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#trump speaks again
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The problem with this parody account is that I don't for an instant believe that Trump could be as coherent as you are.
You’re fake news. I am the most coherent person you’ve ever talked to. Yesterday I took a test and the doctors were like, “oh my god, this is amazing. I can understand everything he’s saying”. I got an A+. I aced the test, unlike sleepy joe. Sleepy joe fell asleep during the hearing test, because he’s sleepy.
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ohsalome · 4 months
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joe biden is a literal rapist, not gonna vote for him but thanks anyways!
Thank god Trump is nothing like that
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chaos-in-one · 1 year
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Not r/fakedisordercringe allowing a post linking articles saying DID isn't real and articles that say it isn't based in childhood trauma because "it's so rare and heavily debated in the psych field"
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emotinalsupportturtle · 3 months
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the main reason I will always be obsessed with David Tennant is that fundamentally, we share the same mental illness
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fuzziemutt · 1 month
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The more time I'm forced to spend with cishet white people (coworkers 😭) the more I miss being in mainly queer poc environments
My ass is not thriving and I'm literally staring at them like "have you not gone outside like ever. Have not you talked to. Literally a singular brown person in your entire fucking life. How have you never questioned the means of how the world around you operates. At all????"
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dracolizardlars · 7 months
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These days I seem to be unable to retain it when I hear about celebrities' deaths. I just got reminded that Paul O'Grady died and it felt almost like receiving the news for the first time, a real slap in the face. 😥
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longlivelindsay · 8 months
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As Heard on MSNBC...
I really hate cable news as it's completely biased, but I needed to hear about the indictment, so I watched it last night.
Anyways, I heard the best thing...
“Jack Smith is in his Taylor Swift ‘Speak Now’ era right now.”
I couldn't stop laughing.
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spiritlowerlight · 4 months
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source unknown. Well he speaks almost the same words.
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paramaxed · 2 months
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whoever wrote this needs to die
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I blame Donald trump for the 30% of people who hear something like “a ship crashed into a bridge” and immediately jump to “it’s a conspiracy, it was intentional, this is just a distraction”. There’s simply no explanation otherwise
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avelera · 3 months
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PSA: You should question news articles that make you not want to vote
Hey Tumblr friends, but especially young Americans in this, the year of our Lord 2024.
Unfortunately, it is an election year.
Unfortunately, a US election year becomes everyone's problem, and yes everyone else, we are very very sorry that you have to deal with our nonsense.
But in all seriousness, the level of propaganda that's going to be flung around on all sides is going to reach peak levels this year for the English-speaking internet in particular. There's going to be a lot of influence operations, on all sides, and yes including on sides you agree with but they are still influence operations.
Source: I am speaking as a cybersecurity professional who also did a great deal of work in election security.
So, here's what I am going to ask you to do. What I am going to beg you to do: be careful of any article that makes you think there's no point in voting.
That's it. I'm not going to tell you who to vote for, or how to think, or that you should trust or distrust every article out there. I don't care about that. I care about whether or not it makes you think you shouldn't vote.
A lot of influence operations are about making you feel like there's no point. That both sides are just as bad as the other. The the election is falsified. That you can "protest" by not voting (false: you will simply not be counted and your voice will be ignored). All sorts of reasons not to vote.
No matter what you do, what you believe, or who you trust, you really really have to vote this year, and every year, and you need to not listen to articles that say there's no point because among those articles are in fact active foreign influence campaigns trying to promote one side or the other for their own reasons, I am deadly serious right now.
(More context, sources, and examples sources below the cut.)
In 2016, Russian influence operations were focused on tearing down Hillary in order to specifically depress voter turnout among young men of color in the belief that this would help Trump get elected.
From the article: "“Buried literally in the middle of the indictment is a paragraph that should jar every American committed to the long fight for voting rights,” Anders wrote in a statement. “The Russians allegedly masqueraded as African-American and American Muslim activists to urge minority voters to abstain from voting in the 2016 election or to vote for a third-party candidate.”
This is the flavor of influence campaign that has been proven, that does exist, and is the sort of thing that does numbers here on Tumblr.
Things like the situation in Gaza, for example, are incredibly fraught situations. Articles don't even need to lie about facts on the ground there to make people feel hopeless and angry. Again, I am not telling you who to trust or not trust when it comes to news sources. But if an article about this event, for examples, makes you think or even outright tells you, "There's no point to voting, both sides are awful, I just shouldn't bother." You need to pause and at least consider that this might be an influence operation. You need to think critically. You need to check sources. You need to think about the world you want to live in, to vote for, and who might not want that world to happen for any variety of reasons.
Protesting by failing to vote isn't a real thing.
Old politicians ignoring young voters because they famously do not bother to vote is absolutely 100% a real thing. It is why so many policies that are popular with young people are low priority for politicians: they are not afraid of losing the young vote because no one plans on having it in the first place when it's never there in big enough numbers to matter.
So please, please, read what you want. Believe what you want. Follow your heart and your brain and whatever other organ you want to think with. I'm not here to tell you who is right, wrong, trustworthy, good, or bad. I'm just here to tell you that despite all of that, whatever you read, you must vote in your elections, no matter where you are in the world and you must not listen to voices that tell you not to as a protest.
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norrizzandpia · 6 months
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hey bestiee!!
I wanted to request femxreader who’s having trouble with sleep and calls lando when he’s away because she misses him so much
thanksss🧡
I NEED HIM ON SPEED DIAL.
What Are You Doing Up? (LN4)
Summary: She can’t go to sleep when he isn’t there.
Warnings: again, arguably the cutest thing ive ever written
Her eyes felt as if they had been glued open as she stared up at the ceiling. Nothing seemed to work. No amount of tea or medicine could get her body to relax and give into the sleep she so desperately wanted and needed.
The one thing she hadn’t tried and the one thing she really didn’t want to bother was the one thing she knew would actually work.
Lando.
Her boyfriend had become the expert on getting her back to sleep on nights when she was too fidgety or energized to lay down and stay still. His quiet whispers could easily make her drowsy and his soft hands roaming her skin never once failed to make her eyes droop. Whether it was the fact she found his presence calming or he was just the insomniac-whisperer, she didn’t know.
Nevertheless, on nights when he wasn’t there to find her up and walking around the kitchen in search of something to do, she had to try and get herself back to sleep on her own. Usually, she could do it. It would take hours and hard work, but she could get to sleep eventually. However, now, as she glanced at the clock and it read 4:30 AM, she realized calling Lando was inevitable.
Part of her brain knew he was the last resort, but the other was relieved to hear his voice because, God, did she miss him.
His race weekends had been going phenomenally and she was immensely proud of him, but she couldn’t get over seeing him on screen and wishing he was beside her.
No amount of phone calls, facetimes, voice notes, or text messages could cure the overwhelming yearning she harbored for the man in her life.
Her thumb hesitantly hovered over his contact, doubting at the last moment if she should really disturb him. But wanting sleep and her boyfriend trumped any second thoughts as she let out a breath and clicked his number.
The number rang for a few seconds before she heard shuffling, a rushed “give me one moment”, and then his voice.
“Y/n? What’s going on, baby? Isn’t it like-” A pause told her he was checking the time, “4:30 in the morning over there?”
She nodded, letting out a sigh before responding, “Yes,”
The exhaustion was evident and thick in her voice as it dawned on Lando why his girlfriend had called him when it was the crack of dawn for her.
“You can’t sleep,” He whispered, disappointment and empathy for her.
She had been so busy the few days before without much sleep that her walls began to fall down, tears rising in her eyes as she wished for any kind of rest.
“I can’t sleep,” She repeated, choked sounds escaping her throat as she willed for his support.
“Aw, baby, I’m so sorry. What can I do, love?” He said, moving to a more secluded corner as to gain privacy to speak to her freely.
She shook her head, fingers coming to pinch her nose, “I don’t know. Just talk to me about your day. Maybe that’ll help me calm down.”
“Okay, okay, I can do that.” He whispered lovingly, feeling heartbroken he couldn’t be there to help her through this.
She set the phone beside her ear, blankets up to her chin as he began.
“Well, it’s around 7:30 PM here in Vegas and I was just talking to Oscar and the engineers about going to get some dinner. Testing went really well today and the car is super quick. Baby, it’s going to be such a great race. I’m really hopeful. Anyway, I had a really good workout this morning too. Things are just going really well, honestly, with the team and Oscar. 1-2 is looking not as impossible now which is crazy, baby. And!” He exclaimed, getting excited as he rambled, “And I got to try In-n-Out! Remember that really big burger chain I was telling you about? It’s so fucking popular here and it’s not anywhere else except the west coast of the U.S? Yeah! I got to try it and, no doubt, baby, it was so fucking good. Genuinely, some of the best fast food I’ve ever had. We have to come back to the west coast over holiday, so I can show you it and all the other weird things Americans do. How does that sound, baby?”
Lando was met with silence to his question, thinking she hated the idea, until his ears heard soft, rhythmic sighs on the other line. His heart swelled at the infamous noises of her having dosed off. He loved the fact that he was the only person to be able to get her back to sleep, but also despised it during times like these when she failed to let him know of her problems until the last minute. He wished he could make her understand that any call from her was never going to be a disruption or annoyance.
He would always be overjoyed to hear from her, whether that was with bad or good news.
Nevertheless, he listened to her breathing for a few minutes, wanting to make sure she stayed asleep and didn’t need anymore of his help. When he was sure of her state, he whispered to the woman he knew couldn’t hear him, “I love you so much, my love. Glad I could help.”
He didn’t care that she couldn’t comprehend his words, saying it because, even when she was asleep, she deserved to hear how much he cared about her.
Hanging up the phone and waving off his team behind him who was rushing him as they so desperately wanted to go get food, Lando sent her a quick text.
Lan 🧡
Next time, call me the second you start struggling to fall asleep. I’m always here for you, beautiful. Call me when you wake up xx
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beaversatemygrandma · 2 years
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Ah, it’s that political ad time of year Now why have i only seen ads that talk down the people we’re supposed to vote on? Literally everything is like “This person is EVIL” with literally nothing to back it up. And the ones that do give information, it’s so vague that you don’t even know what the ad is telling you. Who thought this was a good idea? Who do you want me to vote for? You’re just talking shit.
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cherienymphe · 1 month
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House of Balloons
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Topper Thornton x Reader
Summary: It was storming the night he told you that no man in Outer Banks will ever love you like he does
warnings: Dub-Con, stepcest, loss of virginity, jealousy, underage drinking, kook!reader, non canon ages
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
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You should’ve guessed that things weren’t right the night your brother punched your very first boyfriend in the face.
Your anger over his actions was only trumped by your embarrassment. The other unsuspecting teenager had been completely blindsided, falling out cold on the floor of the party while you had been temporarily frozen with shock. No matter what excuse Topper gave that night—words slurring and pupils blown—you hadn’t wanted to hear it. Your humiliation and confusion and irritation had made you shut him out completely, only made worse by your fears coming true when you were swiftly dumped two days later.
“He was too old for you, anyway,” was his only comment on the situation.
You’d been fourteen then, and your boyfriend was the same age as him.
Your dating life after that was sparse to say the least, hardly anyone wanting to go near the girl with the overprotective brother. Nonexistent wasn’t the right word to use. After all, you still took the odd brave guy or two up on their offers, skipping class and sneaking out of your room just to have something like the same experiences your friends were having. It worked for a time.
Until they decided they wanted something with less effort and trouble, and you supposed you couldn’t blame them.
“If you’d actually been honest with me, I could’ve long told you those guys were assholes and not to waste your time.”
That was what Topper told you the night you’d finally decided to confide in him, his expression lacking anger…but only holding disappointment. You didn’t know why that bothered you more than him being mad. Maybe it was because you looked up to Topper in ways that should’ve been reserved for your father. The day he married Topper’s mother, it was like you became less in his eyes, the older man finally gaining the son he always wanted.
Topper could be a suffocating dick sometimes, but the way he cared about you was comforting.
“What did you expect from me when you literally ran my first boyfriend off?” you wondered with a roll of your eyes, applying your blush. “Sue me for wanting to have the life you did.”
You could see the blond lounged along your bed in the reflection of your mirror, his blue gaze briefly lifting from the phone in his hand. He watched you sift through the myriad of lip glosses in your drawer before finally speaking.
“Yeah, I remember him. He was an asshole who with a preference for ‘fresh meat’, an asshole I explicitly told to stay away from you,” he told you.
You paused at that, catching his gaze in the mirror, and the corner of his lips twitched when you sighed.
“You could’ve told me that,” you mumbled. “You just kept saying that he was an asshole who didn’t deserve me. Surely, you knew that was like catnip to a high school freshman, right?”
You threw him a look.
“I blamed you for months when he broke up with me.”
Topper only shrugged.
“I knew you’d thank me one day,” he smugly replied, and you bit your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction even though the damage was done. “Besides, I did what any good brother should do—look out for you until you’re old enough to make your own choices.”
Done with your makeup, you merely pursed your lips, staring at him through the mirror as he scrolled on his phone. The longer the silence stretched, that was when Topper finally lifted his gaze again, and you scoffed the moment his eyes met yours.
“You’re trying to pretend like you’re still not a controlling asshole, and it’s actually upsetting,” you huffed, standing. “Like I didn’t see your eyebrow twitch the other night when I told your mother I had a date.”
Before you could grab the dress at the foot of your bed, Topper beat you to it. You watched him run a hand through his blond strands, making his way to your closet as your words hung in the air.
“That’s because you don’t have the best taste in guys,” you heard him throw over his shoulder.
He was in your closet, and the sound of shuffling fabric and moving hangers reached your ears. When he came back out, there was an entirely different dress hanging off of his hand, and you could only eye it as he neared you. He slowly held it out to you, blue gaze boring into your own.
“Your graduation dress looks better on you,” was his only comment.
You eyed it again, silently—and reluctantly—agreeing. You were slow to take it, met with the very smirk you didn’t want to see, and Topper’s voice carried into the bathroom as you shut the door behind you.
“Still, you’re eighteen, now, and I have to let you do what you want,” you rolled your eyes at his remark. “Even if what you want are lower-class Pogues who can’t even afford to take you on a proper date.”
Your dress wasn’t even zipped all the way when you swung the door open, face pinched as you glared at the other man. Topper was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom, and the lack of humor on his face told you that wasn’t a joke. You told yourself that this wasn’t surprising, very much aware of how classist your brother could be, but it didn’t do anything to lessen your anger.
“Could you be any more of a snob? His family doesn’t have a vacation house and a two-car garage, so now he’s low class?” you scoffed.
Topper tilted his head at you, an expression on his face that begged you to be serious.
“He’s not even picking you up. You’re meeting him at the beach. You call it romantic, I call it cheap and lazy,” he elaborated, straightening and invading your personal space.
You clenched your teeth when he reached out to gently touch your arms, forcing you to turn around without a word. One of his hands lightly touched your hip, holding the dress in place while his other pulled on the zipper. You could feel his cool breath against your neck, and you were unsurprised when another nagging comment met your ears.
“Maybe I wouldn’t have to be the asshole you think I am if you actually picked men worthy of your time,” he whispered.
When you looked at him over your shoulder, Topper merely shrugged, his expression telling you that he wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t going to stop you. Again, there was that disappointment flitting across his features, and it unfortunately had you second guessing things. Some part of you knew that Topper was right, but his quick dismissal of your potential boyfriend made your stubbornness rear its ugly head.
“Don’t wait up for me,” was all you told him as you grabbed your purse.
The only response you got was a slight snort, but Topper said nothing otherwise, both of you knowing that despite what you requested, he was absolutely going to.
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The night Topper kissed you, you were drunk out of your mind.
That potential boyfriend became an official boyfriend who turned out to be a piece of shit. Your breakup coincided with some silly party your parents were throwing, Topper being your only age mate on the whole property, so it was only natural that you found yourselves on the back deck that connected to his bedroom. It was dimly lit and hidden away from any curious gazes that might be in the yard below.
“Can you just…not say I told you so?” you mumbled, finger tapping against the glass in your hand. “It’s bad enough that I told the whole family to account for him being here tonight.”
When Topper reached over to steal your drink, fingers grazing yours as he did, you let him.
“You know that’s not my thing,” he said, voice low. “Besides, it’s not like it’d do any good.”
You couldn’t hold in your soft chuckle, louder laughs in the yard overpowering yours, but theirs lacked your bitterness.
You didn’t even know why this breakup bothered you so much. The whole relationship lasted a month, but that did nothing to soften the blow. You’d dived head first into the relationship—as you always did—and so those thirty days just felt like ninety in your mind. You’d been hopeful, excited, and you recalled something a friend said once…about so much of the relationship happening in your head.
You were reluctant to admit that she’d been right.
Not unlike before, you’d made up so much of his personality. You’d given him attributes and an entire personality that didn’t align with reality, and that was why you felt blindsided. Looking back, there was nothing about him that told you he was a patient and loving and understanding guy, so was it really a shock when broke up with you? It’d been a month, and you weren’t ready to have sex with him, and so he responded in a way that guys like him usually did.
Anyone could’ve seen that coming, and yet…
“What’s wrong with me?”
You almost didn’t realize you’d said that, the words coming out in a small whisper before you could swallow them down. You liked to think it was the alcohol talking, but you knew that the brown liquor you’d snuck away was only just making you more honest. You were entertaining thoughts you normally preferred to ignore and shove down.
“Hey…”
Topper’s tone told you that he’d heard you loud and clear, and you only shook your head when his hand gently touched your arm.
“I mean…” you shrugged, throwing a hand out. “Am I not good enough to actually get to know?”
Topper said your name, and you heard him sit the drink down.
“If I don’t put out, am I just…not worth the effort?”
His voice was firmer this time when he said your name, and you hadn’t realized that he moved closer until his hands were on your arms and making you face him. There was a frown on his face as he eyed you, that blue gaze of his tracing your features.
“Stop letting these assholes get to you,” he told you. “You’re better than every single one of them.”
His advice was easier said than done, and so you didn’t respond, only frowning back at him before your eyes fell to the wood, tracing the lines in it.
“You have to say that, Topper,” you sighed. “It doesn’t exactly hit the same coming from you.”
You heard him release a heavy sigh too, his hands coming up to frame your face. When you were forced to look at him again, there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t name. Topper’s blond hair wasn’t in its normal neat state, the light strands kissing his forehead as he ran his gaze over your face. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and so you were relieved when he voiced his thoughts.
“I’m saying it because it’s true…because I don’t actually have to say anything,” he continued, an edge to his voice. “I don’t have to tell you that I think you’re an insecure little girl who dates losers because you don’t have your father’s approval.”
You flinched at that, frown deepening.
“I don’t have to tell you that it pisses me off that you just don’t learn,” he bit out, and you hated how much his words stung.
…because they were true.
“You go after these guys who shouldn’t even have the confidence to approach you, and what kills me is that every time they break your heart, you go out prepared to repeat the process-.”
“Jesus, Topper!” you slapped one of his hands away. “What the hell?”
You sat up straight, tearfully glowering at him. The other guy didn’t look all that sorry, and you angrily wiped your face with a scoff.
“Is this your idea of comforting me?” you choked out.
The blond briefly looked away, and he at least had the sense to have some shame, a sheepish glint passing through his eyes. You watched him swallow, jaw clenching as he seemed to be choosing his next words carefully.
“You could just do so much better,” he finally said, tone thick with disappointment. “…and you choose not to.”
You bristled at his words.
“Let you tell it, no guy is good enough for me, so you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take your critique to heart,” you spat.
“No guy is good enough for you.”
Topper wasn’t looking at you, but instead was staring straight ahead, one arm resting on a bent knee. The sounds of the party still provided some background noise, but you weren’t focused on that. You were more focused on the tightness in your brother’s jaw, a coldness in his blue eyes that wasn’t unfamiliar to you. Of all his friends, Topper was considered the nice one—the respectable one—but you were probably one of the few people who knew just how nasty he could be.
It was something that only one other person was able to bring out in him.
So…you didn’t know why you said it.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”
You were trying to get under his skin…but you didn’t know that you were already there.
“Maybe I am…”
Topper’s tone was even, devoid of all humor, and he slowly turned to look at you.
His response took you by surprise, and your lips parted, prepared to jokingly tell him to shut up when his expression gave you pause. There was no mirthful twinkle in his eye, not even a mocking or condescending glint that told you he was playing along and trying to bother you just as much.
Topper was serious.
“Maybe I am jealous,” he continued, shifting to fully face you, now. “So, now what?”
You frowned at him, blinking a few times as your mouth opened and closed. You were all too aware of your heart in your chest…among other things. Like the fact that you two were alone and Topper was really close, and you’d had way too much to drink. The party downstairs felt so far away, and you briefly squeezed your eyes shut.
No, you and Topper didn’t share blood, but this revelation you were slowly coming to terms with unsettled you beyond belief. Topper couldn’t be jealous…not of your exes…because that implied that… You shook your head, looking away and having the strong urge to lie down.
“Do you know what it’s like? To know you give asshole after asshole a chance, and there’s nothing I can do about it?”
“Yeah, because-!”
“I know what I am, Y/N,” he cut you off. “You don’t have to remind me.”
He bitterly mumbled that last part, and you finally looked at him again.
“Topper…you can’t be jealous of my exes,” you slowly told him, the words coming out in a whisper like you were afraid to say it out loud.
You were all too aware of just how close he’d gotten, and it was hard to focus on anything else. You wanted to leave—needed to leave—but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You watched his blue eyes flit over your face, studying you and drinking you in, and you sharply inhaled when you saw his hand lifting out of the corner of your eye.
“Well, that’s too bad,” he quietly responded, hand coming up to take hold of your jaw.
You pushed against his arm—and chest—but the blond wouldn’t budge, and a bout of panic took hold of you.
“Topper-!”
The rest of your words were swallowed and forgotten, his lips moving against yours in a kiss. It—in combination with the alcohol—made your head spin, and you gasped against his lips. He took the opportunity to taste the inside of your mouth, moving closer and pressing his chest to yours. One hand against his chest and one against his arm didn’t deter him, and you jumped when an arm tightly snaked around your waist.
You were practically forced into Topper’s lap, and the more he kissed you, the more you forgot about the party downstairs.
The alcohol made it hard to focus on what was important, your brain getting distracted and becoming preoccupied with the taste of alcohol on his tongue. You were hyperaware of his hand pressing into your waist and the way his other hand was so warm against your jaw, his thumb tracing patterns into your skin. The ministrations had your body heating up, and although you knew why you needed to stop, you couldn’t work your limbs to try harder to.
Your head fell back when Topper’s lips traveled to your throat, and he let your face go, fingers dancing down your frame.
When they found comfort on your thigh, your dress riding up in the commotion, you shuddered. They felt so hot against your skin, and the heat traveled all the way to your stomach, settling deeply there. Without thinking, you parted your thighs a bit, and you felt Topper hum against your throat. The sound was soon followed by his hand disappearing between your legs, and you involuntarily bucked your hips closer.
You were shocked at how easy it was for him to push a finger into you. It dragged a breathy yelp from your lips, your hand coming up to grab onto his shoulder when he added another. You spread your legs more, hips lifting, and you heard Topper curse as he sank his fingers into you. You couldn’t stop moaning, the alcohol making you lose all sense of caution, so you weren’t shocked when he kissed you again.
“Topper,” you gasped against his mouth.
It was wrong, and you remembered why it was wrong…but you couldn’t stop. Before where you’d been trying to push him away, you were now pulling him closer, lifting your hips to meet every curve of his fingers and toes curling against the wood of the balcony. You were dripping around him, now, something that would’ve embarrassed you had you been in your right mind, but at the moment, you only wanted to come.
When you did, he let your waist go to cover your mouth.
You couldn’t stop murmuring and mewling into the palm of his hand, his other hand still pushing fingers into you and circling your bundle of nerves with his thumb. Stars danced in your vision, and you felt the blond lean in and press kisses against your throat and collarbone. You were still trembling when you started to frown, all too aware of his fingers inside of you as you wondered what you’d just done.
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You ignored the heat of familiar gazes as you grabbed your things, wanting to be literally anywhere else.
Hitting a few balls with Rafe turned into hitting a few with Kelce and Rafe and then eventually Topper and Kelce and Rafe. The arrival of your brother had triggered a drastic mood shift, and as much as you’d tried to hide it, you didn’t think you were doing a good job. Especially once the gathering was moved inside to get something to eat. Unable to pretend anymore, you feigned an illness.
“Y/N, at least let me drive you…”
“I’d rather walk,” you told Topper, avoiding his eye and declining his offer.
There was no doubt in your mind that the other two picked up on the tension, confirmed when Rafe’s voice carried as you exited the building.
“Geez,” he’d exhaled. “What’s going on with you two?”
The question still lingered in your mind all the way back home.
What’s going on with you two… How loaded that answer was, and you yourself couldn’t even convey it fully. Memories of the party had plagued your mind for weeks, now, and despite how you should feel about it, you were learning that it wasn’t so simple. Your stomach flipped for multiple reasons as you recalled the feeling of Topper’s hands on you.
The entire ordeal was beyond dubious, your head in the toilet later that night only proof of how much you’d had to drink. Finding out that your brother thought of you in ways a brother shouldn’t should’ve gone in a whole other direction. The lack of blood relation did little to lessen your uneasiness and guilt, chest aching uncomfortably at the memory of his fingers inside of you.
Your parents were married, had been for eight years, now.
You were well and fully settled in as a family unit at this point…and yet…
That did nothing to lessen the heat deep in your gut when you thought about Topper kissing you and touching you in ways no one ever had before. It was something that kept you up at night, and on particularly bad nights, you found your own hand drifting between your legs to try and replicate the same feelings he’d pulled from you under the cover of darkness while your parents had been none the wiser.
To say that things were awkward and messed up was an understatement.
You were angry with him…but you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was a source of great conflict for you, and unsure of how to act around the one person you’d trusted the most, you simply opted with ignoring him and avoiding him as best as you could. Not only was this noticeable to any and everyone you knew—your combined presence a normality—but it also pissed Topper off.
Very much.
“You can’t ignore me forever.”
Those were the words that greeted you a few days later as you washed dishes. His mother was out, and your father was upstairs in his study, and despite the fact that you very much wanted to do what he said you couldn’t, you acknowledged him, anyway.
“I can try…”
When he said your name, it was softly spoken, but you weren’t oblivious to the edge in his voice.
“Can we talk for a sec…” he suggested. “I mean, like, a real conversation.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you-.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it,” he breathed, his hand coming up to rest on your arm. “You have a lot to say to me, and I don’t care if you just want to curse me out because you’ve never held back before.”
Roughly dropping a plate back into the water, you took a deep breath. Facing Topper, you really looked at him for the first time in weeks. You hated that despite the circumstances of what happened that night, he looked different to you…less like a brother… Such a thought made you briefly close your eyes, and when you opened them again, you were angry again.
“What is wrong with you?” you breathlessly wondered.
Your tone had his jaw clenching, and you watched him look away. You didn’t pull your gaze away as he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, and when he looked at you again, you were surprised to find a hint of anger in his blue eyes.
“You’re treating me like…like I’m some kind of pervert,” he whispered.
Your heart did clench at that, and you couldn’t pretend to ignore how that accusation made you feel. You were closer to Topper than you were to anyone else, and despite your anger, you still loved him—cared about him. No, you didn’t think that, but the circumstances of that night—and the circumstances surrounding this entire situation—were messing with your head.
“…and instead of like the guy who has always cared about you.”
You swallowed.
“I fucked up that night,” he admitted to you. “I messed up, and I can see that it’s freaked you out, and I’m sorry.”
Your eyes burned at his apology, and even though some part of you wanted something else just as much, you knew that an apology was what you should want more than anything. That night had to be a one-off thing, something to never be repeated. If you wanted to keep your sanity and have things go back to normal, you had to forget about it, and you had to convince Topper to do the same.
“Topper, we can’t…we can’t do anything like that ever again,” you whispered, and you watched his face even out. “I can’t tell you how to feel…”
The blond nodded, swiping his tongue between his lips.
“…but I’m telling you that I need things to go back to normal…”
Topper’s shoulders sagged at that, and you struggled to swallow.
“You’re the one person that I can talk to about almost anything…and the one person I know I can count on, and… I’m feeling really unsure about that, right now, and I don’t like that, and it’s scary…”
You trailed off when Topper wrapped his arms around you, gently shushing you.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly apologized again. “I’m sorry, and you’re right.”
He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, and you shuddered when his lips grazed your skin as he spoke.
“I was being a selfish asshole that night,” he whispered. “Obviously this can’t be anything else.”
His hands moved up and down your back in soothing gestures, and while it was reminiscent of something he always did to calm you, you couldn’t help but let your mind wonder about what other meaning it might’ve always had. Telling yourself that Topper cared more about what you wanted instead of chasing the high of an alcohol fueled night, you hugged him back, accepting his apology.
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It was storming the night you lost your virginity to your stepbrother.
The loud rain and harsh winds and booming thunder all seemed to work together to drown out the sounds of your breathless moans and surprised gasps. Topper’s forearms were pressed into the pillow on either side of your head as he snapped his hips against yours, the mix of pain and pleasure jumbling your brain. With the power out, the only source of light came from the occasional flash of lightning.
A late-night conversation had dwindled down into nothing the longer the night dragged on. Dozing off at his side wasn’t abnormal, your descent into fatigue made all the more quicker when accompanied by the sound of rain hitting the window. Despite your brief rough patch after that night, you and Topper started treating each other like you always had. It wasn’t without difficulty. After all, there were nights where you still woke up with the memory of his lips touching yours, but it was easy enough to ignore…
Waking up to the feel of an arm around your waist and a hardness against your thigh was not.
You feigned sleep, unsure of what to do or how to proceed and even unsure if Topper was awake and wholly aware. The wind knocked the shutters against the window, and the room was briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning. The thunder and rain were all you could hear, even deaf to your own breathing, but especially Topper’s. However, when you turned your head, you learned that the blond was very much awake.
You didn’t have time to properly gather your thoughts about the kiss, Topper pulling you against him and rolling on top of you before you could. Your mind had been going a mile a minute to make sense of what was happening, and by the time you did, it was too late—his bare chest was pressing against yours and his arms were caging you in.
“Oh my God,” you’d breathed the moment he pushed his cock into you.
The words had escaped from both the shock and the pain, repeating them as you also registered the way your stomach flipped.
“It’s okay,” he whispered in the darkness, a miracle that you could hear him. “You’re okay.”
Were you?
“Topper,” you’d murmured, your tone making your thoughts clear.
“I fucking love you,” was his defense. “Don’t you get that?”
He remained still inside of you for some time, both of you quietly going back and forth.
“We can’t do this,” you’d hissed.
“You saying we can’t isn’t the same as you saying you don’t want to…”
It was the truth, and you weren’t going to lie, but you could only manage to shake your head.
When he started to move, you gasped, somehow getting used to the feel of him in the time you argued. Feeling him pull out before pushing his way back into you had your back arching, absentmindedly lifting your hips. Every reason as to why you shouldn’t do this became less and less important the longer he fucked you. Your nails clawed at his skin, and Topper hissed at the feeling.
He nipped at your neck, teeth gently pulling at the skin while he plunged his cock into you. You felt so full and so stretched in a way that your fingers—nor his—could compare to. All that was left of the pain was a dull ache, even that becoming overshadowed by the pleasure his thrusts brought to you. You were thankful for the storm, sure you wouldn’t even be able to keep quiet if you tried.
“None of those assholes loved you,” he panted against your lips, fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of your neck. “None of them will ever love you like I do.”
Your fingers pressed into his arm and back, breath hitching at a particularly hard thrust.
When he kissed you, just like that night, you kissed him back. Only this time, you weren’t drunk. You were perfectly sober, and you moaned against his lips at the feel of his cock sinking into you. This was the wettest you’d ever been, dripping around him and making a mess of his sheets, no doubt. His hair was damp with sweat, the soft strands pressing against your forehead, and his skin fared no better. Your hands slid over him with ease, a thin layer of sweat coating both of your frames.
Topper was still fucking you when the thunder stopped, and the rain slackened. It was still dark, but you found yourself biting your lip in an effort to not give yourselves away. You found it difficult, the blonde’s cock hitting something inside of you that made you shudder and clench down onto him. When his hands trailed down to grab onto your waist, his fingers dug into your skin as he lifted your hips for you.
You could just make him out in the darkness, his gaze holding yours as you held onto him and fluttered around his cock. You could feel him push himself to his knees, and you dazedly reached down to cover his hands with your own. He stroked something inside of you that pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and the moment you fell over, you sank your teeth into your lip so hard that you tasted blood.
Your vision momentarily went completely dark, only able to focus on the feel of you tightening around Topper. You took note of his hands on your waist, your hands on his, the movement of the bed and the soft rain outside. As your breathing slowed, you also noticed the sloppiness of his thrusts, and your vision refocused just as the blond pulled out.
His sigh reached your ears as he came onto your stomach.
Aside from the rain, the only sound in the room was that of your soft and labored breathing. You were equally awed and shocked, almost feeling like you’d just had an out of body experience. You were trembling, but not just because you were cold, and sensing this, Topper wrapped his arms around you.
“Topper…”
Your tone was unsure, too many emotions fighting for dominance as you marinated in the aftermath of what just happened. His chest was to your back—heart still racing—and his only response was a quiet ‘tomorrow’. The hand that wasn’t resting on your stomach found a home on the front of your throat, and Topper softly repeated himself when he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.
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opencommunion · 2 months
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since zionists want to act obtuse about why we're criticizing a superbowl ad, here's an explanation from before the ad even aired. it was openly designed to act as pro-genocide propaganda. fighting antisemitism is a worthy goal but that's not what's happening here:
"The New England Patriots’ 81-year-old owner, Robert Kraft, writes seven-digit checks to the right-wing Israeli lobbying machine AIPAC, but his personal, political, and financial ties to Israel run deeper than the occasional donation. The multibillionaire married his late wife, Myra, in Israel in 1963 when Kraft, then 22, was older than the nation itself. Together they set up numerous business, athletic, and charitable ties to Israel, a record of which is proudly proclaimed on the Kraft company website. In particular, the Kraft Group boasts of its 'Touchdown in Israel' program, where NFL players are given free, highly organized vacations to see 'the holy land' and come back to spread the word about 'the only democracy in the Middle East.' (Not every NFL player has chosen to take part.) Kraft also attends fundraisers for the Israel Defense Forces, currently—and in open view of the world—committing war crimes in Gaza."
Now, as Israel wages war against the civilians of Gaza—more than 25,000 Palestinian have been killed with at least 10,000 of them children—Kraft is again flexing his financial and political muscles in order to defend the indefensible. His Foundation to Combat Antisemitism (FCAS) will be spending an estimated $7 million to buy a Super Bowl ad titled 'Stop Jewish Hate' that will be seen by well over 100 million people. Under Kraft’s direction, the ad’s goal is to create a propaganda campaign to counter the reports and images from Gaza that young people are consuming on social media. 
... The content of the Super Bowl ad is not yet known, but FCAS has afforded Kraft the opportunity to make the rounds on cable news saying things like, 'It’s horrible to me that a group like Hamas can be respected and people in the United States of America can be carrying flags or supporting them.'
This is Kraft enacting the mission of FCAS: fostering disinformation. He is far from subtle: A Palestinian flag becomes a 'Hamas flag,' and people like the hundreds of thousands who took to the streets of Washington, D.C., last month to call for a cease-fire and end the violence are expressions of the 'rise in antisemitism.' Without a sense of irony or the horrors happening on the ground in Gaza, Kraft says he is giving $100 million of his own money to FCAS, because 'hate leads to violence.'
Let’s be clear: What Kraft is doing politically and what he will be using the Super Bowl as a platform to do is dangerous. He appears to think any criticism of Israel is inherently antisemitic. For Kraft, it is Jews like myself, rabbis, and Holocaust survivors calling for a cease-fire and a Free Palestine that are part of the problem. Kraft seems to think that opposition to Israel, the IDF, and the AIPAC agenda is antisemitism.
... Right-wing Christian nationalists, with their belief in a Jewish state existing alongside their conviction that Jews are going to Hell, are welcome in Netanyahu’s Israel and Kraft’s coalition. Left-wing anti-Zionist Jews are not. The greatest foghorn of this evangelical right-wing 'love Israel, hate Jews' perspective is, of course, Donald Trump. Kraft, while speaking of being troubled by events like the Charlottesville Nazi march and the right-wing massacre at the Tree of Life synagogue, counts Donald Trump as a close friend and even donated $1 million to his presidential inauguration.
No one who provides cover for the most powerful, public antisemite in the history of US politics should ever be taken seriously on how to best fight antisemitism. No one who funds AIPAC and the IDF and opposes a cease-fire amid the carnage should be allowed a commercial platform at the Super Bowl. But given that the big game is always an orgy of militarism, blind patriotism, and big budget commercials that lie through their teeth, perhaps that ad could not be more appropriate. We can do better than Kraft’s perspective on how to fight antisemitism. Morally, we don’t have a choice."
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holisticfansstuff · 2 years
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I feel like India's in the early stages of a cross between Putin's Russia and a Hindu version of Pakistan, and there's not a damn thing any of us can do about it
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