#Not all Americans are like that but too many are

[flemingsgirl]

Enough pt. 3

Masterlist

For the opening ceremony you dress in the uniform you got before you left for Paris, personally you thought you were going back to school, but you kinda liked it, causal yet significant and holds bites of your nationality. With America being second last to be presented you had a long night however your time was spent valuable as you messaged back and forth with Jessie.

As the cameras were pointed on the American boat, you packed your phone into your bag, giving your attention to the crowd around you and the people in front of the television. Smiling, you wave to the viewer as you pass them, having an arm around your best friend and jumping up in your spot. Your phone was long forgotten, so when you hit the mattress as you were ready for the night, you had a glance at the device, flooded with several notifications from your family as well as from Jessie.

Tonight, I’m an American myself. GO USA! (and Canada ofc)

Oh, wow, they mixed up the names of north and south Korea…

Damn I see red, how could they. Relieved I’m not there it’s like much and roaring. Nvm go CANADA! #1

OMG!! Look who I spotted!!

Wow she’s kinda pretty, who’s that? Can you get me her number?

Don’t mind the Canadian athlete in the background with his outstanding tracksuit XD

Seems like you’re busy... :/ have fun and be careful. Let me now when you’re back so I know you’re safe! Good night beauty.

Here to say I’m back safe, already in my bed and ready to sleep. Nighty night.

Just moments later your phone rings and you’re quick to accept and stumble into the bathroom, not wanting to wake Avery. “Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” her voice raspy.

“Why’d you called?”

You could hear some rattling in the background, indicating that Jessie’s fidgeting with something. “Just checking in.”

“It’s late. I thought you were already asleep.”

“I know, but I wanted to hear your voice. Maybe I can sleep better or so I could even sleep at all.”

“Oh Jess. What’s wrong?”

The Canadian gulps. “I have troubles sleeping these past days. With all that happened. I can’t have a proper meal cause I don’t have that much appetite and I miss you like crazy and… and…” she rambles on.

“And what? Trust me, I’m on your side.”

“It’s way too soon.”

“About what? Jess, bebe talk to me.”

She stays silent a few seconds before she clears her throat. “I like you.”

“I like you too.”

Jessie tucks on her earlobe. “Like a lot.”

“Yeah, me too.” You lick your lips, rubbing your forehead. “Look, Jessie. I don’t mean it in any bad way or so. With those new standings maybe, we should wait until all the stressful and anxious days are over to take the next step.” You let Jessie assimilate the information. “Those games aren’t how you imagined them and it’s a hard pill to swallow. But I’m with you. You are enough just like you are, Jessie, don’t forget. You’re perfect in any way. If it gets too much call me, I’ll always be here. Okay?

“Yes,” she mumbles into the phone.

“I’ve got an offer.” You don’t hear any answer. “Jess?” a soft sob is audible. “Hey, hey, Jessie, it’s alright. I got you. Do you listen to me?” the line stays silent. “Jessie?” worry grows in the pit of your stomach. “Hey, hey, Fleming, you’re not ignoring me, you understand?” you chew on your bottom lip. “I suppose you lay in your bed… it’s okay if you fall asleep, yeah. I’ll take that credit. Close your eyes for me, would you?” you give her a second to adjust her position. Soft sobs still lingering in the air as she shuffles under her blanket. “I’ll lead you through the opening try to put your phone behind you at best next to your ear.” A moment passes. “Okay. So, before we were let onto the boat, we had a really dope kinda party in our village. Oh, your little shy self would’ve wanted to burry yourself in the ground. It was even too much for me,” you let out a laugh and one side of Jessie’s mouth turns up, her sobs dying. “It was so loud and there were so many people I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was there for like half an hour and it was scheduled for two hours,” your voice a soft whisper. “Fast forward to our boat tour it was so humid. I send you a pic from before, right? Five minutes later I put them into a ponytail cause they were clutched on my skin. I think we were like three hours on this boat and I’m glad we could message this time otherwise I would’ve died of boredom. I small talked with Simone Biles, LeBron James just to name some. yeah, it was great but a special someone has been missed.” Jessie doesn’t respond, the only sound audible are steady breaths. You wander back into your room and cover yourself with the blanket. “If it’s not clear. I’d like you to be here by my side. To see you and to hold you. I can’t wait to see you again Jessie. Good night until tomorrow.”

Three days later your first game in the tournament was scheduled. Your opponent was the Chinese team, a favoured aspirant for a medal. The start was rough the Chinese women pressured and lead the play. Roundabout an hour into the game your team was down two sets, only one set for the Chinese squad to win. In a matter of time the tables have turned, and the teams were tied, leading to a last set which decides the winner. At the score of 8:10 for the Chinese your coach had to switch you out. Five points before your opponent at the net crossed the foul line so that you landed on her feet and your knee twisted, a pain shot through your leg, but you kept playing. You communicated with your coach, and he took a time out for your team to discuss the matter and how you’ll switch on the field. Your heart scattered as you limp to the sideline where your roommate and best friend stepped up next to the referee and took your place. She gave you a quick hug and reassured you, drying a tear that left your eye. On your way to the bench, you exchange high-fives with the team officials. Taking a seat the physio makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you. By the time you shield your face with your hands and every now and then you dry some tears with the hem of your shirt. In the end your team is defeated which is another heartbreak for you and another wave of tears escape you. Teammates huddle around you and embrace your shaking body. Shortly after you find yourself in the changing room getting ready to shower and put on your comfy clothes for the night.

“What did they say about your knee?”

“It shouldn’t be something serious, but they want to give me a break the next game and maybe the one after.”

“That’s promising.”

“Kinda. Hopefully it works out. If not, they want me to get examined.”

“Reasonable.” You just nod too exhausted and gloomy, only wanting to be in your bed and talk with a special Canadian.

“Hey gorgeous, how are you? You played so well.” You burry your face into the cushion, hiding the blush that grows. “Hey, hey, no hiding here, show me your pretty face.” Her chuckles fill the air, and your heart skips a beat. The past days Jessie’s quite outgoing, charming and offensive.

“Thank you I tried my best, but it didn’t work for us. I’m okay, I think.”

“It’s the thought that counts. Next time will be better. Oh Y/N.” Jessie’s eyes dart over your face. “Tell me.”

“Yeah hopefully.” you stop, a shaky breath escapes your lips, “I... it’s…”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s my knee.” You let out a sob. “It just happened and it.”

“But you played on. Were you already in pain?

“Not much, it was kinda unstable and stiff. I don’t know what you’ve seen.”

“At some point you were on the ground and then you stood up and played on. After a few points your trainer took the timeout.”

“For tactics. He sorted the team with the substitution he was going to make. The other player crossed the line and I landed on her foot and mine gave in twisting, and I fell, that was embarrassing.”

“Nothing about it is embarrassing. It’s not your fault and things like that can happen to anyone… I mean the falling, not the injury. How many times am I thrown to the floor or challenged?”

“But it’s part of your game.”

“Are you trying to make my argument unreasonable?” she lowers her eyebrows. “I dare you.”

“What if I do? Try me,” you giggle afterwards as she gives you an evil eye.

“You wouldn’t want that,” she winks at you while she licks her lips, a smug placing itself on them afterward. The heat creeps into her cheeks but Jessie ignores it, holding the stare at you.

You are the first to break the eye contact covering your face with your hands. A grunt finds its way out of your mouth, and you claps your pillow over your head. “Hey, hey, hey shooow youuurself,” the Canadian drags out and you can hear how she pokes her screen.

“Stop it,” you groan and roll your eyes when your face comes to display again as you set the pillow down.

She beams at you, eyes closed, and her nose scrunched. “What do you mean?”

“You being cheesy. A whole new side of you.”

“Oh, stop complaining. I know you like it.”

“How so?”

“Cause you’re still talking to me.”

“I really like this new confident, keep it Fleming.”

[razorroy]

Before: Gonna Drain The Swamp

Now: Tariffs Will Make China Pay Taxes

Donald Trump’s tariff proposal is worse than even his critics say. Much worse. Trump keeps telling audiences that he’s going to make China and other countries pay taxes to the American government. As even right-wing economists are acknowledging, that’s utter nonsense—as fanciful as his claims that he would make Mexico pay for a wall on our southern border.

A tariff is, in effect, the equivalent of a national sales tax on imported goods, as any economics professor will tell you. Think of it: If we impose a 10 percent tariff on a dishwasher made in China, the manufacturer or importer just raises the U.S. price by 10 percent.

But it’s much worse than that because of how domestic manufacturers will react should the Trump national sales tax tariff be imposed. The Trump tariff will make people who own domestic manufacturing companies rich beyond their greediest dreams, aggressively redistributing wealth and income upward in the United States.

How would the Trump tariff do this? Imagine for a moment that you own a company that makes cars. And let’s assume, to keep the math simple, that each vehicle coming out of your factories sells for $10,000, of which $1,000, or 10 percent, is your profit.

Chinese carmakers sell their cars in the U.S. for the same price.

Trump then imposes his tariff. He doesn’t need to ask Congress to do this. Lawmakers have already granted presidents broad authority to impose tariffs. Trump says he will slap a 60 percent tariff on imported goods from China.

The dealers who sell Chinese cars in America will have to raise their prices to $16,000. If you buy a Chinese car, you will pay that tariff, not China. Indeed, the only harm to China would be selling fewer cars because the tariff would make Chinese cars too costly for many Americans.

But remember, you own an American car company. Will you continue selling your cars for $10,000 to earn a $1,000 profit per vehicle? Not a chance. A fundamental economic theory is that capitalists seek to maximize profit. Every business and finance school teaches this bedrock principle: profit maximization.

Trump’s tariff means you can raise the price of your vehicles to $16,000 and not lose any market share. However, the Trump tariff doesn’t apply to you since you are a domestic carmaker. That means you will collect not $1,000 profit per car but $7,000, all paid by your customers.

But because profit maximization is your goal, you will likely undercut the Chinese car companies. To simplify the math, you would charge $15,000 for each car. That’s a large enough discount that some people who want a Chinese car will purchase your American-made car instead.

That $1,000 profit you made on each car will skyrocket to $6,000. That extra profit comes at no cost. You won’t have to hire more autoworkers, engineers, and salespeople, or spend money on enlarging your factories, or add alluring bells and whistles to your vehicles. Thanks to Trump, you will pocket six times as much profit per car. Sweet.

You can see why people who care only about money and have no social conscience would be eager to support Trump’s campaign and donate millions of dollars. Even if car sales fall by half, they will pocket more money than today.

Trump’s tariffs stand to make you so much money that you’d be laughing not just on your way to the bank but on your way to your megayacht, private jumbo jet, private Caribbean islands, and your many mansions.

Businesses in America typically earn profit margins of between 5 percent to 15 percent of revenue. Companies with little competition typically collect larger profits.

Digital companies often earn vastly higher profits because they have almost no labor costs. That’s because they get you, the customer, and software to do the work. We don’t call this a slave labor economy because the digital companies don’t own you. But they own a piece of your time, and, like Tom Sawyer getting other kids to whitewash the fence, they get you to do their work for zero compensation.

At $15,000 a vehicle, thanks to Trump, as the owner of a car company, you will pocket 40 percent of the sales price as profit.

The Trump tariff would definitely reduce the volume of cars sold. Many people won’t be able to afford cars that cost 50 percent or 60 percent more than today. Therefore, they’ll keep their cars longer. Trump’s national sales tax will benefit auto mechanics as people spend money to extend the life of their cars. Since you own a car company, this will bring you a different stream of profits—from the spare parts you sell to mechanics to repair and maintain the cars you sold in the past.

So the net effect of Trump’s tariffs would be to raise the price of goods made in China as well as goods made here in America.

Whether buying single-use wooden utensils for a backyard barbecue, computers for your children to do schoolwork, or new shoes, you will pay much more to buy Chinese or American-made goods.

Now, if you think America’s problem is that the rich don’t have nearly enough—well, please vote for Donald Trump, because he has an effective solution for that problem. Just don’t complain later that you didn’t understand that the reason you are driving an old beater and forgoing vacations with your kids to make payments on your new superpriced domestic car and other goods is that you didn’t know that Trump had a plan to stealthily siphon money from your pocket so the already superrich could be even richer.

[sissa-arrows]

Americans who plan on voting for Kamala thinking the lesser of two evils is a solution need to take a serious look at France.

Macron was the “lesser of two evils” the first time. By the second time we knew the solution was to kick him out because he was NOT the lesser of two evils but too many white people kept believing in his lesser of two evils bullshit.

You know what’s happening now? The left won the election in the beginning of July. Macron chose to ignore it.

Macron chose a prime minister from the party that got the 4th place at the election. That party is a far right party labeled just right wing. Yesterday we got the new government chosen by that prime minister.

The Home Secretary believes that colonialism had great positive aspects (on the indigenous population) and that “Africans want for France to not repent and to accept that there was positive aspects and to take back its leadership in Africa”. He is also against making “forced conversion therapy” illegal against LGBT+ people.

The Higher education and Research Secretary, believes that “Islamoleftism” is a problem and a threat in higher education and that it must be fought against (Judeo-Bolshevism is so 1917-1945 so France switched things up a couple years ago). He also voted against putting abortion right in the French constitution and against gay marriage.

The Secretary of State against Discrimination was going to change its name to include the protection of secularism (which in France means the protection of Islamophobia and even supporting and being an islamophobe) after a pushback it looks like it wasn’t included in the name BUT it will still be one of his jobs. So the guy chosen supported Stanislas a private catholic schools who was involved in a scandal about favoring students but also about encouraging homophobia, Islamophobia and sexism in the school. He also believes that racism and homophobia exist in France like everywhere else but that very few people are racists or homophobes and that the real problem for minorities is the left who accuses people of being racists and/or homophobes. He thinks that there’s a problem with immigrants and immigration in France and that mass immigration must be stopped (for the record if you respect the Tumblr rules every single one of you was born before he got his French citizenship). But hey he is Moroccan so apparently it automatically means he ain’t racist and anti immigrants. (Say whatever you want about France but this country is hella good at finding the sell outs in each community)

I could go on and on about these three and about the rest of the government. Some of them want to go back on the legalization of gay marriage, how some of them want to make the access to universities and any public space to women with a hijab which will quickly turn into a ban for Arab and Black women to wear baggy clothes as a whole in public spaces…. But I will stop here.

All I have to say is that voting for the lesser of two evils even when people were saying that the lesser of two evils was still a danger for People of color and LGBT+ people turned France into Germany before WW2 except the targets are Muslims and people indentified as Muslims instead of Jews. But go on and vote for Kamala if you want but don’t say that nobody warned you and don’t pretend to be all righteous.

[lancerlovesick]

Just Relax

pairing: john f. kennedy/reader

summary: the summer before his graduate program at stanford, young jack kennedy brings his new fiancée, president roosevelt's niece, out on a sailboat for some much-needed alone time.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: smut, some swearing, mildly dubious consent

taglist: @raspberryknees @saturns-flowers @vlyofthedolls @fortheloveofjos @h-l-vlovesvintage @astro-vibes-bro @neverellaxx7 @maudesgf @southernpopprincess @melancholicstation @secretwonderlandcheesecake @kennediva

a/n: first of all, thank you as always to @vintagedebutante for the beautiful moodboard photos!

this fic’s based on a request i got a while ago for jack to be in an arranged kind of marriage with another socialite! i know it's short 😫 but i'm planning on posting another fic in the next few weeks. i hope you all enjoy this one!!

You’re watching Jack Kennedy sail his boat—how his flexing muscles shimmer like knots of cinnamon in the white sun, the way his golden-red hair ruffles around his ears in the fresh late-morning wind, the way his face glows pink from exertion and every few minutes he’ll mutter something like, “Easy now, just like that, there we are” while easing the long wooden tiller back and forth—when, suddenly, the boat rolls over a particularly big wave and you start slipping from your perch at the edge of the deck.

But before you even know what’s happening, Jack’s long, heroic arm comes swooping across your waist to yank you back to safety just as you’re about to tip overboard.

“I‘ve got you, I’ve got you.” You feel his voice, urgent but still self-assuredly calm, on your neck. Then you feel his hot, furry thighs as you stumble back—or what’s more likely is that he’s purposely pulling you—into his lap.

A quiet groan escapes you. This is the last thing you need. The whole reason you left the cockpit to go sit at the far edge of the boat in the first place was to try and put some distance between yourself and him.

“Are you alright?” he asks then, scorching you with one of those slow, coaxing smiles as he looms over you.

“I’m fine,” you say, and you realize from the sound of your voice that you’re a little breathless—but whether that’s from the aftershock of almost falling or the jittery thrill of being pressed against him, you aren’t entirely sure.

This little voyage at sea is the longest you two have ever been completely alone together. Sure, you’ve been technically alone for hours in places like the cinema hall or a restaurant on all of those ridiculous “dates” your families would send the two of you on so you could be photographed together before they announced your engagement, but this is different. You’re truly alone, without another soul in sight. 

Normally when you two find yourselves truly alone like this, it’s only for a few minutes while Jack drives you home from one of those “dates,” and it doesn’t take long before neither of you can handle the tension any longer and he’s pulling over and unbuttoning your blouse. And you’re pretty sure he was envisioning something along those lines when he invited you and you alone out onto his boat the second his family’s breakfast picnic ended. 

Of course, you’re envisioning that, too. How could you not? For almost a half-hour now, you’ve been forced to watch him in all his masculine glory, commanding the sea against the backdrop of the shiny Kennedy mansion on the horizon and the flapping American flag on their beachside lawn. It’s stunning, the way Jack looks like the total embodiment of the youthful, all-American manhood that he and his brothers symbolize to so many. And the fact that he just rescued you certainly isn’t making matters any easier—because what you also can’t help but envision is the scandalous story that would smear across the society column of every major newspaper if an innocent, neighborly passerby boat happened to catch you and Jack with your hands all over each other in public, before you were married, no less. Your reputation would be in ruins. Your mother genuinely might never speak to you again.

The entire world, it sometimes seems, has been involved in every last little day-to-day moment of your courtship with Jack ever since your families first formally introduced you at a dinner party over a year ago now. But that’s the whole point, you suppose, behind two of the most famous families in America betrothing their two eldest children to each other. And now that, as of last month, you and Jack are officially engaged, the country waits with bated breath for the union between the handsome Kennedy celebrity—who, come autumn, will be galavanting off for his glamorous first semester as a graduate student at Stanford, where he’ll likely mingle among a swath of California’s finest singers and matinee idols—and you. If anyone asked, you would say that the most notable thing about you is that you’ve just finished your freshman year at Radcliffe College. A few years ago, you were dubbed “President Roosevelt’s favorite niece” by the New York Times, but in all honesty, you don’t actually have any reason to believe that your uncle prefers you over any of your cousins.

But still, under no circumstances, you tell yourself, will you let Jack make any sort of move on you out here on this boat. At least one of you needs to have your priorities straight.

“I told you not to sit up there, didn’t I?” Jack is saying when you snap out of your thoughts, tilting his chin toward the edge of the deck where, moments ago, you were peacefully sitting. “Remember this next time you decide not to listen to me.”

You can’t help but crane your neck back to try and study his face for some hint as to what he’s really feeling behind all the sarcasm. Does he pity you for almost tumbling overboard? Or does he think this whole situation is just plain funny? Though either one would be sufficiently humiliating, you’re sort of hoping that, whatever he’s thinking, it’s now distracting him from any dirty thoughts.

But, alas, he’s wearing his big, circular sunglasses, so it’s really no use trying to read him. Unlike the rest of his features, his eyes are always so full of soul and emotion, and whenever you can’t see them, he suddenly becomes so distant, like a calculating secret agent who’s completely anonymous to everyone he keeps tabs on yet somehow knows all of their darkest secrets.

Your spine tightens then when you hear the faint chug of another boat cruising by, but thankfully, when you turn to look, you realize it’s not coming close enough for anyone on board to see you in Jack’s lap. Nevertheless, you twist out of Jack’s arms, landing with a soft thud beside him on the wooden bench.

Jack chuckles then, a deep, slightly dark sound. You blow your bangs out of your eyes, trying your best to seem nonchalant while sparks go off inside of you at the sound of his laugh.

“Why’d you wanna sit so far from me, anyway, huh?” he asks, sidling closer simply because he knows perfectly well that you don’t want him to.

The sharp contrast between his dark glasses and the bright, sun-reflecting tape across the freckled bridge of his nose is suddenly making your eyes burn, and you stare down at your sandals. You start to open your mouth to remind him that now isn’t the time or place to do whatever he’s thinking of doing—but your voice dries out in your throat as he places his hand on your thigh and gives it a soft, playful squeeze. Oh, boy, you think. Here we go.

“What’s wrong?” Jack murmurs with exaggerated concern, an electric sound that’s followed immediately by the dangerous, hair-raising sizzle of his lips on your exposed neck. You suck in a sharp breath of air. “Afraid somebody’s gonna see us?”

He moves your hair to the side and kisses your neck again. And again. You know you should move away but the heat from his chest has welded your body to the bench beneath you.

When he speaks again, his voice is suddenly lower and quieter than before, like there’s something inside of him that he, too, is now trying to suppress, to wrangle into control.

“There’s no need to worry,” he says. “If there’s a photo of me bending you over the deck in The Post tomorrow, I’ll make sure none of the blame falls on you. I’ll say I grabbed you and you tried your best to get away but I just wouldn’t let you go.”

He chuckles again, and then, when you sense him suddenly pulling away, you can’t help but feel a clench of disappointment.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him reach up into the sails and bring the boat to a complete standstill in a whirlwind of brisk, whooshing movements. Then you’re being heaved onto his lap again, facing him this time, your knees thumping against the bench on either side of his legs.

You let out a small, shuddering laugh, pressing your hands to his chest. “Oh, come now, Kennedy,” you say. “As romantic as it sounds, we can’t actually—”

He cuts you off by popping open the button on your shorts.

You’re suppressing a grin as you try your best to push away from him, to squeeze your thighs closed. But his big hands close tightly around your hips, and in a sudden flash of riled-up aggression, he jolts you still with one sharp, warning movement. Almost immediately, you can feel bruises start to form under his fingertips, which makes your stomach somersault.

“Keep still, Y/N,” Jack groans between clenched teeth, the corners of his mouth fighting off a smirk. “Christ. You’re killing me.”

Left with no other choice, you settle back down into his lap, and you quickly realize exactly what he meant by “You’re killing me.” The inside of your thigh brushes against a bulge in his pants that, you can only assume, was created by the friction from all your inadvertent grinding against him.

A shaky gasp leaves your lips then as his long, knuckly finger slips inside your zipper. When that same finger starts to move in slow circles over your clit, your head falls back and you breathe “God dammit, Jack” to the sky.

“Listen,” Jack says into your skin while he kisses across the length of your collarbone, “I promise nobody’s gonna see us. We’re far enough out.”

He brings his free hand to cup your breast over your shirt, and your head tilts forward. Your forehead smushes against his, which, strangely, is kind of soothing. You take the opportunity to let out a deep breath.

“That’s it, kid,” Jack says, his teeth brushing against your lips. “Just relax.”

Into his mouth, you whisper the words, “I hate you.”

One of his eyebrows twitches up over his sunglasses. “Yeah?” he says, and he suddenly sounds even more feverishly out-of-breath than you are. “You hate me, huh?”

He laughs as his finger increases its pressure, and a wave of pleasure so intense you feel like you could vomit cracks through your body. So much for trying to relax. Your mouth falls open, and as you gasp his name, you notice his mouth going slack, too, as he watches yours. An odd, gratifying tingle shoots down your back.

He increases the pressure again. “How does that feel?” he asks, blinding you with the cocky glint of his teeth. When you don’t respond—because your deep-seated competitive side won’t give him the satisfaction—he closes your clit between his thumb and pointer finger in a gentle pinch.

You can’t do anything but groan as that watery pressure starts to reach a breaking point between your legs. 

In a last-ditch attempt to gain some semblance of control over the situation, you shove those god-forsaken sunglasses up off his face and back into his thick tangle of hair. But his eyes are so bright and so full of what looks to be some sort of boyish, appreciative awe as he looks up at you that, once again, you’re rendered stunned and powerless. You’re briefly reminded of that old John Buchan quote you always felt described Jack perfectly: “He disliked emotion, not because he felt lightly, but because he felt deeply.”

“Soon,” Jack says then, as if he’s been waiting to say this until his sunglasses were off and he could truly look you in the eye, “we’ll have our own house and the rest of our lives to be alone every single day.”

The sun starts to melt out from behind a cloud, and Jack’s eyes crease adorably around the edges as he squints up at you. You aren’t quite sure how to respond to his uncharacteristically sentimental remark, but in the end, you don’t have to. You hit your climax right at that moment—you aren’t sure exactly why. But suddenly your whole body is trembling, and you’re gasping his name into his neck, sinking your teeth into his stubbly skin, digging your nails into his shoulders. You feel his throat vibrating as he groans along with you.

Just then, you hear another sailboat come putzing by—and this one sounds only a hundred or so feet away. Immediately, you’re ripped from the throes of ecstasy. You sit back up, heart jumping into your throat so fast you almost choke. You feel Jack tense up, too.

But then the man at the helm of the boat waves and shouts hello, and you feel Jack relax.

“Ah,” Jack says. “It’s just old Mr. Newman. He can’t see well. Completely harmless.”

“Are you kids behaving yourselves?” Mr. Newman shouts jovially across the glittering water.

“Always, Mr. Newman,” Jack says, pulling his hand out of your shorts to wave back.

thank you for reading!!

[erdariel]

I hate how much of scrolling tumblr is just like. Seeing people yell about the next piece of horrible news from somewhere in the world, probably also guilt tripping you about scrolling past it/not paying attention. People begging for their lives, they need money or they and their families are going to die - money that I do not have to spare, and I wouldn't have the time or emotional energy to try and check if they're a real person in need or a scammer anyway. Oh and yet another celebrity, maybe someone I've never even heard of or maybe someone whose work I've admired for years, turns out to have done something horrible! USAmericans arguing with each other about if voting in the next elections is even worth it, and I'm once again grimly reminded that I'm not american, I don't have a vote, and yet the result of the election is likely to have consequence on life in my country (and even more consequence on many other countries out there) too. People from my country either complaining about or venting their frustration through jokes about our idiot government. The faint echoes of some stupid fandom drama. Someone telling me that if I don't pay attention to a post/do something about whichever bad thing somewhere out there is the current piece of news, I'm literally the worst person ever. And oh do you wanna hear what bigoted bullshit JKRowling is spewing this time???

And it's just. I don't even know. I'm just tired. Like I know it's the consequence of living in a world that's pretty fucked for a lot of people, but I can barely even keep my own life together and generally I already see from actual news media all the bad things that are happening currently. And just. I would like to not have to play whackamole with tag blocking and still have it only help maybe half the time. And I know it's not something I can feasibly make happen without unfollowing a lot of friends whose other posts I generally want to see, but just... I would love to have even this one place for unwinding, for seeing funny stuff and thinking and talking about my favorite characters and stories, without having to be constantly reminded of all the bad things.

Like, I already know shit's fucked. Could I not just have a break

[democratthatlovesguns]

Can delusion become a sexually transmitted disease? (A Case Study of the Former First Family)

*Absolutely Nobody*

Melania: Why is everyone obsessed with my nude modeling?

Oh, honey, nobody gives a shit about your nude photos. You're old news ... In modeling terms, you're as old as the balls you had to drain to get the "station" you wanted in life.

Maybe, just maybe, there may be some people that are obsessed. Mainly, it's your son's college classmates that are obsessed; if my math is correct, and it is, they would be around 11 to 14 years-old, eight years ago ... And they very likely grew up in republican households. I'm sure they were constantly discouraged from masturbating at all, but blowing a load over one of your nude images must have been "okay," because boys will be boys, right?

Only brainless assholes will fall for the bullshit you and that criminal minds episode you call your husband are selling.

Unfortunately, for you, most of us see right through it: the GOP is running scared. Their voter suppression attempts are failing miserably, MANY THANKS TO TAYLOR SWIFT! Republicans that once swallowed really hard to be able to tolerate Donald Trump, cannot swallow their integrity and their values any longer and have endorsed Kamala Harris - even though they disagree with her politically, at least they know there's not a single day in her presidency that she would want to "be a dictator for a day" (or even one second).

So what does the GOP/MAGA base have left? Their bread and butter: 1) racists assholes and 2) misogynist assholes.

Your hubby has definitely regained the support of his former Nazi/Proud Boys following with his blatant racism against Haitians. But only you can give misogynist assholes the illusion that if they vote for Donald Trump, they too could be "winners" and be able to one day afford some hot young European pussy.

You're not fooling anyone sweetheart. Your nude modeling was never about art. It was about enticing a rich American to propose marriage. Congratulations, you got what you wished for! Now, have a seat, your tits are showing.

[tomorrowusa]

« The president isn’t the country—he isn’t even the government, only the chief executive of one branch of one level of American government. 

Trump cannot see that, because his anti-Americanism and his narcissism sit on the same foundation: the belief that the most important entity in the world is Donald J. Trump. »

— Kevin D. Williamson at The Dispatch.

A narcissist is the most dangerous sort of person to have in power. Most dictators are narcissistic to some degree. Those who think that they are the only persons who matter are not going to look after anybody else. That makes such people unfit to lead a democracy.

One problem in this country is that civics education is almost nonexistent. Many Americans simply don't understand how the system works. There's an oversimplified view of the president being the locus of all power.

People have fantasy views of presidential powers while giving little or no thought to things like state government.

So somebody like Donald Trump comes along and tells the more gullible masses "only I can fix things" and they foolishly believe he has the power to do so.

Democracy only really works if we're not too lazy to understand how it functions.

[jerrylewis-thekid]

In the US they have realized that posting videos defaming and putting Jerry Lewis in a bad light earns money (I'm absolutely sure that this kind of video is all monetized). And here they increase in number. I find a new one almost every day and frankly I am tired. It is the Americans who set themselves up as right-thinking judges. Those who cannot live without weapons at home, violent, racist, anti-Semitic, homophobic and deeply ignorant by nature, exporters of democracy using weapons. Those who have forgotten and / or pretend not to know the extermination of Native Americans,but they to point the finger.

[embraceyourdestiny]

to any americans who feel "paralyzed" and "dont know what to do" to help with gaza:

reading a fucking book. i beg of you.

in a time of knowledge suppression is it your duty to arm yourself with knowledge.

read about americas occupations in the middle east.

read about 9/11 from outside of america and see how they inflicted senseless harm and violence to countless amounts of people and have been suppressing your rights for the past 2 fucking decades.

read about any of the countless wars from the past 30 years. especially from a civilian's. and the victims and survivors' perspective. listen to the horror stories and do not plug your fucking ears as to what your country is doing.

and read about fucking gaza and palestine and keep up with what is happening no matter how "sad" or "uncountable" you might get.

dont look away from this.

you dont have the right to be comfortable during countless active genocides.

if you're knowledgeable, you're powerful, and our current state doesnt fucking want that.

you have the power to change things if you open your eyes and scream to the world.

wake the fuck up.

Edit: please check the reblogs there are readings and ways to help

[hazel2468]

"UWU op defends Israel UWU"-

Have I not made it clear enough what I think of the Israeli government? Have I not made it clear enough that what infuriates me the MOST about all of this shit going on is that neither government gives a damn and civilians will CONTINUE to die because Hamas and Netanyahu are cranking that war machine for their own benefit? Have I not made it clear that I think what the Israeli government is doing is fucking horrific, a war crime, murder, a violation of human rights?

Why do I even need to MAKE that clear? Why is it that you can talk about LITERALLY anything else, any other country, and people don't rush to fucking accuse you of personally supporting the government when you discuss the wrongs committed against a people, but the SECOND you're a Jew you have to justify your stance about Israel?

Why is it that I cannot even be angry about the slaughter of MY FUCKING PEOPLE. Innocents. Civilians. Fucking CHILDREN. The slaughter of the Palestinian people. Innocents. Civilians. FUCKING CHILDREN.

Without one of you absolute fucking monsters deciding to slap some shit on an unrelated post about how "uwu op defends an apartheid state just ignore that"? Do you have to make it part of EVERYTHING I do? Do you consider everything I put out there tainted somehow because I don't support your joy, your cheering, your unrestrained GLEE at the murder of Jews? Do I need to publish a fucking thesis on my stance on Israel, Palestine, and their respective governments like a fucking disclaimer any time I want to talk about myself, my oppression, my experience as a Jew, or a disabled person, or a queer person, because you fuckers cannot for five seconds be NORMAL about Jews?

To decide to slap something about Israel and Palestine on a post I made about MY oppression, about how people will oppress you no matter who you actually are- it all depends who they think you are. It's a bit ironic, isn't it? Doesn't QUITE fit, but it's funny that someone would read that post, agree with it, and then think "Ah yes, THIS is the place to put some tags about how OP, a Jew who has been reeling for the last couple of weeks about the violence, who has been checking on their Israeli friends every day to make sure they aren't fucking dead, who is dealing with vicious antisemitism from people who they thought were friends, who watched as the people claiming to be progressive supporters of human rights on this hellsite and others OVERWHELMINGLY reply to the murder of their people with good they deserved it fuck you, is CLEARLY a defender of an apartheid state and that makes them a bad person because something something I don't know what nuance tastes like and I am a bigoted ass."

I am TIRED.

[mastersoftheair]

on the point of including black people in the show (or any period show), a lot of the outrage can sometimes come across as performative to me. it's one thing to feel upset about how little screentime black characters get compared to white characters (a valid criticism, believe me, I Know! give me an hour and i could talk your ear off about how this constantly annoys me as a black person who's damned to enjoy period pieces), but it's another to Only get upset while not actually creating content for said black characters, Especially when fandom (not just hbo war, but in general) is famous for taking Extremely minor characters and creating entire worlds with them, to the point where you wouldn't know they're minor characters at all until you check out the source yourself. richard macon, alexander jefferson, and robert daniels each have only 20 or less posts about them (at the time of publishing this post). in my own fandom experience (within fandoms both big and small and old and new, whatever), i've seen more content (posts, art pieces, analyses, fics, etc) made for minor white characters in less than a mere week's time (it's not a competiton lol i'm just giving a perspective here). so idk. obviously, there's nothing anyone here can do about a show that's already been filmed and released. we got what we got. thas it. at least in the great wide world of fandom, you can actually do something about it, turning the big into small. there's precedent for that. otherwise it just feels like complaining for the sake of complaining

[nashvillethotchicken]

A subtle way you can tell lestat is very selfish and ignorant about race, especially in ep 6 is that he said that they'd go to Argentina, a country which at the time was explicitly looking for white Europeans (including n*zis) to move there after spending decades pushing their black and Indigenous populations to the fringes of society to whiten up the country

[tiffysdeath]

the holy trinity <33

[hybbat]

I do think a good chunk of the 'cringey atheist' stereotype did come from the fact that, especially americans, regardless of their actual religious status are just casually christian and refer to things through a religious filter and that isn't seen for how overwhelming/obnoxious/frustrating it is. Its absense, such as when writing a story and things like "oh god" or other casual references are remove or replaced, is seen as notable the same way people find the cast being all women or queer being 'abnormal'.

And I think more people, especially here on tumblr, should take a moment from ragging on some kid being "cringey" saying god doesn't exist or making atheist jump around like dancing monkeys to establish they're one of the good respectful ones before they ever even begin to talk about their own thoughts, and examine why so much content just inserts god into a conversation that had nothing to do with religion like it's the expected norm, the same way they examine the invasiveness of casual heteronormativity.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

i think it's about time that we acknowledge that, no, that character would Not change their name in a groupchat! especially not to that. and, no, that character would not change everyone else's names! especially not to that.