45 year-old man, Chad Michael Watts, attacked a group of children protesting ICE in #Texas while wearing a read MAGA hat. The youth bravely fought back and defended themselves.
The far-Right carries out violence in support of Trump and threatens our freedom, our children and working-class communities everywhere.
cw: nsfw, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, verbal abuse, messy relationship, “i can fix him” energy, substance abuse, oral sex (f/m receiving), explicit sexual content, mdni
۶ৎ dates with him are never fancy—no candlelit dinners, just shotgun rides in his beat-up truck, windows down, wind whipping your hair as he blasts outlaw country and grips your thigh like he owns it. he’ll park by the river at dusk, crack open a six-pack, and spill half-drunk stories about his mill job fuck-ups or his deadbeat dad, his voice cracking just enough to make your heart twist. you lean into him, feeling the heat of his body against the cooling night, knowing this is as close to vulnerability as he gets.
۶ৎ mornings after a bender, you wake to him curled around you like a guard dog, his arm heavy across your waist, snoring softly with whiskey breath fanning your neck. he’ll stir with a groan, pull you closer, and mumble apologies for whatever cruel shit he spewed the night before—calling you worthless or accusing you of pitying his broke ass. you forgive him every time, tracing the scars on his knuckles from bar fights, because beneath the regret, his “i love you, dove” feels real, even if it’s fragile as glass
۶ৎ he’ll have you bent over the kitchen counter mid argument, yanking your panties aside and burying his thick cock inside you without warning, grunting “this what you want? me to shut up and fuck you right?”his pace is relentless, hips snapping as he grips your hair, pulling your head back to bite your shoulder, the pain mixing with pleasure until you come screaming, his cum flooding you hot and messy.
۶ৎ he surprises you with small, grimy gestures of affection. like fixing the leaky faucet in your trailer with parts scavenged from the junkyard, his hands black with oil as he wipes sweat from his brow and grins, “can’t have my girl dealin’ with that shit.” later, you’ll reward him by dropping to your knees in the cramped bathroom, sucking his cock slow and deep, tongue swirling around the head until he bucks into your mouth, cursing “fuck, angel, you're too good for a loser like me” as he spills down your throat
۶ৎ sometimes when the bottle wins and he turns on you, voice slurring venom as he accuses you of cheating or wanting better. you’ll cower on the sagging couch,tears streaming, while he paces like a caged animal,but eventually, the rage burns out, and he collapses at your feet, sobbing into your lap. “i don’t deserve you—never did”, he’ll choke out, and you’ll hold him through the night
۶ৎ lazy sundays mean tangled in bed, his calloused fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin, dipping between your thighs to tease your clit until you’re wet and writhing.he’ll flip you onto your stomach, spread your legs, and eat you out from behind, tongue lapping hungrily at your folds, growling “taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby” as you grind back against his face, coming hard with his name on your lips
۶ৎ aerion opens up about his dreams—quitting the mill, buying land, building something real—and you’ll listen, head on his chest, feeling his heart race.it turns smutty when he demonstrates, bending you over the tailgate under the moon, fucking you deep, his cock dragging against your walls as he murmurs “gonna make this life better for us, angel—gonna fill you up someday.” his cum paints your insides, a sticky promise amid the dirt and stars
۶ৎ after he shoves you against the door in rage, regret hits, and he’ll drop to his knees, eating your pussy like a man starved, fingers pumping inside you while he begs “forgive me, baby— let me taste how wet you get for me still.”you’ll come on his tongue, pulling him up to kiss away the salt of your tears
۶ৎ nights get filthy when he’s had a rough day; he’ll tie your wrists with his belt to the headboard, smirking down at you as he teases your nipples with ice from his beer, then fucks your mouth rough, cock hitting the back of your throat until drool slicks your chin. “take it all, baby—show me you want this— want me,” he’ll rasp, but his eyes betray the plea for reassurance, your moans affirm you're his, he collapses, whispering broken “i needs” into your hair
۶ৎ you’re riding his cock by the firepit outside, stars overhead,your pussy clenching around him as he thrusts up, hands squeezing your tits, the cold air sharpening every sensation until you both shatter, wrapped in each other's warmth against the winter chill.
a/n: okay so i’m actually gonna write something inspired by “a house in nebraska” because i have so many thoughts about white trash!aerion and that entire vibe has me in a chokehold. i need to start leaning into angst more also
really weird liminal smalltown rural backroom in the open wild fields laced with fent and broken dreams all wrought with generation after generation of the most bland and unbeautiful trauma youve ever felt in your thousand lives type of gifs
