile. "Well, from what I've heard, someone snuck laxatives into his drink last night. He downed it right after he got out of the pool and realized you guys were gone."

You let out a snort, turning your attention to Chishiya. The platinum blond avoided your gaze, though a playful smile was on his lips. He stated defiantly, "It wasn't me."

"Oh, it was definitely me," Kuina beamed. She then threw Chishiya a pointed glance. "Wonder who gave me those drugs though."

"Still wasn't me," he replied cooly, crossing his arms.

"You are unhinged," you laughed at him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi!! I have a one shot request (I hope I’m in the right place lmao)

What about a autistic (fem)reader who is super smart and seems to notice things about the case that the others haven’t and every time she tries to state her thoughts a rude sherif cuts her off/infantilising her and Emily defends her

Honestly my brain stopped at the thought of Emily, I need more of her 😔🫶

-anon ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

autistic fem!plus size reader, wc: 517.

cw! asshole elders :/

a/n: i have had this finished but sitting in my drafts because i was too lazy to post it, but here it is! i hope that i was able to capture what you were looking for right! :] this can either be read as platonic or romantic!

You have been spoken over and shut down for the past hour, twenty minutes, and thirty seconds. 

You hated being silenced, but one thing that trumps that was being infantilized. You worked hard to get where you were now, and you hated being treated like a child just because your way of thinking was different from your peers. 

You have saved thousands of people and you’ll be damned if you continue to be treated like this.

“If you look closely, you can see that the area that these women were killed in must hold some kind of sentimental meaning to our unsub.” You grab the black marker and go to draw the inevitable triangle on the printed out map before you’re stopped by the sheriff.

“I beg your pardon?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows.

 “Hold it now, sweetheart. Don’t just go markin’ up stuff.”

“I’m sure the area these women were killed in was just pure coincidence, so we don’t wanna risk coloring in the paper just ‘cause you think you know somethin’.” He spoke as if he knew more than you did like he was the one with the degree, his tone absolutely rolling in condescension. 

“I’m sorry but –” You try to say but the old fart cuts you off. “I’m sure you are –”

“Excuse me, sheriff, but I’m afraid Special Agent _______ made a great point.” Emily was quick to come to your aide, emphasizing the words ‘Special Agent’ just to reinforce her point.

You could see it in her narrowed eyes, and everyone else’s really, that she was about done with the Sheriff’s embarrassingly large ego. You send her an appreciative – albeit shy – smile, and she gets up, her eyes trained on the map as well. 

“She’s right, because if you look here,” She points to the first crime scene and motions for you to draw a mark. “And here,” Her finger trails down to the second location and you follow close behind. “And here.” Her path finally ends, and so does your black ink. 

There it was, just like you had first thought, a perfect triangle connecting them all.

“The most important thing should be right –” You finish her words and color in a big circle in the middle. “Here.” Emily sends you a proud look and it threatens to weaken your knees.

“I mean… I suppose that makes sense.” The man grumbled before leaving with his tail between his legs. 

“Thank you.” You say quietly. The conversation was meant to be kept between the two of you. Of course you loved and trusted everyone on your team, but Emily was your comfort person, and she made time to understand you.

“No problem,” She responds back. “Everyone was done with his shit anyway.”

“Still, thank you.” You pressed the conversation, because you don’t really think she realized the gravity of the situation, of your appreciation. 

For most of your life you had never been given a voice, and having someone stick up for you and even paving the way for you to make your point known was something that no gratitude could give.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[samijami]

After accidentally running into the Pro-Israel side of Tumblr, media, and politics, I can safely say,

-They blame Hamas for the murder of children and infants in the war, creating illustrations of propaganda showing such. Ex) a drawing of a Hamas soldier with a baby stroller, holding it infront of him as he ducks behind it for cover and shoots at an Israeli soldier, who is ducking infront of another stroller as a human bodysheild to protect it.

-They justify the war by the excuse of 'war is war' or 'Hamas started it'/'Hamas are all terrorists'. And don't even elaborate or back up how that is true.

-The Israeli soldiers are 'blowing off steam' when they are shitting in their own tanks, posing with Gazan women's lingerie and mannequins, and recording videos of them actively committing war crimes.

-The murders they commit of innocent children and civilians are justified as 'Hamas caused this'/'Everyone in Palestine is a participant in terrorism or terroristic beliefs'/'Palestine could end this if they gave up the hostages'/'Palestine started it by taking the hostages and committing terroristic war crimes'. All from people who don't know what they're talking about and/or have seen very little on the entire situation.

-'The entire Pro-Palestinian movement is the most Anti-American and antisemetic thing right now and is absolutely disgusting.' -Steve Bannon, War Room: Pandemic, 2024. He worked for Trump in the Whitehouse before getting arrested, and promptly started his own republican television show (that my father watches 24/7--to put this statement into context of what this man spouts: everytime he refers to a trans person, he says 'freak'. He calls women 'females' with the most disgusting tone of voice like he is physically repulsed by the idea of them. He supports the man in the situation of a woman being the victim. He claimed to be an advocate and that he was 'actively assisting black people' because he said rude shit about a lady judge in 'defence' over a black person, and so much more).

And so much other shit, it's pathetic. The true art of indoctrination and lack of evidence shown to Israeli people and even children, is sickening. If Lilly's (and other's) self immolation wasn't enough, it's being put down as an act of a 'psychotic man having been indoctrinated by leftist media'. I'm sorry, Lilly was an active member of the US force, and she was tired of what she was seeing, and could've even potentially have been required to partake in (given Biden sent American troops to assist Israel). Her act of self immolation was as heroic as any other martyrdom act committed during the 1900's in the name of equality between races. It's a different century, but as those were viewed and put into history as heroism, so should Lilly. She died for her belief that this is a disgusting genocide.

We have all the evidence we need and these stupid childish ass soldiers taking their little happy ass videos and posing for selfies only demonises them more. If any historian looked back 20 years from now, they'll be disgusted.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free! 🇵🇸

(Btw I used Lilly, she/her, since it is believed that Aaron Bushnell was apart of the LGBTQIA+ community and never came out, due to her social medias going by Lilly and presenting as a woman).

[carryonafi]

my quiet blue tune of you.

ashton irwin x reader; SMUT!! 🔞

a/n: okay now i’m getting WAY to confident with the smut but i just had this idea i needed to get out. most of these things were inspired by convos ive had with my friends and they were amazing with giving me ideas for this fic!! enjoy some hot drummer boy sex

cw: choking kink, hair pulling, recording sexual acts, a tiny tiny bit kinky ;)

words: 3k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Your phone was set on the closest surface possible, already filming as you shuffled around the kit and settled onto the small stance of the stool. Ashton was beaming with you sitting between his legs, like he couldn’t have been in a better position and you just about trumped every single thing he’s ever achieved with this instrument. His head ducked to your shoulder, the rogue flyaways of his curls tickling your skin which sent the reaction of goosebumps all over your body.

“Cameras rolling, babe.” You warned playfully, only getting a soft hum in response as Ashton pulled away and reached for the pair of wooden sticks resting on the snare to your left. The video would be edited on your part anyway, you loved those fans to death, but you couldn’t give them too much attention.

The sensation of your boyfriend's body wrapped around yours was so, so desiring. Body heat radiated from him through your thin top and his bare torso, arms shadowing yours as he bared the sticks in your hands. The palms of his hands were rough, but they were able to give you the most gentle touch you’d ever felt. Fuck, it made you dizzy. His hair brushed against your cheek as he peered over your shoulder to help you.

“Play by yourself a bit.” He encouraged, making you giggle at the lack of context behind the words he was saying. Ashton only missed it by a beat, but his laughter followed yours soon after. “You know what I mean.” His fingertips brushed against your right side, sending another shiver down your spine.

Hesitantly, you looked around the kit and decided to bring the drumstick down onto the floor tom on your right side. Just once or twice.

“No need to be so ginger with it.” Ashton shook his head, once again wrapping his hands over yours to direct them. He adjusted your position a bit and you could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, the soft beat of his heart and it just about made you sleepy. They say that when you’re with someone you love that these… endorphins release that make you all sleepy and warm, that was exactly how you were feeling. You barely registered Ashton’s voice. “Wanna play anything specific?”

“Teach me…” You paused, letting your head drop back against his shoulder to get the best look at him you could. “Jet Black Heart.” Confidence. That was very much what you wanted. He gave you a soft smile before blessing your temple with a peck of his lips, letting the kiss linger for a moment before you sat back up and let him guide your movement.

“Push your foot down on the pedal for me.” Ashton ordered in such a soft manner that it didn’t even sound like a direction, a suggestion that you were obligated to take from your trance. You did just that, bringing your foot down, but it barely made a sound. “With force, (Y/N). You can’t be gentle.” He corrected, making you sigh and ponder. These drums were meant to be beaten, meant to be abused into beautiful symphonies that you could only create with melodic and rough raps. You stomped down a bit harder, the boom was halted because of the soundproof walls of the basement — but it made a sound.

“Ohh!” You hummed in amusement, tapping the pedal a couple more times and smiling at the sounds it made.

“See? Sounds better, doesn't it?” Ashton rubbed your sides as you nodded, tilting your head slightly to get a look at him… and snuck a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Mmhm.” You made a sound like an affirmative, waiting for his next direction that could make your heart flutter, and it did. He whispered to cross your arms, slowly guiding your hands while he told you when to push on the pedal. Almost everything you did was under his control, his heartbeat accompanied with yours and the sound of the drums ricocheting in your ears. The wooden sticks felt like they could slip out of your hands at any moment, you were so weak from his touch but so amazed at how easily he made this all seem. When he finished showing you the beginning, he played it all in one and turned to look towards the camera. A 2 minute video, that would be enough for them, right? Once again, you marveled in amazement at how the drums sounded.

“You’re a professional now, you should take my place.” Ashton let go of your hands, giving you the freedom to beat around on the drums a bit longer. No particular pattern in mind, only tapping away on the hi-hat to achieve that hissing sound that you always loved. However, you frowned when it didn’t work out the way you intended. Not the right part.

“Maybe not so much.” You turned back to Ashton again, staring straight into those dilated pupils and blown out hazel irises. Pure love. Pure love was all you could see and you knew you were mirroring that right back to him. His arm snuck around your waist, smiling sweetly as he hovered over your lips for a moment. Now this was what you were looking for, your hands had a mind of their own as you set down the drumsticks and cupped both of his cheeks. Your lips met soon, the pads of your thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones and index fingers tracing the rough of his sideburns. He hummed against your closed mouth, and you melted. Melted into lovely mush because of your adoration for this man, how easy it was for him to be the way that he was and charm with no effort at all. The noise just made you wanton, that kiss turned into lips parting and sliding against each other as the enticing sound of you pulling away made you dizzy each time. Your heart started to pound, arousal started to pool as you felt Ashton’s grip on your waist become tighter.

“Ash.” You sighed dreamily, hands sliding back to the rogue curls which rested on the nape of his neck right above that beloved tattoo. “The camera.” The tone you spoke in was slow, it almost sounded far away because you were so enthralled by the beginning of this make-out session.

“You’re gonna cut it, aren’t you?” Ashton asked quite rhetorically as he continued his journey along the point of your jawline, gasping as he bared his teeth against the sensitive skin of your pulse point. “Keep it on, save a little bit for yourself. Don’t have t’show anyone.” His words were muffled against your flesh, each syllable like a slow puff of loving smoke against you and further shaking your need.

“Mm.. ‘kay.” You huffed in defeat, shuddering as you felt him smile to your throat. The position you were in was quite uncomfortable, still twisting your body to meet his. Ashton took notice of this quickly, tapping your thigh and motioning for you to sit up so you could get more comfortable. Every little thing came so easy to him, it was beyond you. Within seconds, you were perched atop his lap with your feet placed firmly on the ground with the height of the drum stool.

“Fuckin’ perfect, you are.” Ashton’s hands wandered your body, calloused fingertips gliding along your hips and stomach as your top had ridden up slightly. Just enough to make him hungry. The instant change in his attitude made you stir, the sweetness from earlier had shifted into possession and you could see it in his eyes. Large pupils dark with lust and need, despite every act he put on he could never hide that desperation for you. This realization made you giggle, bumping your nose with his as you leaned in for another kiss.

“Mh. Love you.” You spoke like a secret, kissing him once in expectation for him to repeat it.

“Love you more. So much more, my girl.” Suddenly your heart soared again, the fuzzy feeling in your chest made you bold enough to drag your nails down his chest as your lips met for the hundredth time within the last 5 minutes. It was so soft, but so needy, so slow. You never understood the term “love drunk” until you shared everything with Ashton, he could never fail to make your heart flutter like he was kissing you for the first time again. Like he was touching you for the first time again, sharing hushed whispers of your three favorite words for the first time again, it was so magical. You were convinced that this would never go away, the honeymoon phase would last your entire relationship and that was the way it should be.

Now, you were growing much more impatient. Your hips began to slowly rock into Ashton’s and the friction had him sighing gratefully, giving you the perfect opportunity to slide your tongue over his bottom lip with a need to push this further.

“Greedy.” He laughed as your hips collided again, his voice cut off in a groan.

“Only for you.” You replied, grinning victoriously as he returned the favor and gripped your hips, dragging you down against him. A gasp passed your lips, the smile never faltering as the sultry tone dripped from your sounds. “Want it so bad.”

“Yeah?” The implications made you weak, nodding desperately. “I’ll give you what you want.” Ashton leaned in to continue what he was doing before, placing those kisses to your throat which felt harsh but so loving. Marks would be left behind, but ones that would only fade within a short amount of time. He would always give in, you were too good to pass up and he only played those games when he really wanted to.

His fingertips came into contact with your skin again, feeling over the dips of your sides and waist, cherishing you like this was the last chance he’d get to ever touch you. Momentarily, everything around you went quiet. No background noise, no fabric shuffling, just the soft kisses and sounds of Ashton’s lips traveling every inch your neck. You could hear the pounding of your own heart in your ears, tangling your fingers in his thick, fluffy curls as you sighed and breathed, every sound heavy with arousal. His hands inching towards the soft elastic of your pajamas, touch sending goosebumps rippling throughout your body. It was so much, but never too much. Never enough.

“Help me out, here.” Ashton murmured against your skin, muffled by your body. You obliged immediately, without hesitation as you knew exactly what he was asking. You shuffled around, lifting your hips so he could push off the material and expose you to those eyes. Those dark eyes, completely overtaken with lust. “Mm. I figured.” He hummed, seeing you completely bare underneath. You let out another soft laugh, music to his ears just like the music he created.

“You should know me by now.” Your voice came in an awful suggestive tone, the fabric of his pants now pressed to your bare core. “I like easy access.”

“Do you, now?” Ashton whispered, pressing wet kisses on your breasts as you kneaded your hands in his hair. “I suppose I trained you well.” He hummed into your curves, making you gasp as he gripped your thighs to move you closer and instead creating friction which felt much more intense due to there being a layer of clothing lost.

“I want you so bad, please — I know you want me too.” You breathed, shuddering as your hips met again which finally elicited a groan from Ashton.

“Why have you got to be so damn irresistible?” He cursed, sucking in a breath as your hands went to his sweats to do the same thing he had done to you. You both were eager, too eager to put in the effort and take them off all the way. Ashton was lifting your hips within seconds of you watching his cock spring free of the confines, your breath getting caught in your throat as if this was your first time. From the most innocent scenarios to times like this, there wasn’t a moment where you didn’t feel anxious butterflies or that familiar swirling in your head.

His fingertips dug into your flesh, creating that tightening sensation in your chest as he whispered soft praise against your neck. The way he eased you down, rubbing your hips yet roughly gripping your thighs and feeling his frame tremble beneath your own as you took his length told you that this sweetness wasn’t going to last long. The only thing you could do was let your hands go right back up to his hair, disheveled in the most gorgeous way ever imaginable. You breathed out a satisfied sigh, listening as Ashton echoed you and added more loving encouragement.

“Feel so good, baby. Look at me, come on, dear… wanna see those beautiful eyes.” The comment made you blush, but regardless of his command your head tilted back as you closed your eyes. The pleasure was all too much and you had barely done anything, this position was something different. Your internal guess of how long this loving act was going to go on for had been proven right, feeling the loss of his hand on your thigh as he instead gripped your throat. You gasped, a strangled whine tearing past your closed off throat.

“I told you to fucking look at me.” Ashton’s voice was husky and hot between you, the tone sending a shiver down your spine. Your own hand went to grab at his wrist, and it was then you noticed how tight his hold was on you. It made you dizzy, dizzy with arousal and dizzy from the fact that he was somehow safely blocking your windpipes enough to make you obey without question. Your eyes were locked onto his as you rolled your hips, watching Ashton’s eyelids flutter and his kiss-swollen lips part to let out a moan of his own.

“Fuck..” You said softly, eyes widening as both of his hands got tighter on you.

“Watch that mouth.” He said simply, and you knew right then and there to let him take over. Your body submitted completely, simply taking in the feeling of his hips lifting from the drum stool with ease and your own weight on top of him. You no longer needed to have a brain, you could let Ashton fuck you mindless and you knew he’d be satisfied.

Between the soft grunts and growls that he made and your own restrained moans, there were the sounds of skin and friction. It felt like heaven as he lost all self control, relentlessly fucking up into you with a hand on your throat to keep your gaze on his muted green irises. However, you could see that this position was getting pretty hard to keep up with. The line of frustration between his eyebrows and the sweat collecting in those curls that hung over his forehead, you tried to get his attention.

“Switch — bend me over.” You gasped, hoping your babbling made enough sense to him. It did, watching his strong chest rise and fall with each labored breath he took as he let go of your throat. You gratefully took in a deep breath, not getting to enjoy it much before Ashton firmly patted your thigh.

“Up.” He said without any elaboration needed, pushing yourself off of him with a quiet sound before standing up. He followed in your actions quickly, towering over you, bodies almost touching… you weren’t kept waiting any longer. Ashton’s arm wrapped around you, roughly fastening his grip on your waist as he spun you around and forced you down. This was not very steady, not at all. Your hands were placed on the high toms of his drum kit, which were not at all attached to anything stable. Not that you had to completely rely on it, since Ashton’s arm was all the way around you keeping you close.

“I’ve got you, I got you.” His other hand traced your spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake just as he braced himself and passed easily through your folds. Another desperate sound escaped you, trying to not put too much pressure on your hands and potentially knock something over. Ashton quickly built up his pace again, his hand slowly making its way up your back again before taking your hair with one sharp tug. This had you crying out his name, fingertips grazing against the material.

“Gonna cum. All over your fuckin’ back.” He rasped, thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. “Wanna see you covered. All mine.” Ashton rambled possessively, making your thighs shake with need to finally be brought over the edge.

“Please? Please — I…” Your words were cut off with a silent moan, closing your eyes to watch those shapes drift across your vision. You tightened around him, you could feel it because of the way Ashton had tried to speed up and keep his pace regulated. The orgasm that washed over you made him fail to keep composure, quickly pulling out of you and doing just as he had promised. Your ass and lower back painted in his cum, one beautiful sight Ashton couldn’t tear his eyes away from. You both panted and slowly collected your consciousness, unable to hold yourself on these drums much longer. Ashton felt your struggle, guiding you into a standing position with your back against his torso. Both of his arms snaked around you comfortably, warm, large hands on either side of you to remind you just where you were.

“That’s gonna be fun to watch.” He mumbled against your neck, pressing those open mouthed kisses to the hickeys he had left with pride and affectionately roughing up your skin with the stubble adorning his cheek. Once your eyes opened again, you looked over at your phone still set up on the desk nearby.

“Mm, I dunno. That whole “bending me over the drum kit” thing didn’t work as well as I thought it would.” You mused, leaning your head to the left to feel his sweaty hair against your skin. However, you didn’t regret one bit of that.

“I made it work, though. Didn’t I?” Ashton nuzzled your neck, making you laugh breathlessly as he tickled your skin. “You’ve got some weird fantasies.” He added.

“And you have only just scratched the surface.”

——

(some more cutie pics of ash to imagine for this one🤗)

[amoreva]

EIGHT OUT OF NINE LIVES

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

pairing: dodge mason x reader

summary: in this lousy town, panic was the only thing remotely interesting. well you know what they say, you only live once. yet…dodge seemed to have nine.

warnings: mentions of almost dying, a little ooc dodge

a/n: rewatching panic so…writing for one of my favorite cowboys. realized it might be a little similar to one of my other fics, but oh well

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

You only live once. That was the motto you tried to live by. Albeit, the motto was stupid and could get your ass landed in jail sometimes.

The motto was how you were able to get the Dodge Mason to go out with you. It was how you were able to jump the cliff during the first challenge during Panic. It was also how you were disqualified during the third challenge.

Breaking and entering was not your forte, nor was avoiding the batshit, crazy Spurlock’s traps. You fractured your arm running from the bastard with a personal item of his. Fearing for your life, you tripped, dropped your item and ran—praying you would get out with no bullet holes in your body.

Your will to live trumped over your desire to have any real fun in this town.

You thought it was pathetic for not being able to keep your item in your hand long enough to advance. Your boyfriend was just thankful you were alive.

Yet, when he landed himself in the hospital after the fourth challenge—the mindsets switched.

“Promise me, you’ll be careful?” You spoke the night of the fourth challenge. Dodge and you were on his couch watching whatever movie was on.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Dodge agreed, looking at you. His arms wrapped around your body tightly. Dodge leaned down and kissed the top of your head.

His reassurance provided you a little more comfort than before, yet with Panic—expect the unexpected.

No one expected the local haunted house to burst up in flames, nor for a few Panic players to end up in the hospital cause of it.

“You are a goddamn liar, Dodge Mason!” You accused your boyfriend the minute you stepped into his hospital room.

Dodge jumped slightly at the sound of your tone, blankly staring at you. You attempted to hit him to get your point across that this was serious because he was just looking at you. Staring like everything was fine. He landed himself in the hospital because of a stupid fucking cash prize.

“Don’t do that. Don’t wanna hurt yourself more.” Dodge warned with stern, yet soft voice. He caught your casted hand before you could do any real damage to him or yourself.

“You gave me a goddamn heart attack.” Your hands tensed up and sat down on his hospital bed. “The fire—I didn’t know if you or Heather or Nat were okay,”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Dodge let go of your cast. He quickly looked around for a cop or any staff member. “I was reaching for a clue in an outlet and next thing I know, lights out. I didn’t even know there was a fire.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. “Electrocuted?”

“Electrocuted.” Dodge laughed slightly like he couldn’t believe himself. “I think my heart stopped.”

“Don’t joke like that.” You gave him a pointed look.

“I’m being serious!” Dodge gave you his signature boyish smile. “You know how you compare me to a black cat? I just used one of my nine lives.”

“You’re stupid.” You failed to hide the grin creeping up on your face.

Even when you were supposed to be angry at him, he never failed to make you smile. “I mean it!” Dodge exclaimed. “I’m at eight lives.”

The two of you went silent, just beaming, grinning at one another. As the silence grew, the smiles faded. You were the one to speak up first. “What do you think will happen now with…?” Panic.

“I don’t know. It’s just a minor setback and we’ll finish this. It won’t get canceled.” Dodge admitted and laid back in the hospital bed.

“Dodge…you landed yourself in the hospital because of this stupid game. You could’ve suffered something worse than blacking out—what if something happened internally?” You stressed. “And—and you still want to risk your life for what—?”

Dodge interrupted. “For Dayna…” A small pause.“…and for you.” Dodge added quietly.

“You don’t gotta win for me.” You whispered to him. “If it’ll get you killed, don’t win for me.”

Dodge opened his arms and reluctantly you laid next to him. His arm snaked around your waist, soothingly caressing it. “What if it’s like third times a charm? You get hurt during Panic again and you land yourself six feet under—?”

“Have a little faith in me.” Dodge hummed and looked down at your face. “I promised you I’ll be careful and smart about things. I won’t break those promises.”

You gave him another pointed look, knowing you won’t be able to convince him to stop. “You just win for Dayna.”

“Justice for Dayna.” With the arm wrapped around your waist, he held up one finger as he spoke about his motivations to win. “Getting out of this shitty town for you.” Another finger went up before he kissed your head.

“I think I’ll be fine in this lousy town if you’re here.” You shifted your head to look up at Dodge.

“And those dreams of wanting to see Italy?France? Spain?” Dodge asked softly.

“Pipe dreams.” You smiled dismissively. “Just something to keep me going.”

“You know the pot this year is huge. Once I win, I’ll take you anywhere you want. Out of state, out of country, out of world. Anywhere.” Dodge promised.

“That is a large if, Dodge. Gonna pay for that with a few of your lives left?” You teased him.

“Darling, I would do anything to make your dreams come true. Even if it means paying with my lives.” Dodge kissed your forehead, then your cheeks, then your nose, eyelids, chin, jaw. You giggled as he left butterfly kisses on your face.

“Dodge—Dodge, stop it!” You giggled, but he silenced your protests with a kiss to your lips. You could feel him smiling.

“Forgive me for losing one of my lives?” Dodge asked as he kept kissing and kissing—knowing the answer. Your angry and worry simmered long before he could even ask for forgiveness.

“You get hurt again and I’m going to kill you.” You threatened, trying to keep your composure.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Dodge mumbled as his lips met yours. He made the same threat when you broke your wrist.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[quixtrix]

rayman, eden's feel good american dream story; an analysis

guess who's back with taking ubisoft's silly guys and cutting them open. yknow, if you strip rayman of his personality, of all the behind the scenes we get of him, we get a run of the mill news reporter that is an immigrant, who by face alone serves as a shining ray of hope. he's easily something that by all means, can be classified as a diversity hire. immigrant, nonhuman (which in the world of clh can be considered to be equated with poc irl), and notably the only one in his work environment. don't believe me?

we rarely ever see anyone other than rayman on the show in the form of a coworker. the only time we do see other eden affiliated people, they are both white. "but you can't see red's face!!" there is a reason his dialogue makes you think of more right leaning people with their claims of 'wokeness is destroying everything' under something like april from tmnt being black and not ginger. he's a caricature meant to represent a specific group of people under fascism; those who have successfully consumed the fearmongering and have let it turn from fear of those that they are told are beneath them into hatred for them. there is also the fact that on live tv he throws up a middle finger, refers to an implied group of immigrant people as 'filthy interdimensional alien scum,' and seemingly gains no backlash for it. yes, the other reporter does try to give red a chance to go back on his words, but he sticks to it. and despite all of this, we get no indication that neither red nor the niji 6 had to apologise or received punishment for this. in fact, red is possibly given more chances by eden due to him being weirdly in charge of bullfrog's containment in a way? (i'm not entirely sure WHY he was there, but as he is one of eden's tv personalities, he's at a possibly televised trial of a terrorist.) now if you compare this to rayman, who also acted inappropriately on tv by literally saying fuck, you'd come to realise that rayman was treated so much more harshly. he was IMMEDIATELY replaced by a clone of himself, with no warning nor any indication that eden would do such a thing. it's very likely this was one of, if not the first time that rayman has slipped up like this on live tv. maybe it's a repeat offence considering his personality, but then you could argue that red is a repeat offender of the same shit and then you have to wonder why a soldier like red was not easily replaced but someone who is the literal face and voice of eden was with ease. it's because rayman made himself more than jus a story, he humanised himself by showing a peek of his raw feelings. remember that cute little exposition of the rayman kids show about hybrids? where we see all of these hybrids working as society's grunts and the kids are told to be thankful for hybrids? it's very sweet and gives a good message! now the rayman kids show is a product of eden propaganda, but rayman very much has a hand in it, most likely as a writer. he uses his platform to speak on issues that has happened and affected him. this can be seen in his biopic.

jus sit with this image for a moment. you ever think about why rayman is specifically made as an alien? why he's specifically an immigrant? in real life news reports and speeches, there is a difference in implications when people use immigrants and not aliens. you wanna know why?

as someone apart of an immigrant family myself, i live in a community of other immigrants. majority of them are hispanic, and while i myself am not hispanic, i am very aware of how hispanic immigrants were referred to and treated by politicians under trump's presidency. how couldn't i? even as children in middle school and elementary, we had discussions about what trump was saying because it directly targets my friends and their families. they are people targeted by a man who specifically uses derogatory terms to dehumanise them, to make it easier to justify in the average american mind that the government is doing the right thing by keeping out and protecting america from these so-called 'invading animals.' makes what red was saying earlier feel very on the nose, right? adi shankar, the showrunner for captain laserhawk, is also an immigrant man. immigrated from india, which by the way, did you know has a lot of people immigrating for the purpose of having a better life? that's a common sentiment that can be found in every single immigrant family's story. i've asked my filipino mother why she took an opportunity to live and work in america, and she told me it's because she wanted to give her children a better life than what we would have had in the philippines. hell, i bet if you share a similar background to me, you can ask your own parents the same thing and get the exact same answer, regardless if you came from latin america or africa, or asia. it's because of the concept of the american dream. everyone who has ever engaged with any degree of immigrant discussion has heard of the american dream. it's a concept that seems to be consistently proven via word of mouth, with the biggest examples being celebrities. they will always, without fail, eventually speak about the american dream within their backstories. and typically, they will use their platforms to further empower others within their community. it's why people from specific ethnicities tend to group together, why people make art meant as something akin to a homage to their people. it provides hope to the masses, makes you relate to the person on the screen, and believe that this society is truly a gracious one by providing opportunity. because yeah, it may be bad, but it could be worse. i mean we appreciate you! just look!

dont mind the fact that the majority of opportunities allotted to you is grunt work, the work where you at the base of the pyramid, with the harder jobs and the jobs no one wants to do. dont mind the fact you will be actively dehumanised, forced to work for hours in conditions we wouldn't put anyone else in, but hey. we appreciate you. we thank you. and yknow, you can become more than what you are. yknow, we let someone just like you be more than what you are! nevermind the fact that if they slip up, they'll be met with MUCH harsher criticism in comparison to someone who isn't you! aren't we so gracious? i probably sound a bit like matpat's insane out of context real world examples, but this show is filled with political imagery, so let me be. anyways, let's get back to eden and rayman. rayman, despite being specifically from dimension x as an alien, keeps hybrids in mind when he's doing his work.

people of colour tend to share solidarity with one another due to the fact that surface wise, we share similar struggles. to grossly oversimplify things, we all face discrimination through our appearances and are oppressed by the rules of a society created by our white oppressors. again, hybrids and dimension x immigrants can be equated to irl poc, and despite being different from each other, there is still community. rayman keeps them in mind, hoping to make things better for the overall nonhuman and nonnative (native as in naturally born) population of eden. but, rayman is not what he believes he is. because despite everything he has worked for, despite what he has tried to do, he is still a facilitator of the fascist regime that has an active hand in the perpetual oppression of his own people. one of the core concepts within fascism is us versus them. it's an easy way to instill fear (which is very much needed in fascism to make it easier to lie to the masses) and it's used in multiple layers, beginning with a large group (ex. us versus ussr, capitalism vs communism), then progressively sizing down (ex. saying all eastern europeans are communist, then going smaller and say all those affiliated with eastern europeans are communist) with the goal being to put people against each other and break up community since if you put your minds together, you'll start to realise that the fascist system is bullshit. what i've personally come to find is that in order to hide the fact that there is fascism lurking is that someone that can be considered a 'them,' an other, will be given a seat at the table. it's so they can be used as an excuse, a human shield, when they inevitably slip up and can be paraded to the masses as proof that the other is not as smart or powerful as 'us.' the 'other' within the 'us' is used as something to look down at, while also justifying to oneself that they have a place, that they are not being oppressed. they have an opportunity as much as anyone else! so long as they don't mess up. rayman messes up, and is shunned from 'us.' hes a mistake, impure, clearly not like 'us,' 'us' who had been so gracious to give this 'other' a place. he's cut out and discarded because he has well worn his purpose, and clearly, they can just get another little puppet. they'll dress him up and make him worthy of being one of 'us,' and make sure that this one won't fall to the fault of his little ideas. which is exactly what leads to rayman's transformation of ramon. being forcibly forced out and discarded by eden because he showed his true ideas makes him realise that there was no real place for him within the system. because what good is his work if it leads to what he tried not to create? it's worthless, just as the system it attempts to thrive in is.

tl;dr, rayman is a representation of the american dream, specifically celebrities. he tries to do what he can with his platform, but the fact is that within a fascist system, his impact is not entirely felt in the way he wants it to. that is why he becomes ramon.

anyways if you reached the end of THIS LONG ASS PIECE GOOD LORD thank you!! always open to discuss this and take criticism, my ask box is open in the lil 'who's asking' :^]

[acourtofquietdreamers]

“Elain shouldn’t have to convince anyone that she belongs in the Night Court.” “Elain needs to leave the people that coddle her.” “Elain just needs to give Lucien a chance and she’ll realize he’s perfect for her.”

Elain is often criticized for being passive and not standing up for herself yet some people believe she shouldn’t fight for what she wants and what she believes in. She should just run away. She should just give in to the mating bond and give Lucien a chance. She should continue being passive.

I believe Elain’s growth would be more impactful if she continues down the path we’ve begun to see her go down where she passionately fights for what she wants and doesn’t back down. We may not have Elain’s POV yet, but Elain has made her feelings known on a couple subjects. I’m focusing on Elain’s words only because I do not believe others know what’s best for her.

Elain very confidently declared herself as a member of the Night Court.

When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed.

Should Elain abandon her declaration and leave the place she’s begun to build a life in because she looks plain in black? Or because Nesta thinks Spring is made for “someone like her”?

Or should she prove them wrong by earning her place within the court (cue Elain using her powers) and show the claws she’s been hinted to have?

Elain no longer wants to be coddled by her sisters and we see her stand up to them for the first time in ACOSF.

Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.”

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

Should Elain run away from this battle and leave her imperfect relationship with her sisters behind?

Or should she continue to address the issues in their relationship so they can come out stronger?

Elain has made it clear that the mating bond means nothing to her, regardless of others trying to convince her to give the “nice guy” a chance.

“You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?” “It means nothing,” Elain said, her voice breaking. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—”

“You belong to him.” “I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”

“He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.”

Should Elain give in to the pressures of giving her mate a chance? Forget about her dream of a love that would trump even a mating bond?

Or should she fight for a love of her own choosing?

I don’t want Elain to give in. I don’t want her to be passive and let others make decisions for her. I want to see Elain surprise everyone and continue to fight.

[guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom]

More Often

Earth 42!Miles Morales x fem!reader 

Earth 42!Miles Morales x black!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of water guns and mentions of jellyfish

Requested: yes 

@raeraypoca:That's perfect smanks! So basically all I would like is what happens on the road trip over there, stopping at gas station, what happens when we get to the Airbnb, what happens at the beach, classic "we gotta share a room?

Ughh" E, when we're left alone some heavy fluffy flirting only if your comfortable. I know miles is 15 l'm 14 so you really don't have to if you don't want to. A trip Possibly somewhere in Florida? 

A/N: Life has been crazy lately but I did enjoy my social media detox, I wanted to get this out sooner but I got into a car accident on Friday and I was supposed to hang out with this girl I've been talking to today but I had no car and I look crazy but, this is here now so that's all that matters.

Masterlist

“Be good,” Mrs. Morales warned. 

“I will,” Miles ceded. 

She looked him in his eyes in suspicion. 

“I promise,” 

She smiled “Okay come give me a kiss,” 

He kissed and hugged his mother goodbye before putting his suitcase in the trunk. He rounded the car to your side pulling the door open

“Go on the other side,” You didn’t even look up from your phone. 

“Scoot over,” He shoved your shoulder. 

“14 hours of this?” You rolled your eyes. 

“You love me,” He teased as you slid into the other seat to make room. 

Your older brother was going on a college visit up in Florida so your mom decided to make a family trip out of it. Of course, she invited Miles seeing as he was practically family. And who was he to say no to Mrs. Y/L/N?

After only 4 stops and one-half a night at a hotel, you’d finally made it to Destin. 

Your mom parked the car in between two brick-and-mortar shops on the uneven beach town roads. 

You immediately popped the door open hoping out to stretch your legs. Your brother got stuck with the pleasure of having to “watch” you and Miles on the Harborwalk Village pier, while your parents went sightseeing. He told you not to go too far before heading off on his own. 

“Look!” You pointed at a carnival game booth run by a tired and probably only a few years older than you teenager who certainly didn’t get paid enough. There at the top of a booth hung a very large dog stuffed animal with light blue fur and a purple collar.  

You tugged Miles along with you beaming at the boy. He coughed up the 5 dollars required for the both of you to get to fill balloon clowns' heads with water guns.  

On an unenthusiastic count of 3, you aimed your gun at the first clown’s mouth and pulled the trigger. 

Powered by your competitive spirit you quickly overtook Miles in the vanquishing of the clowns. His water gun consistently jamming was cause for frustration and his loss. 

“Game was rigged,” He informed you. 

“Okay, Trump. You’re only saying that ’cause I won” You clutched your stuffed dog winnings. 

“‘M saying that cause it’s true,” 

“I’m saying that ‘cause it’s true,” You mocked him in a high-pitched voice sticking your tongue out. “What are we gonna name our son?” 

“He is not my son,” 

You gasped, shifting the dog to cover his floppy ears with both hands. “Don’t say that in front of him!” 

Completely ignoring him you turned away from Miles to cradle the stuffed animal. “I’m sorry Miles Jr. I don’t know what’s gotten into your dad today. He doesn’t mean it,” 

You handed the toy to Miles telling him to apologize. He glared at you for the name before mumbling a half-hearted sorry to the dog. 

He couldn’t believe he actually liked you enough to apologize to a stuffed animal named after him. 

“Thank you,” You smiled before spotting a sandwich shop a little way down the boardwalk. 

“C’mon Miles, Junior,” 

“Why are you making me hold this thing?” He complained, glancing around at the other passersby on the pier. 

“He is not a thing.” You readjusted Junior in Miles’s arms to be cradled like a baby. 

You continued walking down to Say Cheese situated at the end of the boardwalk occasionally glancing back to make sure Miles was still holding the stuffed animal the way you gave it to him. 

——————

“Stop!” You complained, shielding your sandwich from the onslaught of sand coming your way. 

Miles kept shoveling sand at you with both hands. “C’mon let’s go make a castle.”

“Let me eat,”

“How are you still hungry with all the snacks you ate in the car?”

“You ate all the chips,” You retaliated with a swoop of sand sent his way. “I only ate like two”

“Yeah, two whole bags,” 

“Shut up,” You reached your hand out to be pulled up from the ground. 

Back on your feet as you made the trek down shore you leaned into his side. You hissed when you stepped on a sideways seashell. 

He came to a stop jolting you back with him. 

“You alright? Was it a jellyfish?”

You drew up your face at that. “Why would there be a jellyfish all the way back here?” 

“You could’ve just said you’re fine,” 

“Okay sorry I’m fine, c’mon,” You tugged his arm with you. 

Finding a good spot between the water and shore you dropped down to form your sand castle. 

You waited until Miles joined you on the ground to scoop the viscous textured sand into your hands and stack towers of the sand on top of Miles’s. 

When you turned to find seashells to top off your pillars Miles knocked over half the castle. 

“Miles!” You shrieked pushing him down. 

He pulled you down with him, laughing at you. You couldn’t suppress your giggles as you wrestled with Miles in the sand. 

You were ready to pummel him with sand when you heard your mother call out for you. 

“Y/N! Miles! We’re leaving!”  

After racing and losing against Miles back to the rental car your mom turned you around. “Uh uh get that sand off you,” 

You rolled your eyes heading for the showers to rinse off.  

After cleansing the dusting the sand off yourself, in no time you were knocked out in the backseat of the car. 

You woke up past the sunset to a quick flash. 

You whined seeing your mother with her phone in your face from the passenger seat. 

You were entangled with Miles who was somehow still asleep. You shook him awake before getting out of the car yourself.  

—————

When you found out you’d be staying in the same room 

You jokingly complained, “He snores like he has 5 kids and works 2 jobs?”

“Be nice,” Your mother chastised. “He’s our guest,” 

“Yeah, be nice,” He teased.  

You punched him in the shoulder before lugging your suitcase out of the trunk. 

As you reached back in the trunk to grab your duffle bag, Miles grabbed the handle of your suitcase. 

“How many bags did you bring?” He questioned. 

“I can carry them, then,” You stressed. 

“No,” He grabbed your other bag. “I got it,” 

“Alright,” You slammed the trunk down before following Miles up the front steps of the AirBnB. 

——————

“Do you think-” You heard through the darkness. 

“Oh my God! No. Don’t say anything, go to sleep,” 

This wasn’t the first sleepover you had with Miles and it wouldn’t be the last, and almost every time without fail he would start spouting nonsense once the clock hit the AMs. 

“I was just gonna say what if dogs have existential crises?”

“How would I know that?” 

He shrugged despite it being only light enough for you to see his general silhouette. 

The exact moment you flipped back over to try to sleep, Miles interrupted you again. 

“Wanna watch The Road to El Dorado with me?”

Knowing you weren’t going to be able to fall asleep now, you loudly sighed before agreeing and sitting up against the headboard. 

He unplugged his phone from the bedside table resting between the beds, before getting up. 

You pulled the comforter back to give him space to climb in next to you. 

He grabbed Junior moving to put him on the floor. 

“No, don't put him on the ground,” You whined. 

“He’s staring at me,” 

You strained to lean over Miles and pick the toy back off the ground. You put the stuffed animal back on the bed so you were sandwiched between it and Miles. 

Then sidled up to Miles’s arm leaning on his shoulder. 

Not even five minutes into the movie, he felt you aggressively yawn, before burying your face in his shoulder. 

Soon your breathing evened out and when he glanced over you were asleep. 

He smiled to himself before pausing the movie at the barrel jump scene, moving so you were lying down. 

He put your phone on the charger and ensured you were tucked in before placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“Good night,” He whispered before lying down himself, ready to hang out with you more in the morning. 

©guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom

[qqueenofhades]

do you think there's a considerable amount of (young) people refusing to vote for biden because of i/p, or do you think theyre just a loud minority? i cant really tell, myself

I have been keeping a fairly close eye on polls (at least the good high-quality large-sample ones, not the numerous trash ones which currently flood the sphere), actual voting results, and other empirical data that relies on non-social-media blathering. And while we will still need more data and see if anything changes, at this point I think we can presume that any electoral effect of the I/P situation is already baked into Biden's expected results and performances, and I honestly don't think there's much, if any, of a measurable effect.

I say this because first of all, one of the most recent high-quality, large-sample youth polls (I think it was YouGov, but I can't be sure) had precisely 0% of voters between 18-29 listing foreign policy as their top priority in 2024. There were other expected priorities: the environment, the economy, American democracy, abortion rights, LGBTQ+ rights, etc -- but not foreign policy. Now, caveat emptor about this being only the people who respond to polls, the fact that most polls have been largely junk this primary cycle (notably, they have way overestimated Trump's performance and way underestimated Biden's), and so forth. However, even in libertarian New Hampshire, which tends to wander more than the other solidly-blue presidential election New England states (as a number of them still have Republican governors), "ceasefire" only garnered 1% of all write-in votes, and Biden won commandingly despite not being on the ballot. In South Carolina, he just won 97% statewide, and even the Democrats who skipped the primary due to it not being particularly interesting or competitive (as compared to the highly competitive open primary in 2020) still generally say that they plan to vote for Biden in November. So overall, Biden is doing even better at this point in the primary cycle than he was in 2020, where Sanders' early wins in Iowa and NH were generating chatter about an upset. Once again, this is early and we are working with a limited sample size, but despite everything, I think we can posit that the "Democrats/Black people/Hispanics/young people won't vote for Biden because of xyz issue and therefore We Are All Doomed" thesis is at best, considerably overinflated and at worst, totally untrue.

Likewise, to be blunt: the loudest voices shouting about how they will never vote for Biden because of the Gaza situation either don't vote at all, only voted once in 2020 under extreme duress and haven't voted since, and otherwise aren't being taken into account either in polls (which are bad data because they are by nature experimental and speculative) or actual voting results (which reflect the way real people actually voted in elections). The reason the YouGov sample might not have pulled any voters between 18-29 listing foreign policy as their top priority very well could be because these people flat out don't vote and therefore won't pass any "likely" or "registered" voter screens, so despite all their yelling on social media, there's not been any actual impact. Now, this is not to say that there won't be; there has, for instance, been speculation that Biden might be hurt in states like Michigan, which have a large Arab-American population. Michigan is obviously one of the traditional Blue Firewall states that Hillary lost in 2016 and which Biden retook in 2020, and any electoral wobbling there would be ominous for his overall results. However, this is also reckoning without the fact that there is now a largish chunk of old-school GOP/independent voters who say they will not vote for Trump under any circumstances, with that number growing if he's explicitly convicted of a felony. Some of these voters might sit out, or vote for Biden, or maybe decide to vote for some stupid crackpot like RFK Jr., but the point is, if they do in fact not vote for Trump or even vote for Biden, that changes the electoral math.

Likewise: there are about 40,000 Arab-American voters in Michigan. Biden won the state by 154k votes, or 3.35%, in 2020. Even if every single one of those voters voted FOR Trump this time (which would be insane, but never mind), that alone would not be enough to flip the state from Biden, and that's reckoning without the votes that Trump will lose elsewhere. I've seen a few left-leaning publications such as the Guardian picking up the "will Biden's stance on Gaza hurt him in November" question, and the loud social media blabbermouths want to insist that it will because it makes them feel important, but at this point, I honestly don't see widespread electoral evidence of it, because, put bluntly: Democrats vote. Posturing social media "progressives" largely don't. Therefore for all the screaming they do, their views do not get incorporated into the actual results, which is a damn good thing for us.

So in short: No, as of right now, I don't think there is in fact a substantial anti-Biden protest vote, and the people threatening it the most were never going to vote for him anyway. This has gone on long enough that if it was going to flag up as a major thing, I think it would have. There will always be the idiots throwing away their vote on some stooge like Cornel West or Jill Stein (lol), but once again, these people were never going to vote for Biden in the first place and it is not necessarily the case that we need to put undue credence in their threats. Not that we can slack our vigilance, as we cannot and every single person who can vote blue in 2024 needs to fucking do so if they're interested in continuing to live in a democracy, but the situation is not apocalyptic, and yet again, the Online Leftists are far from the most reliable metric of how effective their screaming actually is. So, yeah.

[socialjusticeinamerica]

“Looking – as this court must – at the totality of the circumstances, it is stunning how completely the county extinguished the Black and Latino communities’ voice on its commissioners court during 2021’s redistricting,” Brown said in his decision.”

[joannasteez]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"my needs are forgettable?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"need me to eat somethin else?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"how's your mom?"

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

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

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

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

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

"whenever?"

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

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

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

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

"don't do what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

everything about you here soft and abruptly undone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"can i show you something?"

you nod. "show me".

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

"you like it?"

you nod again. "its pretty".

"it's yours if you want it". 

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

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

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

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