#always support black women's rights and wrongs

[browneyedmissy]

Bree Matthews is Barbie and Nick and Sel are just Ken

[scientia-rex]

I feel like disappointment in Biden is baffling to me because he was always a disappointment. He was the asshole who got to ride to power on the coattails of a better man. He told bizarre and repeated lies (despite getting caught at it and his team telling him not to) about having a Welsh coal miner dad when he did not and he stole that story from actual Welsh people. I read a profile of him years back that pointed this out and told the story of the time he straight up ignored good advice from an expert not to plant a certain kind of tree too close together and flew a bunch of them out to plant, at night because he was just too fucking excited about it, and they all died. He’s not a smart man! He’s charismatic ish and lacks principles and as far as I can tell doesn’t really care about abortion rights or a lot of things we’d consider pretty critical to preserving freedom. I sincerely thought he couldn’t become President because there were so many obviously better candidates in the pool. I underestimated the sexism and antisemitism in American politics, and when he became the candidate in 2020 I gritted my teeth and voted for him because the alternative was a man who is not only an idiot but also profoundly dangerous. Trump is not ha-ha crazy, he’s Mussolini crazy. He is not dangerous because he’s stupid, although that doesn’t help; he’s dangerous because he does not care about anyone except himself under any circumstances and if that means he lets the far right push us straight into forced birth for white women and sterilization for women of color he’s going to do that. If that means conversion therapy for queers and death penalty for homosexual acts he’s going to do that. He has literally no limits. If he gets back into power, a whole lot of people are going to die, again. It’s not a hypothetical because it happened the first time and he’s only going to get worse.

I am not, never have been, and never will be a fan of Biden. To pretend that he and Trump are in any way equivalent is wrong at best and another goddamn Russian psy-op at worst. To pretend that a third party candidacy is viable in the US is to completely ignore every election of your lifetime and your parents’ lifetimes, and to further ignore the lesson of Ross Perot.

You cannot save Palestinians by not voting for Biden in November; the best you can do is chip away at his margin, and the worst you can do is see Trump elected so he can decide to do the worst possible thing in ever circumstance. Biden has Palestinian blood on his hands and watching this when we could have had Bernie or Elizabeth Warren instead is maddening. (I would have preferred Hillary to Trump, but I don’t think she’d be any different than Biden here. They’re both old-school politicians.)

I hate everything about this, and I hate that saying “maybe don’t put the man who literally said he would kill his political enemies in power” is seen as supporting genocide. It’s acknowledging reality. Joe Biden as a person can eat rocks for all I care. I was kind of hoping he’d die sooner in his term so we’d have time to get used to and then vote for President Harris. (Remember when the line was “she’s a cop, don’t vote for her”? Funny how there’s always a reason not to vote for a woman or a person of color or someone you just “don’t like” and can’t put a finger on why except she “seems angry.” Oh does she. How would she not? When Michelle fucking Obama, the picture of grace , STILL got called angry for having the nerve to be a Black woman with an opinion? When Hillary Clinton lost to a man with no political experience to her decades and who openly discussed sexually assaulting women? Would you have voted for President Harris? Or would you let Trump win again because you don’t LIKE her personally and she’s made decisions and statements you disagree with?)

Biden has both less power than his critics give him credit for and more power than his fans give him credit for. He needs to do more to pressure Israel and although it’s a delicate diplomatic situation I’d rather see us fuck up our diplomatic relationship with Israel than watch more Palestinians get murdered for things like “wanting to eat” and “existing.” The line has been crossed, and he doesn’t see it. Because he wasn’t the best person for the job. Because they didn’t get elected, because of sexism/antisemitism/racism. Hell, I have no idea what bootlicker Pete Buttegieg would have done here, but I’d have given him a try. But no. We got Biden and we’re stuck with this reality where you can be as leftist as you want and still have to look at the situation and decide whether you’re comfortable contributing to a Trump victory through inaction. I want socialism—I want every single person on Earth to have clean drinking water, enough safe food, shelter, medical care, and education—and I’m going to vote for Biden, pissy as it makes me, because the only actual alternative is so, so much worse, for me personally as both a woman and a queer, and for everyone in America and the rest of the world who Trump would find reasons to hurt. What do you think the man who openly and repeatedly praises dictators is going to do when those dictators massacre their own people? Yes, we need to care about this genocide now. We also need to care about all of the other people who are at real risk, both at home and abroad. Would a Trump government agree to fund military intervention in Haiti without insisting on it being a colonial exercise in power? Would a Trump government roll back the restrictions on discriminating against transgender patients in healthcare? How would Trump respond if Orban started dragging people into the streets and shooting them en masse? How would Trump respond if China finally went for it and invaded Taiwan? There are more lives at stake here than mine or yours or even those of the Palestinians, who have deserved better for literally decades and are being mass killed in ways that should result in immediate sanctions, a war crimes trial, and the execution of Netanyahu.

The world deserves better from you than complicity in a Trump victory.

[lnlightning81]

Whippet [MV1/MV33]

Summary: Max surprises you with a Whippet puppy. Your puppy's paddock debut and a cute moment

Pairing/s: Max Verstappen x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist Dogs Masterlist Max Verstappen Masterlist Tag List

Getting a dog wasn’t something you expected to happen. Although you had always been a dog person when you got with Max you knew that for a long while there wouldn’t be a chance of getting a dog anytime soon but you were okay with that because Jimmy and Sassy were like your little furbabies. 

It was a race weekend where you couldn’t make it due to work but Max understood that you couldn’t always attend and you did whenever you could - which was most of the races- however it still hurt you both that you weren’t going to be there for support. 

It was no surprise that as you were watching it in the office, you saw Max cross the finish line in first place. You cheered, scaring the people in the office next to you, which you did apologise for before you left for the night. 

The week Max had been away was a struggle to say the least, part of you was glad that you at least had Jimmy and Sassy there but they didn’t enjoy human contact for prolonged periods of time which left you feeling alone to say the least. 

They slept on the end of the bed, keeping nothing but your feet warm, but you needed something to keep the rest of you warm. That’s what you kept complaining about every time Max called you. You were really complaining because you missed him holding you as you slept. 

What you didn’t expect was to come home from work the day Max was due back to find a little puppy running about the apartment. 

“Max?” You called out, confused more than anything. Your key worked, so this was obviously the right apartment even though you were questioning that right now. Maybe Lando got a puppy. you thought. 

“Hey schat” Max smiled, walking out of the kitchen like nothing was wrong 

“Why is there a puppy in our apartment? Actually, let me rephrase that. Why is there a whippet puppy in our apartment?” You asked, raising your hand up to stop him from hugging you 

“Oh meet Teddy” Max smiled as you raised your eyebrows. 

“What?” You asked, looking down at the puppy who was wagging his tail at your legs just waiting for attention. 

“He gets on brilliantly with Sassy and Jimmy, so don’t even worry about that. He’s already toilet trained which is super helpful except he currently has no other training but I figured that’s something you’d like to do” You tilted your head a little as you crouched down to clap the little black and white ball of fur 

“I know that when you’re complaining about not having anything to keep you warm you’re wanting me without saying it” He started as you looked up to him. Never realising that he actually caught on to why you complained when you couldn’t join him. 

“And I can’t just come back so I got what they call a “man’s best friend” for you. Or well, in this case “womens best friend” I hope you don’t mind” He trailed off as he finished that last sentence. You stood back up, walking the final steps to close the distance between Max and yourself. 

“Max. Love. I never realised you caught on that I wasn’t actually just cold and that I actually missed you. You’re so sweet. I really don’t deserve you but, I guess I really don’t mind. You know I’ve always wanted a dog” You smiled, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to Max’s lips. 

Over the next few months, you started training Teddy. He had made his first appearance on your instagram, followed by Max’s and you were really starting to love the pup even though he chewed everything to begin with. 

You had trained him to play fetch, sit, roll over, wait before eating and now you were training him to lie down on command which seemed to be so much harder than the rest even though the training booklet said it was one of the easiest skills to teach a dog. 

Although, for being a whippet, Teddy was really taking these skills under his wing with whippets are, known for being smart they were also known for being hard to train. 

The Dutch Grand Prix felt like the perfect time for Teddy to make his paddock debut. With Teddy on his rope leash rather than the extendable leash to ensure that he didn’t get too boisterous around fans, drivers, team members, and Leo who, he had gotten to know very well. The size difference didn’t matter between the two of them once they got settled into playing. 

Still being a puppy made it easy for Max to pick Teddy up for easy movement around the paddock so walking through the gates on the Thursday morning Teddy was in Max’s arms not that the little pup was too satisfied with not being able to walk. 

Max soon placed him back down on the ground near a little bit of grass where Teddy decided that it was the perfect place to have some zoomies which got fans cooing at him as he spun himself in little circles on the leash. 

Max pressed a kiss to your lips as his hand rested on your lower back. You smiled, turning your head to look at him. 

“I’m so glad I went through with that decision that day. You seem even happier to be here today” You smiled, kissing him again. 

“I need to go do some media. I’ll see you in my drivers room?” He asked, and you nodded 

“You know you will. Love you” You smiled 

“Love you too. There’s a little hidden treat in there for Teddy to find” He smiled walking away. You soon walked towards Max’s drivers room as Teddy got bored of his zoomies and wanted to lie somewhere more comfortable than the grass. 

He was spoiled. You wouldn’t lie about that, but that was also part of being a sighthound. With sighthounds finding it uncomfortable to lie on the ground due to the way they lie from years of catching prey. 

Teddy instantly started sniffing his way around Max’s driver room, with it being a new place for him he wanted to discover every place he could. His little tail wagged faster than the speed of light when he found a little stuffed bone hidden under some pillows. You couldn’t help but take a picture as you noticed the writing on the bone. “Teddy’s Bone” 

A couple of months after his paddock debut was the winter break and you were now fully comfortable leaving Teddy at home out of his crate because although you agreed with crate training you hated having to leave him in there even though that crate alone was better than Max’s whole apartment at this point. All of them put together. 

Max had told you that he was planning a date night, so now you were at some fancy restaurant in Monaco enjoying each other's company as you both yapped about random things. 

The drive home was nice, the music softly playing in the background as you held the bouquet of flowers that Max had stopped off to get because “You can’t have a date night without flowers” as he had previously said to you. However, these weren’t your normal bouquet of fresh flowers. They weren’t even fresh because Max remembered that your hayfever didn’t like fresh flowers and you’d be feeling ill until they unfortunately died, so he got you some faux ones that could last forever. 

Max draped his suit jacket over your shoulders during the walk-up to the apartment as he held your hand. Opening the door, you were expecting to be tackled to the floor by an over excited whippet, but that didn’t happen. Looking at Max confused, he shrugged a little 

“Are we in the right apartment?” You whispered, following him through the house with a frown. Walking into your bedroom as the last place to attempt to find Teddy, Sassy, and Jimmy, who were all hidden.

You almost melted at the sight in front of you. Teddy lying asleep over your side of the bed with Jimmy in between his legs and Sassy next to him lazily licking Teddy’s fur. Taking a picture just as Max turned around to look at you 

“Schat what’s wrong?” Max asked frowning as you wiped the tears away that had welled up in your eyes 

“They’re just so cute” You pouted, and Max couldn’t help but laugh at the fact you were crying over a cute puppy and some cats. 

Coming Soon

Tag List

Dogs @GlitzyDitsy

Max Verstappen @thewannabewriter @lozzamez3 @barcelonaloverf1life @hiireadstuff @mxdi0 @f1kenzzz @evie-119 @ahgase99 @velocesainz @kat-s2 @scarletwidow3000 @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tellybearryyy @zabwlky1999 @xxx-betty @callsignwidow @chocolatepoetryfun @lwstuff @destinyg237

[zombiefiilm]

Next to You

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: sharing a room with the person in the bau that hates you the most makes you go through more emotions than you thought possible

warnings: kind of enemies to lovers, arguing, crying, no use of y/n, smut, nsfw - 18+ only, apology sex, soft sex, fem oral, protected p in v, praise, typical criminal minds death and unsub mentions

word count: 2.7k

Last minute cases in desolate towns in the midwest often meant that there was nowhere for the team to stay. It wasn't uncommon for you to have to pair or group up with other team members in dodgy motel rooms.

The most recent investigation had brought you all to the middle of nowhere in Nebraska, a long day ending with a drive to an motel that housed 7 rooms in total.

You, Reid and Rossi were the last to arrive so when Prentiss handed you a room key and told you that you would be sharing with Reid, it was already too late to complain.

"It's for your own good" she she grinned, picking her go-bag off the floor beside her.

"I hate you" you sighed.

"Sure you do" she was already walking off. You've been face to face with serial killers regularly, and this was just surviving a few nights in the same room as Spencer Reid, you could do this.

You walked back outside to find Reid standing in the dark by the car, right hand in this pocket and his left leaning against the black SUV.

"Looks like you're with me, Reid" you announced and the way that his face instantly dropped almost knocked you over. It was almost like you'd told him you were about to kill him.

"Come on" you began walking down to room 4, Spencer following shortly behind as you unlocked the door.

Being met with just one double bed though was enough to bring tears to your eyes. The couch looked like it had been through the war and there was no way on earth you were even touching it. And the sigh that Spencer let out made you want to rip your own hair out.

"I'm gonna sleep in the car" you quickly turned around to walk out of the door.

"You're not sleeping outside with a killer targeting women the exact same age as you on the loose" he stopped you in your tracks. He was right. "I can take the couch".

You were a little surprised at the chivalry but thankful none the less. "Are you sure?"

He didn't answer, instead dropping himself onto the couch.

Feeling content with his actions, you dropped your own bag on the floor beside the bed and told him you were going to use the bathroom before cleaning yourself up and changing into the oversized t-shirt you were using as pyjamas.

Coming out of the bathroom again, you were going to tell Reid that he was free to use the bathroom now but he simply glared at you.

It was as if he wanted to make your life hell. He always scowled at you, made snarky comments on little details about you, gloated whenever you got anything wrong. He always drove you up the walls, since you first started at the BAU, and you never knew why.

It's not like you had done anything to him, from what you knew at least. You smiled and shook his hand when you met him and even thought he was cute, you treated him just like you did with everyone else on the team, but you quickly noticed how differently he treated you.

You gave him plenty of time to warm up to you before you let yourself develop any solid opinions on him. You were warned about how he took to knew people, and you were understanding at first. But after you were several months in, and now years, and he still treated you like an outsider, you were no longer shy to expressing your dislike for him.

Other people on the team noticed it too, you, JJ, Garcia and Emily often discussing it with each other, but if one of them ever mentioned Spencer's attitude to himself, he'd deny everything and brush it off.

You really tried to not let it get to you, especially with the support from others, But man, did it upset you.

Spencer eventually got himself ready in the bathroom and came back out, silently setting himself up on the couch as you sat in the bed and did some research. There was a nice silence for a while, and then:

"Could you stop turning the pages so loud" he sounded irritated already and you hadn't even spoken to each other in the past 30 minutes.

"What?" you matched his tone, was he really trying to start a fight with you right now?

"I can't even think with how much noise you're making"

"I'm not making any noise, Reid, what's wrong with you?"

"You're flicking the pages, I can't pay attention to anything else"

"Oh so the sound of paper is able to stop boy genius in his tracks?" you mocked, pissed off at what he was choosing to do do.

He glared at you in response, he looked like he was about to blow a fuse.

"I don't know how to help you here, Reid, I'm trying to work on the case"

"Yeah, trying, it's not like you've ever actually done anything important for one" his voice had raised slightly.

"What?"

"You're practically incompetent, how you got recruited to the bureau, I'll never know" you hadn't even noticed him standing up, but it suddenly made you feel uncomfortable so you got out of the bed too, standing on the opposite side of the room.

"Excuse me?" you were completely shocked now, how had he gotten so far.

"You heard me. You have no place on this team. All you do is mess things up, you can't figure anything out and then you go and let our unsubs go"

Oh

You knew exactly what he was talking about. During one of your first cases, you had unintentionally informed an unsub that the FBI were searching for him during an interview with his wife and he got away. He was dangerous and you had never forgiven yourself for the people who had died before he was finally caught.

You just broke down in tears after that. It felt like he'd re-opened the wound right there and then.

"Fuck you" you spat through tears. You couldn't even look at him now, turning your back to him to sit on the bed.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry" it was like he had suddenly snapped out of the unexplained rage he was just experiencing.

You felt the bed dip as he sat down behind you, and then a hand rest on your shoulder.

You were edging on losing the ability to breathe. It wasn't even just remembering the worst experience you had on the job, it was the fact that Spencer had used it against you just to get a reaction out of you. You wouldn't have even expected that from him.

He just sat behind you as you attempted to regain some sense of composure, not saying anything else. Was he finally feeling some sense of remorse for how horribly he had been treating you?

Once he noticed that your breathing had slowed, he called out your last name, your work name. It felt so impersonal in that moment. Not that you'd ever been on a first name basis with him, but you gave no reaction to him.

He tried again, squeezing your shoulder this time. You gave him nothing.

But then he whispered your name. Your first name. It was quiet, apologetic.. desperate.

You sniffled, wiping the tears from under your eyes before you turned around to look at him. He was sitting right behind you in the bed now, his big brown eyes practically burning a hole in your head. You knew you probably looked like a mess now, face red and wet, eyes puffy, and hair mangled.

"God, I'm sorry" his hand reached up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek "I'm such an idiot, I can't believe I said that".

You flinched at his touch, not saying anything back to him.

"If I could take that back I would, I did not mean it. It was just in the moment" he tried to hold your face in his hand but you avoided his touch.

"In the moment?" you repeated "What even was that moment. It's like you wanted to have an argument with me for fun".

"I don't want to argue with you, I just.."

"You just hate me" you finished.

"No! I don't hate you, I'm just stupid and don't know how to deal with how I feel about you"

You looked directly into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. "How you feel about me?"

You managed to catch his gaze as it briefly flicked down to your lips. It felt like something was drawing you closer as you moved towards him.

"Please, let me make it up to you".

"No. Are you saying you've treated me like this because you can't figure out what to do about your feelings for me? What are you? Twelve? You've made my life miserable."

The tears spilled out again, what was he even saying?

"Please, just let me show you how sorry I am"

His voice was laced in what could only be described as desperation, it was making you want to hear him out, forgive him, and you didn't quite know why.

"Please" his voice was on the verge of breaking.

Your walls were crumbling down, it was like he'd cast a spell on you

"please"

You only nodded, allowing him to to lean in closer to you, finally cupping your head in his hands and softly pressing his lips against yours.

It was like he was purposefully avoiding any roughness as he gently kissed, from your lips down your jaw and then down your neck. He looked at you then, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question. And you nodded.

He loosely grabbed the hem of your shirt, and you let him lift it up over your head.

He didn't touch you yet, kissing your lips again as he began to slide your underwear down. You manoeuvred enough for him to take them off you completely. He was so gentle that you didn't even think of feeling self-conscious being completely undressed in front of him.

He urged you to spread your legs and quickly laid down on his stomach in between them.

You barely had time to blink before his lips were on you, kissing up the inside of your thigh. as his hands wrapped around you, holding you down.

Then, he was softly licking up your cunt, softly moaning to himself as he tasted you. He avoided your clit, dragging his tongue everywhere except where you needed him most.

"Spence" the nickname drove him crazy, he finally felt like maybe you could be his.

He finally flicked his tongue over your clit and you couldn't help but push your hips against his face, a whine slipping from your lips.

He only egged you on, using your legs to pull closer to his mouth. He kept circling your clit, increasing the amount of pressure he used as your squirmed under him.

Every few moments, he'd bring his tongue down again, dipping into your hole gently, gathering your slick, before suckling at your clit again.

Slurs of his name, swears and a few 'oh my gods' were the only coherent sounds that could leave your mouth. He had gotten you incredibly sensitive and you felt like you could tip over the edge at any moment.

Spencer himself couldn't stop himself from moaning at your taste, your sounds, how your skin felt under his hands. The vibrations pushing you further.

He suddenly sucked a bit harsher, almost nipping your clit before going back to his previously gentle movements.

The contrast between the rare harsher movements and his gentle attention had you bucking into his face, only to be stopped by his hands pushing you down.

All of a sudden, you felt your release. You moaned much to loud as you writhed under Spencer's mouth, him carrying you through your orgasm.

Just as you felt yourself come down, you went to pull yourself away from Spencer, but he refused to let you, keeping you pinned down to the bed as he let himself taste your release.

"Spencer, please" you were so incredibly sensitive at this point, your body jolting at every small movement. You had to bite the side of your hand to stop yourself from yelling out from the pleasure.

He suddenly pulled off of you with a soft *pop* ad sat up, quickly kicking his trousers and boxers off as you reached forward and loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

Now that he too was undressed, you felt more equal, it was almost metaphorical as if he was agreeing to end the weird tension between the both of you.

He sat between your legs again, lifting your legs around his hips. You hadn't noticed the condom he had taken out from his pocket until you heard the crinkle of the foil as he opened it.

He quickly rolled it down his shaft as you finally got the chance to look at him. You felt yourself clench in anticipation.

He finally lined himself up and you were subconsciously pushing your hips down towards him.

"Please, Reid" you practically begged as he leaned forward but he stopped at your words.

You looked into his eyes, pleading for him to fill you up, but he didn't.

"Spencer" you whined, and he quickly rutted his hips into you.

"Thats it, good girl" he praised as the air was knocked from your lungs.

He started slow, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to finally caress your skin. It was like he was trying to memorise the curves of your body with one hand. He grabbed at your hips, held your waist, squeezed your breasts, as he slowly picked up his pace.

He couldn't get enough of feeling your body as he pinched your nipple, marvelling at the way it hardened further.

"God, you're so beautiful" his hand finally fell down to your clit, rubbing small circles in time with his thrusts.

You couldn't even get a single word out at this point, too tired and desperate to say anything.

"I'm so sorry baby" if he didn't have your attention before, the name had definitely gotten it now. "I'll be so good for you from now on" you could tell he was close from the waver in his voice, but you too felt your 2nd release approaching.

"You're so perfect" his rambling was interrupted by groans, "never want to leave your side ever again" his thrusts had last there rhythm as he circled your clit quicker, desperate to get you to cum before him.

It didn't take long for the coil in your stomach to snap, vision blurring as he continued his thrusts. Not much after, he plunged into you one last time. You could feel him coming inside as he filled up the condom, his chest now flush against yours.

You both laid there for a few moments, enjoying the hot, sticky embrace as you caught your breathe.

Silently, Spencer pulled out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the trash before pulling his boxers on. He then got you cleaned up, helping you put on your own underwear afterwards, before you got into the bed.

He tried to walk over to the couch but you were not letting that happen. “Get in here Reid" you muttered, laughing quietly as he practically jumped in beside you.

As he faced you in the bed, he brushed a stray hair behind your ear. "I'll make it up to you, I'm sorry, about everything" he kissed you once more, it would take more time for you to forgive him, but for now you let yourself fall asleep in his arms.

[sapphsorrows]

"people only pick on trans people because they're easy targets" yeah no shit they're easy targets just like flat earthers and antivaxxers. what they believe is absolutely fucking insane when you think about it for more than 2 seconds.

the idea of trans is no different from the idea of predestination.

predestination says only those who have been chosen by god will be saved and will go to heaven. how do you know you're predestined? there is literally no way to tell externally. there is no test you take to make sure you're predestined. you just have to put your faith in jesus and know, internally, in your heart, or whatever. funny how literally everyone who believes this also happens to be one of the ~chosen ones~.

the idea of being trans is that some people are born in the wrong body. how do you know you're born in the wrong body? there is literally no external way to tell, aside from maybe a few "am I trans?" quizlets (which as we all know are 100% accurate always and only made by professionals and not 12 year old furries). you just look inside, or whatever, and somehow "know" or you decide for yourself. then, based on your own self-reporting, which you have no way to externally verify, you expect people to bend to your will and you expect society to give you special privileges that no one else gets. no other man gets to pee in the ladies' or compete in women's sports but once you self-id as trans? well, right this way "ma'am", pay no mind to the women cowering in fear of you. their rights don't matter nearly as much as your feelings. funny how damn near everyone who believes in this also happens to be trans themselves, will a few outliers.

even "gender critical" transes like mr. blaire white and ms. buck angel will talk in hours upon hours of videos about the importance of gatekeeping and protecting women's spaces, yet /they/ demand the exact same privileges as every other "fake" (in their words) trans person on tiktok. do you seriously think "fake" trans people are going to listen to you and suddenly not go into the women's? No! are you fucking kidding me? it's so much easier to tell a buck or a blaire to fuck off than it is to a delusional fetishist who will 100% either hurt you or make a scene. there is no "true trans" because EVERYONE claims to be truly trans, everyone from bruce jenner to the "IT IS MA'AM" gamestop dude.

it fucking baffles me how youtube skeptics - people i used to admire, people who taught me how to think critically about shit - will spend all damn day dunking on flat earthers and creationists but will turn a blind eye to the trans cray and will even go as far as to support them. they think they're so above it all and they can't be fooled, but they have been, and I keep waiting for them to snap out of it - just like I waited for my own family to snap out of christianity - but they haven't.

if you seriously think a dress and some hormones and plastic surgery will make a man into a woman, you're insane, and you're no more crazy than a youtuber who thinks antarctica is an ice wall or a pastor who still prays to his "sky daddy". you have no right to make fun of these people for the insane shit they believe when you believe in this nonsense. you are quite literally the pot calling the kettle black.

and if you're one of those people who's like "oh well i know they're not actually women i just call them that to avoid hurting their feelings" im sorry but you're still in this cult, you're physically in but mentally out and the only way to really get out is to call a spade a spade, admit the emperor has no clothes, admit you were fooled just like me - just like all of us - and speak out against it.

[megamindsecretlair]

Wrong For It

Pairing: Toxic!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Corruption kink if you squint. ONE SHOT.

Summary: Follower Celebration: You voted for Slice of Life with a Toxic Tyrone! While hanging out with your best friend, her big brother Tyrone comes home unexpectedly. You've had a terrible crush on him for as long as you could remember. You're both a little tipsy and feeling each other. You absolutely shouldn't....right?

Word Count: 6,014k

A/N: Happy Follower Celebration!!!!! It's because of YOU that I've enjoyed (19!!!!) Tyrone fics! Not including the multiple parts. I've written sweet, toxic, disrespectful, AU, and spooky Tyrone fics and ya'll still want more! I LOVE YA'LL FRFR!!!! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Special, special shout out to @planetblaque! I could NOT have finished this without you, ILY!!! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui

“Girl, you never want to hang at my place anymore,” your best friend, Camille, said. 

You sighed and switched your phone to your other ear, grateful that she can’t see your guilty eye roll. “That’s not true, I was just over there…” You trailed off, trying to think of when you were last over there.

Fourth of July. She had a small party, which of course meant that everybody and they mama was invited. It was easy to disappear during the party. Easy to dodge Tyrone, her brother. He wasn’t a bad guy, he was just the neighborhood fuck boy and you had a terrible crush on him.

You’d known Camille and Tyrone all their lives, having grown up right next door to them. You never stood a chance when it came to what type of guy you were interested in. Camille spent many a day complaining about her annoying older brother and how women always tried to be nice to her in order to get to him.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that during puberty, when you really started to notice boys, you had the misfortune of seeing Tyrone workout with his shirt off. Your summers were spent looking out of your bedroom window and into their backyard where he often hung out with friends. The no shirt/black shorts/towel hanging out of his back pocket combo unlocked something in you. 

You’d been changed. Altered. The fabric of your mind had been ripped apart and you spent the rest of your days trying to find someone who held a candle to Tyrone. None ever did. 

“That’s right, yo bitch ass don’t even remember when. Please? I got the house to myself for once,” Camille said. 

You sighed through your nose and looked at your phone. It was late in the afternoon and you didn’t have anything to do. Still. There was always the possibility of running into Tyrone. 

“You sure you got the house to yourself?” You asked.

“Yes! Now come on! We can make fun of that new movie on Netflix,” she said. 

“Let me get decent and I’ll be over,” you said. You held the phone away from your ear as Camille squealed loud enough to be heard around the corner. 

“Bring snacks!” She said. She signed off and you groaned, flopping back onto your bed. You were an adult. Tyrone came home later and later and sometimes not at all. He was either lamped up with his latest conquest or he was out selling weed. He still sold premium shit compared to the shops and you had no idea where he got it from. 

You got yourself together and raided your pantry for your favorite snacks. Chips, cookies, and pieces of candy. You were going to have a terrible sugar rush but fuck it, it was the weekend. 

Soon, you were locking your door behind you and crossing the dry lawn towards Camille’s house. You checked her driveway. There was only her busted Toyota Camry out front. You could breathe easier. Eventually, you’d have to get over him. Eventually, you’d have to stop letting your avoidance of him get in the way of your friendship with Camille. You just needed more time.

You shivered with the roaring wind outside. You hadn’t expected to go to her place tonight and you were comfortable in the heated house with your shorts, long sleeved shirt, and fuzzy socks. Outside though, you were exposed to the elements. Once it dropped below 70 in LA, it was freezing.

Camille finally opened the door, her deep ebony skin almost a match for her brother’s. She had thick, curled hair that was tied up into a high ponytail at the moment. She wore a tie-dye graphic tee with the sleeves cut off and gray joggers.

She squealed when she saw you and threw her arms around you, pulling you into a big hug. You giggled and braced yourself from the added weight of her. “You act like I died,” you said.

“I thought you did. How you still live next door and I, like, never see you unless we go out?” She asked. She took some of the snacks from your hands and let you into the house. You followed behind her, closing and locking the door, and moved into the living room. Since no one was there, you had the chance to watch TV on the big screen. 

You always loved being at their house. It wasn’t much. And it was just as grungy as your place growing up, but it was clean and full of love. Their mom was like a second mom to you, always making sure you were fed and gave you dolls on your birthdays. 

Camille already had an assortment of liquor lined up on the table like you were pre-gaming back during your clubbing days. “Damn girl,” you said, noticing it. 

Camille dumped the snacks onto the table and grinned at you. “Been so damn long, I forgot what you drink!” 

“Stop. We talk all the time,” you said.

Camilled sat down on the brown, weathered couch with a big sigh. She avoided looking at you and picked at something on the cushion. “Don’t feel like it, is all,” she said.

Shit. Now you were feeling guilty. You sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug. “I just been busy at work, bestie. I’m sorry I’ve been MIA,” you said.

She grinned and shrugged. “I get it. Work is a bitch! Now let’s get drunk like we used to!” 

You shook your head and again, something was telling you to throw caution to the wind. Before long, she was queuing up a movie on Netflix. She popped the top to the tequila and lined up two shots for you and two for her. 

You both shot it back, howling at the burn of alcohol. “Gahh damn!” You said when your throat calmed down enough. 

“Woo! Shall we play a game?” Camille lowered her voice and waggled her eyebrows. You laughed and shoved her away.

“The last time we played one of your drinking games, I was up till 3am puking my guts out!” 

“That was on me. We probably shouldn’t have taken a shot every time that man licked his lips. Trevante is sex on a stick!” Camille said and cackled. 

The sweet burn of alcohol dropped to your stomach and warmed you up from the inside out. You only shook your head and agreed. 

Soon, you both were falling back into your normal routine. You laughed, made fun of the trash ass movie, and drank and ate your way through the night. You yawned for the tenth time in as many minutes. Fuck, you missed this. You missed hanging with your best friend. 

Guilt wrapped an icy tentacle around your gut. It was your fault that you hadn’t had many times to unwind and catch up with your bestie. You had been so focused on work, so focused on keeping your mind busy, that you hadn’t realized just how long it’s been. 

You vowed to change it. You were not going to let some man get in the way of your friendship. No matter how fine he was.

Camille’s soft snores made you turn towards her. You giggled and shook your head. She always fell asleep first. And she fell hard. It would take an earthquake to wake her up. And even then, you both were desensitized by them by now. The rough rocking was akin to being rocked as a baby at this point.

You were sleepy but not ready to fall asleep just yet. You decided to help her clean, not wanting to be a pig in someone else’s house, best friend or not. You swept up crumbs, wrappers, and carried shot glasses over to the kitchen. Fuck. Everything was still familiar to you.

The light over the stove was on so you didn’t turn on the overhead lights. An ache beat in your head and you didn’t need the extra tension. The kitchen had peeling sky blue paint, tile countertop, and there were clean cups and bills overtaking the counter top. 

You hummed slightly as you cleaned up, knowing exactly where they kept everything. You set the shot glasses upside down on the drying mat. The humming was just loud enough to not hear the door open and close. Or hear someone approaching behind you.

The circle of arms around your waist made you squeal in fear and tense up, throwing your elbow behind you. You connected with something soft but solid, and there was a tiny “oomf”. 

You moved away and turned around, chest on fire. You held up your hands. You couldn’t fight worth a damn but whoever it was didn’t need to know that.

“Damn girl, watch where you throwing them elbows!” Tyrone groaned, rubbing his stomach.

“Tyrone?” You asked.

Tyrone winked at you and smiled. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. It took a few, deep breaths for your body to catch up to the fact that you weren’t in danger. Not physical danger anyway. You placed your hand over your heart and the rapid thumbs began to slow down. 

Tyrone leaned back against the counter and shoved his hands into his oatmeal colored hoodie. He wore a matching beanie and the hood was pulled up, hiding his beautiful hair that he lovingly took care of. You were brought back to plenty of days spent on their porch while Camille braided his hair and he talked shit. 

He considered himself an expert on relationships, despite never really being in one, and he never wasted an opportunity to educate you on men. He always told you that niggas weren’t shit and you were better off getting in, getting off, and getting out. 

Tyrone licked his lips and looked over your body, tilting his head. He grinned as he did so and you suddenly felt naked. Like he stripped you with his eyes and you were now exposed. Of course, it only got you thinking about being naked with him. Of being underneath him while he did all kinds of nasty shit to you. 

You cleared your throat, thankful that your rich brown skin didn’t show when you were embarrassed or flustered. The tips of your ears did burn something fierce though. “What are you doing here?” You crossed your arms. You sounded a little breathy, but that was okay. You were still trying to calm down from being scared.

“Live here,” he said. 

You sighed. Yes, you walked into that one. “Camille said you were gone tonight,” you said.

“Decided to come home early. Guess I just knew that yo pretty ass was in my kitchen,” he said.

No, no, that did not make your stomach flutter. That did not have an answering throb in your pussy. You shifted from one foot to the other, nails digging into your sides. 

“More like you got in a fight with your latest squeeze,” you said. You huffed a laugh, trying to break the sudden tension. Their kitchen wasn’t that big and Tyrone had a habit of making it seem like he was the only person in the room. He approached you, getting into your personal space. You tried to lean back, but your back was already against the counter.

Tyrone’s eyes were at half mast, likely high. He shifted closer until you were nearly chest to chest. He leaned down. Your lips parted. What was happening right now? Was he going to kiss you? Right now? Right here? With Camille in the next room? 

He reached out his hand and you did your best to prepare. You pinched your side. Were you really going to let this man kiss you? 

He reached next to you and grabbed one of the shot glasses you just cleaned off. He grinned. “Jealous?” He asked. He moved away, opening a small pantry next to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of Hennessy. 

“No,” you scoffed, injecting enough venom in your voice to fell an elephant. Your chest hurt for entirely different reasons now, a type of burning working its way through your lungs. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to slap that smug grin off of his face. 

“Who still says ‘squeeze’? When did you turn into an old lady?” He asked. He poured himself a shot and knocked it back. You were a fool but you watched the way his throat worked down the liquid. You wanted to lick him. Wanted to plant your nose right at the hollow of his throat and kiss him. 

You rubbed your head and moved away from the sink. “I’ve always been an old soul,” you tossed over to him as you passed him. He tugged on your long-sleeved navy shirt, pulling you back into the kitchen.

“Hol’ up, where you going? Shit, I ain’t seen you in a cool minute,” he said. 

You shrugged out of his embrace and refolded your arms. As long as you had a barrier against Tyrone, he couldn’t see how fast you were breathing. You were thankful for the low light as well. That he couldn’t see the way you followed his every move. That your eyes darted to his lips whenever he spoke. 

 “I been around,” you said and shrugged. 

“Naw, you were, like, always over here. Then you up and dipped, what’s that about?” He asked. He poured himself another shot and knocked it back, eyeing you over the rim. You held eye contact for a beat, perhaps two, before grinning and shrugging once more.

“Been busy. Why you giving me the third degree?” You asked.

“Damn, can’t a nigga make conversation?” He asked.

The giggle left you before you had a chance to snatch it back and hold it inside. Giggling would lead to flirting, which would lead to dangerous thoughts. You were a bit tipsy, feeling loose and unencumbered. It was a dangerous position to be in. Especially around Tyrone. 

“I better go wake your sister up before she go looking for me,” you said. You smiled and moved past him once more. Again, he grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled you back in front of him.

He invaded your space, moving closer. Close enough to smell the Henny on his breath. “Why you keep trynna escape?” 

“I’m not,” you said. 

“You look too damn good in them shorts,” he said. He tilted his whole body to the side, exaggerating his movements to look at your legs. You laughed and shoved at his shoulder. 

“You need to stop!” You said. Any minute now, Camille was going to wake up. The last thing she needed to see was you flirting with her damn brother in her kitchen. You came over here to hang out with her, not make googly eyes at Tyrone. 

That color looked damn good on him though. It stood stark against his dark skin, but it suited him. It was rare that you saw him in bright colors, and the muted oatmeal color just worked on him. Everything worked on him. He was one of those annoying men that never had a bad day.

“Why I need to stop?” He asked. He straightened up and tugged on the front of your shirt, pulling you closer. You were trying to resist, trying to tug yourself backwards. But he was stronger. He pulled you forward and you braced yourself by grabbing his upper arms. You were chest to chest now, staring up into his dark eyes. 

“You’re Camille’s brother,” you whispered. 

“You’re Camille’s best friend. Fuck that mean?” He asked. 

You grinned but immediately squashed it, poking the sides of your cheek with your tongue. You mentally slapped yourself, knowing full well you should not be enjoying this. Should not enjoy the way he grinned slowly, hand still clutching your shirt to keep you in front of him. Like he wanted you there.

“Tyrone…”

“Shhh,” he said. He licked his lips and leaned forward, rubbing his cheek against yours. You sighed. He had a bit of prickly stubble there and it felt good against your smooth skin. He kissed your cheek. “Let me kiss you.” 

You shook your head, looking down at his hand on your shirt. “We shouldn’t…”

“You say ‘should or shouldn’t’ one more time and I’ma kiss you anyway,” he said.

You shook your head, looking back up at him. “Tyrone, Camille will kill us,” you whispered.

“All you gotta say is that you don’t wanna kiss me. You just keep giving me bullshit excuses,” he said.

“Fine, I don’t wanna kiss you,” you said.

“Bullshit,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed you anyway. You squealed and gripped his arms harder, intent on pushing him away. But his lips were warm and wet. Sexy. He kissed like he walked; lazy, smooth, in control. 

The kiss made your pussy flutter, growing wetter by the second. He moved his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. It was like you weren’t close enough or something because he pushed you against the countertop. He ground his hips into yours and you moaned quietly, feeling something hard press into your belly. He grabbed two handfuls of your ass and squeezed.

His tongue explored your mouth, licking along your bottom lip. You hissed and ended on a sigh. When there was a natural break, you took the opportunity to pull back. Tyrone opened his eyes and grinned.

“Tyrone! You know we shouldn’t–”

Tyrone’s lips found yours once more, hands gripping your hips and digging in like he was looking for lost treasure. You moaned, gripping onto him just as hard. You finally got to taste him, that subtle hit of Henny on his breath, and it was everything you pictured it to be. Only better. It was real. It was magical. 

He pulled away and tilted his head at you with a grin. You bit your lip to keep from saying what you should or shouldn’t do. You were torn between two places. On the one hand, you felt so guilty kissing Camille’s brother. Everybody grown, but it still felt taboo. Like you were breaking a sacred girl code. On the other hand, you were selfish and greedy for more.

Tyrone grabbed your hand and began to tug you into the other room. You dug your heels into the hardwood floor, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you doing?” You asked. 

“‘Bout to get into some fun with you,” he said. He winked at you and you rolled your eyes, refusing to let him see how much he was affecting you.

“Oh, no, no, no. A kiss is one thing. I’m not going to your room,” you said. You had to draw the line somewhere. No amount of good dick was going to mess up your friendship. 

Everyone’s had a spin on Tyrone’s dick. And it was just your luck to fall for the resident fuck boy who handed out orgasms like Halloween candy. There had been plenty of times that you and Camille were minding your sweet business when a group of girls would suddenly break out into an argument about who hopped on Tyrone’s dick last. You were not going to add yourself to that long list. 

Tyrone sighed and hung his head, grabbing your hips and pushing you deeper into the kitchen. You were out of sight of the living room by now, but he didn’t stop until you were at the farthest possible point, leaning against the door that led to the side porch. You yelped, not used to being manhandled quite like this. 

Tyrone dropped another kiss to your lips, hands roaming under your shirt and fiddling with the swell of your breasts. You just wanted to point out once more than you were expecting to hang out with your best friend, so no bra was required. 

Tyrone kissed your neck, warm lips pressed to your pulse point. You sighed, gripping the sleeves of his hoodie. He moved one hand lower, reaching under your shorts slowly and giving you enough time to stop him. You didn’t. 

He slipped beneath your panties and he ran his fingers through your wet slit. He hummed in the back of his throat. He kissed his way up to your ear. “I just want a little taste. There’s no harm in that right?” 

You tried to form words to tell him that there was harm. There so was. But then he planted the visual of him tasting you there. You leaned up on your tiptoes the further he explored your damp curls, dipping a long finger into you. You bit your lip to keep from moaning too loud. You were so damn afraid of getting caught that it was a weird mix of fear and arousal that kept you rooted to the spot. 

You wanted to resist him. You wanted to be strong enough to move his hand and keep him wanting more. Instead, all you could do was enjoy his fingers playing with you. “Please? Just a little taste?” He asked.

He lifted your leg to give him better access and your head thunked against the door. He had the perfect mix of pressure and rhythm that it was driving you crazy. Making your knees wobble.

You sighed choppy, breathy sounds and nodded. One little taste wouldn’t hurt that much. He grinned, kissed your ear, and then removed his fingers. He licked them while he looked you in the eye and he moaned around his fingers. 

He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the kitchen. You tried to tiptoe around a sleeping Camille but Tyrone stomped his way through the living room. Camille snored and jerked in her sleep but made no indication that she was close to waking.

Inside Tyrone’s room, you smelled a subtle weed scent. He closed the door behind you and turned on the light. It only turned on his ceiling fan, so he worked with muted lighting. He tossed off his hoodie and beanie, revealing a plain white shirt underneath. He took that off as well and he wore a white tank underneath.

Fuck, he was so hot. You watched as his arms moved and muscles bunched beneath his skin. He moved a blanket off of his bed and then grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the edge. Before you could sit, Tyrone pulled down the sides of your shorts and revealed your racy underwear. You had plans to wash today and these were all you had in the meantime.

Tyrone grinned. “I like these,” he said. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you groaned. You covered your face, burning cheeks scalding your hands.

“Why not? Been checking you out for a while,” he said.

He ran his fingers along the gusset of your panties and you bit back a moan as his knuckles ran up against your pussy. “Liar,” you sighed.

He grabbed your hand from your face and pulled you forward so that you could cup him through his sweatpants. “This feel like I’m lyin’?” 

Your eyes widened and you lightly shook your head. No, no it did not feel like he was lying. There was still that needling thought though. “Fuck boys aren’t usually picky ‘bout who they get with,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled and shook his head. He got to his knees and released your hand. He moved in between your legs, pushing them wider around his broad shoulders. He flipped his hand and started playing with your pussy in earnest. 

“So fuckin’ wet,” he whispered. “You must not be that picky neither then.”

“Maybe I’m just horny,” you said. 

Tyrone chuckled and bit your thigh. You whined, loving the bite of pain. “We gon’ see ‘bout that,” he said. 

He moved your panties to the side and kept eye contact with you for as long as he could. You watched his tongue flick out and push past your pussy lips. You moaned, grabbing onto the back of his head. 

“Mm, don’t you taste so good,” he whispered against your pussy. This was wrong. On so many levels. But you couldn’t resist as he continued to tease you, flattening his tongue against your clit but not moving it. 

Your thighs twitched and tingled, needing him to move or do something besides be evil. You moved your hips, silently pleading with him to get a move on. You whined more, moving your hips. Tyrone chuckled, and sucked on your clit.

“Oh shit!” You said. 

“Impatient ass,” he said. 

He continued to tease, suckle, and please you until you were a whimpering, sopping mess. You’d definitely have to wash these panties immediately. They were soaked with your juices. While making out with your pussy, he pulled your panties in between your pussy lips and pulled. Your pussy lips were wedged on the outside of your panties and you leaned up in time to see a feral look cross Tyrone’s face. 

In all of your fantasies, you never quite imagined him looking so enamored with your body. “Anybody tell you that you got a fat ass pussy?” He asked. 

He licked your pussy through the fabric. All you felt was his hot tongue and your back bent off of the bed with a ragged moan. The edges of his tongue hit your lower lips and you cried out. You were ready to burst. You felt like your bones would melt. 

He moved your panties once more and swirled his tongue in the mess you were making. You licked your lips and looked at him. He was focused on some type of demon time you weren’t privy to. 

Right when you were feeling the beginnings of your orgasm, Tyrone pulled away. You huffed and got to your elbows to glare at him. He only grinned. “You said I could have a taste right?” 

You coughed and sputtered as a hundred sentences tried to leave your mouth at once. “You better not leave me like this,” you said. 

“If I did?” Tyrone asked. He tilted his head and looked at you, all hint of playfulness gone. He…wasn’t serious, was he? You stared at him and he stared at you. You were sure that if this were a meme, you’d be laughing your ass off but this was far from funny. You were unbearably wet and uncomfortable, and you needed relief now. 

“I’ll finish myself off, then,” you said. Your hands moved to your pussy so that you could get yourself off. Not like you hadn’t had plenty of practice getting yourself there. Fuck him. Sex god, pft. What a joke. You finally got a chance to hop on community dick and all he was interested in was fucking with you. 

This, you would take to your grave. You’d never fess up to this embarrassing shit. Your fingers barely grabbed your panties to move them when he grabbed your wrist painfully. You cried out and looked up at him. 

“Don’t you ever try to get yourself off when I’m standing right here,” he said in a near growl, voice low and his lip curling in absolute disgust at the thought. 

“But–” 

“I asked you a question. I ain’t say you can play with yourself,” he said. 

You gulped and sank back onto the bed. He released your wrist, tossing it away from him. It flopped onto the bed. You stared wild eyed at Tyrone, not understanding what the fuck was going on. Mark you down as scared and turned on. 

He pulled roughly at your panties, tearing them down your legs with an excited rush. Your body twisted as you wiggled your thick legs out of them. Next went your shirt and his eyes widened seeing your titties. 

He palmed them briefly, testing the weight between his hands and grinning. Then he tugged down his own sweats, freeing his dick. Shit. He was so big. Huge. He lowered his pants just enough to be able to move and then he was leaning forward, running his dick through your folds to get him nice and wet. 

“Ty-”

“Shh, I’m gon’ fit, don’t worry,” he said.

You turned your head to the side, not able to stand him. “Look at me,” he said. 

You shook your head. If you looked at him, you’d lose your damn mind. “Look at me,” he commanded, voice deeper. 

You whined and looked at him. He ain’t even do nothing yet! You only hoped that it wasn’t so obvious that you’d been in love with him forever. That he couldn’t read it all over your face. Surely, you could have this one night. This one night to torture yourself with for the next fifty years as you tried to find a suitable replacement for him. 

“I finally get in this pussy and I want you to see me do it,” he said. 

You nodded. “I see you,” you whispered. 

He placed one hand near your head to steady himself and then slowly pushed inside you. You cried out, back twisting, and he cooed at you. “You can take me,” he said. It was a matter of fact for him. Not up for debate. He said you can take him and so your body welcomed him eagerly. 

He worked his tip in and you pushed against his chest. He was too much. “I ain’t even in yet, gorgeous,” he said. 

“Too much…” you cried. 

“No, it’s not,” he said. He slowly worked himself inside, pushing deeper and deeper until you were full of his dick. He adjusted himself before moving his hand to push down on your stomach. 

Air whooshed out of you. You felt him from both sides. How did that feel so damn good? He worked his hips, giving you deep and long strokes that made you see the heavens and the earth. 

“That’s right, open up this pussy for me,” he groaned.

He leaned down over you and suckled a nipple into his mouth. Your knees pressed against his waist, pushed back by the sheer size of him. You gasped and sighed in tandem with his strokes. It was like he was feeding you the air you needed and taking it away. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moaned.

“Shh, we ain’t wanna wake Camille,” he said. He pulled on your nipple with his lips and you whined, slapping at his shoulders. 

“That hurts!” You cried. 

He only licked away the sting and did the same to your other nipple. “Shit, shit,” you said and slapped at his shoulders again. He licked all around your areola and sighed, fanning his warm breath across your wet nipple.

“Next time, I’ma tie yo ass up,” he said. 

“Next time!” You squealed. 

He thrusted and hit a sweet spot deep inside. You croaked, eyes rolling into the back of your head. It was like he hit a reset button. He hit it again and again until you were screaming and crying, twitching on his dick with the force of your orgasm. 

“I’m stretching this pussy out, huh?” He asked.

Your mouth worked but you couldn’t make any kind of coherent word come out. You could only hiss and moan with every deep stroke. “Sh–, sh–.” 

“Got this dick all up in yo stomach,” he said.

You jerked and twisted on your way down from an intense orgasm. Tyrone grinned. “Oue, give me another one.”

You hiccuped and shook your head. You couldn’t give him another one. You were only allowed one reset per day, right? 

Tyrone grabbed your ankles and straightened your legs out. He stood up and placed your legs on his shoulders. He kissed your ankle, rubbing the arch in your foot. Your back arched and your mouth dropped open. 

“Ohh, I hit a good spot,” he moaned. He increased his pace. At this angle, he felt bigger. He felt close. Like he truly was digging your stomach out. He adjusted his hips, pushing your thighs against your stomach.

Your hand flew to his arms, trying to push him away. “Why you trynna escape? Huh?” 

“Too. Much,” you said. 

“Aw, my dick too much?” He asked.

You looked at him and nodded. Yes, it was too much. You weren’t used to accommodating someone of his size.

“This dick too much? You sure? ‘Cause I feel pretty good fuckin’ you,” he said, continuing to pound into you. He was relentless, taking pleasure from your body any way he could get it. 

Tyrone licked his thumb and rubbed circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled back, seeing the depth of the universe behind your lids as you came once more.

“There it is, don’t that feel so good? Ain’t you needed that?” Tyrone pulled your legs apart so that he could look at you more clearly. He rutted into you a few more times before he pulled out and fisted his dick, stroking furiously and cumming with the most beautiful, pained expression on his face.

The moan that escaped him was low, guttural. The hot splashes of his cum painted a pretty picture on your stomach. You looked down to stare at that particular artwork. 

Tyrone dropped your legs around his hips and panted. He dug his phone out of his pocket and took a quick picture.

“What the fuck, Tyrone!” You yelled.

Tyrone grinned and put his phone away. “Don’t worry, I won’t show nobody,” he said. “Need something to get off to until I get in this pussy again.”

Your mind went blank trying to comprehend what the fuck he just said. He moved away and cleaned himself off with a red towel that was draped over his chair. He left the room and returned with a wash rag, cleaning his cum from your skin. You were still trying to compute that he wanted to do this again.

“We can’t do this again, Ty,” you said. You got up and found your shirt, pulling it over your head. You fished around his room for your panties. The floor was clean so where…?

Tyrone cleared his throat and held your panties and tiny shorts in his hand. He held it out to you and you reached to snatch it from him. He lifted it above you, way out of reach, and leaned down.

“Give me a kiss before you escape,” he said.

“Ty, no! Give me my panties!” You wanted to shout, but you were ever cautious about waking Camille. Oh god. You weren’t exactly quiet here. Did she hear? Was she outside his door fuming? 

Tyrone turned his cheek towards you and waited. You rolled your eyes and pecked him on the cheek. “Now the other side,” he said. He turned his other cheek towards you. A laugh escaped you and you huffed with the effort of trying to pull his arm down. He wouldn’t budge. So you sighed and kissed his other cheek. 

He slowly brought your clothes back down. You looked up so he was able to swoop in and steal a kiss. He grinned as he pulled back. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said.

You snatched your clothes and hurriedly put them on while Tyrone stared at you. He was so annoying! And you just had sex with him. Amazing, mind-blowing sex but still. 

Dressed, you pushed away from a laughing Tyrone and back into the living room. You sat on the couch and accidentally bumped into Camille. She yawned and stretched out on the couch. “Damn, how long we been asleep?” 

“I don’t know. I think Netflix was watching us for a minute,” you said. You chewed on your nail. You were so sure that she’d read it all over you.

“You cool to stay over like always. I’m taking my ass to my bed,” she said. She yawned again and got up from the couch, tapping your shoulder and headed towards her room. You stared at the light under Tyrone’s door and let your mind wander. 

Ultimately, you followed Camille to crash in her bed like old times.

Lordy! Yes, I said 19! You can find them all here! The Secret Tyrone Files

[dorlilymylovesss]

I want to speak out on a topic that has been really bothering and stressing me out. For several months now, Me and my friends who don't even ship jegulus, but are just Regulus fans have been harassed by Jily shippers. And not just with hateful words, but with specific accusations of fascism.

I want to start by saying that fandoms are a place where people can express their creativity and interpret characters as they like. Fanfics, art, and shippings are forms of self-expression, and they don't have to conform to canon. It allows us to look at characters from different angles, develop alternative plots, and create something new. And I don't judge or hate people for their favorite characters and ships.

I'm a huge Regulus fan even before the Jegulus ship came along. Regulus Black is a character I have a deep interest in for many reasons. Despite his limited appearance in the Harry Potter books, his story and character leave room for a lot of interpretation and thought. And I don't like it when people describe him as a regular Death Eater.

First, Jily fans often argue their dislike by saying that their ship is canonical( of course this is true and no one denies it) and James would never date a death eater. However, it should be remembered that fan art and shippings are inherently activities for the self and the soul. Even if a couple doesn't conform to "official" canon and never even met, it doesn't diminish the right of fans to create their own stories and interpretations.

Second Jegulus shippers are called misogynists.

But they may simply see these characters as interesting dynamics that catch their attention or interesting tropes that can be created. Choosing this ship doesn't necessarily mean they are intentionally excluding female characters and being negative towards them. Yes there are people among jegulus shippers who dislike Lily and exclude her from the story, but they are a minority. Plenty of jegulus shippers love Lily and also ship jily.

The charge of misogyny implies a conscious and systematic disregard for women or female characters. However, in most cases, Jegulus shippers simply enjoy a particular story or interaction between two male characters. This does not preclude an interest in or respect for female characters. Many shippers actively create and support content featuring female characters in other contexts or ships.

There is always a diversity of interests and preferences in fan circles. Not everyone likes the same characters or couples, and that's fine. However, to infer misogyny just based on someone's preference for a certain male couple without considering the overall context of a person's interests is wrong and unfair. Plus, I've seen thousands of Jily fans who were blatantly homophobic towards the marlily and pandalily enjoyers, and called James her only love, and erase her identity, leaving only her relationship with James.

Third, why calling the death eaters fascists is wrong and insulting to the actual victims of the tragedy.

Fascism as a political ideology and movement had specific historical roots and consequences, including brutal repression, genocide, and war. Death Eaters are fictional characters created by transphobic Rowling for a work of fiction, and their actions and motivations are part of a fictional universe.

Using historical examples of real-life suffering and tragedies to compare to fictional characters is disrespectful to those affected by real-life events. Historical tragedies such as the Holocaust require special respect and careful handling. And many Jewish content makers have already spoken out about it.

The kind of hate I've encountered as a Regulus fan is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. That being said, I've always loved jily, but after the hate, stupid accusations I've cooled off to them. You can't treat living people like that because of fictional characters. A lot of people don't care about canon written by a creepy transphobic woman, can you imagine?

Instead of wasting time on conflict and hate I suggest you create content on your favorite ships and leave other people alone. You have no idea how your hating can affect a person.

Not all shippers have the intention to demean or exclude other characters. Many of us simply love a particular dynamic and choose to explore it in our writing. This should not be taken as a threat or insult to other fans.

I love jegulus and jily, but my fav ship is dorlily and it saddens me that fans of the same fandom hate each other so much.

Not all shippers have the intent to demean or exclude other characters. Many of us simply love a particular dynamic and choose to explore it in our writing. This should not be taken as a threat or insult to other fans.

Leave other people alone. If u can't create content for your favorite ship and only can hate others its your f..king problem, it's unhealthy and childish.

I'm deeply sorry for jegulus artists and writers who got hate here and even death treats. I hope you will continue creating something that makes you happy.

[ttkinnie]

Tokyo Revengers characters as animals 💖 (for no reason)

Kazutora: let's start with the most obvious one, our resident tiger. Which is funny considering he gives 0 tiger vibes. Or maybe rescued declawed tiger from an abusive circus. Wait a sec... Hanma and Kisaki have a circus theme going on... why did I never notice this? This starts well. Saddest tiger pic I could find

Baji: A black gray wolf of course. 'nuff said

Chifuyu: A cat. Kitty kitty meow meow. Not crazy enough to be orange, but he's gotta have green eyes and a kind face. This tuxedo:

Koko: Talking about cats, here he is. Most obvious choice I've ever made. Black cat of course, very fancy, will knock shit off the counter and eats only the most expensive wet food

Inupi: second most obvious one because you've gotta pick the race of the dog too. I say he's the only serious golden retriever you've ever seen.

Takemichi: A mouse. He is squeaky and scared, looks like he eats cheese. Very cute. Big eyes.

Hinata: A doe, beautiful and kind but will ram into you if you touch her loved ones

Naoto: a buck because I am unoriginal. he does give off buck vibes tho

Hanma: I know the official art makes him a caracal but I love being contradictory so maned wolf it is. Plus look at its long legs and creepy demeanor, it's him

Kisaki: Listen, I am not the most partial person when it comes to him. He's my little meow meow, I wanna put either cat or bunny ears on him and squish his cheeks. But! Let's be honest, that boy is a snake. The deadliest snake in the world, the saw scaled viper, not the most venomous but highly aggressive. He eats mouse Takemichi for breakfast. Also look at its scales, they remind me of his adult hair.

Mikey: A honey badger, small and cute but will bite your balls off and kill your family for fun.

Draken: A lion, beautiful mane and a symbol of strength. Lives among a tribe of lionesses (lucky him)

Mitsuya: I do not like spiders. At all. But an animal literally producing silk is the only choice for Mitsuya. However I am not masochistic so i won't put a spider image, just the web

Taiju: Great white shark. Very smooth skin. Anyone who tells you they have sandpaper skin is lying.

Hakkai: A seal, same eyes, same innocence, favorite prey of the great white shark

Yuzuha: An orca, beautiful but deadly. Only predator of the great white shark. Also eats seals but let's not comment on that. I support women's wrongs.

Pah-chin: it's too cliché to put warthog here, so i won't. He's a cane toad, one of the stupidest animal on Earth, one of their most common cause of death is eating shit they shouldn't because they stuff their mouth without thinking. They also hump anything, including dead animals from another species, and lay their eggs anywhere, which leads to a high mortality rate among their offspring. Why did I give so many facts? I don't know. Look at it.

Peh-yan: A tarsier. it's the eyes.

Sanzu: Arctic hare, crazy eyes and a gift for divination if you can understand his language

Senju: a cutie baby. Bunny x2, will kick you.

Takeomi: a rat. I am not a hater, rats can be cute, but this guy definitely gives off rat vibes

Wakasa: So very pretty. White leopard of course.

Benkei: A bull. I always thought his tattoos were a bull, but I was wrong I just looked it up. Still a bull.

Shinichiro: This one was though, but I'd say a koala. I'm partial about it, but I feel like he would give his children poop to eat, and their reproductive habits are also not a good look on them.

Emma: Japanese dwarf flying squirrel because I play favorites and that's the cutest little furball ever. it looks like it's wearing eyeliner

Izana: Another small but deadly thing, the Australian box jellyfish, found notably along the coast of Malaysia (I feel so clever right now)

Kakucho: Fiercely loyal dog, he's a Rottweiler. Don't tell me Izana and him don't have some kind of puppy play going on.

Ran: Secretary bird. Canonically hates Kisaki which explains why he stomps snakes to death. Wears killer eyeshadow and looks like they hate your fashion style

Rindou: Did you know a group of male Pacific tree frogs is called a chorus? me neither, which is why Rindou is a Pacific tree frog. Peace of music, yeah

Mucho: Polar bear, cold and aggressive. Plus arctic hare and polar bear, there's a theme

[doberbutts]

Was talking to someone about how it’s not okay to consider transmisogyny the root of all oppression and they agreed, but when I said it’s also not okay to consider misogynoir the root of all oppression either they seemed to consider me racist for that (we are both nonblack poc). I’m sorry if I’m wrong there, it just doesn’t seem fair to believe any one type of oppression is the worst one that causes all the rest. All oppression is interrelated but not in that way to me?

So normally I wouldn't answer this because it reads like bait HOWEVER I know who's asking bc I saw your conversation about it in the discord channel so I'm willing to take in good faith only bc of that.

In the context you were speaking of, I both agree and disagree with the statement "fixing misogynoir would fix all oppression".

Misogynoir is so intertwined with so many things, and while they're all pointed at black women, fixing each hook of the web will inevitably help both non-black and non-women people. I think I referred to oppressive society as a jenga tower a couple weeks ago. Wiggle one block free and the tower shakes but doesn't fall. Remove enough blocks and eventually the whole thing collapses. You can think of misogynoir as a collective of probably a third to a full half of the total number of blocks in the tower. It's not the whole tower, but it's a significant enough portion that removing them all probably does break the whole thing. Even if the tower IS still standing by the end, it's more likely to begin to fail as you remove what few blocks are left keeping the structure upright.

I have never met someone devoted to misogynoir who is not also intensely ableist, homophobic, transphobic, classist, xenophobic, as well as sexist and racist in other ways. This is especially, and unfortunately, true of the black men who refuse to support their sisters and instead push them down while seeking their own freedom. This is a known problem and fairly intensely discussed in black feminism.

HOWEVER I understand that your interpretation is that would then mean that black women are The Most Oppressed. I do not think that is what that statement is intended to imply, but I also get how it could be read in that manner. I think it is dangerous to try to measure oppression on this sort of scaling, because A: personally I think it is too contextual to say any one demographic or combination of identities is "the most" anything, and B: even if there truly is a "The Most Oppressed", people who are crying out for help should be helped, regardless of where they sit on that ladder. If you don't have food you don't have food, let's solve the problem of people not having food first and we can quibble about the details later.

Rather, it is more that specifically misogynoir as said is so interwoven with so much more than simply "racism and sexism towards black women" that fixing all the pieces of misogynoir would make such a vast improvement on the whole of society that many, many, many oppressive structures would vanish.

I also think you can say that about pretty much any intersectional view of oppression, which is why I'm always saying that we need to be joining hands and lifting each other out of the pit rather than fighting over crumbs and our 5 seconds in the spotlight. If I'm fighting misogynoir, and a friend is fighting antisemitism, and a third friend is fighting transmisogyny, and a fourth is fighting for disability rights... all of these things hook together. The other three's fights directly influence mine, and visa versa. So rather than reading it as "abandon your cause and join mine instead", it should be "therefore we are allies because our goals run parallel to each other".

I'm also aware that plenty of people interpret it the first way, and refuse to listen to the second. This is also fairly widely discussed in black feminism, with some having the first interpretation and others the second.

[genderkoolaid]

okay. I feel like I explain this every time I talk about men's issues but I just saw some more bad takes on transandrophobia so I'm going to go over exactly my thoughts on men & gendered oppression.

My argument is no "men, as a class, are oppressed exactly like women as a class, and all of society is always against masculinity & therefore any proof of society valuing masculinity/men over femininity/women disproves my point." My arguments are:

A fundamental part of patriarchal masculinity is competition and threats/fear. Yes, cis men are The Best, but the patriarchy does not give unconditional love and support to everyone perceived as a cis man. Creating a strict definition of what a man is keeps people in a state of fear that makes them easy to control. bell hooks talks about this beautifully in The Will to Change: "When we love maleness, we extend our love whether males are performing or not. Performance is different from simply being. In patriarchal culture males are not allowed simply to be who they are and to glory in their unique identity. Their value is always determined by what they do. In an antipatriarchal culture males do not have to prove their value and worth. They know from birth that simply being gives them value, the right to be cherished and loved." Men cannot be unconditionally comfortable without proving that they have worth via fulfillment of patriarchal standards- which are intertwined with capitalistic standards, because patriarchy & other social systems cannot be separated for anyone. This does not mean that men receive no benefits from the patriarchy- the way the patriarchy negatively affects men does not need to be a mirror of how it affects women in order to be real. I frankly don't care if this counts as oppression or not; its a part of the patriarchy and it hurts people, especially...

Marginalized men & marginalized perceived-men. We cannot act like marginalized women experience the intersection of gender and [x], but marginalized men have their gender completely ignored. It's just not accurate. This does not mean they never benefit from being perceived as men, either, or that they cannot contribute to misogyny. But marginalized men's gender absolutely plays a role in how they are perceived and treated. Testosterone can be seen as a positive for cis men while trans men are seen as hyper-violent "emotional women with male rage," because the patriarchy does not care about hypocrisy, it cares about control. White men can be encouraged to show their anger and be seen as powerful while Black men have their lives destroyed if they do anything but shape all of their emotions around making white people comfortable. There is a consistent trend of portraying marginalized men as having the worst of masculine traits- being ugly, sexually aggressive, uncontrollable monsters- or lacking the proper traits of masculinity- being infertile/failing to be properly sexual, being meek and easily dominated, being effeminate or having female traits- while dominant men are always perfectly balanced and in control of their masculinity.

The point of using "misandry" or "antimasculism" is not "all things male/masculine are treated badly." It's is being able to talk about how masculinity is weaponized against those who do it "wrong." All language is wrong, but some language is useful.

Also, if you want to hear more about the intersection of masculinity/manhood and Blackness, I'd recommend both the videos of F.D Signifier and the work of thotscholar.

[nkirukaj]

More Alastor Headcanons!!

- Deer man definitely straightens his hair

- Like the curls are loose as hell, but they’re there

- I feel like he used to do lawn care work for rich families before he started doing radio. Idk that just feels right

- He fought a lot while alive, but his mom didn’t like it

- Gets his need for glasses from his dad

- Was slim alive, but toned

- Very flirtatious while alive

- Lived with his mom because he didn’t want to leave her alone

- Was very irritated by his lack of ability to take care of his mother until he made it big in radio.

- Then he lavished her with all she wanted

- His mother was his best friend

- He feels like if he’s not the most powerful, then it’s like he’s not powerful at all

- Feels like his morally wrong actions were for a morally right cause

- Enjoys the performance aspects of romance

- Adores Black women

- Loves attention

- Respects Charlie as a friend

- Isn’t super sure how friendships are supposed to work, so he’s always manipulating cuz that’s how he’s used to getting what he wants

- Most of his “friendships” were people he had to be around or had to be around him

- Evil intent is a long buried cry for help/support

[girlactionfigure]

in broad daylight

It's 2024, not 1933. 

Crowds of thousands are chanting for the indiscriminate murder of Jews in major western cities.

why do you continue to gaslight us?

Intifada: indiscriminate suicide bombings, bombings, stabbings, and shootings targeting civilians.

There it is. In plain English. To a crowd of thousands, in front of an exhibit in New York City memorializing the victims of the October 7 massacre. "Long live October 7."

These are not ceasefire marches. They are Jew-hate rallies. Why are you still gaslighting us?

OCTOBER 7 SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOUR WAKE UP CALL

For years, as someone whose politics have always been left, myself and others have been warning of the genocidal antisemitism brewing on the left. Our concerns were minimized, and we were gaslit, both within and outside the Jewish community. Even when people conceded that yes, antisemitism does exist on the left, they insisted that only right-wing antisemitism was actually dangerous. If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know how frustrated I always was with this sentiment. I hope they see now that they were wrong. 

Even though I knew something ugly was brewing on the left, even I was shocked not just by the Hamas atrocities committed on October 7, but by the world’s reactions. On October 7 itself, very few people on the left unequivocally stood with the Israeli victims, no ifs, ands, or buts. They talked of “context,” decided that was the appropriate time to criticize the Israeli government, justified, or even went as far as to celebrate the heinous massacre. Now, as more indefensible information came out, they deny it. 

Supposedly progressive organizations, like the Women’s March, #MeToo, and even some chapters of Black Lives Matter either ignored the atrocities or outright supported them. On October 8, before Israel retaliated, enormous crowds in New York City marched in support of the murderers of October 7. As recently as a few weeks ago, influential progressive politicians were gaslighting us about the unabashed antisemitism present at the college encampments. 

If you haven’t noticed that genocidal hatred for Jews has become acceptable, in broad daylight, so long as it’s disguised under the costume of “pro-Palestine activism,” I don’t know if you ever will. Maybe you will after it’s already too late. Every genocidal antisemite in history had an excuse. This is no different. 

WHO IS ACTUALLY RUNNING THESE PROTESTS?

Virtually all “ceasefire,” “pro-Palestine” protests in the United States are organized by groups such as Within Our Lifetime, Students for Justice in Palestine, and Samidoun. 

Samidoun, which has ties to the internationally-recognized terrorist group the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine and has an office in Tehran, is banned as a terrorist organization in Germany. Within Our Lifetime and Students for Justice in Palestine both openly support Hamas, other Islamic Republic proxies, and the October 7 massacre. 

On October 7, various SJP chapters released statements justifying and even celebrating the massacre. National Students for Justice in Palestine released a “toolkit” calling the massacre a “historic win for the Palestinian resistance.” 

SJP’s founder, Hatem Bazian, is also the co-founder of American Muslims for Palestine, an organization formed by former members of the HolyLand Foundation, KindHearts, and Islamic Association of Palestine, all of which were disbanded after its members were convicted of transferring material support to Hamas. 

Meanwhile, Within Our Lifetime is openly supportive of Hamas and other Islamic Republic proxies. WOL promotes “Palestinian resistance by any means necessary.” On October 7, WOL issued a statement, saying, “We must defend the Palestinian right to resist Zionist settler violence and support Palestinian resistance in all its forms. By any means necessary. With no exceptions and no fine print.” Abdullah Akl, a WOL organizer, has a top role at the Muslim American Society, which was founded as the American arm of the Muslim Brotherhood, though MAS denies that they continue to have an affiliation. 

Would you attend a protest hosted by the KKK? By the Nazis? If a hate group organizes a protest, can that protest actually be deemed “peaceful”?

WHAT ARE THE PROTESTORS ACTUALLY SAYING?

In between “ceasefire now” and “free Palestine” calls, the protestors aren’t exactly making their genocidal aims a secret. Among the most popular chants at “pro-Palestine” protests since October 7 are “intifada, intifada,” “there is only one solution, intifada revolution,” and “globalize the intifada.”

The intifadas were Palestinian “uprisings” that indiscriminately and primarily targeted civilians, in a series of suicide bombings, car bombings, shootings, stabbings, and even stoning. When you call for a “global intifada,” you are openly calling for violence against Jews, not just in Israel, but around the globe. The chant couldn’t be any more explicit. 

Even more horrifying, “there is only one solution, intifada revolution,” alludes to the Final Solution. Of note, at the outbreak of the 1948 war, the Palestinian Arab leadership, which had allied with the Nazis during the Holocaust, vowed, “The Arabs have taken the Final Solution to the Jewish problem. The problem will be solved only in blood and fire. The Jews will soon be driven out.”

Another popular chant is “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” which, regardless of Rashida Tlaib’s lies, is not a peaceful call for coexistence. It’s a call for the destruction of the State of Israel, which has nine million citizens, the majority of them Jews. Its Arabic counterpart is “from water to water, Palestine will be Arab,” also heard at the protests, an even more explicit call for genocide and ethnic cleansing. 

Another common chant at pro-Palestine protests is “Khaybar, khaybar ya Yahud, Jaish Muhammad, sa Yahud,” translating to “Jews, remember Khaybar, the army of Muhammad is returning,” which alludes to the surrender to Muhammad, ethnic cleansing, and extermination of the Khaybar Jews in the seventh century. The chant is also explicitly genocidal. 

We’ve spent the last decade discussing microaggressions and dog whistles, and yet, when we hear antisemites call for the murder of Jews in broad daylight, you tell us that’s not what they reallymeant. Why?

MAYBE YOU MEAN WELL

I understand that you don’t want to see Palestinians suffer. No moral person likes to see people suffer. But has it ever occurred to you that terrorist organizations are not moral? That terrorist organizations extort your empathy to further their goals? Just the other day, The Wall Street Journal uncovered secret documents that revealed that the leader of Hamas in the Gaza Strip, Yahya Sinwar, openly said that more Palestinian deaths help Hamas further its political goals. They are extorting you because you care. This is not brand new information. Hamas leaders and leaders of virtually all Palestinian political factions and terrorist organizations have made similar statements in the past. 

(And yes, you could argue that Israel didn’t have to “give them what they wanted” by retaliating. Either way, though, it’s a lose-lose situation for Israel, because no matter what, the message Hamas would be getting is “slaughtering and kidnapping people is a great way for you to get what you want,” such as releasing Palestinian mass murderers from Israeli prisons. Most countries would react to October 7 exactly as Israel did, or worse, but this is a separate discussion from this post). 

If the “globalize the Intifada,” “there is only one solution, Intifada Revolution,” “intifada, intifada,” and “long live October 7” crowds do not represent the core of the free Palestine movement, why are these the voices leading the protests? Where are the condemnations from “pro-Palestine” organizations? From “pro-Palestine” celebrities? Why do they not issue statements making it explicitly clear that these people don’t represent them? When pro-Israel protestors fired fireworks into a “pro-Palestine” crowd at UCLA, Jewish organizations issued loud and clear condemnations. 

If these sentiments didn’t represent the pro-Palestine movement, the movement would be the first to distance themselves from them. Instead, they are either silent, or worse, they openly support them. 

PLEASE SEE WHAT'S HAPPENING BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE

Every antisemitic regime in history has mobilized the masses under the guise of a “righteous cause.” The Catholic Church did it. Hitler did it. Stalin did it. Now the Islamic Republic of Iran and its proxies — Hamas, Palestinian Islamic Jihad, Hezbollah, and the Houthis — are doing it too. And you, who has vowed to “punch Nazis,” are falling for it. 

In the nearly eight decades since the Holocaust, just about everyone has wondered: had I been alive during World War II, what would I have done? Would I have I have hid Anne Frank, as Miep Gies did, or would I have been a collaborator? Everyone, except the most rabid of Jew-haters, reaches the same conclusion: of course I would have hid the Frank family. I’m not a monster. 

The problem is that most people have been playing the wrong game, deliberating on a misguided rhetorical exercise. If it’s between the bad guy and the good guy, well, of course everyone will choose to be the good guy. But in truth, it’s notbetween the bad guy — and don’t get me wrong, the Nazis were certainly bad — and the good guy. It’s between the antisemite and the Jew.

When people pontificate over what their behavior would have been during the Holocaust, they tend to do so with one glaring oversight. Antisemitism, this deeply-engrained 2000-year-old hatred, projects whatever any given society hates the most onto the Jewish people. Nowadays, certainly in left-leaning circles, where white colonialism is considered the most egregious sin, we are powerful white oppressors and settler-colonialists. When we play bad guys versus good guys, a whole bunch of people will conclude that the bad guys are…well, the Jews. 

If you can't figure out a way to oppose the war without supporting protests led by groups that back Hamas and Hezbollah, call for a global intifada, protest in front of Holocaust museums and October 7 memorials, and wave banners that proclaim "long live October 7," your problem is not with the war. Your problem is with Jews.

Hope that helps. 

[waynes-multiverse]

Polaris – Chapter 3

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, angst, a muder case, funerals, drinking, hurt, fluff, smut

Word Count: 7.3k

A/N: This week we have heavy relationship stuff, Cassie/Jenny shenanigans, and a full dive into our murder mystery 🤓 Or did you forget about the serial killer on the loose? 👀

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 3: Pour The Whiskey

The sky was vanilla when the sun finally set behind the Montana mountains, the first stars appearing above and announcing the night. You pushed the driver’s door of your SUV shut and trudged back to the motel for a change of clothes before meeting up with Jenny, Cassie, and Beau for drinks. 

You’d been apprehensive about spending the evening with him but knew you couldn’t exclude him. Not forever, at least. It was his home, his friends. You were just a guest here, and you didn’t mind him coming as long as you had the two women as a buffer. You would just have to ignore the stinging in your heart all night. Easy. 

Mindless and tired, you unlocked the door before your heels hit something rustling on the shabby doormat. As you glanced down, you found a brown envelope with your name in bold, black letters on it. Your stomach churned. You knew what it was and what you’d find inside. 

There had been another victim. 

Beau’s heart thumped in his ribcage as he entered the bar. It was a full Friday night, most of Helena ringing in the weekend at the Boot Heel as he looked around the crowd for you and his friends. He hoped Jenny was right, and he could use the evening as an opportunity to talk to you and explain everything – right a few wrongs.

As he spied the three of you at a table in a corner booth, he frowned at the laptop propped open in the middle between all of you. He didn’t expect you to bring work to drinks tonight, but on second thought, he should’ve guessed as much. Relaxing had never been high on your list when you were on the job.

“Guys, c’mon, really? What is this?” Beau asked with a teasing smile. His brow scrunched, however, as he gestured at the computer. “I thought we’re here to have fun.”

“There’s been another victim,” Jenny said without missing a beat and shot him a look that told him to rein in the humor.

Beau’s mouth opened in surprise and then closed for a lack of words, exhaling a breath through his freckled nose. He for sure hadn’t expected that answer.

“We figured you might care since you’re the sheriff and all,” you deadpanned without lifting a single eye at him, which earned you a small glare from him as he sat down next to you.

Jenny and Cassie had cleverly taken seats next to each other, so you were left to sit next to Beau. And thereby went your plan to use them as a buffer tonight. So much for female support. His friends, you reminded yourself.

Fortunately, a new murder victim was also a good excuse to be distracted and not deal with your love life.

“Why didn’t you guys call me there was a new body? Shouldn’t we, you know, go to the crime scene?” Beau looked at you three confused.

“There’s no body yet,” Cassie replied.

His brow creased even more. “Then how do you know there’s been another victim?”

You turned the laptop toward him as a video flickered across the screen. Leaning closer, he squinted his eyes at the content before glancing at you. His brow quirked in confusion. “What am I looking at here? What’s this?”

“The killer always sends video material of the victim’s last forty-eight hours,” you explained.

“We’ve never gotten a video before,” Beau said and looked at Jenny for confirmation, who shook her head.

“Because the killer has been sending them to the FBI. First to the field office in Houston and then to me specifically,” you informed him.

Beau’s look darkened, his features hardening, except for a twitch of his nostril. You could guess what he was thinking as he read between the lines of your words. “What do you mean 'you specifically'? Where was this sent to? The station?”

You exhaled a weary breath. “When the case got assigned to me, the envelopes started getting directly addressed to me and delivered to my desk at the office. This one was delivered by my doorstep at the motel.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Beau’s green eyes widened, his entire body flooding with worry. “Y/N–”

“It’s not unusual,” you interjected quickly. “Our profiler thinks we’re dealing with a narcissistic psychopath. They’re sensation seekers and exhibit a need for control. Communicating directly with me is our subject’s way of controlling the narrative,” you explained but could tell your answer didn’t soothe him in the slightest.

“That’s not the point I was tryna make,” he grunted. “You can’t stay at that motel.”

“I know,” you agreed. “Cassie already offered me her guest room.”

“Yeah, and I’m an empty nester with plenty of space, too,” Jenny added and swiftly turned to her beer upon Beau’s frustrated look.

“Oh… Great, so plenty of options,” Beau grumbled but caught himself quickly, recovering with a tight smile. “Good…”

There went his plan to ask you to stay with him. He had by far the smallest place, but his hope was that you wouldn’t have needed more than a bed. Preferably his. And although he trusted Jenny and Cassie, it still bothered him that he couldn’t keep an eye on you himself. It wasn’t like he’d even insist on sharing a bed with you. He’d take the couch or even a goddamn patio chair outside as long as he knew that you were safe.

“Do I need to worry about you being a target?” Beau’s eyes found yours and held your gaze. You could’ve sworn you heard his heart beating faster in his chest.

“No, I don’t think so,” you replied and tried to sound as reassuring as possible. It didn’t work, however.

His brow raised as he retorted sarcastically, “Oh, you don’t think so. Well, that’s comforting.” He scoffed, shaking his head.

You sighed. “Look, the murder victims are all females in different age ranges. What they have in common, though, is that they are all married to a spouse who stepped out on them. The true targets were always the cheating husbands.”

“Why?” Beau’s brow furrowed. All he knew so far about the case was that three female bodies turned up dead at crossroads. He knew their names; he knew their families. Now, there was a fourth.

What he didn’t know was the who, what, how, or why. That was your area of expertise.

“The crossroads? It’s supposed to show that the women chose the wrong path. They stayed with their cheating partners,” you clarified. “On the other hand–”

“–their spouses get punished for getting their loved ones killed,” Beau finished. He rubbed his bearded chin, pointing at the laptop screen. “And what’s the theory with the videos?”

“They’re essentially held in an escape room. The women get locked in a bunker with a box of tools. If they find the right way out, they walk free. If not, their body is dumped at a crossroads after they’ve run out of oxygen. They’re basically buried alive,” you said.

“You ever found the bunker? Has anyone ever escaped?” Beau asked.

You shook your head and spoke quieter. “No, we’ve never found them. Based on the videos, we think there’s more than one location, especially since the subject has hit five states so far, including Montana. We assume the recordings’ purpose is to torture the husbands. A copy of it always gets sent to a partner, so they witness the suffering they’ve caused.” Letting out a sharp exhale, you continued, “And no, no one has ever escaped. We’re not sure if it’s even possible. It might just be a sadistic torture method as well.”

“Make ‘em believe they can get out when they really can’t,” Beau concluded grimly and chewed on his lower lip before flashing a cynical smile. “Well, ain’t that a fun one…”

“We think the killer is highly intelligent and organized,” Jenny said.

“Yeah, and they’re probably keeping tabs on us. They know we’re working the case,” you added and glanced around the patrons of the Boot Heel. The killer might even be in this bar with you. It wasn’t unlikely they followed you here from the motel. As inconspicuous as you tried to be, Beau still caught your little areal scan.

“That didn’t answer my question, though,” Beau then said and looked deeply into your eyes, his brow stern. “Do I need to be worried? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’m itchin’ to put protection detail on you.”

“Who, Poppernak?” you quipped, but Beau didn’t laugh. “And no, no need to worry. I don’t fit the victimology,” you told him with a poker face. It was the truth. What you left out, however, was that you’d always be a potential target, no matter what the victim’s profile said. You were on a killer’s radar. Hell, your whole job was to be in harm’s way.

Luckily, your phone buzzed on the table, saving you from more questions and drilling looks. Beau was smart and a good detective. You knew he could see right through you.

“Excuse me, it’s my DA in Houston. I have to get this,” you said and stood up from the table.

“Ugh, Ted…” Beau groaned and dramatically rolled his eyes back.

“You’re a child,” you scolded him. “What d’you have against Ted? He’s a good attorney.”

“He’s a douche, and he sucks,” Beau declared with a huff.

You sent him a glare. “You’re just saying that ‘cause we dated briefly.”

“Nope, already didn’t like that slimy coyote before that,” Beau maintained. “Neither did Randy, by the way.”

“Wow, okay…” You scoffed, tongue poking your cheek as you shook your head. “I’m gonna take this outside,” you said with a glower and then fled through the doors of the restaurant to the quiet street.

“Y/N, wait–” Beau tried to stop you, but you had already stormed out and couldn’t hear him anymore. The sheriff then pursed his lips and exhaled a deep sigh.

“Stepped in it again, huh?” Cassie threw him a sympathetic look.

Beau ran a palm over his freckled face, his lips in a tight line. “Big time.”

“Well, she’s got good taste,” Jenny remarked as she looked at her phone before holding it up for Cassie to see.

“Not bad,” Cassie agreed with a low whistle and smirked.

Beau caught a glimpse of the screen, seeing Ted’s stupid face looking right back at him, and scowled at the women. “Really? Well, thanks for the knife in my back. Who’s side are you two on, huh?”

“Aw, Beau, we’re just having fun.” Cassie chuckled in amusement.

“Yeah, well, he’s not that good-looking up close, by the way,” Beau retorted, trying to keep his jealousy at bay. “He just photographs well.”

“He’s cute when he’s jealous,” Jenny said to Cassie, who nodded in agreement.

Beau scoffed. “I’m not jealous.”

“Did Ted make it onto your punch list?” Cassie asked jokingly.

“Oh, you bet he did,” Beau replied with a huff.

“So… is he the new Avery now?” Jenny teased and arched a brow. The two women looked at him expectantly.

Beau narrowed his eyes at them. “I hate you both. I really do.”

“That’s a yes,” Jenny surmised, and both women broke into laughter on Beau’s dime.

But he was a good sport and could take a little teasing. Besides, he really did wish to punch Ted’s face. He knew the guy had held a torch for you for years.

“So, Y/N knew your old partner, too?” Cassie asked and hauled him back from his revenge fantasies.

“Yeah, kinda…”

Beau swallowed the shameful lump in his throat and licked his lips, bobbing his head. He probably had to tell them eventually. The truth would surely come out at some point.

His green eyes drifted to the glass of whiskey in front of Cassie. “You mind, uh–” He gestured at the drink but didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed the glass and downed it in one go.

The girls shared a raised look.

The alcohol burned right through him and numbed the twinge in his heart. He cleared his throat but didn’t look at them, keeping his eyes trained on the glass in his hands as he spoke.

“Yeah, uh, she was his wife.”

His confession was followed by deafening silence, the loud music and chatter of the bar drowning out. Realization dawned on both women’s features as they let the words sink in.

Cassie was the first to speak, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “I don’t-… You never said anything about this during grief counseling.”

Beau nodded and smacked his lips, still avoiding to look at them. “Yeah, well, it’s not somethin’ I’m exactly proud of.”

“I get that,” Jenny said after a pause. “But Beau, we would’ve understood. We wouldn’t have judged you.”

“Yeah,” Cassie subscribed and reached out her hand, clasping his. “And we still don’t.”

“Thanks, but I judge myself plenty enough. Trust me,” Beau said somberly and flashed them a sad smile.

As you ambled back to the table, you took immediate note of what you could only classify as a strange vibe. Everyone’s faces looked austere and bleak. So, naturally, you tried to lighten the mood.

“What happened here?” You cocked a brow and tilted your head at the three with a chuckle. “You guys look like you’re at a funeral.”

Beau snorted humorlessly and set down the empty glass in his hand, rising from his seat. “I’m gonna need more of where this came from. ‘Scuse me,” he said and made a beeline for the bar.

Mouth ajar, you stared after him, wondering if you’d said something wrong.

August 2020

The door swung wide open and hit the wall with a loud bang that surely rattled the entire church as you burst into the small back room. Your jaw tightened when you finally found him, sitting on the cold tiles with a bottle of bourbon in his hands, leaning against the wall.

His green eyes looked up, red and glazed, and found yours. Your chest heaved with every surge of anger that rumbled through your body.

“What the hell?” you yelled. He flinched at the sound of your voice. The unshed tears in your eyes threatened to choke you, but you were too livid to let them free. “Where were you? Were you here this whole fucking time? Getting drunk? You were supposed to give the eulogy!”

Beau hung his head in his hands before dragging a palm over his face, the tears stinging his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in over a week and drank a whole liquor store. His body was shaking, his voice trembling. “I-I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry…”

“You’re sorry?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You were supposed to be there for me. You promised.” A few tears finally escaped and rolled down your cheeks. You wiped them away with your palm. “Guess I shoulda known your word isn’t worth a fucking dime.”

You stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind you.

That’s when Beau broke down, sobs wracking through his entire body. Your disappointment was the last straw for him. This was rock bottom. There was nothing lower than the frigid, unforgiving rocks he found himself falling on. The ones that cracked his skull, broke his bones, and shattered his heart. He had built this prison with his own two hands, rock by fucking rock.

Anger rose in his chest and threatened to tear him apart at the seams till his soul spilled out through the cracks. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror anymore. He didn’t recognize the stranger staring back at him. Neither did his family. The only thing he was good at these days was letting people down.

The bottle in his shaking hands then flew across the room and smashed against the wall, shatters of glass and pools of liquor littering the floor.

He was a fucking mess, but he had to make it right. At least by you.

Your hand softly settled on his shoulder as you approached him by the bar counter. He was nursing a whiskey and avoided looking at you. You exhaled a deep breath before you spoke. “So, I’m guessing by the wide eyes, the long faces, and the general awkwardness that you told them about Randy,” you deduced.

His gaze landed on you at that. A light chuckle squeezed past his lips. “You’re good.”

You took a seat on a barstool next to him. “Oh, I know. If I wasn’t, I would’ve picked the wrong profession.”

He gave you a weak smile in return and licked his lips, returning to his drink.

“Look, uhm, if you wanna talk about it, we can talk about it, okay?” you offered, tapping your fingertips on the bar counter. “I know I’ve been mad at you. But I also know you’re struggling with… well, everything that is us, I guess. I mean, I’m still upset, but I don’t like seeing you like this. I never meant to hurt you.”

Beau nodded, and then a smile, a real and genuine one, formed on his lips. “You know, I’m supposed to actually say that to you.”

“Oh yeah? Which part?” You bit your bottom lip, hiding a small grin behind it.

“The, uhm, sorry-I-never-meant-to-hurt-you part,” he said, green eyes boring into yours as he looked up from his glass.

You gave him a one-sided twitch of your shoulder. You were not the vulnerable type, especially not in a public setting like a crowded bar with a guy who hurt you once before. You wanted to avoid any admission of feelings. Because if you did confess, it meant you felt them in the first place.

“It’s okay, Beau. You don’t have to apologize for how you’re feeling,” you said. Sweeping all your anger and pain under the rug of friendship was your safest option. The plan still remained: solve the case and get the hell out of dodge.

“Yeah, that’s just it. I really do,” Beau replied wryly and finished his drink. “Just gimme a chance to explain, alright? Just one. That’s all you gotta do. If afterwards you still wanna end it, I’ll let you go.”

Pensively, you bit down on your bottom lip and gazed into his eyes. Sincerity, longing, and hope shimmered in them, pulling you right back into that green sea. Although it was probably a mistake, you agreed.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly – whether it was the fact that Beau was your friend, your shared history together, or that he was your dead husband’s old partner. But you were willing to listen to what he had to say. You owed him at least as much.

“Okay,” you said.

When Beau took you to, in his words, “humble abode,” you had expected as much. He had been talking your ear off about his “dream home” for three years now, and a part of you was happy for him that he finally had realized it.

Another part, though, knew him too well and itched to make fun of him for it. You even wondered if bribery was on the table if you threatened to bring both Jenny and Cassie into the loop.

Beau stood with a proud grin next to you, gauging your reaction to his home. “So, what d’you say, huh?”

“I think Emily might have been right…” you mumbled into your jacket. At lunch, she called it a “tin can.”

“What?” The sheriff quirked a brow.

“Nothing,” you brushed it off and grinned. “So, who do you think you are, huh? Patrick Dempsey?”

Beau’s lips pursed a little in a caught kind of manner but still tried to overplay it with a shake of his head. “I don’t know whatcha talkin’ about…”

“Sure you do,” you teased and nudged his shoulder playfully with your elbow. Your grin widened; your eyebrows rose higher. “C’mon, Beau, it’s just me.”

“It’s a guilty pleasure, alright?” he barked as his façade broke. “I just want Meredith to be happy.”

You soothingly rubbed his back. “We all do, sweetie, we all do…” you sighed in understanding.

His head then snapped to you, green eyes wide. “Don’t you dare tell Cassie and Jenny about this! If they find out, I’ll never hear the end of this. Lord knows they’d make me watch more Gosling movies…”

“Yeah, that would be so funny,” you remarked, chuckling. Beau scowled at you warningly.

Taking a step closer to the trailer, you let his life in front of you sink in. You imagined how he’d sit in his patio chair with a bottle of beer in front of the fire pit on cool summer nights, how he’d grab his fishing rod that leaned by the door on his days off, and how he’d have movie nights with his friends on the screen and projector nestled in the back of his little porch.

This is what he left you for.

“You okay there?” Beau checked, noticing your vacant stare.

“I’m fine.” You forced a smile to your lips. “This is nice.”

Beau sighed a little. By now, he knew that your “fines” were never that. He also knew you’d never tell him what you were really thinking.

“Beer?” he offered, hoping you’d accept because God knows he needed one.

“Tequila?” came your reply. You’d need something stronger for this conversation.

“Even better,” Beau agreed and went to pour two shots, handing you one.

You downed it before he could even say “salud” and held out your glass for a refill. He raised his brow a little at you but obliged without question, hiding an amused smile. When the second one burned down your throat, you let out a jittery breath.

“I’ll take that beer now.”

“Well, thank God you’re not a lightweight.” Beau snorted as he handed you a bottle and uncapped it for you. “C’mon, just talk to me. What’s bothering you? I mean, I can take a guess, but I’d rather have you tell me.”

“Guess.” The sternness of your voice gave no room for jokes.

Beau scratched his beard, nodding his head. “Is this about Randy? Look, I’ve been going to grief counseling, okay? I’m working through it. I’m a lot better now.”

“Well, good for you,” you muttered wryly and took a sip of your beer. All you really wanted was another shot of tequila, but asking for more would probably worry him at this point.

“I just-… Maybe it’ll help you, too. I could go with you,” he suggested, his eyes flashing to your left hand. “You’re still wearing the ring.”

“And I’m always gonna wear it!” You frowned, your brow knitting in a deadly combination of anger and hurt. “So, what? You left me because I was still attached to my dead husband? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I–”

“You wanna do this? Fine, let’s do it,” you announced a little too belligerently as if you were entering a boxing ring, but you were all guns blazing at this point. You took another swig of beer before placing the bottle down on a table nearby. Luckily, the tequilas were finally kicking in.

“Y/N–”

“Nuh-uh, my turn,” you swiftly cut him off. You needed to get this off your chest before the alcohol-induced courage was leaving you again. You’d been waiting to say this for close to a year. You were tired of having this conversation only with your mirror image. “You think this is about Randy? It’s not! I never had a problem with that. You did. Yes, my husband died, and I lost something, but then I found you, okay? And I thought you felt the same way, but then you just fucking left without a warning.”

“I–”

“Still not done yet.” You held up a finger and paused for a beer break and a deep breath. Your lungs were burning for air before you dove back into the water. “I don’t know what’s there left to explain! You found out Carla was getting married and told me you were still in love with her, and then you just up and left and moved to fucking Montana! But then, you didn’t go back to her, did you now?”

“No, that’s what I’m tryna tell ya–”

But you didn’t let him finish. Another huff before you inhaled enough air for your next tirade. “You retired and then un-retired and went fucking trout fishing! And I don’t understand any of it!”

“What, the fishin’?” Beau quipped with an uncomfortable snicker and swallowed harshly upon your deathly glare that cut like a machete, feeling his head slip off his neck.

“What the fuck was all that for, then? Why did you fucking leave if you’re just… dwelling here? You left almost a year ago, and we haven’t spoken since. What’s changed? ‘Cause I can’t fucking see a difference.”

“Look, I tried callin’ ya. I texted. You never picked up,” he threw in and tried not to sound accusatory. Honestly, he understood why you didn’t. Against all odds, he had just always hoped you still would.

“Oh, I wonder why,” you huffed sarcastically before tears began to sting your eyes and blur your vision. But you powered through, refusing to start sobbing in front of him. “You know I was a broken mess when Randy died, and I really didn’t expect I’d ever feel like that again until you left… Do you even know what that means? C’mon, let’s be honest here. You left Texas ‘cause you couldn’t fucking bear the guilt of sleeping with your partner’s wife any longer. That’s the true fucking reason!”

Beau’s lips straightened into a thin line as he ground his jaw, hands resting on his belt. His head bobbed in thought, eyes drawn to his boots before he gazed up and saw you were finally out of breath. The tears that flowed down your cheeks broke his heart. Your words stung like knives.

“Can I say something now?”

“Go ahead,” you retorted rather challengingly and wiped your wet cheeks dry with your sleeves.

Beau sighed and finally drank his shot of tequila. He hissed slightly before finding your eyes. “Look, you’re right. Carla, everything else… it was an excuse, but not for the reasons you think.”

“Oh, gimme a break!” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t wanna face the truth, okay? I felt guilty. Still do, actually,” he admitted and swallowed thickly. “And not ‘cause I slept with my partner’s wife, but because I fell in love with my partner’s wife.”

Your heart stopped beating for a moment as you looked at him. You always felt it, always wanted him to say it, but he never had until now.

“It always meant something to me. You were never a rebound after my divorce. You were never just a distraction from my grief. I never would’ve even kissed you if I hadn’t had feelings for you from the start,” he confessed and ran a hand over his face as the words rushed out. He tried to shove the unshed tears in his eyes back inside.

“And yeah, I’ll always love Carla. Just like I know you’ll always love Randy, but two things can be true at the same time. And the second one is that I’m so deeply and irrevocably in love with you that it scares the living hell outta me.” He gave a small shrug like his feelings couldn’t be helped. “But every time I felt this pull towards you, I kept wondering if I would’ve felt it if I’d never gotten divorced. If Randy never died… Would I have still fallen in love with you? And then the guilt set in, ‘cause the only answer I ever came up with was ‘yes.’”

“Beau…” You stood there petrified, not knowing what to do or say until you saw a tear fall down his cheek. It broke you to see him like this, see all the guilt and shame he carried in his heart for something neither of you could control.

“I’m sorry that I left and hurt you. I never meant for that to happen. I thought I was doing the right thing by lettin’ you go. I thought you deserved better. I never could give you everything you needed. Not then, at least,” he explained. “I tried to ignore my feelings and shove ‘em down. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t deal with it anymore. He was my best friend and my partner. I mean, I was his best man at your guys’ wedding,” he said and let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a palm over his face. Then, his green eyes bored into yours, drowning in emotion. “But once you showed up here… I just couldn’t stay away anymore. I don’t wanna lose you again. I don’t wanna die without you ever knowing how I feel about you. I love you, and I’ve goddamn missed you, Y/N.”

In a heartbeat, you caught his lips, warm and soft and trembling against yours as you kissed him. His breathing quickened, his heart thrumming wildly against his ribcage, his mind filling with nothing but you. His hands were in your hair and on your waist, yours sliding from his cheeks to rest on his broad chest.

When you drew back breathlessly, you looked up into his eyes. “Look, uhm, I don’t have an answer for you. Maybe we would have found each other eventually, or we wouldn’t have,” you said and gave him a small smile. “I don’t think we’re ever gonna solve this one. I don’t think we even have to. So, maybe let’s not focus so much on the ‘what ifs’ and more on the ‘what nows.’”

Beau’s lips rose to a soft smile. “I can do that,” he said. “So, what now?”

“Now, I’ll tell you that I love you, and we’ll make out for a looong time like we’re trying to catch up for everything we missed out on when we were apart. And then we’ll figure out an excuse to tell Cassie and Jenny for me not coming home tonight,” you replied, smirking.

Beau chuckled. “Alright, sounds like a plan. Although I doubt you’re just gonna stick to the make-out. I mean, let’s be real here, we both know you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” he teased.

You gasped playfully and slapped his arm, making him laugh. “Careful now, Sheriff. You’re getting cocky. You better have some proof to back that one up.”

“Oh, I can deliver.” He smirked and dipped his head, claiming your lips.

Heat rose to your chest as his hands slid up your body. You parted your lips slightly, enough for his tongue to slip inside and taste you. His fingers dented the skin on your waist as your arms locked around his neck. His beard tickled your flushed cheeks as you breathed each other in.

“Damn you,” you sighed as you both came up for air.

Beau smiled before his soft lips pressed against yours once more. He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you inside.

September 2021

Your legs were slung around his waist, holding him tight as Beau carried you into the dainty Mexican motel room, cool and dry desert air hushing inside with your movements. He kicked the door shut with his boot, his lips roaming every inch of you they could reach. Your fingers tangled in his hair, occasionally eliciting a groan against your skin when you tugged too roughly.

His hands, his lips, his heart – no part of his body wanted to ever leave yours.

The first and only time his shaking hands let go of you completely since you two jumped out of the car in the motel parking lot was when he sat you down on the end of the squeaky bed, your feet hitting the stained and dusty carpet. He started unbuttoning his shirt; you strived off your shoes and tank top, flinging each item somewhere across the room before helping him with the remaining buttons.

Your lips touched his abdomen, kissed his warm skin, and felt him shivering underneath you as you trailed your way down his abs. Your fingers unbuckled his belt and opened his zipper, letting his jeans pool around his ankles.

You looked up and found his half-lidded eyes, checking if the next step of your endeavor was wanted. His green orbs were full of desire, a need for you that made you drip between your legs. His breathing quickened, a sharp inhale of air as your hand snuck down his boxers. His eyes closed. You smirked and kissed below his pubic bone, pulling the fabric down to join the rest of the discarded clothes on the filthy ground.

“You don’t have to,” he said with a thick swallow, his voice rasped and strained when his erection sprang against your parted lips.

“Oh, but I want to,” you replied cheekily and wrapped your hand around the base of his hard cock.

His large palm wantonly caressed your cheek, thumbing your bottom lip. You sucked his thumb first, teased with your tongue, and twisted your grip around his dick as you stroked him until a first hiss escaped his plump lips and he twitched in your palm. You let his thumb go with a pop and sent him a naughty smile. Your warm breath ghosted against his swollen tip before your tongue took a salty taste test and dipped into the slit. His head fell back between his shoulder blades with a groan.

“Let go,” you told him, your voice sultry and seductively low in the quiet of the room, only the neighbor’s TV drowning through the walls with a Spanish soap. You planted wet kisses on his length all the way down to the root as you spoke. “You can do whatever you want with me. I want you to…”

“Fuck, don’t tell me shit like that,” he growled with restraint.

You smirked. “Why? Does it turn you on?”

“You have no idea,” Beau replied and bit down on his lip, tugging it behind his teeth.

“I think I have some,” you said with a chuckle, noticing how his dick twitched at your words.

Your lips enveloped the head of his cock and then slid down his shaft, taking as much of him as you could fit until he nudged the back of your throat. He was long and thick, making your jaw ache as you sucked him down. He gathered your hair in his fist and guided your pace, a burn on your scalp that spurred you on.

His hips rocked to the bob of your head, taking him a little bit deeper each time. Hollowing your cheeks, you went nose-deep once your jaw adjusted to his girth, leaving his dick spit-wet before he pulled you off with a hiss.

“Shit,” he groaned between heavy breaths. “Not gonna last long if you keep this up,” he said with a coy smile, admiration gleaming in his eyes as he leaned down, hungrily kissing your red and glistening lips. “I wanna come inside you.”

With your heart beating in your throat, you couldn’t speak and just nodded, planting a firm kiss on his lips.

He unclasped your bra, and you flung it off your shoulders as he slipped out of his boots. You shrieked and giggled when he grabbed your thighs and threw you off your feet with one quick haul, your back and head hitting the mattress with a blissful sigh.

His body pressed on top of yours, heavy and large and perfectly sculpted, his mouth following a trail from below your neck to above the edge of your jeans. He shimmied the tight material down your ass and thighs, all the way down your smooth legs, your black cotton panties following shortly after till you were bare in front of him.

Green eyes traced the curves of your body. His Adam’s apple bobbed when they landed on your slick folds. He knelt between your spread legs and lowered his head to your pussy, nose, tongue, and lips traveling through your soaked slit.

His tongue circled your clit and poked into your tight channel till your breath caught in your throat. His lips sucked and tasted you till your heart pounded furiously in your chest. His teeth nibbled and teased till you were writhing underneath him.

One finger, then two, slipped inside and threatened to turn you inside out as they plunged in and out of you, knuckle-deep against your velvet walls. Your hips jerked upon his every touch, a firm hand holding you in place. Your fist gripped his hair as your thighs trembled, calves resting against his strong arms. The back of your head pressed harshly into the mattress as an unstoppable fire claimed your entire body.

Sweat gathered between your heaving boobs in a thin layer as an explosion hit you so violently it shook every muscle. With his fingers still inside of you as your pussy throbbed around them, he found your lips and stole your remaining oxygen for himself, leaving you breathless.

His wet fingers slipped out of your cunt, your aching emptiness waiting to be filled by his cock that rested heavy against your thighs. As he released your lips, his gaze locked with yours, fingers caressing your cheek like you were precious and breakable all at once.

“Do we need, uhm…”

“A condom?” you finished his dangling question with a smile. He let his head drop to your shoulder and nodded bashfully in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “I don’t know. Have you been with anyone since the divorce?”

“No,” he replied simply. But Beau wanted to say much more than that. He wanted to tell you that he had waited for you. That you’d been prevalent in his mind for months now. That he didn’t want anyone else. All he managed was a one word answer and a shake of his head, though.

“Me neither,” you said quietly. Your husband had died thirteen months ago. You’d grieved but never felt ready to move on, to erase him with some stranger you’d met on the internet or in a dingy bar – not that you ever could.

Until Beau kissed you, you’d never thought you’d be able to love again.

His face changed upon your answer, a hint of worry haunting his features. “You-, uhm, you sure you want me to-… ‘Cause we don’t have to do anything… or, uhm, more, you know? We can just leave it at that and forget about it.”

You cupped his cheeks in your palms and forced him to look you into your eyes. You smiled at him reassuringly. “Hey, I want you to. I want it to be you, okay? I want you inside me.”

He chocked down a thick swallow upon your words, his cock needily throbbing between your legs. With a nod, he gripped his length and guided his tip to your soaking entrance, coating his dick in your arousal before gliding inside. Inch by inch he stretched you, sinking deeper and deeper till he filled you whole. Your lips parted when his forehead rested on yours as he relished in the feeling of you.

Neither of you had been with anyone since your respective spouses, a new feeling overwhelming both of you. Your breaths mingled before he claimed your lips, his hands roaming your sides as you stilled for a moment.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Y/N,” he groaned against the shell of your ear, nibbling down your jawline. “Always wanted this, even though ‘m gonna burn in hell for sayin’ it.”

“You feel good, too. But fuck… Beau, please,” you begged, arching your back to raise your hips and meet his, encouraging him to move. It didn’t take much for him to oblige.

His hips rolled slowly at first, each thrust becoming more forceful than the one that came before. His lips caressed your pebbled nipples, hands groping your tits as he explored every curve of your body.

Sinful mouth and gluttonous hands didn’t leave a single spot of your skin untouched, your flesh turning into unholy ground in his wake. He wanted you to be his, claim every bit of you in hopes of breaking a sacrilegious vow. His pumps were biblical, a great flood that buried you underneath him. Your cries of prayer were devout.

Neither of you spoke a word, your sole focus on each other as passion overtook you both, too busy with impatient kisses on mingling body parts. The silence in the room was filled with ragged moans, salacious sounds, and the occasional squeak of the old mattress.

His fingertips bruised your flesh, your heels digging into his lower back as he bottomed out. His fingers then interlaced with yours above your head till your grips were knuckle-white. You squeezed his cock, your pussy swallowing him whole.

Your cunt clenched and gripped him tightly as you came undone, your second climax washing over you with a slip of his name. Your whole body trembled in ecstasy, your nails digging into his back and your toes curling so much they came close to a cramp.

Beau let go after a few more pumps and grunted, spilling a full load of cum into you as his hips came to a jerky standstill. His head dropped to your shoulder as he caught his breath, sweaty skin meeting heaving chest.

Gently, you stroked his back and carded his damp hair with your fingertips, massaging his scalp as he softly groaned into the crook of your neck. Your heartbeat slowed to its regular rhythm. Your breathing calmed like the waves after a great storm. His head lifted off your shoulder. His eyes fixed on you. A smile twitched on the corners of his lips.

“So… that happened,” Beau said almost to an awkward degree. It made you snort a laugh.

“Technically, it’s still happening,” you noted with an amused smile and squeezed his softening cock inside of you.

“Oh, uh, right,” he muttered with a clear of his throat, his cheeks adorably blushing. He tried to slip out, but you stopped him, fastening your legs around his waist till he relaxed again.

“No, it’s alright. This is actually my favorite part,” you confessed and watched the smile on his freckled face widen.

“Yeah, mine too.” His knuckles caressed your cheek, his fingers tucking back some strands of your hair. “Was that okay? Do you, you know, feel good? Any, uhm, regrets?”

“No, I’m good. You were amazing,” you assured him with a tender smile and saw the relief wash over his features.

Beau tried to choke down the guilt and betrayal that bubbled deep in his chest. Truth was, he wanted to be selfish for once. He wanted you, and he wished you could feel the warmth that spread through his heart whenever he looked at you.

“Are you okay?” you checked when you noticed a glaze in his green eyes. At first glance, you assumed it was sadness, your heart weighing heavy in your ribcage before the crinkles of happiness around his eyes betrayed that theory.

“Yeah, I am, darlin’. For the first time in a long time, actually,” he said and kissed you long and deep.

Chapter 4: Rewind

All's well that ends well. Now it's just all lovely bliss till the end, innit? 🤣

Next week we have a bunch of awkward (maybe scandalous even?) flashbacks to dive in... 👀

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@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

Everthing Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

[burst-of-iridescent]

Your response to that anon makes it pretty clear they're right lol. Katara did support Aang unconditionally, especially with his trauma as she could empathise as someone who is ALSO a survivor of genocide and the last of their people (water bender and air nomad). But Aang also was supportive of her- when she wanted to free the earthbenders, him and sokka helped, he wanted to refuse to continue teaching from Pakku because he wouldn't teach Katara, he helped her with the Painted Lady, and the Southern Raiders comment is not as condescending as you think. Yes, it was shitty, but you really think they would've turned their back on Katara? They shouldn't have said that to her but him and Sokka know if she kills Yon Rha, it will not bring her closure. And as for her doing all the labour, that's blatantly untrue. In Bitter Work the whole argument between Toph and Katara is that Katara is (rightfully) mad that Toph only wants to do her share, arguing that everyone around camp does their part.There’s multiple episodes in which the gaang help pitch the tent and perform campsite duties. There’s a whole episode dedicated to how katara and sokka are both sick, resulting in aang having to run across the world to retrieve them medicine, and he continued trying to get the frogs for his friends even when captured. There’s an entire episode dedicated to how the gaang cannot get anything done without sokka, who usually manages their schedules and itineraries and helps ensure that they’re on track. There’s plenty of moments in which aang and katara are goofing off, and sokka gets mad at them for not sticking to his carefully curated and meticulous schedule and for putting a wedge in their plans to save communities (see: imprisoned and the painted lady). There’s moments when toph assumes responsibility; there’s moments when aang assumes responsibility. and then there’s moments when none of them have any clue on what to do, when they literally act like children navigating a world that’s constantly trying to kill them. Because they are children, which in episode 1 we see Aang telling Katara she is still a kid. Whether you ship it or not, a big part of their relationship is that they are children. They're a team, they all support each other. Saying she shoulders everything and that Aang is just selfish and callous is a blatant lie. They have helped each other throughout the series a lot. There are moments when they both say and do things that aren't good to eachother, but that doesn't make their relationship instantly toxic. Aang kissing Katara w/o consent was wrong, it's why I don't ship it, but saying Katara was reduced Aangs mother figure, especially when he played a large role in her acting like a kid again, and also grew up communally so the concept of a mother isn't something he would even think about. The constant adultification you insist on of Katara is just weird, there's a reason black and brown women hate it so much, especially when katara has stated she dislikes being seen as motherly

wow that is a whole lot of words you're trying to shove into my mouth, huh? don't worry though; unlike you, i know how to make a good argument, so let's go through this flaming pile of garbage you've dumped in my asks to see exactly what that looks like!

i don't know where you got this idea that i think katara does everything for team avatar while the rest of them sit by and twiddle their thumbs; i have never said that, and i never will. my argument isn't about katara's relationship with the gaang (though for all that she says they divide the chores equally in the chase episode, you will notice that much of the time it is always katara you see in the background cooking, training aang, or doing work around camp - make of that what you will), it is about katara's relationship with aang, and the severe imbalance of emotional labour in that relationship.

let's look at how many times katara supports aang in the show when he's in need of it:

S1:E3, The Southern Air Temple: katara pulls aang out of the avatar state when he's grieving over the loss of his people, then holds and comforts him afterwards.

S1:E12, The Storm: katara listens to aang's regrets over running away, assauges his guilt, encourages him, and ultimately inspires him to move on from his past and start anew.

S2:E3, Return to Omashu: katara listens to aang's worries about bumi and tries to reassure him.

S2:E9, Bitter Work: katara coddles aang when he's sad about not being able to master earthbending, motivating him to keep going and trying to convince toph to give him an easier time.

S2:E10, The Library: katara pulls aang out of the avatar state again, this time actually putting herself in danger (the only one to do so, you might notice) by walking into the middle of a sandstorm while aang is in an highly volatile state of extreme power. keep in mind that katara knows exactly what can happen when aang isn't able to control himself, because of that lovely incident back in book 1 where she was burned thanks to his recklessness, and yet the duty of calming aang down falls to her yet again.

S2:E11, The Desert: aang snaps at katara and then leaves her to take care of herself and the rest of the gaang all on her own in a highly dangerous environment. don't worry though, she'll still find the time to sympathize with him and comfort him, though he certainly isn't going to apologize and will, in fact, have this lovely exchange with her instead:

"What's anyone else doing?! [Pointing his staff at Katara.] What are you doing‌?!"

oh nothing aang, just keeping everyone alive and together, and being the entire reason they survive the desert at all. thanks for the support, though!

S2:E12, Journey to Ba Sing Se Part 1: katara reaches out to aang multiple times in this episode, offering her love and support, and ultimately helping him to snap out of his depression over appa's loss (he still hasn't apologized for his behaviour in the previous episode, in case you were wondering).

S3:E1, The Awakening: katara tries to help aang deal with his feelings of guilt over Ba Sing Se, heals him, brings him food, and even stays behind to look after him (funny you don't see either sokka or toph doing that)... all while dealing with her own sadness and anger over her father. aang does notice this, by the way! though naturally, he does nothing about it.

S3:E9, Nightmares and Daydreams: i'll cut this one a little slack, because sokka and toph do try to help out with aang's anxieties too. note, however, that katara checks on aang five separate times in this episode alone - far more than either of the other two by a clear margin.

S3:E17, The Ember Island Players: katara is the only one to notice aang is upset after the play, goes to see if he's okay and... well, you know how this one ends.

let's do a little tally and... that clocks in at a whopping 10 times that katara offers aang her love, support and comfort, including almost all of his lowest moments.

now let's look at the number of times aang supports katara when she is in need of it:

S1:E9, The Waterbending Scroll: aang encourages katara to waterbend, pushing her to have faith and be confident in herself, allowing her to waterbend successfully and defeat the pirates.

S1:E18, The Waterbending Master: aang defends katara against pakku and cheers for her during her fight; he does also, however, undercut her very real anger at pakku and tries to dissuade her from fighting at all under the impression that it's for him instead of the injustice that's been done to her so... we'll consider this a wash.

S2:E17, Lake Laogai: aang rests a hand on katara's shoulder in wordless support after jet dies.

S3:E8, The Puppetmaster: aang pulls the hand-on-shoulder move again while katara cries after defeating hama... except this time, sokka's on her other side doing the exact same thing so it can't even be counted as an emotional support moment exclusive to aang, the way all of aang's are to katara.

final calculation: 2, 4 if i'm being generous. four against ten, and even if you combined all of them together, aang still doesn't provide even half the depth of support and care that katara does for him in just a single incident.

see how that might be what we call an imbalanced relationship?

They shouldn't have said that to her but him and Sokka know if she kills Yon Rha, it will not bring her closure

except who brought up killing yon rha? aang. who immediately conflated justice with revenge? aang. who pushed his own culture's values of pacifism onto katara? aang. and who was ultimately wrong about blanket forgiveness and inaction being the path to closure for katara? aang.

you don't need to take my word on it. katara corrects aang herself when he inaccurately assumes she did what he wanted her to: "But i didn't forgive him. I'll never forgive him."

if aang had his way, if katara had never confronted yon rha, her rage and grief and resentment would've simply continued to fester inside her. katara made peace with her trauma on her own terms, by finally getting to see yon rha for what he really was: not a nightmarish bogeyman who left her powerless and afraid, but a weak, pathetic, human man who didn't even deserve the mercy of death, and whom she was able to reclaim her power over.

aang doesn't extend to katara even a fraction of the empathy, understanding and faith she always offers him; rather, he instantly jumps to the worst judgements about her intentions, preaches to her about how she should heal from her trauma, and only deepens her stress and anger while she's reliving the worst moment of her life.

that is not support. that is not friendship. that is aang making katara's struggle about himself, just as everything else in their relationship already is.

saying Katara was reduced Aangs mother figure, especially when he played a large role in her acting like a kid again, and also grew up communally so the concept of a mother isn't something he would even think about

buddy, i assure you i'm not the one making katara aang's mother. you can take that up with the writers who made a self-referential joke about katara acting motherly to aang (unless you think "stop rubbing your eye and sit up straight when you talk!" is somehow a romantic thing to say to your future husband), who have katara coddle aang multiple times, who framed katara holding aang's dead body like the virgin mary holding jesus, and who literally had her dress up and pretend to be his mother.

and for your information, katara is a motherly figure - not just to aang, but to every member of team avatar besides zuko (and suki, if you count her). that's not my opinion btw, as you seem to believe. that's canon, confirmed by both sokka and toph in S3:E7, The Runaway:

Sokka: When our mom died, that was the hardest time in my life. Our family was a mess, but Katara? She had so much strength. She stepped up and took on so much responsibility. She helped fill the void that was left by our mom. It really seems like my whole life, Katara's been the one looking out for me. She's always been the one that's there. And now, when I try to remember my mom, Katara's is the only face I can picture. Toph: The truth is sometimes Katara does act motherly, but that's not always a bad thing. She's compassionate and kind, and she actually cares about me. [Wipes away tears from her left eye.] You know, the real me. That's more than my own mom.

so no, anon, i'm not the one "insisting" on katara's adultification. she was adultified the moment her mother died, because she was forced to step into her mother's shoes - and she did it so well that she became a surrogate parent to her own older brother. she is a child who was forced to sacrifice her childhood, and who will never be able to find it again. that is the fundamental tragedy at the heart of katara's character, and an integral part of what makes her who she is.

there's a reason black and brown women hate it so much, especially when katara has stated she dislikes being seen as motherly

really? women of colour hate being pushed into motherly roles, and seeing female characters like themselves being forced to do so? damn, i wonder if there's any way that i, a south asian woman living in southeast asia, would know that?

i don't need you to tell me what brown women think and feel. i understand first-fucking-hand what we go through, because i've seen it in my own female relatives, in my friends, in their families, in every aspect of my society. i've felt the expectations of my culture on my gender since i was a child, and that is just one of the many reasons why i ship zutara: so that at least in a fictional world, some fictional brown girl is able to have an equal relationship with a partner who respects her, admires her, supports her, cares for her, and loves her just as much as she does him.

i'm glad we can both agree that katara hates being seen as motherly. i hate it too, which is why i despise kat.aang, because the last thing that katara needed after losing her childhood being a mother was to lose the rest of her life to it too, stripped of her agency and legacy, forever stuck looking after a man who will always make her do too much labour without once recognizing it, let alone returning it.

now kindly get out of my inbox with your faux progressive concern, and take your subpar media literacy skills with you while you're at it.

[3rdeyeblaque]

On August 30th we venerate Young King Brother Fred Hampton on his 75th birthday 🎉

Deputy Chairman Fred Hampton was the one of THE greatest orators, leaders, and visionaries to join the Black Panther Party Of Self-Defense 🖤✊🏾

Fred Hampton was born & raised in the Chicago suburbs of Illinois. Civil liberties, rights, and laws were always of great interest to him. After graduating high school, he enrolled in a pre-law program at Triton Junior College in River Grove, Illinois. He joined his local NAACP branch to get involved in the civil rights movement. He rose to the position of Youth Council President for his strong leadership and organization skills. In this position, Brother Hampton mobilized a racially diverse group of 500 young men/women who successfully lobbied city officials to create better academic services and recreational facilities for Black American youth.

In 1968, he joined the Black Panther Party of Self-Defense, headquartered in Oakland, CA. Shortly thereafter, he was selected to head the Chicago Chapter. Here, he created strong personal and political ties with his mentor & chaplain, Father George Clements at the [then] Holy Angels Catholic Church; which served as a safe haven for the Panthers targeted for police surveillance or harassment.

Brother Hampton accomplished a great many things as a young, prolific leader of the BPP Chicago Chapter. He successfully negotiated a gang truce on live television.One of his greatest successes was an unprecedentedly integrated approach to sociopolitical unity; he formed a “Rainbow Coalition”, which included: the Students for a Democratic Society, the Blackstone Rangers, a street gang and the National Young Lords, a local Puerto Rican organization. He was the first leading Panther to achieve this. This alliance is what truly struck the cord of fear in the Chicago P.D. & the FBI. In an effort to neutralize the Chicago Chapter of the BPP, the Black Panthers were placed under heavy surveillance & were subjected to several harassment campaigns.

By 1969, several Black Panthers and Chicago cops either suffered injury or were killed in shootouts across the city, which resulted in the arrest of over 100 members. On Dec 4th of that same year, under the FBI's initiative, the County PD & Chicago PD conducted heinous, unlawful, and unnecessary raid on the Black Panther Party's HQ in the early morning hours while Brother Hampton, leader Mark Clark, and other Panthers slept. They fired over 100 rounds into the apartment without warning. Twelve officers executed Brother Hampton as he slept, drugged by a sedative slipped into his drink by "Panther"/FBI informant O'Neal. Naturally, in Jan 1970, the County Coroner's office ruled the Black Panther leaders' deaths as "justifiable homicide".

Over 5,000 souls attended Brother Hampton’s funeral. Many civil rights activates eulogized him, including his good friend and mentor Father George, who also held a Requem Mass for him at his church.

After many years of coverups, internal investigations, lawsuits, raids, and conspiracies confirmed, the FBI, County PD, & Chicago PD finally admitted to the wrongful deaths of Brother Hampton and Mark Clark. In 1990, and again in 2004, the Chicago City Council passed resolutions commemorating December 4th as Fred Hampton Day. Today, Brother Hampton rests at the Bethel Cemetery in Haynesville, LA where his parents are from - which continues to endure violent desecration from White Supremacist vigilantes/supporters.

" You can kill a revolutionary but you can never kill the revolution. People have to be armed to have power" - Young King Fred Hampton

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his love of our people, his relentless dedication to the BPP cause, and his young yet wise spirit that lives on. May be the find restful peace in spirit that he was/is denied in the physical.

Offering suggestions: flower offerings at his grave, libations of water, prayers and frankincense toward his elevation

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

[dyns33]

Simple

A soulmate Poe Dameron x female reader, because why not ? 

Yet it was simple.

Your soulmate would say the phrase you've had on your arm since birth, the first thing you'll hear from them, and in return you'll respond with the phrase they've had on their arm since birth, the first thing they'll hear from you.

The galaxy being vast, it was not so easy to meet your soulmate, but apart from this space problem, the rule was not complicated.

Y/N had always dreamed of meeting her soulmate. Her sentence was original enough for her to be sure to be in front of the right person when the moment came.

"Let's go, baby, guide me through the stars."

Well, she couldn't really guess in what context her soulmate was going to say this sentence, but she was eager for it to happen, imagining what she was going to answer in return.

It was absolutely not for that that she had engaged in the resistance, nor that she had decided to be in the communications team, which guided the pilots.

To tell the truth, she hadn't even made the connection.

Y/N had joined, because it was the right thing to do, because the Empire had to be fought. And she had ended up in comms, not by choice, but because despite her piloting skills and her desire for justice, she was unable to fire on other ships. It was probably cowardly and selfish, but she didn't want to kill anyone directly. 

Hiding in her little station, she was helping others do it, and she was pretty good at it.

This was probably why she was appointed to support Black Leader during a very important mission.

Black Leader. Poe Dameron. Best pilot of the resistance. The one all men spoke of with admiration, and all women dreamed of at night.

Not Y/N. 

She had never seen him, she had never had the opportunity to talk to him, and while she admitted that the stories she had heard about him were incredible, they were just stories. It was good that he was helping the resistance, but he wasn't the only one.

While she was concentrating after being teased for a long time by the other communication girls who was a little jealous, Y/N suddenly heard a sweet voice in her ears, which made her freeze.

     "Let's go, baby, guide me through the stars."

This moment, she had waited all her life. Really. The most important moment of an existence, which awaited a precise answer.

Hers was to be unable to speak. Paralyzed in her seat, she stared at her screen, staring at the glowing dot that represented Black Leader.

     "Hey oh ? A-8, you copy ?" Poe Dameron asked, both worried and irritated by the lack of response.

It would have been a good time to say something. A second chance. Instead, Y/N took off her helmet, jumped out of her seat, and ran to G-4 to beg her to switch pilots. G-4 was surprised, but too happy to assist Dameron, asked no questions and complied.

The mission was a success, even though Y/N was not at her post, and she was not really concentrated during the following hours.

Why hadn't she said anything ? It was stupid, but finding out that the resistance's best pilot was her soulmate had come as a shock. She didn't know how to react at all.

Poe Dameron had a reputation, in addition to knowing how to fly. Many said he wasn't looking for his soulmate at all, just wanting to have fun.

You shouldn't listen to the stories, but Y/N wondered if it was true. And even if that was wrong, she didn't think he'd be happy to be with a coward who was hiding in comms and not really doing anything to get the win.

She thought she would have time to think, to find a moment to gather courage and talk to him, but as soon as the pilots returned, Black Leader went to the communications room.

Y/N didn't know right away that it was him, since she had never seen him. She only saw a man, tall, quite handsome, dressed in pilots' clothes, followed by a small droid, and visibly furious.

It was the reaction of the other girls, and his voice, that gave her his identity

     "Where's A-8 ?"

Again, she froze, feeling very small in her seat. Quickly, she looked at G-4, who didn't move, then F-7, who felt the panic in her eyes. The comms girls were in solidarity. So F-7 sighed before raising her hand.

     "Yes, Black Leader ?"

     "Why the radio silence ? Why the change of guide ? I could have had problems, and my guys too. You don't change guides in the middle of a mission, never !"

     "Sorry, Black Leader. I felt ill, and I didn't want to jeopardize the mission by misguiding you. But as soon as I saw everything was fine, I took another post."

     "Hmm..." Dameron mumbled, not sounding convinced. "Okay, for this time, but let it be the only one. Did you all hear ?"

     "Yes, Black Leader !" replied all the girls. All, except Y/N.

This time there were questions. No one understood A-8's attitude, even though it could be intimidating to talk to Poe Dameron.

Those who had had this honor before said that he was quite nice, funny, loving to flirt, doing everything for them to have a good time together. It was okay to be shy, but she really had to not do that again.

A good moment. Funnt. Y/N felt bad.

With each of the following missions, Y/N begged F-7 again to take her place. And F-7, even though she found it strange and childish, agreed. It was truly an honor to guide Black Leader. She even had fun flirting with him and bragging about it to others.

This will be several weeks, during which Y/N began to regain her composure, trying to accept the situation and repeating to herself that it is not serious. At least she had met her soulmate, and she could move on.

While she was going to the canteen, a small droid bumped into her legs, before circling her beeping. Y/N spoke a little binary, so she understood that the rascal was trying to escape maintenance.

     "You do not have to be afraid." she said gently, kneeling in front of him to pat his head. "It's important to make sure you're okay, for yourself and for others. Are you a pilot's droid ? More importantly, they..."

     "BB8 ? BB8, where are you ?!"

This voice. Y/N froze, before slowly turning her head towards Poe Dameron who was coming towards her, staring at the droid. His droid.

     "There you are ! Hey, don't hide behind the girl, no ! BB, that's bad. Excuse him, he hates check-ups, that little monster. Yes, you're a little monster. You... I am as nice as that girl, you can't stay with her."

Y/N said nothing, unable to answer. Black Leader seemed to sense her embarrassment.

     "You're in communications, aren't you ?" he asked with a charming smile. "I recognize the uniform. We may have flown together before ? I often have A-8 at the moment, she's not bad. I had heard a lot of good things about her, but I'm a little disappointed. Our first time together... She wasn't very professional."

Y/N still said nothing.

     "I mean, she's fine. I understand that the mission was stressful. And even if it's stupid, it's stressful to guide me. But we have a job to do, and we have to do it, seriously. She is really not  serious. I should change my comm, I think. I will ask the general. Would you guide me ?"

The only response Y/N could give was a nod, before fleeing, leaving the pilot and his droid in the middle of the corridor, intrigued.

After that, it was announced that Black Leader was asking for a change of comm. Then another. Then another. He seemed to want to talk to all the girls in the communications department at least once. Absolutely all of them.

And when it was impossible for Y/N to switch places with anyone again, she panicked. Her first solution was to say she was sick, too bad. But she couldn't stay sick forever. So she went to talk to General Organa.

     "You want to change assignments ?"

     "Yes, General. Originally, I was supposed to be a pilot, and although communication is important, I think I could help in mechanics, or elsewhere."

     "Hmm. And that has nothing to do with a certain pilot you've been avoiding for a month ?"

     "I... I don't know what you mean ?"

     "No ? He told me about your little chase. He thought it was funny at first, but now he doesn't understand your attitude. He wonders if he did something wrong, A-8."

He knew. From the start, he knew. Oh, not that they were soulmates, but that she had been avoiding him for weeks.

     "If Black Leader did something, tell me." said General Organa calmly.

     "He... He said my sentence."

"Ah. I see. And you didn't answer, because ?"

     "... He's Black Leader. The best pilot in the resistance... who isn't looking for anything serious."

     "I've heard the rumours. Dameron likes to have fun, it's true. He loves to talk, laugh, and flirt. But the rest of it, if you ask him, it's just baseless gossip. It's a romantic idiot. He's looking forward to his soulmate, though he's too proud to admit it. I think he's waited long enough, right ? Unless you really want to change assignments, I won't oppose it."

Y/N hesitated. After all that had happened, he might be angry. He would probably be disappointed. But he had a right to know, so she accepted the next mission with Black Leader.

Sitting at her post, she took a deep breath before turning on the comms.

     "A-8, glad you're back with us after your illness, hope you're feeling better." Dameron sneered into her helmet.

     "... Thank you, I'm like BB, I don't really like check ups."

There was a silence. A long silence. She had spoken without thinking, not wondering if that would be the right sentence, only finding that it was the right thing to answer.

Beeps were heard, and a growl.

     "Yeah, I know BB, I got it. A-8, I need to focus, but can we meet when I get back ? Please ?"

Poe Dameron was not known for saying 'please'. Y/N couldn't say no to him. They were very professional during the rest of the mission, not talking at all about what had happened. And when the pilots returned, Y/N was standing in the hangar.

Seeing her, Black Leader jumped out of his cockpit without waiting to come quickly towards her. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, his face totally impassive.

     "First question, your name."

     "Oh. Y/N."

     "Great. Poe, delighted. Second question, are we what I think we are ?" he asked, standing in front of her.

     "... I think so."

     "Okay. Third question, why ? Why the radio silence ?"

     "I… I was surprised. And then… I thought you'd be disappointed. People say you're not looking for anything serious."

     "People are stupid and don't know me at all, just the guy on the propaganda posters. Besides, I think you're cute, and I've heard a lot of good things about your work. Knowing that, would you have responded ?"

     "... Yes, I can imagine ?"

     "So I'm not rejected ?"

     "What ? No ! Not at all ! I thought… I thought you were going to reject me.”

     "Okay." Poe said simply before kissing her without waiting, in front of everyone.

Some cheered, others were a bit jealous, while the comms girls finally understood their colleague's attitude. Of course, the best pilot and the best guide were made to be together. Two idiots.

     "Beep beep !"

     "What ?" Poe muttered, watching his droid push him again and again, getting between him and Y/N. "No, I... How come it's my turn for maintenance ? What are you talking about ?"

     "I haven't really had maintenance." Y/N whispered. "I lied, BB."

     "Beep beep !"

     "It hurts Y/N, very badly. My heart is bleeding. Me, who spent almost all my free time at the nurse to find someone who didn't like check-ups, I feel stupid."

     "Beep !"

     "Thanks, BB. We'll check up together if you want."

     "Beep beep."

     "I speak some binary, what we do or don't do together is nobody's business." Y/N said trying not to be embarrassed by the language used by droid.

     "Excuse him, I told you, he's a little monster. I raised him better than that though."

This made her laugh, relaxing the atmosphere completely, even if BB8 had already somewhat succeeded in helping the two ridiculous humans to stop their stupidity. Even if the kiss wasn't completely nonsense, just Poe who was going a little too fast.

Y/N's laugh made her soulmate smile, who seemed as relieved as her by the situation. All was well, all was perfectly well, simple, a pilot and his comm, soulmates, who fought for peace.