#and who happens to be the guy at the top of the social and political hierarchy

[bimboficationblues]

so the thing about "read theory" as a mantra: in the social media sphere there is a consistent downplaying of what that kind of commitment actually entails, plus a consistent obfuscation of what exactly the commitment is necessary for.

let's say that you're interested in learning more about specifically "Marxist theory." This, I think, also raises a bunch of questions about what we mean by theory - works of political philosophy, texts on revolutionary and military strategy, political speeches, journalistic or sociological analysis, historiography - these varying things with very different discursive norms and standards of evidence or logic often get rolled into one singular object called "theory." but let's set that aside for now.

you want to learn this for maybe an assortment of reasons, here's a few (non-exhaustive) good ones:

Marxism has been a substantial historical force that has probably had a notable impact on the world around you in some way.

Learning about Marx/ism might offer some level of insight into your current social world that other things are unable to offer.

Many texts - Capital, The Wretched of the Earth, The Second Sex, The State and Revolution - are also world-historical forms of political literature, which is interesting.

Follow-up to 2 - maybe having some level of familiarity with these things will give you the ability to better articulate yourself and participate in social and political movements around you.

generally speaking the Social Media Marxist approach is to tell you to go read off a list of texts of whatever writers the author personally agrees with or whatever works she happens to have read. so you decide to start with the big guy Marx, who is at the top of the list. totally reasonable decision.

however, there are a few contextual questions that might reasonably come up when doing so.

first, it will be clear that Marx did not pop out of an intellectual vacuum; Lenin has a rather popular identification of the "three sources of Marxism" - post-Hegelian German philosophy, French socialism, and English political economy. from my perspective, these are more like three of his main objects of ire (and so in some sense are both influences and also breakages - but not strictly speaking a synthesis), but I digress. so, frequently, in order to grasp what Marx is talking about or responding to, you are going to need some level of familiarity with a lot of additional people: Smith, Ricardo, Malthus, Hegel, Bauer, Feuerbach, Hobbes, Spinoza, Rousseau, Mill, Sismondi. suddenly you are not just learning about the works of one guy, but his attitude towards all the people he relies on for support or aims his criticisms at. and each of those different intellectual relationships is going to be different. sometimes at different times!

second, and relatedly, Marx is not always the most charitable to the people he's criticizing, who were often rival socialists (so there were pretty notable political and personal stakes at work in proving them wrong or diminishing their influence over the movement). the introductory materials to the new translation of Capital also observe that Marx's approach to scholarship is, shall we say, haphazard; often he makes quotes or citations that are not actually representative of what he's citing. finally, many of the people he's criticizing have sort of been rendered obsolete historically *in no small part* due to the success of Marxism as a political orientation in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. so to determine whether Marx is being fair to the people he is basing his critique on, we will have to do some level of intellectual work to check. so now we're not just evaluating Marx's relationship to different thinkers but also the substantial content of each of those thinkers themselves.

third, Marx did not pop out of a social vacuum. all of these different writers didn't just crop up from nowhere but wrote within particular sociohistorical contexts, some of which were rather divorced from the European revolutionary wave, first worldwide financial crisis, and the shifting character of the United States in the wake of the Civil War and the formal abolition of slavery - some of the historical events that Marx was more explicitly engaging with. and the radical liberals, republicans, and socialists Marx criticized all also had their own intellectual and social histories. so now we're getting a little far afield from the initial notion, which was just to read some guy, and getting into the realm of social history, and trying to understand the relationship between world history and the ideas produced within it.

fourth, you are a subject in the world, which is to say YOU did not pop out of a social or intellectual vacuum. you likely bring predispositions, assumptions, biases, and cognitive distortions to what you read; we all do. working through those and trying to note where they're happening - where they might be fine and where they might be problematic - will require a certain willingness to reflect, to write, to take notes, to analyze and self-scrutinize, and to be critical of both yourself as a reader and of the text you are reading. (a nested problem is that we have a truly staggering amount of material from Marx and Engels, and you might have to make certain determinations as to which material is important or worthwhile or more useful, and identify the standards by which you think that - all of which requires a certain reflection on your status as a political thinker).

okay, so consider all that. we started with "I wanna read this one guy," we end with "to really grasp the work of this one guy it's also important to know both preceding and contemporaneous world history, his intellectual influences, and the gaps or silences or errors in his work.” now consider that, if you really want to be able to speak on them with some level of confidence and intellectual honesty, you have to apply approximately the same level of rigor to every other writer on the Social Media Marxist approved list - Lenin, Fanon, Che, Kollontai, Cabral, Mao, Luxemburg, whoever. not to mention their critics, both direct and indirect!

Marx developed his work through an incredibly sustained engagement with enormous volumes of different material; we have entire notebooks of him poring over Max Stirner, or Spinoza, or the political economists, or the empirical observations of English factory inspectors. I'm not saying that you have to do that, or even that one strictly *has* to go down any or all of the first three rabbitholes I identified. Marx was in the somewhat unique position of sustaining himself through the support of Engels and his journalistic work, as a product of being in perpetual exile. that's not the kind of position that most of us are typically in.

the point is not "commit yourself to being a perfect monastic scholar in order to reach perfect truth" - such a thing is probably a fantasy, even if we wish otherwise. the point is that if you think "theory" is worth taking seriously, well, you have to actually take it seriously. if you don’t think it has stakes or utility, that’s fine; different people find different things useful. I think “theory” is not a set of dead letters by canonical authors but produced through social life. but if “reading theory” is a way to clarify and assert yourself as a political subject and agent, to claim some intellectual autonomy and acquire some understanding that you can put into practice in your life, then that’s demanding. it’s not impossible, but it does take real effort and a commitment to study and a certain level of resistance to being dogmatic. otherwise you are just letting yourself be rhetorically persuaded by whatever is in front of you or whatever affirms your biases.

as Marx says in the preface to Capital, Volume I, "I am of course assuming that my readers will want to learn something new, and so are ready to think for themselves."

[itadores]

note: actor!nanami plaguing me frfr

tags: fem!reader, actor!au (you and nanami both), nanami is the most perfectest gentleman ever <3

actor!nanami who is so beloved by his audience for how respectful and polite he is. he’s not uppity like some actors of his standing, nothing like those who have let the amount of fame they’ve accumulated over-inflate their ego and level of self-importance. he treats celebrities and normal everyday people alike with the respect they deserve. nanami believes the bar must be in hell for him to be praised for having some common decency, but alas he also knows how fickle people of fame and fortune can be.

but it’s not just nanami’s well-mannered nature that has people singing his praises. no, it’s the way he treats you — his co-star. fans were excited to learn of the two of you starring in a film together and became even more ecstatic when they learned you would be playing each other’s love interests. you and nanami are both incredible actors, well-known and well-loved, but have never starred in the same film before until now. it has people buzzing to know how you two will mesh with one another on screen and wondering how the chemistry between you guys will take shape.

since the film is soon to premiere in just a short while, you and nanami do a number of various interviews to promote it. fans promptly lose their minds when the interviews finally air. not only do you and nanami complement each other very well much to their utter delight, but nanami is such a gentleman in each and every interview with you. he’s always offering a hand to you and helping you in and out of your seat at the start and end of the interviews. wordlessly passing you the water bottle by your feet when it seems like you may be getting thirsty. redirecting any potentially rude questions posed to you while chastising the interviewer in the process. it makes fans swoon watching how nice he is with you.

but what really has fans going wild is the way nanami helps with any wardrobe malfunctions you may have. if the strap of your top happens to slip down, nanami gently pulls it back onto your shoulder to its original place. if you bend over or lean forward too much and your chest becomes overly exposed, nanami is reaching a hand across to help cover you up. or if your skirt rides up, threatening to reveal your undergarments to the camera, nanami is carefully tugging the edge of your skirt down. he does all of this without missing a beat when speaking, his movements practiced as if he’s more than accustomed to doing this.

it quite literally breaks the internet. edits and compilations of you and nanami flood social media immediately, and rumors abound about whether you two are together or not. i mean, they’ve never seen nanami act so comfortable with a co-star before! he seemed to be throughly enjoying himself throughout the interviews, even cracking a smile multiple times, which is so unlike him. fans are divided on whether your guys’ closeness is just to generate more interest in the film or whether the chemistry between you two is real. regardless, many are shipping the two of you together, a mash of your names trending across all social medias.

it makes you laugh.

if you had known you’d receive this kind of reaction, you would have starred in a film with your husband sooner.

[hexhomos]

Dropping into the Mel convo to add that I don't see how the stans that erase/ignore the Things She Actually Does And Says and claim she was just helping Jayce out of the goodness of her heart can claim that anyone pointing out that she's a billionaire imperialist who manipulated him for her own gain is racist when THEY'RE the ones claiming she spent all of season 1 helping a nonblack man for. idk. reasons. Why is it "better" for her to be a Black woman who supported a man and asked for nothing in return...?

That reading of her makes everything with her mother make no sense. Is she like, just mad her mom is interfering with her ability to Support and Love Jayce? Lmao.

The reading that the text and the inherent set up of the politics of Piltover/Zaun supports is a complex woman with her own personal motivations, wanting to live up to the image of the family she believes shunned her on her own (nonviolent) terms, using the craft of social engineering (manipulation, etc) within the political and economic sphere rather than through weaponry and warfare. She starts to shift due to growing some actual attachment to Jayce, but it's not a perfect switch flip, and then her mother arriving forces Mel to contend with what she had actually been doing by "preparing" the city for her family.

That's infinitely more interesting than "oh she just helped this guy out of the kindness of her pure heart and because he's hot" and also has canonical basis that can be pointed to In The Text. That's a complicated, multifaceted character. The fanon Mel who just helped Jayce because she's a good person is a flat, tired trope.

And personally, I find people who "love" characters but have completely inaccurate readings of them to be far more annoying than people who "hate" characters but understand them perfectly. Love/hate is just a matter of taste. If someone can spend time honestly analyzing a character, that's more important than ten thousand blandly positive comments or tweeted out fanfictions dressed up as appreciation.

Paragraph #2 on this actually blindsided me like I could kiss you on the cheek (consensually) rn I've never been able to properly articulate WHY the take rankled me so much even when I tried to see it from a completely best-possible-intentions perspective. And this gets it. It's like you're not even flattening her into a girlboss caricature, it's worse, you're actually making her a 2D saccharine pastry servant with no will of her own except furthering some man's narrative as his mommy and denying the one massive, defining character conflict Mel has in the entire show: she is her mother's daughter! She IS a wolf in sheepskin!

When you have all this power, all this privilege and resources at your disposal from day 1, and you choose to look the other way - what happens then? Is this really being kinder than her mother? Is this being merciful, or just prolonging a sort of system-wide torture? It's absolutely relevant to how we see kid-Mel in that flashback from s1 too. Her idea of mercy and salvation from her mother's more violent ends is to enslave someone. She puts it in gentle terms and dresses it up fancily as a beneficial thing to both parties, but that is what she is proposing, in the context of the Noxus' hostile invasion of Ionia; they'd chain that princess and mold her in training until she became an useful asset in their service. Is that kindness? Is that good? I don't think Mel is able to answer to this even in her big age during season 1.

She certainly thinks it could be, when compared to death, but it's also a lie she tells herself while she ignores the rest of the world and the place she holds within it. Mel hates getting her hands dirty, because she's never /had/ to do that to enjoy the brilliant spoils of success; her mother loves her enough to make sure she could avoid the bloodshed. She carries the strategist's fallacy of thinking whole wars and countries can be managed from the privileged seats up top, out of touch with the blood and gristle. From up there, when people die you don't see it. You can mark the numbers off as necessary collateral damage in the path to Exponential Growth.

The core assumption that has always bothered me is defining this as 'kindness' without actually examining what it says about her character and the story. She was created that way for a reason. She was clothed in this way for a reason. The first fact we learn about Mel in the first episode she appears in is that she is the richest person in the entire city, and then there is a 10 year timeskip, and she hasn't truly done anything to address or prop up the undercity at all (they are ONE city too, under her own philosophy; Zaun is only a separate entity in the mouths of the zaunites who want freedom.) In that context, when her goal of statecraft clearly is to continue advancing Piltover as much as it can be advanced and do nothing about the screaming bleeding diseased dying hordes below the bowels of her capital - is that goodness? Is that really better than mother? I think Mel's arc is about finding out really quickly and really horrifically that it isn't, and that she played a big part in making a lot of things worse.

It's not that she failed at her job, it's quite the opposite. She succeeded in her mission so incredibly well her mother could swoop into power in a single day and then put another hundred necks to the blade, no sweat, and Mel has to reckon with what that says about her, and what she thought of herself. The power she has obviously always had and never sought to use as it Should have been used.

The idealistic future-path here is that now in full control of her Mother's armies, she's returning to Noxus to challenge the predatory system it perpetuates on a world scale, but only god knows what we'll see come January. And all of this is infinitely more interesting to me than docile fandomized ship accessory n.9999

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: DC, Tampa, Athens [5/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 6.1k Summary: Late September means things are only accelerating as election day grows closer. Steve is picking up momentum in the polls, and things heat up on multiple fronts before you hit a bump that may shake up the progress between you and your husband.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: You get another West Wing cameo in this chapter (but totally unnecessary to have ever watched the show). This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[SEPTEMBER 26 - WASHINGTON, DC]

The late September sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the campaign's official DC headquarters, casting long shadows across the bustling office space. You're leaning against a desk, watching with amusement as Peter Parker, the youth outreach coordinator who's also become the campaign's unofficial creative director of the TikTok segment of the social media team, attempts to explain the concept for the video to Steve.

"Okay, Cap," Peter says, his enthusiasm palpable as he holds up his phone. "We're going to do a quick transition video. It's super easy, I promise!"

Steve stands in the middle of the room, looking slightly uncomfortable but determined. He's dressed casually in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a stark contrast to his usual campaign attire. The goal is to remind the voters that Steve is relatable to the everyday American at the end of the day.

Steve nods, a mixture of bemusement and determination on his face. "Alright, Peter. Walk me through it."

Peter's face lights up. "Okay, so you're going to start in your casual clothes, then you'll spin around. As you spin, we'll cut and you'll change into your suit. When you finish the spin, you'll be in full Captain America mode, then we’ll have you spin and change one more time, and we’ll end the video with you in your presidential get up."

"And this will... resonate with young voters?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

You can't help but chuckle. "It's about showing your versatility, Steve. From everyday guy to national hero to the next president in the blink of an eye."

Steve shoots you a playful glare. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one spinning like a top."

Peter positions Steve in front of the camera. "Okay, Cap. Just spin naturally, and we'll take care of the angles and editing.”

As Steve prepares for his first take, Bucky saunters into the room, a smirk playing on his lips. He sidles up next to you, crossing his arms as he watches his best friend awkwardly position himself in front of the camera.

"I'm sure Steve must be loving this," Bucky murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, suppressing a chuckle. "It's written all over his face."

Indeed, Steve's expression is a fascinating mix of determination and mild discomfort, his brow is furrowed in concentration.

The rapport that’s been developing with Bucky over the last few weeks has also been nice. It’s its own brand of friendship, and it’s not rock solid yet, but it’s growing.

"Alright, Cap," Peter calls out, phone at the ready. "On three. One... two... three!"

Steve begins to spin, his movements a bit stiff in the first take.

Peter's enthusiastic voice cuts through the air. "That was great, Cap! Let's try again,” he encourages, not leaving a beat for Steve to feel awkward or like he’s done it wrong. You can tell his approach will make all the difference with Steve.

As Steve prepares for another take, you can't help but admire his willingness to step out of his comfort zone. It's one of the things that's made him such an effective candidate - his ability to adapt and connect with people across generations.

"Okay, this time, try to relax a bit more," Peter suggests. "Just have fun with it!"

Steve spares a glance at you and Bucky, then takes a deep breath, shaking out his arms. "Right. Fun. I can do fun."

Bucky snorts beside you. "This ought to be good."

As Peter counts down again, Steve starts his spin. This time, his movements are smoother, more natural.

"Perfect!" Peter exclaims. "That's the one. Now, let's get you into your tac suit for the next part."

Steve nods, heading towards the makeshift changing area set up in the corner of the room. As he disappears behind the partition, Bucky leans in closer to you.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Steve would be doing social media stunts," he says, his voice a mix of amusement and pride. "He's come a long way from the kid who could barely talk to girls in Brooklyn."

You smile, picturing a young Steve Rogers, all skinny limbs and earnest determination. "I bet he was endearing," you say.

Bucky chuckles. "Oh, he was. A real charmer. Couldn't string two words together around a pretty dame, but he had a heart of gold." He pauses, his expression growing more serious. "It's good to see him like this, you know? Engaged with the world, trying new things and connecting with people again. For a while after the Blip, I worried he’d ride off into the sunset forever before the sunset was even really here. We’re out of the century we were supposed to live in, but we’re still here, y’know? Didn’t think it would be this, but it’s not all bad. Pepper wasn’t wrong in choosing him for who he is inside.”

You nod, understanding. “When I met with her about the campaign, she’d sent me the policy materials, the plans, the opposition research detailing his strengths and weaknesses as a candidate, and I was on board to take any position she offered me on the campaign team. I never imagined working on a presidential run, but her vision, her approach? I knew I wanted to be part of it.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. “I thought… wait…” he’s mulling over what you said. “So, when you came in, you didn’t know she wanted you to marry Steve?”

You laugh and shake your head, “Oh, no! Because that would have been crazy! Who would agree to that?”

Bucky's eyes widen slightly at your revelation. "But you just... agreed on the spot when she proposed it?"

You pause, considering how to respond. The truth is, it had been a whirlwind decision, one that you sometimes still can't believe you made. "Not exactly on the spot," you say carefully. "But...pretty quickly, yeah. It was a lot to take in, but something about it just felt right, you know?"

Bucky nods slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I get it. Steve has that effect on people. Makes you want to follow him into any fight, even if it's not your own."

Before you can respond, Sam walks in, eyebrows raised at the scene before him. "How’re things going here? I hear we’re starting a dance troupe?"

Bucky chuckles. "Social media campaign. Apparently, the kids these days like watching people spin around and change clothes."

Sam shakes his head, a grin on his face. “Glad I’m not going to miss it.”

“I’m suggesting you go in as back up dancer.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Barnes! You know I’d do it!”

You laugh at the easy banter between Steve’s two best friends, but then the man himself emerges from behind the partition, now clad in his tactical suit. The sight of him in the red, white, and blue outfit isn’t new, but as it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him dressed as Captain America in person, it unexpectedly takes your breath away a little.

Steve takes his position again, looking more at ease now in his familiar uniform. "How's this, Peter?" Steve calls out, adjusting the shield on his arm.

Peter gives him a thumbs up and starts the countdown. This time, Steve's spin is confident and fluid, ending with a slight smirk that's pure Captain America.

"Nailed it!" Peter cheers. "Okay, one more outfit change and we're done."

“Hang on!” Sam calls out. His eyes light up as he looks between you and Steve, a grin spreading across his face. "We've got a golden opportunity here."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Sam rubs his hands together. "Picture this: Captain America, in full uniform, getting a kiss from his lovely wife. It's the perfect Instagram moment!"

Steve's eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Sam, I don't think-"

"No, no, hear me out," Sam interrupts, warming to his theme. "We've been pushing the whole 'relatable Steve' angle, right? Well, what's more relatable than a guy getting a kiss from his wife? Plus, it ties in the Cap persona.”

Peter's face lights up at the suggestion. "Oh man, that's genius! The engagement would be off the charts!"

Steve looks slightly uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and you don’t know how to feel about it either. "I don't know, guys. Isn't that a bit... much?"

Bucky chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, give the people what they want."

“Et tu, Brute?” you direct this to Bucky, not at all surprised at the enthusiasm from Sam and Peter, but genuinely shocked he’s jumping on board as well.

Sam turns to you, his expression a mix of excitement and mischief. "What do you say? Want to break the internet with a kiss from Captain America?"

You hesitate, feeling a mix of emotions. On one hand, the idea of kissing Steve - even for a staged photo - sends a flutter through your stomach. On the other, you're acutely aware of the artificiality of the situation and the potential implications for the campaign.

You glance at Steve. His expression is unreadable, but you can see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Sam, sensing your hesitation, softens his approach. "Look, I know it might seem a bit much, but think about it. We've been working so hard to show Steve as both the hero and the everyday man. This could be a perfect blend of both."

Peter nods enthusiastically. "I think a good candid shot would be a great way to humanize the campaign. Show that even Captain America has a soft side."

You look back at Steve, and he gives a small nod. You see a mix of emotions in his eyes - uncertainty, but also a hint of something else. Trust, perhaps. "If you're okay with it, I am."

"I’m good," you agree, your heart rate picking up slightly.

Sam claps his hands together. "Great! Peter, get ready with that camera."

As Peter positions himself, you step closer to Steve. He reaches out, gently placing his hands on your waist. The tactical suit feels cool under your fingertips as you place a hand on his chest. You can feel the slight tension in his muscles.

"Ready?" Steve murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, managing a small smile. "Let’s do this," you reply once more because this is its own ‘public appearance’, and so the customary exchange only seems fitting.

Steve’s hands move from your waist around to your back, and he takes a deep breath, looking into your eyes.

You stop breathing for a moment, suspended there in his arms.

“Kiss her, punk!” Bucky shouts, and the electric moment is broken, but you both laugh, and then Steve dips you dramatically and kisses you soundly as you clutch his shoulders. The three men cheer enthusiastically and cat call you when the kiss goes on just another moment or two.

As Steve stands you back up, you both burst into laughter, the tension of the moment dissolving into genuine mirth and camaraderie. His arm is still around your waist, steadying you as you regain your balance. The warmth of his body radiates through the tactical suit, and you find yourself leaning into him slightly, your soft, round body pressing into his hard muscles.

"So, Peter," Steve calls out, his voice still tinged with amusement, "did we nail that shot, or do you need us to try again?" There's a playful glint in his eye as he says this, and you can't help but grin up at him.

Peter, looking slightly flustered but undeniably excited, nods enthusiastically. "Oh yeah, Cap! That was perfect! The internet is going to go crazy over this!"

You start to step away, ready to return to your spot by the desk, but Steve surprises you by gently pulling you back, his arm wrapping around your waist once more. The room seems to fall away as he gazes into your eyes, a softness in his expression that you've rarely seen before. Time slows as he leans in, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

His touch is feather-light, his calloused thumb brushing across your cheekbone with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The scent of him envelops you - a mixture of leather from the suit, a hint of aftershave, and something uniquely Steve.

Your heart races as Steve leans in, his breath warm against your lips. For a moment, you forget about the cameras, the campaign, everything except the man in front of you.

Steve's lips brush yours, soft and tentative at first. It's different from the performative kiss moments ago - this feels real, intimate. You respond instinctively, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. The kiss deepens, and you feel a warmth spreading through your body.

Suddenly, you're jolted back to reality by the sound of a throat clearing loudly.

You and Steve break apart, both slightly breathless. The room crashes back into focus, and you're acutely aware of the others watching. Sam has a knowing smirk on his face. Peter looks like he might explode from excitement.

"Well," Sam says, breaking the silence. "I think we've got more than enough material for social media now."

You step back from Steve, feeling the heat creep up your neck. Steve clears his throat, looking slightly flustered himself.

"Right," he says, his voice a bit rough. "I should, uh, go change for the final spin shot."

As Steve disappears behind the partition again, you catch Bucky's eye. He gives you a subtle nod, his expression unreadable. You're not sure what to make of it, but there's no time to dwell on it as Peter starts setting up for the final shot.

You return to your spot by the desk and try compose yourself. Your lips still tingle from the kiss, and you can't shake the memory of Steve's touch.

Bucky sidles up next to you, his voice low as Sam and Peter talk next to you. "That was quite a show," he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You glance at him, unsure how to respond. "It's all part of the job, right?" you say, aiming for nonchalance but not quite hitting the mark.

Bucky gives you a long look, then nods slowly. "Right. The job."

Before you can say anything else, Steve emerges from behind the partition, now dressed in one of his presidential suits - a sharp navy number that accentuates his broad shoulders. You can't help but admire how he carries himself. He exudes a quiet confidence, as ever, a perfect blend of the everyday man and the leader of the free world.

"Alright, Cap," Peter calls out, "let's nail this final spin!"

Steve takes his position, and as he begins to turn, you find yourself holding your breath. The transformation is mesmerizing - from casual Rogers to Captain America to Presidential Candidate, but all of them undeniably Steve.

[SEPTEMBER 27 - TAMPA, FLORIDA]

The campaign has rented out an entire floor of a hotel for debate prep, transforming the spacious suites into makeshift war rooms as Tampa provides some key and convenient access to key southern cities by plane. Maps, charts, and policy briefings cover every available surface, and the air hums with the energy of a team on a mission.

Jake Sullivan, Steve's chief strategist, has pulled out all the stops for this crucial phase of debate preparation. He's brought in Amy Gardner, a seasoned political operative known for her sharp wit and take-no-prisoners approach. Her presence adds an extra edge to the already intense atmosphere. You watch as Amy commands the room, even though she sits rather casually in an armchair ten feet from Steve, who stands behind a makeshift podium.

Her presence adds an extra edge to the already intense atmosphere. You watch as Amy paces the room, firing off rapid-fire questions at Steve, who stands behind a makeshift podium.

"What's your plan for addressing climate change?" Jake asks, his voice stern.

Steve responds confidently, "We need to transition to clean energy sources while also supporting workers in traditional energy sectors. My plan includes..."

Amy cuts him off, her tone brusque. "Too long. You've got 60 seconds max. Hit the key points and move on."

Steve nods, taking a deep breath. "Right. Clean energy transition. Support for affected workers. Immediate action on emissions reduction."

“Too succinct,” she says.

Steve frowns, clearly trying to find the right balance. Squaring his shoulders, he goes again. "Our climate plan has three key components: First, an aggressive transition to clean energy sources like wind and solar. Second, robust support and retraining for workers in affected industries. And third, immediate action to reduce emissions across all sectors. This isn't just about saving the planet - it's about creating jobs and securing America's energy independence for generations to come."

Amy nods approvingly. "Better. Now, pivot to how this contrasts with your opponent's stance."

Steve's brow furrows in concentration. "Unlike my Republican opponent, who continues to deny the reality of climate change, my plan acknowledges the crisis we face while also prioritizing American workers and innovation. We can't afford to stick our heads in the sand any longer."

"Decent," Amy says, her tone softening slightly.

“Only decent?”

“You didn’t address the Democrats’ policy. Your battle is to convince enough voters in America to break with over two hundred years of choosing between red or blue.”

You can see Steve is fighting back a sigh of frustration.

"Mr. Rogers, your opponent claims your lack of formal political experience makes you unqualified for the presidency. How do you respond?"

Steve takes a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "My experience may not be traditional, but it's been forged in the crucible of protecting this nation and its values. I've led teams through impossible situations, made tough decisions with global consequences, and always put the American people first. That's the kind of leadership experience that truly matters."

Amy nods, but doesn't let up. "Good, but tighten it up. You need to hit harder on your unique qualifications. How do you respond to critics who say your experience is outdated?"

"I'd say that my unique perspective allows me to see both where we've been and where we need to go," Steve begins, his voice steady. "I've seen this country at its best and its worst. I understand the challenges we face because I've lived through similar ones before. But I also understand the incredible potential of our future because I've seen how far we've come."

You can’t help but feel inspired by that answer, but Amy's eyes narrow, her expression sharpening. "Not bad, but you're still playing it too safe. Your opponents will come at you hard. Let's ramp this up."

She stands and begins pacing in front of Steve like a shark. "Mr. Rogers, your critics say you're nothing more than a science experiment gone right. How can you claim to represent the average American when you're literally superhuman?"

Steve's jaw tightens, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "I may have enhanced abilities, but my values and my heart are as human as anyone's. I grew up in Brooklyn during the Great Depression. I know what it's like to struggle, to feel powerless. The serum didn't change that part of me."

Your heart swells, but again Any interjects again.

"Weak," she says, her voice cutting. "You're not connecting. Try again."

Your mouth drops open slightly. That was powerful. You know it was.

Steve takes a deep breath, his knuckles whitening as he grips the podium. “I’m not a monkey on a unicycle.”

“Well, what a great start. No one wants a monkey in the White House,” she deadpans.

“I don’t need this. We did just fine in the first debate without you,” Steve nearly growls.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were aiming for just fine, I thought you wanted to win.”

Steve's eyes flash with a mixture of anger and frustration. The tension in the room is palpable, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. You can see the muscles in his jaw working as he grinds his teeth, trying to maintain his composure.

"I'm not here to play games or put on a show," Steve says, his voice low and controlled, but with an undercurrent of steel. "I'm here because I believe in this country and what it can be. I've fought for it, bled for it, and yes, even died for it. So don't tell me I'm not connecting."

Amy opens her mouth to retort, but Steve cuts her off.

"I've seen this nation at its best and its worst," Steve goes again, his voice growing louder, more impassioned as he speaks. "I've watched it rise from the ashes of the Great Depression, triumph over fascism, and push the boundaries of human achievement. But I've also seen it torn apart by fear, prejudice, and greed."

His eyes blaze with an intensity that seems to electrify the air around him. The room falls silent, everyone transfixed by the raw emotion in his words.

"I may have been enhanced by science, but my heart, my values - they come from growing up as a scrawny kid in Brooklyn who couldn't stand by and watch bullies win. They come from the men and women I fought alongside, who gave their lives for the ideals this country stands for."

Steve's fist comes down on the podium with a resounding thud, causing several people to jump.

"I'm running for president not because I think I'm better than anyone else, but because I believe in the promise of America - a promise that's been broken too many times for too many people. I've seen what this country can do when we come together, when we fight for what's right. And I'm here to tell you, we can do it again."

Steve's voice rings out, filled with passion and conviction. The room is dead silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

"So no, I'm not a traditional politician. I don't have decades of experience playing political games or making backroom deals. What I have is a lifetime of standing up for what's right, of putting others before myself, of believing that we can always be better. I'm running because I believe in the power of ordinary people to do extraordinary things when given the chance."

He pauses, his chest heaving slightly as he looks around the room. The silence is deafening, everyone ensnared by the raw power of his words.

"That's what this campaign is about," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "It's about reminding every American that they have the power to shape this nation's future. That their voice matters, their dreams matter, this country over politicians and political agendas. It’s not a show to me.”

Steve strides away from the podium and walks out, and no one stops him. No one even moves until the weighted door to the suite swings closed again. Jake and Elsa begin conferring. Amy seems unconcerned. You’re sitting with Bucky and Sam, who exchange a look, and Bucky moves to stand, but you’re quicker.

“Let me go after him,” you find yourself saying, surprised at how fast you were to seize this situation, almost like a natural instinct.

You hurry out of the room, scanning the hallway for any sign of Steve. You catch a glimpse of his broad shoulders disappearing around a corner and quicken your pace to catch up.

"Steve!" you call out, your voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor.

He stops, his back still to you, shoulders tense. As you approach, he turns slowly to face you. The fire in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a weariness that tugs at your heart.

"Hey," you say softly, closing the distance between you. "That was... intense back there."

Steve runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. It's just..." He trails off, shaking his head.

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Amy was pushing hard. Maybe too hard."

He looks down at your hand, then up to your face. “I’m fine.”

“I think you’ve told everyone you’re fine every day of your life, Steve Rogers, and no one needs to exist like that.”

Steve cocks his chin slightly. “But the President of the United States should have it together, shouldn’t they? People want a leader they can trust.”

You smile, but it’s not a happy smile, and his expression matches yours.

“Can I ask…?” you venture cautiously.

He nods. “Wife privileges. You can ask whatever you want. Wife duties, probably, to ask me questions I don’t want to hear.”

Wife. A flutter flares in your stomach, but you force yourself to concentrate on the moment, furiously tamping down your reaction.

He resumes walking down the hallway, but more slowly this time, and you fall into step with him as you pursue your curiosity. “A monkey on a unicycle is an oddly specific and highly uncommon comparison to bring up. Is that some reference from your time?”

Steve huffs and his eyes fill with a mix of nostalgia and resentment as he begins to speak. His voice is heavy with emotion as he remembers his past. “I used to sketch a lot when I was young. We didn't have much during the depression, but my ma always managed to scrimp and save enough to buy me a notebook for Christmas or my birthday. It stuck with me up through joining the Army.”

His expression turns somber as he continues, "And after the serum changed my body but I was put on tour to encourage people to buy bonds, it just felt...underwhelming. Discouraging. I knew I could be doing more, making a real difference. But I did what I could - I knew raising money still helped.”

You reach the end of the hallway and stand next to each other, looking out the window.

“When they sent us out to Europe to entertain the troops, it only got worse. The last day I performed, for the 107th regiment, I was heckled and booed off stage."

Steve's hands clench into fists at his sides, "I drew a silly picture of a monkey riding a unicycle; it felt like that's all I was worth to them - just another pawn in their production."

You want to reach for his hand, but it doesn’t seem like the moment. So you simply continue to listen.

“That ended up being the last day I performed a show. I found out part of the company had been captured, stuck behind enemy lines. I disobeyed direct orders, found the men, saved Bucky. After that, everything finally changed, and we got to go to work, doing good, fighting Nazis and Hydra.”

A slight smile tugs at Steve's lips as he finishes his story, "I never wanted to feel like that monkey again. But the closer we get to election day, the more this feels like just a production.”

You stay silent for a moment, mulling over the pieces of his past and the feelings he’s just shared. This isn’t an easy conversation, and it’s not the conversation you thought you would have coming out here, but you’re grateful the two of you are having it together.

You aren’t by any means a seasoned politician either, but you had seen and had to at some points play at politics in your own work. “It’s all a show, there’s no denying that. But you’re not the monkey unless you sit back and let that be the reality.”

“How do you figure that?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before responding. "Steve, you knew from the beginning that this campaign would be a production. You agreed to it - all of it. Including," you gesture between the two of you, your voice softening, "this arrangement. Marrying a woman you'd never even met before."

Steve's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passing through them. You continue, your voice gentle but firm.

"You didn't do all this just to be a figurehead or a puppet. You did it because you want to be president. You want to be the one steering the strategy, calling the shots, making real change." You pause, making sure he's really listening. "This campaign isn't just about winning an election. It's preparation for the presidency itself."

You turn to face him fully, your eyes never leaving his. "This campaign, as frustrating and exhausting as it can be, is its own kind of preparation for the presidency. Think about it - you're dealing with conflicting advice, responding to the platforms from the candidates and how they overlap and differ from your own, connecting directly with the people across the country, making tough calls on what is and is not a priority.”

Steve listens intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considers your words. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, processing this perspective.

"You're right," he says finally, his voice quiet but firm. "I did agree to all of this." He runs a hand through his hair, a habit you've noticed he has when he's deep in thought. "I just want it to mean something. To be more than just sound bites and photo ops."

You nod, understanding his frustration. "It does mean something, Steve. Every interaction you have, every speech you give, every policy you propose - it all matters. You're not just going through the motions. You're shaping the conversation, influencing people's thoughts and beliefs about what this country can be."

Steve's eyes meet yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper there.

"She’s right, Rogers,” a voice behind you makes you both jump and turn.

“This isn't just about winning,” Amy emphasizes. “It's about learning how to navigate the complexities of leading a nation, finding your presence as the leader of the free world, as commander in chief, winning the trust of the American people.

“The debates, the press conferences, the tough decisions you'll have to make as president - they won't always be fair or comfortable. That’s why I pushed you. You won’t answer every debate question like that, but I needed to know you could go there. That’s the kind of president America wants, but they don’t know it until they see it. If you can shake them to their bones, you’ll change hearts and minds.”

Steve smiles at her half in kindness, half in disbelief. “You say all of that pretty casually.”

Amy shrugs and returns the smile. “Because it’s true. I’m done beating you up now that I know you can go the rounds. If you want me to leave, I will, but I’m game to stay if you’re game for slightly less intense verbal sparring.”

“Oh, I can do this all day.”

[SEPTEMBER 28 - ATHENS, GEORGIA]

The campaign plane hums with activity in the minutes before take off. This cabin is filled with members of the press corps, their laptops open and fingers poised over keyboards, eager for any morsel of information they can turn into their next headlines.

Steve looks almost relaxed. His tie is loosened and sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The energy from the successful event you just wrapped up at the University of Georgia still lingers in the air. This was the fourth event of its kind - a town hall format called College Q&A limited to students and granting them access to dialogue with Steve. You can't help but feel a sense of pride as you recall how he connected with the students, his earnest answers and quick wit seeming to win over even the most skeptical audience members.

It’s become routine that Steve always takes questions from the press corps when he boards the plane before heading to the campaign team cabin, and he’s truly at ease with them in this interaction.

“We’ll take one more,” the campaign spokesperson announces to let both Steve and the reporters know it’s almost time for take off.

“Andy,” Steve calls on one of the familiar faces - the reporter from The Washington Post.

“Yes, Captain, do you have any response to Jeff Connor’s comments about your relationship with Mrs. Rogers?”

Steve's whole demeanor immediately turns serious, his jaw clenching. "I haven't heard Connor's specific comments, so I can't respond directly. My relationship with my wife is personal, and it's not up for debate or speculation."

He pauses, his eyes scanning the cabin before continuing. "What I will say is that she has been an incredible partner, both personally and for this campaign. Her intelligence, compassion, and dedication inspire me every day to be a better person and a better leader."

Steve's gaze softens a fraction as he glances in your direction. "I'm grateful she agreed to take this journey with me."

The press corps erupts with follow-up questions, but Jake holds up a hand. "That's all for now, folks, you know they won’t take off until we’re all seated and we don’t want to miss our take-off window. Thank you."

You, Steve, and the rest of your staff head into the first campaign cabin, and as soon as the door is shut, the atmosphere shifts. The professional masks slip away, replaced by a mix of concern, curiosity, and irritation. Jake immediately pulls out his phone, you assume to get the quote in question.

Elsa, your communications director, is already pulling out her laptop as she settles into a seat across from Steve. "That was the perfect response back there. Quick and heartfelt. It'll play well, especially given the context of Connor's comments."

Your personal aide Sophia is already handing you a tablet to read the quote. "Here, ma’am. It came out during the Q&A, and everyone got wind of it as we were boarding the plane."

You take the tablet, your eyes quickly scanning the headline: "Jeff Connor Speaks Out: 'I Hope They're Happy Together'" The article features a quote from Connor: "I wish them both the best. Marriage isn't easy, especially in the public eye. I just hope they've found happiness together."

You pass it over to Steve and then chew on your lip, pulling out your own phone.

It only takes him a moment to read as well. "Thanks,” Steve's brow furrows as he loosens his tie further and passes the tablet back to Sophia. “This seems fine, unless I’m missing something. But who is this guy, and why would we care what he thinks of our marriage more than anyone else?"

A beat of silence falls over the cabin. You can feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on you, a mixture of surprise and shock in their gazes.

“Okay, I’m clearly the only one who doesn’t know,” Steve concedes, a shade of irritation bleeding through his tone, “Anyone care to enlighten me?”

You take a steadying breath, then look up at Steve and say, “Jeff Connor is my former husband.”

next part: ATHENS TO MIAMI

I'll just say that I've been waiting for this chapter in the story almost from the beginning. 😌

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[leftistfeminista]

Trolls Used Her Face to Make Fake Porn. There Was Nothing She Could Do.

Sabrina Javellana was a rising star in local politics — until deepfakes derailed her life.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/31/magazine/sabrina-javellana-florida-politics-ai-porn.html

Most mornings, before walking into City Hall in Hallandale Beach, Fla., a small city north of Miami, Sabrina Javellana would sit in the parking lot and monitor her Twitter and Instagram accounts. After winning a seat on the Hallandale Beach city commission in 2018, at age 21, she became one of the youngest elected officials in Florida’s history. Her progressive political positions had sometimes earned her enemies: After proposing a name change for a state thoroughfare called Dixie Highway in late 2019, she regularly received vitriolic and violent threats on social media; her condemnation of police brutality and calls for criminal-justice reform prompted aggressive rhetoric from members of local law enforcement. Disturbing messages were nothing new to her.

The morning of Feb. 5, 2021, though, she noticed an unusual one. “Hi, just wanted to let you know that somebody is sharing pictures of you online and discussing you in quite a grotesque manner,” it began. “He claims that he’s one of your ‘guy friends.’”

Javellana froze. Who could have sent this message? She asked for evidence, and the sender responded with pixelated screenshots of a forum thread that included photos of her. There were comments that mentioned her political career. Had her work drawn these people’s ire? Eventually, with a friend’s help, she found a set of archived pages from the notorious forum site 4chan. Most of the images were pulled from her social media and annotated with obscene, misogynistic remarks: “not thicc enough”; “I would breed her”; “no sane person would date such a stupid creature.” But one image further down the thread stopped her short. She was standing in front of a full-length mirror with her head tilted to the side, smiling playfully. She had posted an almost identical selfie, in which she wore a brown crew-neck top and matching skirt, to her Instagram account back in 2015. “It was the exact same picture,” Javellana said of the doctored image. “But I wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

There were several more. These were deepfakes: A.I.-generated images that manipulate a person’s likeness, fusing it with others to create a false picture or video, sometimes pornographic, in a way that looks authentic. Although fake explicit material has existed for decades thanks to image-editing software, deepfakes stand out for their striking believability. Even Javellana was shaken by their apparent authenticity.

“I didn’t know that this was something that happened to everyday people,” Javellana told me when I visited her earlier this year in Florida. She wondered if anyone else had seen the photos or the abusive comments online. Several of the threads even implied that people on the forum knew her. “I live in Broward County,” one comment read. “She just graduated from FIU.” Other users threatened sexual violence. In the days that followed, Javellana became increasingly fearful and paranoid. She stopped walking alone at night and started triple-checking that her doors and windows were locked before she slept. In an effort to protect her personal life, she made her Instagram private and removed photographs of herself in a bathing suit.

Discovering the images changed how Javellana operated professionally. Attending press events was part of her job, but now she felt anxious every time someone lifted their camera. She worried that public images of her would be turned into pornography, so she covered as much of her body as she could, favoring high-cut blouses and blazers. She knew she wasn’t acting rationally — people could create new deepfakes regardless of how much skin she showed in the real world — but changing her style made her feel a sense of control. If the deepfakes went viral, no one could look at how she dressed and think that she had invited this harassment.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 9: I Promise

Summary: You agree to go to the Laredo Sheriff's Department's annual summer picnic. When Javi's co-workers bring up an unexpected topic of conversation, Javi begins to learn more about your life before Laredo.

Word Count: 11.5K (Is it bad I'm impressed with myself that this isn't longer?!)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better), shower sex, period sex, creampie, praise, masturbation (f), talk of drug use/overdose, grief/loss, PTSD (reader has a panic attack), drinking/alcohol (reader also gets a lil tipsy), mentions of food/eating, Javi's co-workers being assholes (not Carter and Miller, we love them), Javi being protective of you, Javi just wanting to give you every ounce of his love because he cares about you more than life itself

A/N: Okay y'all. I had to do it. I want nothing more for Osita and Javi to live in a world of sunshine and rainbows where they are nothing but happy all the time, but, sigh, that is not how life works. Osita's got some things Javi needs to learn about her past, and it's happening, whether we like it or not. This chapter really does have it all- pool parties, trauma, Jell-O shots, Javi talking about babies (I'm screaming too, it's okay), you name it, it's probably in there. Also, Osita's brother Patrick is inspired by sweet Frankie Morales from Triple Frontier because UGH. ALRIGHT, STRAP IN YOUR SEATBELTS AND ENJOY THE RIDE!!!

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“C’mon, Peña, you gotta come, you’re like, the only guy in our whole department who hasn’t RSVP’d yet.” 

“Seriously, man. It actually is a good time. Free food, free booze, hanging out at Morris’s pool all day? All the other guys bring their wives and girlfriends, too, so you can even bring your girl, if you want.” 

It had been almost two weeks since the flier for the annual Laredo Sheriff's Department Picnic landed on Javi’s desk. It had also been about two weeks that Agent Carter and Agent Miller had spent every day harassing Javi about coming to the party, claiming it to be one of their favorite days of the summer ever since they started working for the department a few years back. 

“Yeah? And who are you two idiots bringing?” Javi scoffed, shuffling through the folders on his desk as Carter and Miller leaned in the doorway to his office. 

“Low blow there, Peña, but okay.” Carter grimaced as he put his hands on his hips. “Listen, just think about it, okay? 

“Just RSVP before tomorrow or Barb is gonna lose her mind if she doesn’t know exactly how much Potato Salad to make. I told her that you’d tell her by then, and I don’t need another reason to be on her shitlist.” Javi and Carter shook their heads at Miller, not understanding how he was constantly finding ways to piss off the receptionists in the front office. 

“Fine. I’ll let her know by tomorrow.” Javi responded, not looking up from his paperwork. “Now, don’t you idiots have anything better to do than stand in my office?” 

Carter and Miller gave each other a quick high five, finally working at least a somewhat definitive answer out of their boss before they headed back to their desks, finally giving Javi a moment of peace. 

Javi sighed as he pulled the brightly colored flier out of his desk drawer, staring at it for a few seconds before setting it down on top of one of the manilla folders, running his hands through his hair. Social gatherings had never been his thing. To be honest, he really hated them. During his time in Colombia, the best he could normally muster was occasionally getting a drink at the bar, dreading the small talk, politics and ass kissing of every conversation. All he really wanted to do was sit by himself and drink enough to ease the pain and misery he felt with each day that passed in that God forsaken country. But he had to remind himself that this wasn’t Colombia anymore. His days of drowning his loneliness in liquor were behind him. Even when the sting of his time away haunted him, he had to remind himself of the life he now had in front of him. 

You. 

He had you. You had taken his world and turned it around. When he looked at you, he saw a life of everything he had ever wanted and never thought he’d have. You’d given him a chance at a future. If you’d asked him a little over a month and a half ago if he ever saw himself settling down, he would have probably laughed in your face. But now? The thought of you as his wife? A mom? To his children? A family that the two of you would build together? He’d marry you today and give you a football team’s worth of kids, if that’s what you wanted.

Fuck, he hoped that’s what you wanted. 

He would have let himself play out the rest of that fantasy in his head for as long as he could, if it wasn’t for the grumble in his stomach, loud enough to snap him out of his daydreaming. Javi looked up at the clock, realizing he had worked his way almost an hour past his lunch. Lately, he’d had the luxury of spending practically every night at your apartment, you insisting that you wake up with him every morning and make him breakfast and lunch before he went off to work.  Even though he had stayed over last night, he practically had to force you to stay in bed this morning, trying to tell him that your headache wasn’t even that bad after you practically winced in pain when he turned on the light to get himself ready. He’d promised you that he’d be just fine going out to get lunch today, and that he’d call during his break to check in on you. 

Pulling back up to the parking lot of the station after stopping at Alejandro’s Deli to pick up a sandwich (and extra chips and a cookie for you when he came home), Javi opened up his cell phone to call you, taking a bite of his lunch while the dial tone rang. 

“Hi, Jav.” Your voice instantly spreading a smile across his face. 

“Hey, Osita. You feelin’ any better?” 

“Yeah, a little I guess. I’m an idiot, I should have known this was gonna happen.” 

Javi scrunched his face in confusion. “What? How were you supposed to know you were gonna have a headache this morning?” 

“I uh…” You paused for a second, letting out a huff of nervous laughter. “I uh, I totally forgot I started my period today. I always get really bad headaches when they first start, and considering it happens every month, you’d think I’d remember, but apparently not. Makes sense why I cried at that commercial of the dog getting adopted yesterday.” You both laughed, it now making a lot more sense to Javi why you had seemed a little off the past few days. “I um… I know you were gonna come over after work today, but, um, don’t feel like you have to.” 

He paused, trying to read the tone in your voice. “What do you mean? Do you not want me to come over?” 

“No, I do, sorry, it’s just- If you’re weirded out by it cause you think it’s gross or whatever, I understand-” 

“Hermosa.” He interjected, cutting you off. 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s not gross, and I’m not weirded out by it. It’s totally normal, you don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m still planning on coming over tonight unless you tell me otherwise. I’ll pick up dinner and we can hang out and watch a movie together, sound good?” 

“O-okay.” He could practically hear the relief in your voice through the other end of the phone. 

“I gotta head back in to work, but I’ll call you when I’m leaving and you can tell me what you want for dinner and if you need me to pick anything else up for you, okay?” 

“Okay. Thanks, Javi. You’re the best. Have a good rest of your day. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Osita. Bye.” 

I love you. God, it never got old. 

 

Knock, knock, knock. 

You were glad to hear the familiar tapping of Javi’s knuckles against your apartment door, the promise of his presence bringing you joy in what otherwise had been a pretty miserable day, considering how terrible you felt. 

“It’s unlocked!” You yelled from the couch, curled way too deep in your blanket with your heating pad to bother getting up. 

“Baby, you really shouldn’t leave the door unlocked, makes me nervous when you’re here all by yourself.” Javi grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door before setting down all the things he was carrying in his hands on the kitchen table. 

“Sorry, Mr. Safety. You know I normally do, I really just didn’t want to get up if I didn’t have to.” You replied sheepishly. Even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, it didn’t take you long to figure out that Javi was incredibly overprotective of you. He knew how stubborn you were, and that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, but that didn’t stop him from double checking all the locks in your apartment before you went to bed, or making sure that you told him if you going out somewhere so he didn’t worry if he called your apartment and you didn’t pick up. Was it a little much? Yes. But did it absolutely melt your heart knowing he cared so much about you? Also yes. 

You popped your head over the couch to see Javi in the kitchen with 2 different grocery bags, a pizza, a McDonalds’ bag, and flowers. “Javi, what the hell did you get?” You laughed as he stood at the table, unpacking the items. 

“Well, I got two different types of tampons because I wasn’t sure which ones you prefer, a box of Midol, a Twix bar, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, a bag of potato chips- the wavy kind because apparently those ones taste better, pizza for us for dinner and McDonalds french fries for you, because even though you said you only wanted pizza on the phone, you still brought up the french fries like 4 goddamn times. And flowers, just because.” 

When Javi had called to tell you he was leaving work and asked what you wanted for dinner or if there was anything else he could pick up for you, your only answer was that you just wanted pizza and that maybe fries also sounded good, but not to worry about it. You hadn’t asked him to get you anything else, and yet, he showed up to your apartment with all of your favorite snacks, pain meds, flowers and tampons. It didn’t help that you were already emotional, feeling yourself on the brink of tears realizing just how much Javi cared about you. Jesus, this man was too good to you. 

“Jav, you didn’t have to get all this. Thank you. God, I love you.” 

“Of course, Hermosa. Anything you need, just let me know, okay? I love you, too. You hungry?” 

“Absolutely. Tell that to the sleeve of Oreos I already crushed earlier today.” You both snickered as Javi put away the rest of the groceries and changed out of his work clothes before bringing you both over a plate of pizza to the couch, yours with extra fries. “Thanks for still wanting to come over tonight.” You said gently, shuffling over to snuggle next to Javi on the couch, leaning against his shoulder as you took a bite of your dinner. 

“Osita, you don’t need to thank me. I just want to be here for you, whatever it is that you need. I just feel bad you have to go through all this shit.” 

“Just another one of the wonderful perks of being a woman!” You rolled your eyes, sarcastically, taking a bite of your fries. “To be honest, there is a tiny bit of me that was relieved today. Not that I don’t trust it or that I don’t take it religiously, but phew, my birth control has really been working overtime this past month, so I’m glad to know you didn't beat it. ” You both quietly laughed to yourselves, Javi swallowing before taking another bite of his pizza. He was quiet for a moment, but you could practically hear the wheels turning in his brain, like he was calculating his words before he spoke. Little did you know, at that moment, his head was flooded with his thoughts from earlier today, imagining the life you two could have together, if you’d let him. Maybe there was a subconscious part of his brain that wished he had beaten your birth control, because you were both a little unprepared for the next sentence that came stumbling out of his mouth. 

“Would you, uh, do you, um, not right now, but do you… Do you ever want kids?”  He looked down at the floor, taking a deep breath before turning back to you, anxiously waiting for your response. 

Oh fuck me. As if you weren’t already enough of a hormonal mess, the thought of Javi as a dad? Little baby Peñas? Oh God, you could practically feel your ovaries bursting at the seams. You’d be blatantly lying to yourself if you said you’d never thought about it, but hearing him be the first one to say it out loud? Oh boy. You fought with everything in you to not burst out in an ear to ear grin, trying to mentally compose yourself before answering the question. “Um, yeah, I do. I always have. Like you said, not right now, but yes. I- I do. Do you? Want kids?” You looked over at Javi, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, his cheeks red and face flustered.  

“I um, I used to, before Lorraine and Colombia, and uh, those both kinda fucked me up for a while. I just kinda figured it wasn’t in the cards for me anymore.” His gaze shifted towards the ground again, staring there for a moment before shifting back to you, his sweet brown eyes locking with yours, the softest smile gently spreading across his lips. “I didn’t think I would anymore, but uh, things are… things are different now. I do, too. I definitely do.” 

“Okay. Good to know.” You didn’t even bother trying to hide your smile this time, the best you could do was bite down on your tongue inside your mouth to try and keep you from grinning like a complete idiot. You nestled closer into Javi, pressing your head against his chest, smirking to yourself at how fast you could feel his heart racing as you leaned into him. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, placing a long, soft kiss on the top of your head as you both sat there for a moment in blissful silence. 

“Sooooooo, what movie do you want to watch?” You asked, trying as hard as you could to not spontaneously combust from the conversation the two of you just had. 

“Your pick, Osita.” 

“Return of the Jedi?” You smirked, knowing how much Javi had been dying to watch it since you showed him The Empire Strikes Back a few weeks ago. 

“I was hoping that’d be the one you’d pick.” He got up excitedly, shuffling through the VHS tapes under your TV before pushing it into the VHS player and hitting play. He repositioned himself on the couch so you could lay your head down on his thigh as he rubbed your back. “So, don’t feel like you have to, but uh, the department is throwing their annual picnic thing next weekend. I’m not sure if I wanna go, but if I did, would you wanna come with me? Sounds like it’s kind of a big thing, Miller and Carter have been on my ass about it since I’m supposed to RSVP by tomorrow.” 

“Well number one, I think you should go, if Carter and Miller are being that big of a pain in the ass about it, it has to be at least a little fun, right? I’ve never met them, but from what you’ve told me, they seem like they enjoy having a good time. Number two, I would absolutely love to come with you. I think it would be really nice to meet your co-workers. Or I guess, technically re-meet some of them if they came to present at school before you did.” 

“You mean you didn’t purposely trip into them to get their attention, too?” He chuckled, thinking back to the first time you had met. 

“Oh shut up, I did not trip on purpose!” You playfully nudged the leg you were resting your head on. “I just happened to be very lucky that you were incredibly handsome and charming, and were nice enough not to let me fall and embarrass myself in front of the entire 3rd grade.” 

“Whatever you say, Osita.” 

“Oh just shhhh and watch the movie, you meanie.” 

About halfway through the film, belly full of pizza, french fries and half the Twix bar Javi had gotten you, you could feel yourself getting sleepy. You were now laying on top of Javi, your face on his chest and his arm on top of your back, fingers running back and forth across your shoulder blades. You felt so warm and comfortable pressed up against him, it wasn’t long before you could feel your lids beginning to droop, your blinks becoming slow and heavy before your eyes finally closed, shortly followed by the sounds of your soft snores against Javi’s chest. It had become very apparent to Javi that no matter what movie or TV show you picked to watch, if you were cuddled up against him, you were out like a light in no time. To be honest, he didn’t even care. There were few things in the world he loved more than you lying against him, falling asleep wrapped in his embrace. He truly hoped he’d get to spend the rest of his life explaining the second half of every movie you missed while you were fast asleep in his arms. 

Mmmmmhmmmm, Javi… 

Oh, fuck, babyyyy 

It feels so good….

Ahhhhhhhh, please-

“Ahg! Fuck!” You shot up in your bed, grasping at your sheets, your breathing heavy and labored as your eyes sprung open, greeted by the darkness of your bedroom. You paused for a moment, grounding yourself, shaking your head as you scrunched your face tightly before opening your eyes once more, looking over to find Javi still sound asleep next to you. 

Fuck, it was a dream. A good one at that, holy shit. 

You ran your hands through your hair, taking a few more deep breaths as you found yourself now wide awake, and very horny. You peeked over at the alarm clock on your bedside table, finding that it was still a good thirty minutes before Javi usually got up for work. If you weren’t on your period, you probably would have just woken up Javi to help relieve how worked up you had gotten from your dream- It wouldn’t have been the first time, and he certainly wouldn’t have been mad about it. But this was the first time you had been on your period since you started dating him. For as amazing as he was, there was one fact that you weren’t going to put past him. He was still a guy. Every guy that you had dated before him had all felt the same, and you assumed he would too- That he would wait for your period to be finished before wanting anything to do with, well, down there. That left you with two choices. 

Be an absolute horny mess until he left for work and then take care of yourself, which would probably still be another 2 to 3 hours from now. 

Take an extra early shower and take care of yourself before he wakes up 

Yeah, it was gonna have to be option two. 

Very quietly sneaking yourself out of bed, praying that Javi didn’t wake up for at least a little while longer, you tiptoed out of the bedroom, gently closing the bathroom door behind you as you turned on the shower. Besides it being fairly spacious for an apartment, another huge perk of your bathroom was the detachable shower head installed in your shower. Considering how much fun you and Javi have had together in the past month and a half, it had been a while since it had been put to use for its non-intended purposes. Once the water was warm enough, you stepped over the ledge of the tub, giving yourself a quick rinse before grabbing the shower head off the wall and bringing it between your legs. The jets of warm water splashing against your already throbbing clit were enough to at least start to ease some of the ache that was pooling in between your thighs, even though you desperately wished it was Javi who was helping you to relieve your neediness. You closed your eyes, reaching back for the memory of your dream that had woken you up just a few minutes ago, picturing Javi bending you over your couch as he plowed into you, over and over. You began to fidget the shower head in your hand, the water spraying back and forth against your sensitive nerves, feeling the heat begin to pool in your belly. 

“Mhmmmm, fuck, Javi…” You whispered to yourself, the image of him fucking you deeply and intensely overtaking your brain. You could feel yourself edging closer to you high, your breathing becoming deeper as you imagined him whispering those filthy, sweet nothings into your ear that he knew made you absolutely crumble. You were so consumed by the thought, that you hadn’t heard Javi get out of bed, had definitely not heard him as he opened the bathroom door, and were absolutely unaware of the fact he was now also wide awake and coming to check on why you were showering at 6:00 AM. 

“Hey, baby, is everything o- Oh.” He stopped himself midway through opening the shower curtain, realizing what he had just walked in on. 

“AH, Jesus Christ, Javi!” You screeched, dropping the shower head to the ground as you grabbed at the cool tiles of your shower wall to try and keep you from falling over. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me!” You panted, trying to catch your breath, scrambling to put the shower head back up in its rightful position. 

“Sorry, I uh, I woke up and saw you weren’t in bed and heard the shower on, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” His face now a mixture of confusion and suspicion. 

“No, yeah, um, I’m fine, just um, you know, just, uh…” 

Think you idiot, think! You have to at least try to come up with a reason before you die of embarrassment.  

“Baby, it’s okay, talk to me. What’s going on?” Those stupid puppy dog eyes. When he looked at you like he was right now, no secret was going to be left untold. 

“Fuck. No, I’m fine, it’s just…. Fuck this is so embarrassing. I just, I had this dream and I woke up really horny, but I knew you weren’t gonna wanna do anything because I was on my period so I figured that-” 

“Hermosa…” He chuckled, taking off his boxers and tossing them on the floor before stepping into the shower with you. “When I told you if you needed anything, I meant it. This included.” He stepped closer to you, reaching down to grab your ass and nip at your neck leaving you stunned, trying to think of what to say next. 

“But, it’s just that, I just figured… Every other guy I’ve been with-” He placed a long, hot kiss on your neck before mouthing at your jaw, and whispering in your ear, the rasp of his voice making you shutter. 

“Well I’m not every other guy you’ve been with, am I? If you want it, sweet girl, you’ll get it. All you have to do is ask.” His hand snaked down your front, reaching under to rub his fingers against your already painfully sensitive clit, as you let out a pitiful whimper. 

“Javi…” 

“Just ask, baby. Ask me and I’ll give it to you.” He began to trace his fingers in slow, lazy circles around your mound, savoring every second of how already worked up you were. 

“Javi, I want you to fuck me. Please I want you to fuck me so bad.” You burried your head into the crook of Javi’s shoulder as you moaned. 

“There you go, Osita. That’s all you had to do. Hands on the wall, pretty girl.” You quickly complied, turning around so your arms pressed up against the tile, your back arched towards Javi as the warm spray of the shower hit your body. Javi stood behind you, one hand resting on your hip as he used his feet to nudge your legs open just a little further, the other stroking himself before feeling his tip slide against your folds. “Jesus, fuck me, you’re already so wet, Hermosa. What were you dreaming about that’s got you so worked up, huh?” He groaned, collecting your juices along his cock as he traced his length along your heat. 

“You, Javi. Fuck, I dreamed that you were fucking me and bending me over the couch, God, it felt so good.” You babbled, your brain short circuiting as he continued to run up and down you, your cunt clenching around nothing as you desperately waited for him to fill you. 

“Christ, Osita. Gonna have to save that one for later, aren’t we? How do you want it, baby? Wanna make sure you feel good.” He nipped at your shoulder as you could feel him lining himself up with your entrance. 

“Hard. Fuck, I want you to fuck me so hard, please.” You were almost on your knees begging at this point, you needed him so badly. 

“You sure that’s what you want, sweet girl?” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he finally pushed into you, taking you no time to adjust to his size with how worked up you already were. You finally felt him bottom out, his pelvis pressed against your ass, as he waited for you to respond. 

“Yes, yes, I need you Javi, I need you so bad.” Those were the last words you could find before you felt him pull all the way out before pounding back into you, making you cry out as you felt him brush against your cervix, every inch of him splitting you open. He quickly set his pace, fast and deep as he snapped into, each thrust making you whimper from the sweet stretch of how he filled you. The walls of the bathroom were rapidly covered with the obscene sounds of your moans and skin smacking against each other, drowning out the noise of the running water from the shower head above you. 

“Is this what you want, baby? Taking my dick like the good girl you are, letting me fuck you like this?” He gritted his words through his teeth as he rammed into you at a punishing pace, leaving you an absolute mess. His fingertips dug further into the soft flesh of your hips before freeing one of his hands to wrap around your front, thumbing at your clit. 

“Javiiiii, yes, fuckkkk, fuck.” You whined. The way he was pounding into you was making your vision go white, leaving you barely hanging by a thread as he wrapped his hand around your chest, pulling you to stand as he palmed at your breast. You could feel the tingle at the base of your spine building, your pussy beginning to flutter as his fingers ran faster and faster over your clit, his cock driving into, filling you completely. You could feel your legs begin to shake as sweet nothings fell from your lips, falling apart underneath him. “Fuck, Javi, I’m gonna, Ohmygodohmygodahhhhhhh.” You screamed out as you came undone, hitting your high with a rush of pleasure, Javi’s grasp around you the only thing keeping you from falling to the shower floor. With only a few more thrusts deep inside you, Javi followed suit, grunting as he spilled deep inside you, his cock pulsing as his seed covered every inch of your walls. Catching his breath, he slowly pulled out of you, as you gasped at the loss, legs shaking as Javi released his grasp around you. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You swallowed as you sat down on the edge of the tub, laughing to yourself. “You fucked me so good I don’t think my legs work anymore.” Javi joined in your laugher, extending out his hand to pull you back up to stand, cupping your face as he engulfed you in a deep, tender kiss. 

“Then my work here is done.” 

He winked at you as you rolled your eyes and playfully poked at his chest before he was peppering your wet body with the soft sweet pecks of his lips, spending the rest of your shower in a much better mood than when you entered it. 

 “Are you sure people are actually wearing bathing suits to this thing, or am I gonna show up looking like an idiot?” You shouted from your bedroom at Javi, who had been waiting for you in the kitchen after packing up the pasta salad you had offered to bring to the Sheriff’s Department Picnic today. 

“Yes, Hermosa, I’m sure. It says it on the flier- pool party, bring a swimsuit. I’m also in my bathing suit as we speak, so I can guarantee you will not be the only one there in one.” He laughed to himself as he leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Well that’s different, you just look like you’re wearing shorts and a T-shirt. I swear, guys have it so easy” You grumbled to yourself, finally deciding on a bikini before throwing it on and slipping on a coverup as you headed down the hallway. “You ready?” You asked, grabbing the bag of towels you had packed by the front door. 

“Really? I don’t get to see before we leave?” He raised an eyebrow at you, seeming disappointed by the coverup you had put on over your swimsuit. 

“Yes, really. We’re already 45 minutes late after you spilled all of our breakfast on the floor after deciding you needed to fuck me on the kitchen counter this morning. Knowing you, Javi, we’re gonna be another 45 minutes late if you see me in this bathing suit before we leave. Let’s go, you horn dog.” You laughed as you shook your head, grabbing your things as you opened the door to leave. 

“I didn’t hear you complaining… And we’d only be another 10 minutes late, I could make it fast.” He winked, grabbing the cooler he’d packed before locking and closing your apartment door behind you. 

From the amount of cars lining the street leading up to the Morris household where the annual picnic was being hosted, you were convinced you could have shown up 2 hours late and no one would have noticed. The impressive house was nestled on a corner lot at the end of the subdivision street, lined with other large homes in the newly built neighborhood. You and Javi were both relieved to find that the beverage cooler was one of the first things you found as you walked on to the large lot behind the house, already bustling with people, music blasting from the speakers by the pool. 

“Jesus, they weren’t kidding when they said this was a big deal, huh?” You looked up at Javi as he handed you one of the beers he had grabbed. 

“Fuck, I guess not.” He grimaced, taking a sip of his own drink before an older, broadly built man with salt and pepper hair approached Javi, outstretching his hand towards him. 

“Peña, good to see you. Glad you could make it.” You had a feeling it was Dean Morris, Javi’s boss and the host of the party, based on what Javi had told you about him, though his face looked semi-familiar to you. 

“Thanks for the invite. Beautiful house. Uh, Morris, this is my girlfriend-” Morris cut Javi off before he could finish the rest of his sentence, re-extending his hand out to you as you reciprocated. 

“Ah yes, I believe we’ve actually met before. I think I’ve had the pleasure of already meeting you one of the times the department had to come down to Alma Pierce. That’s a tough gig, if I do say so myself. Hard to keep those kids focused.” The wires clicked in your brain, remembering that Morris was the one who had made 80 3rd graders cry after talking about watching people get murdered by the cartel during his presentation. You politely smiled, pulling away from his handshake. 

“Yeah, it definitely is a lot of work to keep their attention. Thank God for summer vacation.” 

“Well, I definitely would have paid a lot more attention in school if a pretty lady like you would have been my teacher. Bet those little boys love being in your class. And their dads, too. Isn’t that right, Peña?” He let out a harsh and brash laugh, taking a hand and patting it on Javi’s back. “Daniels, you old bastard, is that you?” He shouted at one of the newcomers entering the party. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a buddy who just showed up whose balls I need to bust.” He nodded to both of you as he sauntered off, leaving Javi with a horrified look on his face. 

“Well, he seems absolutely charming.” You grimaced your face before taking another, much longer sip of your beer. 

“Jesus, Osita, I’m so sorry. I should have said something, he’s my boss and I-” 

“What are you talking about? I love when men do that to me.” Your voiced oozed with sarcasm, absolutely hating everything about how so many men felt entitled to degrade you about your profession as a backhanded compliment to try and tell you that you were attractive. 

“You get that a lot?” Javi’s face now looking more concerned. 

“Way more than you’d think was socially acceptable. Not the first time I’ve heard it, and to be quite honest with you, I’m sure it won’t be the last today.” You rolled your eyes, taking another long swig of your drink as you watched Javi’s jaw clench, his thumb rubbing along the tops of his fingers as they balled up in a fist. 

“Listen, if if any of these other bastards try to say shit to you, I have no problem putting them in their fucking place.” 

Your face went flush as you felt your heart pound a little heavier in your chest. You’d really have no problem handling yourself in telling any man to kindly fuck off if they were bothering you, but something about the way Javi’s protective instincts seemed to kick into overdrive had you feeling hot and bothered. 

“Cool your jets, killer. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need you to put anyone in their place.” You giggled, mocking him as you pressed up on to your tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. 

“I know you can, Osita, just- some of the guys I work with are assholes who have no interest in being respectful. You absolutely are fucking sexy as hell, but you’re smart and funny and kind and you deserve to be treated that way.” He looked out around the crowd of people in the backyard before looking back down at you, sympathetically. 

“Thanks, Javi. I promise, I’ll be okay. The hockey player in me has no problem picking a fight if I need to.” You nudged Javi as you continued to walk further into the crowd. As you looked over the sea of people, you noticed two men frantically waving at Javi over by the pool, the taller, lankier one giving Javi an overexaggerated thumbs up as he looked in your direction, the shorter, stockier man next to him looking like he was rapidly nodding in agreement. 

“Looks like you’ve got a little fan club over there.” You laughed, giving a big thumbs up back to the two as Javi palmed his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” He whispered to himself as he saw Carter and Miller trying to flag him down in the crowd. 

“Carter and Miller?” You asked, still laughing at the pair and Javi’s embarrassment as he nodded his head. “Well, too late to escape now, let’s go say hi. At least that way we can be by the pool.” You grabbed Javi’s hand as you headed through the crowd. 

“Peña! So glad you came, man! We were hoping we’d see you! This your girl?” Carter smirked, raising his eyebrows at Javi as he gestured towards you. 

“I’ve actually never met him before, he’s kidnapping me and holding me at ransom to come to his party. No, I’m just kidding, yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you both, Javi’s told me a lot about you.” You smiled, reaching out to shake both of their hands as they laughed. 

“She’s fuckin’ funny, Peña. I already like her more than you.” You laughed as Miller elbowed Carter in the gut, causing him to drop his beer, spilling it down his shirt as it fell to the ground. 

“Way to go, ya fuckin’ doofus.” Carter groaned, peeling off his shirt. “I’m gettin’ the fuckin’ pool and then you’re getting me a new beer.” 

You were relieved to see that there were actually a fair amount of people in the pool, and it wasn’t a pool party where everyone stood awkwardly around the edge of the water without actually ever getting in. “Hey, I have to go drop off this pasta salad anyways, why don’t I grab you another one and then I’m about to get in the pool too. I love the heat but it feels like the surface of the sun out here. Does that work, Jav?” You asked, setting down your things before striping yourself of your coverup, revealing the light green, strappy bikini you had on underneath. You weren’t someone who was usually overconfident in themselves, but you did know that this particular bathing suit made you feel pretty damn good. As the 3 men turned around in response, Javi’s jaw just about dropped to the ground as he saw your swimsuit. “Javi?” You asked again, looking back up and the 3 who were all speechless, staring at you. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah, that sounds great, Hermosa.” Javi responded, his mouth still hanging slightly open as he looked you up and down. 

You grabbed the pasta salad from the cooler, walking over to Javi and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before whispering in his ear. “Told you we would have been another 45 minutes late if you saw me before you left. Keep it in your pants, Peña, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.” You gave his earlobe a quick nip before pulling away, giving him a wink as you walked over to the other end of the pool to set down your food. 

“Fuck me.” Javi muttered under his breath, eyes glued to you as you walked away. 

Javi turned behind him to see Miller and Carter quite literally biting their tongues, taking every ounce of willpower they had stored inside them to not ogle at you as you walked away. 

“I’ll say it once and then I’ll shut up about it, I promise, so please don’t kill me, but Jesus Christ, Peña, you are one lucky man.” Miller looked at Javi as Carter nodded rapidly in agreement. 

At that moment, Javi wasn’t even mad, because those two idiots were absolutely right. He was a lucky man, indeed. 

You were glad to see that Javi, Carter and Miller were already in the pool when you returned, your arms full of 4 beers and 4 Jell-O shots sitting on top of them. You tossed the drinks to each of the boys before sliding off the ledge into the water to join them. “I don’t know who Kevin is, but he very adamantly insisted that I take all of these Jell-O shots. The Laredo Sheriff's Department definitely seems like they enjoy having a good time.” You laughed as you popped the lid off your little container, slurping down the mixture and grimacing at the terrible vodka aftertaste it left behind. “Jesus, these are strong.” 

“Told you it was fun!” Miller said, motioning at you for one of the Jell-O shots. He took his, also scrunching his face after. “Yeah, knowing Kevin these must be double, probably triple the normal strength.” Carter followed suit, as you passed off the last one to Javi. 

“I’m good, Osita.” Javi smiled at you as he held up his beer. 

“You sure?” You gestured at him, waving the little plastic container at his face. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I told you I’d drive home. Either way, those look fucking disgusting. Plus, I have yet to see you drunk and was promised some obnoxious singing after you’ve had enough to drink.” He leaned over, kissing you on the head before you stepped back crossing your arms at him. 

“Only if you’re lucky, Peña.” You winked as you slurped down his Jell-O shot, sticking out your tongue in disgust after you finished. “Uck, I think that one was worse than the first.” 

It didn’t take long for you to make good on your promise of a drunken sing-alongs to Javi, already feeling decently intoxicated after your two beers and Jell-O shots. You were all giggles and smiles, feeling especially flirty Javi considering how hot he looked, all tanned and toned, the broadness of his shirtless shoulders practically taking you out at the sight of them. Javi was glad he was sober enough to keep his composure with the way you were dancing around him, seeming like you were finding any excuse to touch him and drive him absolutely crazy. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t fill him with a little sense of pride, that even as his co-workers stared at you long enough for Javi to shoot them a very subtle I swear if you keep looking at her like that, I’ll kill you look, you still looked at him like he was the only one there at that party, like there was no one else in the world you’d rather be with than him. After one of the speakers had finished blaring “Tubthumping”, who you had drunkley insisted to Javi was sung by “The Chub Chubs”, making you crack up in hysterics every time you said the name, you hopped out of the pool, telling Javi you were going to piss your pants if you didn’t go pee right this second. Javi insisted that he go with you to help you find the bathroom, not because you weren’t more than capable of doing it on your own, but because he didn’t trust a single one of any of his fucking co-workers with the way they had been looking at you, who were now equally, if not more drunk than you were. 

Javi wrapped you up in your towel before taking your hand and leading you through the crowded patio and into the house, where you found the bathroom, tucked around the corner of the kitchen. “I’ll wait right here for you, okay?” He said, giving you a sweet smile as you opened the door. 

“You better be, you’re not allowed to disappear on me, or I will be very sad that I don’t get to stare at your handsome face the rest of the night.” You crossed your arms at him, poking his bare chest as you giggled to yourself. 

“Go pee, you dork.” He laughed as he shook his head, gently pushing you into the bathroom, very amused by your drunken state. 

As he closed the door behind you, he couldn’t help but keep laughing to himself as he listened to you singing along to “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls over the sound of you flushing the toilet, now pressing his ear against the door as he heard you talking to yourself as you washed your hands. 

“You know what I wanna be?” You pointed to yourself in the mirror, giggling at yourself as you wiped your hands on the towel hanging by the sink. “I wanna be Javi’s wife. Oh my GOD, I love him so much. I wanna have that man’s babies, cause ho-ly shit. Jesus, he’s gonna be such a hot dad. Like, the kind of dad that comes in a parent teacher conferences and all the teachers go that's a hot dad, and I can be like, he's my hot dad. Wait, not like my- ew not like my father, that's not what I meant, but you know, you're the one talking to yourself. Okay, pull it together ya drunk ass, that’s a long way off, but a girl can dream. Go get back out there and find your sexy ass boyfriend, dummy.”

That was the second time today Javi found himself with his jaw practically on the floor, trying his best to compose himself as you stumbled out the doorway. “What are you smiling at?” You raised an eyebrow at Javi, leaning against the doorframe, cheeks red and grin wide. 

“You have a good talk in there, Osita?” He smirked as you stood there in shock, just about ready to die from embarrassment. 

“Did… did you hear what I said in there? Please tell me you didn’t hear what I said in there. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my goddddd.” You buried your face in your hands, unable to bring yourself to even look at Javi. 

“You really think about all that stuff, hermosa? All that stuff you said?” Even with your hands covering your painfully scrunched face, you could feel his sweet brown eyes practically burning a hole into you, leaving all of your secrets exposed. 

“Of course I do. All the time. I know I’m drunk, but my pants are not on fire because I am not lying. And I’m not even wearing any pants. Wait, that doesn’t make sense…” drunkenly lost in thought, Javi reached down, grabbing a handful of your ass before tilting his chin up towards you, his thumb stroking along the line of your jaw. 

“Jesus Christ, I love you so fucking much, you know that?” 

“I do, because you tell me all the time and I love you very, very, very, very lots of verys much too.” You giggled, smiling up at him. He leaned into you, planting a soft kiss on your lips, his mouth sweet and tender against yours as they met. He grabbed your hand, locking his fingers between yours as he led you back through the house, his eyes glued on you as you shuffled your way through the crowd. 

“Peña, I was hoping I’d see you again!” Javi stopped abruptly as a large hand grasped around his shoulder, making him turn around to see the group of men standing around the kitchen table you were just about to pass. Morris’s gruff voice had you both freezing in your tracks, already bracing yourself for whatever stupid, inappropriate comment he had up his sleeve. “Listen, I was hoping to talk to you about something, just the two of us. Do you have a few?” 

Javi looked at you with remorse, knowing there was really no polite way to say no to his boss who was already practically dragging him away from you. “Uh, yeah, sure.” Javi replied. “Just if it could be quick, okay? I don’t, I don’t wanna leave her here all by herself.” He gestured, nodding his head in your direction. 

“I won’t take up too much of your time, I wouldn’t wanna be away from such a pretty woman for too long either. Besides, she’s in good hands with these fine gentlemen, right boys?” He looked at the rest of the men still gathered around the kitchen table. You could almost feel Javi burning a hole with his eyes into each one of them, giving a look that said, you say or do anything stupid and I’ll fucking end you. It seemed everyone at the table picked up on the message as Javi gave you one last sympathetic smile before Morris dragged him away into the living room. 

“So, you Peña’s girl?” One of the dark haired men asked, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Uh, yeah, I am. It’s nice to meet all of you!” You tried to muster some courage, looking at the group of men now staring at you, feeling drastically more sober from the awkwardly uncomfortable circumstances you now found yourself in. 

“I’m Hernandez,” the man pointed at himself, “that’s Callahan,” he pointed at a taller, blonde man, “this is Richards,” a stockier man waved at you, “and this is Estrada.” Another dark haired man raised his drink at you as you tried to smile, waving back at them. You introduced yourself, the men silently laughing to themselves, as Hernandez spoke again. “Almost couldn’t fucking believe it when we found out Peña had a girlfriend, never though I’d live to see the day, that’s for fucking sure.” 

You pretended to laugh along with them, not really sure what he meant by the comment, but definitely knowing it didn’t make you feel great. “So um, what do you think Morris is talking to him about?” You asked, trying to see if the group had any insight why Javi’s boss was so insistent on speaking with him. 

“Oh, Mexico, 100%.” Estrada responded quickly, the other men nodding in agreement. “Gettin’ so fuckin’ bad down there, Morris has been on the phone with the DEA every other fuckin’ day trying to get Peña to go.” 

You could instantly feel your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. They wanted to send Javi down to Mexico? They couldn’t just do that, right? There was no way he would go back to something like that, would he? 

“Fuckin’ DEA big shot Peña, Morris trusts him because of all the shit in Colombia. I heard it’s a goddamn mess across the border and they’re starting to get desperate.” 

“Couldn’t pay me enough money in the fucking world to go back to doing that shit, but I don’t know, sounds like Peña’s done enough fucked up shit to last him a lifetime, so what’s a little more, right?” 

It was like you had become invisible, the way they were talking about Javi in front of you. What the hell were they talking about? What had he done that was so bad? Was he ever planning on telling you? You could feel how fast your heart was pounding, your palms beginning to sweat as panic crept through you. 

“Someone’s gotta fucking do it. Richards and I were running the numbers the other day and the amount of coke they’ve got coming across the border now is fucking insane.” Callahan shook his head, setting his now empty beer bottle on the table amongst the large pile that had seemed to accumulate between them. 

“Listen, you guys already know how I feel about this shit.” Hernandez sighed, shaking his head. “The cartel is obviously a fucking problem, but it wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for all the dumbass crackheads out there snortin’ this shit off the streets like it’s no one’s business.” 

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. Your hands began to tremble, your mouth painfully dry as you tried to swallow, frantically looking around for Javi, desperate to find a way out of this conversation as you felt your anxiety skyrocket. You knew where this conversation was going. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t go through another conversation like this. Not again. Your brain was flashing images in your head as you heard your ears begin to ring, everything around you feeling like it was moving in slow motion. 

“He’s got a fuckin’ point. There wouldn’t be such a market for it if people weren’t so desperate to get their hands on it. Don’t these dumb motherfuckers realize how stupid they have to be to use that shit?” The men all laughed, their smug looks burning a hole in your chest as you felt your throat tighten with each breath. You tried with everything you had in you to fight the tears welling in your eyes, praying they’d stop or that you could find some way out of the conversation before you collapsed over the brink of full blown panic. 

“It is sad, the death count from that shit’s higher than it's ever been.” Richards chimed in, trying to bring some rationale to the discussion. 

“Honestly,” Hernandez spoke, breaking from his laughter, taking a swig of his beer, “and I hate to fucking say it, I do, but if these junkie bastards know better, it’s what they fuckin’ deserve.” 

That was it. Your brain snapped, sending you into full blown distress as you felt like the room was collapsing in on you. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, pounding in your ears, as your body went numb, taking every ounce of strength in you not to fall to the floor in full blown hysterics. You couldn’t listen to this conversation anymore, not able to wait however long it would take for Javi to come back, you made up some half coherent excuse to the group that you needed to go get something from the car, desperate for someplace alone, away from everyone. You stumbled through the crowded house through the front door, trying so desperately to pull yourself together until you were back outside, away from anyone’s concerned looks and questioning glances. As you stepped off the front porch, the concrete sidewalk pinching against your bare feet and hot Texas sun pounding down on your skin, you burst into tears. Each sob was painful, your chest tightening with every breath you took as your mind raced at a million miles per minute. 

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t deserve it. You tried so hard to help him. Was it my fault? Did I not do enough? Where’s Javi’s car? Where’s Javi? Please don’t let Javi leave. He can’t leave. I can’t do it again, I can’t do it, please, fuck, I can’t do it. 

Some way or another, you had managed to make it down the street to Javi’s truck, desperately shaking at the locked door handles before falling to the ground, legs curled up against your chest in a ball as you leaned against his tire, letting your fear and panic consume you whole. 

Back inside, Javi had finished his conversation with Morris, frustrated and annoyed he had taken up so much of his time with something he had absolutely no interest in. As he got back to the table where you were supposed to be, his defenses went up instantly, trying to find you. “Where the fuck is she?” Javi demanded, looking at the group of men talking amongst themselves at the table. 

“What?” Hernandez asked, barely looking at Javi. 

“My girlfriend, you fucker, where the hell is she?” 

“Jesus, calm down Peña. I don’t know, she said something about going out to the car.” Hernandez turned back to face the rest of his friends as Javi began storming his way through the party, pushing past people as he bursted through the front door, practically running down the street towards his car. His heart stopped when he found you, curled on the ground in a sobbing heap against his truck. In an instant, he was on the ground with you, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around you, his heart racing almost as fast as yours. 

“Baby, what’s wrong? Osita, talk to me, are you okay? What happened?” His words were desperate and frantic as they fell from his lips, pulling you tighter in his embrace as you tried so hard to catch your breath, to get even just one word out as you sobbed against the soft skin of his chest. “Breathe baby, just breathe. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.” He took his hand, cradling the back of your head as he pulled you closer, the presence of his touch helping your mind to slow down for a moment, trying your best to stop your shallow, shaky breathing. “There you go, Osita. It’s okay, baby, deep breaths. Just breathe, I promise I’m right here, it’s okay.” You could feel him trying to slow down his own breathing, taking long, deep inhales and exhales as you rested against him, your face wet and messy buried in the crook of his neck as he held you. 

He’s here. Javi’s right here. He’s here.  

You repeated the words over and over again in your brain until you could feel the strain in your chest begin to ease, forcing yourself to take one deep breath after another, slowly starting to find relief from the panic that was flowing through you. Javi said nothing, just holding you as he breathed with you, squeezing you as hard as he could, like he was afraid if he let go, you would float away. After a few more minutes, you finally lifted your head off Javi’s chest, your eyes red and puffy as your cheeks glistened from the wet flow of your tears. Javi cusped your face so gently, his brown doe eyes heartbroken as he looked at the state of pain and fear he had found you in. “Baby, are you okay?” His words were shaky too, like he was pleading for something, anything, to know that you were alright. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, gulping down the tears you still were fighting against as you slowly nodded your head. “Osita, please talk to me. Please.” 

You weren’t even sure if you were going to be able to form a coherent thought. Tears streamed back down your face, your lips quivering and hands shaking as the wall that separated Javi from what you were about to tell him came crumbling down. It felt like your brain was short circuiting, your words beginning to flow out of you like a faucet who couldn’t be turned off. 

“They said, they said, they wanted you to go to Mexico. To go back like you did in Colombia, because of how bad things were there. But you can’t go back Javi, please I can’t lose you, I can’t lose someone again. It was like they were blaming him, like it was all his fault, it wasn’t his fault, it was my fault, I did everything I could, but he came back and he wasn’t the same. Please, Javi, you can’t go, I can’t do it again, I can’t do it, I can’t watch someone I love leave and come back a different person and let it ruin their life. Please Javi, you can’t leave me like Patrick, I can’t do it again.” 

Oh. Oh, Fuck.  

You fell back into Javi’s arms as the thoughts in your brain kept flowing from your mouth, sobbing between each sentence pressed against the tear stained skin of his chest. 

“I tried to do everything I could. When he came back from his second tour in Iraq he wasn’t the same. He couldn’t talk about what he’d seen or what he’d done. I knew he was hurting so bad. I came home one day and I saw him doing coke on the bathroom sink, and he swore to me he would stop and get help if I didn’t tell anyone. He said he just needed something to help him forget. I kept my promise. I didn’t tell anyone. Not my brothers, not my parents. I drove him to NA meetings, I tried to find him rehabs but he wouldn’t fucking stop. I just wanted him to stop. I just wanted my brother back. I finally had to say something, I had to tell my family because I couldn’t do it anymore. He found out and we got into such a big fight, we yelled and screamed at each other and I told him I hated him. I told him I hated him for what he’d done. I hated him because he wasn’t the brother I had before. I hated him because he wouldn’t stop. And that was the last thing I ever said to him. His friends found him in his apartment the next morning. He overdosed. He was just gone. It was like he just disappeared. I can’t have you disappear, Javi. I can’t. Please. I can’t.” 

Javi sat there silently as you sobbed in his arms. There were no words he could think of that could help. Nothing that he could say or do that could even attempt to patch the gushing wound that you had just ripped open for him. You had left yourself out in the open, bleeding and exposed as he sat there, helpless. He wished he could do something, anything, to take away just an ounce of the hurt and the pain you felt. But for now, all he could do was hold you, let you cry. Be there for you as you let the tears of pain and grief and hurt release from your body. The next words that came out of his mouth weren’t the words he should have said, but the only ones his brain could muster. “Baby… Why didn’t… Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You looked up at him, your eyes begging for forgiveness through their red and swollen tears. “I couldn’t, Javi, how could I? It’s your job. You’ve spent your whole life fighting to stop what happened to my brother. And now he’s gone. There’s nothing that you could have done. There’s nothing anyone like you could have done. It’s the fucking truth and it sucks. How am I supposed to let you live with that? I can’t be the one to add anymore to what you’ve been through. It’s my fault. It’s my fault that he’s gone. I tried so hard. I tried so hard, Javi. I’m so sorry, Javi, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me.” 

He could practically feel his heart break in two seeing you hurt so badly. It broke him to see you blame yourself, to think you tried to hide this part of your life away to keep him safe. He hugged you so tightly, like he was trying to free you from the pain you had carried, make you feel safe and loved and to know that he meant it. He grabbed your face, using his thumb to wipe your tears, praying that you believed what he had to say. “It wasn’t your fault. Baby, please, it wasn’t. You did everything you could. I could never be mad at you. I’m so sorry, Osita. I love you. I love you so much. I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll fucking quit before they make me go back. I’m not leaving you.” 

“You promise?” 

“Of course I do. I promise.” 

You let him hold you for just a few moments longer, saying nothing as you sat in the silence of his promise. You knew he meant it. You had never trusted someone like you had trusted him. In his words, in his eyes, in the way he held you like nothing else in the world mattered except for you. You knew Javier Peña meant every last word. You knew he’d keep his promise. 

You sat up a little taller, wiping your face with the back of your hand, trying to compose yourself, terrified to see the snotty, wet mess you’d become. “I don’t um… I don’t really wanna go back to the party, if that’s okay.” You spoke, words embarrassed and shaky as you stared sheepishly at the ground. Javi shook his head, only laughing to himself out of pure shock. 

“Osita, you were thinking about trying to go back there? Baby, I’m taking you home. Whatever you need, I’m yours.” His words made you shed a few more tears, this time a small smile spreading across your face as he helped you up off the ground, pulling you in for a long, tight hug, resting his nose among the soft waves of your hair. 

“Javi?” You whispered against the warmth of his chest. 

“Yes, Osita?”  

“Can we get ice cream on the way home?” 

“Of course, Hermosa. Of course we can get ice cream. I’ll drive you all the way back to Chicago for ice cream, if that’s what you need.” You let out a soft giggle as you hugged him just a little tighter before pulling away to look up at him. 

“Texas ice cream will do just fine.” 

“I’m gonna go grab our stuff and then we can head out okay? Are you gonna be okay waiting by the truck?” 

“I’ll be okay. Thanks, Jav.” He gave you a quick kiss on the head before running back to the house, returning quickly with your bags as he unlocked the door and helped you up into his truck. You sat in silence on the drive to Eva’s, one of your favorite ice cream places Javi had taken you to, ever since he had made good on his claim that they did, in fact, have the best cookies and cream ice cream you’d ever have. After ordering for the both of you, Javi brought your ice creams over to your favorite spot, a little park bench that sat in front of the small creek that ran behind the building. 

“Cookies and cream for you.” He said, handing you over your ice cream. “Chocolate and sprinkles for me.” He finished, sitting down next to you on the bench as you laughed to yourself. “If you’re gonna say something, just say it, Osita.” He smirked, knowing exactly what was on your mind. 

“I can’t believe that you try to deny that you have the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone I’ve ever met. Sprinkles?” You looked over at his cone, snickering at the little rainbow flecks covering the ice cream. 

“Whatever.” He smiled, taking a big lick out of his cone as he put his arm on the back of the bench, draping it over your shoulder. He paused as he looked over at you, just staring at your ice cream, lost in your own thoughts. “Hey.” He whispered gently, causing you to shift your gaze up at him. “I know it hurts. It never stops hurting, even when people tell you it should. We don’t have to talk about it anymore right now, but if you ever want to, I’m here okay?” You nodded, wiping away the tears welling behind your eyes. 

“Okay.” You sat there for another moment after finally taking a lick of your cookies and cream, watching the sun glisten along the babble of the creek ahead of you. “Can we talk about something else?” 

“Of course. What do you want to talk about?” Javi ran his thumb back and forth against your arm, drawing circles on your soft skin. 

“Anything. Literally anything.” You shook your head, trying to force yourself to let out a small huff of laughter. 

Javi grinned, taking another lick of his ice cream before he spoke. “I’m glad you made good on your drunk sing-along promise today. You’re right, it’s even worse than normal.” You let out a genuine laugh, nudging him as you finally let a smile creep across your face. 

“I tried to warn you. I blame those Jell-O shots.” You shrugged, rolling your eyes at Javi. 

“It was cute. Almost as good as your bathroom pep talk.” He chuckled as you looked at him in confusion. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked, taking another lick around the base of the cone to keep it from dripping. 

“Do you really not remember? I took you in to use the bathroom and you were talking to yourself in the mirror when you were washing your hands?” 

“What are you talking about? I don’t- OH. OH NO. I’m so sorry, I was really drunk. You were not supposed to hear that. How did you hear that?!” You could feel how hot your face was as your cheeks turned bright red, burying your head in the free hand you weren’t using to hold your ice cream. 

“You were practically yelling to yourself in the bathroom, Hermosa.” Javi chuckled, biting down on his lip. “Do you remember what you said?” 

“Of course I remember, why do you think I’m so embarrassed?” You replied, scrunching your face, looking down at the ground. 

“Why are you so embarrassed, Osita?” You looked up at him, surprised by how genuine he was, his voice soft and sweet, a smile peeking out of the corner of his lips. 

“Because… Because I shouldn’t have just, like, said that out loud. I don’t… I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you heard me say things that I want and you don’t. It was stupid, I’m sorry.” You looked back down at the ground, wishing you could repeatedly kick your past drunken self for letting Javi hear your rambles.  

“It’s not stupid. I want those things, too. God, I want those things, too.” 

You raised your head back up as Javi rubbed his hand along your back, making heat creep through your face, blushing, as you felt a smile stretch from one side of your face to another.  You ran your tongue along the top of your teeth as you took a deep breath in, exhaling and leaning your head against Javi’s shoulder. 

“You promise?” Your voice was low and quiet, almost soft enough to have gone unnoticed if he hadn’t been listening. Soft enough to have gone unanswered if what he had said wasn’t really true. 

“I promise.” 

You sat there quietly, the promise of his words dancing in the air between you. There were few people in this world that you trusted. It hadn’t taken long for Javier Peña to come into your life and become the one person in this world you now trusted the most. He had made you a promise- and you knew damn well that he’d keep it. 

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413

[okiroash]

Obsessed with post-mt. silver red... the champion you hailed as a legend, a concept of what strength is, right now- is having trouble finding where he put his wallet because he didn't need to use money for three years (the cashier watches as red rummages through his bag, the sounds of various items clanking can be heard through the room...) anyway,, some fun headcanons for him that I first wanted to tell along with illustrations but,, I don't have the energy to do that rn,, -> He knows how to mimic a pokemon's cry to such accuracy,, esp those of wild strong pokemon that lives in mountain silver, this is so that- with just himself he can terrify the weaker pokemon and make them scamper away.. it's important that his team stay at top condition and not make them waste necessary energy in case something bad would happen -> Though this doesn't mean he uses his voice more, having no one to talk to (or even the need to-) for an extended period of time, makes it easier to get into a coughing fit if he were to talk too much, leading to him talking slower, softer, and always in short chopped sentences after coming down (but still have that polite way of talking, judging from the dialogue in FRLG with the pokedoll girl compared to ethan's.... who even uses "pardon me" these days? red apparently) -> He learned how to run on all four.. when there's literally just you and your animal friends in some mountain you're bound to be a weirder guy, sorry man (and he actually moves faster this way.. but red's aware that this is something he could only do in the wild) -> Red moves like a ghost, it's good when you don't want to alarm the wild pokemon around you (and now it's people to avoid getting recognized), but this makes it hard for him to announce his presence which always end up surprising people.. -> Whenever he doesn't know how to react to a joke or what it means, he will tilt his head and stare at them with the biggest autism eyes ever.... -> Post-mt silver red gets put into a lot of socially awkward situations, it can't be helped 💔 -> Because he spent so long in a dangerous environment, red is very vigilant and cautious, though.. sometimes overly that it's not healthy, it took a while for him to start relaxing a bit more after going back to "normalcy" -> Red tried to keep track of time by writing in his diary.. one day he flipped the paper and found that he had run out of them.. he started writing on the cave's wall instead -> talking about diary, it's one of his few emotional outputs, on really bad days it's full of scribbles, messy writing, repeating words and rarely, tear stains -> being far from a talkative person, he can't just vent out his emotions through talking.. and because he has such an unexpressive face, people often think there's nothing wrong with him, simply a hero you can always depend on. red developed a slight anger issue from not being able to properly express his emotions, sometimes he would bent and smash things to let off some steam (dw.. nothing valuable, probably trashes or rocks..)

-> He finds a lot of comfort in his pokemon, rubbing circles on pikachu's fur, sleeping on top of snorlax, feeling charizard's warmth... (yeah you get what I mean,,) He also likes getting carried by them, it's a feeling of comfort that something is guiding him, just like the old days with his mom

[gardenschedule]

just came across your excellent post of quotes about the lennon-mccartney rivalry! there's sooooooo much to unpack there, but i was especially struck by your tags and hoping you could say more:

paul thrived with someone to compete against but it hurt john a lot and seemed to wear him down#i personally believe it's the number 1 cause of the breakdown of their relationship and the breakup itself#because it lead to john stacking his deck with allies like yoko and klein and looking for his own niches to succeed in without paul there

Well that's just my armchair psychoanalysis of John haha, I think he had some seriously debilitating (and mostly unwarranted) insecurities in general and particularly in regards to Paul. Their rivalry was always present but as long as their relationship was in a good place, they were working closely together and John could consider himself top dog, it was a positive motivating force for both of them and they could share the glory. But then Paul became increasingly independent (musically, artistically and socially), started churning out A-sides at a pace John struggled to match, and competing with Paul stopped being fun and was more of a source of unhappiness and stress. Then something happened (in India or around that time) that caused him to feel worthless and humiliated, while Paul was just fine, recently engaged, etc. If you're John Lennon and you've developed an inferiority complex along with a fear of being left behind or surpassed, what do you do? You strengthen your position with people like Yoko (a stalker with artistic cred who was willing to spend every moment with him) and Klein (a John guy who flattered him and made it clear he saw John as the boss), so you've got security and support. You free yourself from the pressure to compete with Paul in music by finding different ways to stand out, like politics and art. Then you're in a position where you don't need Paul and you don't need to beat him. You try to get some power back by provoking him with Yoko related antics and threatening a divorce you don't necessarily plan to follow through on - all he has to do to get you back is submit to your demands, then you have your top dog status back and you know he loves you enough to give you that. After all, when Ringo quit he got wooed back with flowers. When George quit, he got enough leverage to make changes to how they worked. But instead, Paul retreats to Scotland, inadvertently announces the breakup, then sues you. So you publicly rage about it and are deeply hurt for the rest of your life, even thought he technically just gave you what you asked for. Few journalists or authors bother to question this and just accept that you were too good for the Beatles and were bored by them and that's why the group broke up. The end.

Anyway hope that all made sense <3

[waxingrunes]

your art is the most realistic art i have seen this fandom spit out i really wish you would make remus shorter and stop making oc’s

This is why I lose enthusiasm for you cunts.

Sick of defending a fucking drawing, a fictional character. Sick of the same agendas in this online world where Remus has to be this fucking wet mop of a man who has one singular personality trope of being obsessed with Sirius Black and wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Have you met real men? You ever interacted with your average Joe, who is a bit shy, bit awkward, bit of a weirdo but he doesn’t have to come with a pre installed stutter and helpless heart eyes and no other arsenal but a goo goo gaga state of mind for his love interest. You lot are unhealthily obsessed. Daily, fucking, bullshit, daily headcanons, daily this, daily that.

My Remus and Sirius are never going to change. What’s insane is the amount of ‘heteronormative’ claims I see attached to this debacle of height and size. I know a man, who is exceptionally tall, built, has had a boyfriend, and topped him the entire way through the relationship. He did not enjoy bottoming, and yet is a bisexual individual, nothing ‘stereotypical’ homosexual about him or his appearance whatsoever. In fact, he’s very much a Remus variant in my eyes; he is softly natured, introverted, and selective socially and STILL A STONY TOP. Real life, real person, not curated from a thread you found on Twitter and have swallowed up whole.

What happened to coming into a fandom space, making something and going, “that’s hot”. When did it become a space to make sure every representation was ticked, to make sure one character isn’t too this or too that. I’m not here to read the same stories or see the same art 100 times over. I fell in love with these two men and have since had a very solid image of them in my head and create art based off of those ideas. I don’t feel pressured to make sure I give my Remus certain soft traits to justify making him look the way I do. I don’t feel the need to advertise Sirius being this massively charismatic guy just to give him a personality because otherwise you might think he doesn’t have one, because of the slightly more feminine light I draw him in (which is misogynistic you dumb fucks). Just because, I draw my Remus tall and a buffed out lank, does not make him an ultra turbo Alpha. Just because I draw my Sirius smaller, does not mean he is a helpless twink. But here’s the secret nobody’s telling you— even if I did draw them like that, even if those were my holy canons and preferences for these boys, that’s okay. I’m here to create things that make me go, “fuck yeah that’s hot”, “hell yeah I want to see Sirius get pulverised by Remus and no I don’t want to see Remus get pulverised by Sirius and no I don’t feel the need to defend that”, “yeah I prefer tough love over easy love”, “absolutely love it when one of them is a dick to the other and there’s heaps of toxic tension, or maybe they’re both like that and they’re both sarcastic pricks that have to work it out”. I’m never going to adhere to the obsession of character moulds you lot have created.

Sick of this space being turned into a political pansy parade. It’s alright if you want to draw this gay couple with any features you want, hyper masculine, hyper feminine, somewhere in the middle, trans, prefer one of them topping, prefer them to be asexual, prefer them to be toxic and have grit (that’s my trope), or just want easy fluff. And it’s also alright if you’re just in fandom because you’re a bit perverted (like me) and wanted to explore that in a couple you found super fucking hot. Don’t let people use the word fetishise, don’t let people use the word heteronormative, don’t let people bamboozle you with big words and reams of bullet points to incite shame, don’t let people box you in, just keep watching the porn, keep consuming the porn, keep avoiding the shit you want to avoid, and enjoy what you want without shame.

[not-trannydurden]

STARSHINE FANG-GLINT

PART ONE, CHAPTER ONE

"HERE COMES YOUR MAN"

WARNING! NSFW! SMUT! SEX! GORE! DUBIOUS CONSENT!

ALIEN PARASITE x SPACE TRUCKER!!

Photocredit to H.R. GIGER (WATCHGUARDIAN and RUSTY FEMALE TORSO) and NASA

Having never mastered faster-than-light travel, our ambitions far overestimated our ability to tame physics. So now, if you want anything shipped from point A, to point B, then you are going to need some lowlifes that don't mind giving you forty, fifty, seventy years of their lives to sleep frozen in zero G for a good paycheck and dental. This is why PV2 Camuth Syntrax has been in this business for a very, very long time.

She used to be a girl with stars in her eyes and ambitions. Hell, the whole reason she signed up for this job was to pay for her HRT and tits. She wanted to be whole, at some point in the future.

Now? Well, now she's just a miserable asshole trucker. Who happens to have big tits.

During a routine operation, their freighter is flagged and deployed for a shady Hazmat job. This was supposed to be like any other shady, high paying freight job. Make that top secret military budget money, and only have to shift your morals to the side a little to do it. A trucker is a trucker. They don't control whats in the bay.

Hell, she could hardly tell the difference. Camuth was drunk for most of her waking hours, or balls deep in a stow-away or hitchhiker. This leap's flavor was a peppy biologist with a sadistic streak.

She couldn't begin to understand how ignorant this assumption was.

WARNING: This series will eventually contain Gore, Violence, Cannibalism, Body Horror, and Vore. This chapter will contain: Mild misogyny, A lot of sex scenes, mild mentions of gore and political violence, and some non-consensual flirting.

Also, here's a playlist link ^^ i'd like to thank anyone who may of helped my write the first draft of this; it would not exist without you.

In every star-freighter there is always one pod that leaves you feeling extra sick. It's kind of a running joke amongst truckers; of course, that being a colloquial term.  An homage to societies of the past. No matter what, every voyage, you are gonna have one guy say it; 

"Looks like I got the bad pod."

Bleary eyed and shivering from the thermaebath still. Can't stop getting the bends. Dizzy.

When you are in thermae, the ship doesn't produce artificial gravity. Why would it? Saves a lot more power this way.

So that spinning feeling you get when you are trying to take you first few steps; it's the fluids in your ears adjusting to the presence of any gravity.

So picture this; 14 runs, back to back; almost 3 years spent on jumps from system to system, taking advantage of a Cerebrachem shortage that was sweeping the same direction we are; then, on the way back you deliver beef for a chain of Corpo airlock-exchange fast food restaurants.  

Teiren/Max Corp was meticulous with these sort of long hauls; they had to be worth the costs that it takes to pay experienced Truckers to waste 4 years away from home.

Lucky for me, the wages are great. The ship mates are fine, a couple of pretty girls, an android that you could swear was modeled to be a milf on purpose, and besides that; a few men. 

Men who were smart enough to mind their business. Women in this industry had a nasty habit of mutilating the uncouth that came onto them.

Prison rules. Pick the biggest guy. Grab him by the nuts. Set an example.

Every 5 months you wake up for a few weeks; exercise, socialize, repair the ship and check on the precious cargo. This free time is perfect for when you want to smoke a cigarette or stare at a wall, or eat out that cute biologist tagalong that came to study blah blah blah blah blah blah... 

What? Listen, if you saw this girls hips you'd understand. Hard to focus on much when you are wondering how her jumpsuit fits on, zips up in the center. Conceals all... that.

Maybe not though, because I can't remember why she's here, and we've spent the last 3 years having casual sex together. Watching horror movies and painting each other's nails. She compliments my bone structure a lot. I think she's weird, but in a hot way. 

Dr. Leerson. Doctor Amelia Leerson.

Imagine that you are almost home when everyone, yourself included, is shot upright like frankenstein movie monsters; albeit almost 4 months early. 

"We're not even close to schedule." Captain says. Cap's a big brawly man, pale, malnourished skin with a handlebar mustache. He's older than all of us, but he's healthy enough. Used to be a marine. 

Still built like one, and even though he was a brick-shithouse, a lifetime of protein paste and nutrition gel had left him looking like a strung out corpse all the time.

He's already dressed and dry, meanwhile I'm still on hands and knees letting fluid pour out of my sinus.

"What doya...?"

He points to the automatic calender on the wall. 

"Oh, uhuh...." I rub my chin, apparently deep in thought.

I couldn't remember the depart date.

A fat grey tabby goes waddling out of Leerson's pod. Pets didn't do good alone floating in zero g. It was wise to carry them with you. Picture egyptian burial rules. Anything you want when you wake up, make sure it's buried with you.

"We're gonna have to ration," Captain mumbled, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Cap was constantly talking about rationing, re-using, recycling. I don't think I'd ever eaten a fully allocated meal on this ship. The man was paranoid as all hell about something, anything, going wrong. Getting stuck out in deep space with a fuel injector malfunction, or a buggy navigation algorithm. So they saved old O2 filters. They distilled runoff from their engines into new fuel. They didn't eat enough.

"You'll thank me when we run out of fresh filters one day." Captain would always say, and we knew better than to argue.

"You're always saying that," said Leerson, who had been around just long enough to notice the pattern. Her voice was casually musical, almost teasing. "We're four months out, Captain. What's the worst that could happen?" 

Cap just grunted and turned to go towards center command, the defacto meeting room and geographical center of the ship. In ancient history, all roads led to Rome. In the age of modern space freighting; all roads lead to the center command.

Despite still being nude from the Thermae process, I roll over and stare at the ceiling. Leerson just watches and laughs, before throwing me a towel.

"Camuth, get dressed and get ready for briefing." He paused and looked over his shoulder at Leerson. "And don't let them keep me waiting too long, Doctor."

Leerson smiled, faux innocent. I grazed my tongue across my teeth, hard, before finally heaving myself up off the ground next to my pod, towel still half clutched around me. I panted, my arms trembling slightly from exertion. My teeth chattered slightly, and I leaned my forehead against the frosted over metal of the pod, feeling the bits of sweat and thermae fluid freeze upon contact with each other, making my forehead buzz. 

"Poor thing," Leerson teased, close enough that I could feel breath on my ear. I shivered in a different way at that. Leerson had a superpower that let her walk around noiselessly on metal grates. I felt her fingers wander around my midsection, spider-like in the way they dance between the folds of the scratchy orange towel and find their way to my cold pale flesh. 

"I...- I gotta get dressed," I say, failing to fight back a sigh, halfway between contentment and unadulterated need. A half-whine.

"That's what we're doing," Leerson purrs. She was such a fox, and I meant that in the predatory sense. I meant that with flashes of broken necked bunnies and eviscerated squirrels in mind. Terrestrial viscerality, or sexuality. It all came from the same need.

"I'm helping you get dressed, Second Private." 

Leerson said as she flicked a cruel nail once, letting the towel drop to the floor, exposing me.

"Now," she said, in tones that made me pissed and weak in the knees, "Just where did I put that jumpsuit..." 

My head was spinning, and it was only half from the teasing. I really did feel like shit.

"Get a room, dykes!" Someone shouted as I tried my best to not make a face at her touch. There were no rooms on a freighter. Just notches in a wall big enough to fit a twin sized mattress. 

For this reason, it was not uncommon to find your crewmates fucking on top of the coolant pipes, or on the cargo. You don't want to see what sort of use a hauling strap will find during one of these sessions.

Imagine every fast-food burger you've ever eaten, and imagine backshots being blown on cargo containers of every single of one of them.

"Yeah, fuck off, you're welcome." I say throwing up a middle finger to our electrician, Peter Schulzbern. We just called him Berns. He already has a baseball cap on. One from the tail end of the petrol-industrial era. When we still knew where Earth was. It reads: "I ❤️ NYC"

Leerson giggles, knowing that she's brushing up against my dick as she pulls my jumpsuit over me. Best part is that she's still halfnude, her jumpsuit only on like a pair of pants. Revealing two beautiful tits and a long neck. Biologists. It made sense. She was an animal. Better-yet to study them.

"I'm gonna go debrief honey, make me some coffee would ya?" I asked, and Leerson rolls her eyes.

"Oh yes sir Mr. Syntrax, right away." She says in a fake receptionist voice, making fun of me.

"Please, honey?" I ask, genuine vulnerability in my voice. She bites her tongue and smiles at me.

"Good girl." She says, and I shutter.

"You fuckin..." I'm whispering to myself as she walks away. Giving the whole crew a view of her tits as she stepped past the Thermaebay. Only once she reaches the door does she zip up her jumpsuit the rest of the way.

I'm staring, houndlike, at her ass with each step as I work to button my cuffs and adjust my collar to standard.

"Why do you always get the girl?" A voice asks, coming close behind me. I don't look. I know that it's Ricky Raffington. James Raffington legally. We just called him Rat.

"Because I am a girl. You think a piece like that isn't gonna want something soft and homely like me over some washed up Navy piece of shit like you? Ever?" 

"I don't have nothing you don't have." Rat scowls, unable to stop himself from glancing at the strain I'm currently placing on my jumpsuit, specifically in the crotch area. I'd blown out the zippers on these things before. I was kinda proud of it.

"Besides game, you mean? An extra 4 inches?" I grinned, doing the final button that keeps my collar sinched with a satisfying snap. Berns, over in the corner and already working on touching up some corroded wiring, snickered.

"Fuck you," Rat spit, literally spit on the floor near my boot, before clomping away to go join in on briefing. 

"Four inches my ass..." He mumbled as he went.

"Yeah, yeah, we've all been in the showers together, jackass!" I called after him. I sat there, feeling pretty good about myself, before-

"Get your ass in here, Private! What is this, a fuckin' pool party?" There was the captain, head and insanely wide shoulders poking their way into the cryo chamber, too impatient to spend the extra few seconds walking into the room proper.

I hurried up and over to central command, nearly tripping over myself as I went. The captain scared the shit out of me when he got loud like that...

Central command worked as a sort of secondary helm. The main helm, located towards the front of the ship and attached to the pilot's cockpit, was a fairly small room meant for just the captain and an attendant or two, and almost never saw any use during freight operations like this. Most functions on the ship were automated, anyways. 

Central command was like the living room of the ship. It was in the exact center of the vessel, and all hallways eventually led back to it. It was located directly above the commons areas. This was the most important room in the vessel, the meeting place, the heart and mind of the freighter vessel. 

Gathered in the room was nearly the whole crew. Leerson was off getting coffee, supposedly, and as a tag-along her presence was not required. 

The engineers like Berns, about a half dozen of them, had been woken up first along with the captain, debriefed, and sent along to check vital components and fix the worst of the damage. 

That left about a dozen of us left, gathered in various chairs and on desk or railings around the circular room. All shivering and weary from wake-up still. 

Everyone here was someone who preferred to sit in a corner, with a back to their wall, and you could tell. Even after years (or more like a month) of travel together, everyone was cagey. No sets of fingers and eyes rested easy, everyone sizing each other up. I had gotten over that paranoid shit long, long, long ago. I just sighed and leaned up against the nearest wall, nodding at the Captain as I did.

"Thank you for joining us, Private." Captain said, smiling sardonically. "Do we have your permission to begin?"

Everyone snickered, especially the Rat.

"At 07:00, Yesterday morning we received a subcontract from upstairs. This isn't a freight contract. It's a Hazmat job. It'll take at least 4 Biomat Certified Technicians, and 2 Hazmat Certified Haulers."

He pauses for a moment.

"Raise your hand if you are Biomat Certified."

I raise my hand, a waifish fellow with long soft arms raises one of them, and so does my beloved... My one and only;

Minerva.

She stood at around 5'8, with milk tallow pale skin and black hair. Gleaming blue eyes; literally neon blue LEDs. She was my white whale. I would never get to her because she wasn't human. She was an android. Soft, plastic soft, skin like pleather seat cushions or latex condoms. Her blood was milk white, which for some reason did things to me.

"Great, so we're short a Biomat."

I think for a moment, then raise my hand.

"Second Private?"

"Dr. Leerson is Biomat Certified." I say, and a few people in the room whistle.

The captain ignores it. As long as the trains arrive on time, so to speak, he could care less what we get up to. I watch him think for a moment, star maps, navigation routes, and fuel costs flashing behind his eyes. Weighing the pros and cons, like he always did. After a moment, he nods.

"It'll save us a trip or two, then." says the Captain after a moment. I let myself feel a little proud and useful for a moment, before the feeling fades. Rapidly.

"And I believe most of the rest of you are Hazmat certified." A few murmurs of assent. A couple of nods. 

"So. Onto the next thing..."

The rest of the briefing passes by normally. Captain reiterating that, yes, we will be rationing our food and other supplies until we touch down after the Hazmat job, and the usual groans that accompany that.

Only Minerva, me, and a couple of other old star-dogs don't complain. You'd think after the first dozen or so wake up cycles they'd learn, but, apparently not. I couldn't help but get a little nostalgic- or was that the right word?- had I been so slow to learn, too? So terrestrial? 

Terrestrial was an odd word these days. It meant a lot of things. It was used to describe everything from nostalgia, familiarity, immaturity, primal emotions, and a lack of space legs. People had a lot of complicated feelings about where we'd started. 

The homeworld, Earth, had been lost for ages now. No one knew for how long, or exactly when it had happened, just that one day, Earth was gone. Not destroyed, or crumbled, or uninhabitable, but actually lost. Amongst bureaucracy and papers and legalities and name changes; we couldn't find the birthplace of our species anymore. Among all other stars, planets, satellites, moons, and generation ships-

Earth was lost. 

At least, that's how it was phrased. That's how people interpreted it, and I couldn't blame them. When you'd never even seen the damn thing, never felt fresh green grass between your toes or breathed in oxygen that wasn't filtered, well, it was no wonder they didn't realize the truth. That it wasn't Earth that had strayed too far from the porch and gotten lost in that deep, dark forest, never to return.

It was humans. They simply lost themselves.

One day, thousands and thousands of years after we scattered our terraformers across the stars, we built our cities. We turned the void of nothing between stars into our freeways.

Then, that old house Earth simply disappeared into that cosmic infrastructure. A grain of sand in a silo of gravel. Surely, it was out there, and there are even a few theories of which planet it could be, or where it went. 

One day nobody knew where Earth was. It only existed in stories. Very, very few had ever been there and known it. 

Anyway, I got over that existentialism a while ago. Personally, I'm grinning like an idiot with my dick bulging out as I stare at Leerson.

Debrief was simple.

It was a biological sampling, taken from a jungle planet that was only a 2 month detour from our route. And right now, with how much it paid; we could eat all this random beef byproduct and pay back the Krueger Deli Co with plenty to spare. I'm talking retirement money. Go get on a tropical island planet and jack off into a coconut all day money. Or, whatever rich people do.

Leerson came back with two mugs of coffee, ceramic and plain, with the company's logo on the side. Terrestrial. Quaint.

She sidled up next to me and passed me one without saying anything, a cream and three sugars in it without me having to ask her. Leerson could be a real sweetheart when she wanted to.

"You're Biomat Technician certified?" the Captain asked, eyeing the cup of coffee jealously. Everyone on this ship subsisted fairly heavily on the cafeteria coffee, and the Captain was one of the worst caffeine addicts aboard. Coffee beans were one of the few things we were allowed to be liberal with.

"Yessir." she replied, smiling politely. I scowled back at all jealous glares I was getting as I sipped my delicious fucking coffee.

"We'll go over what you missed later." Cap grumbled. "For now, the usual game plan goes: repairs and maintenance. I want extra effort out of all of you, too. We're adding an extra 2 months to our route and I don't want any busted filters or malfunctioning rods, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," came the weary reply from the crew. The Captain's eyebrow twitched.

"Say it like you fucking mean it."

"Yes, sir!"

The captain smiled, just a little. 

"Dismissed." He said, and everyone made a beeline for the cafeteria. After a moment of storming footsteps, it was just me and Leerson left in command. Sipping our coffees in tandem. She took hers black with a lot of sugar. 

More on some days, less on others. I smiled at her, but I had to mostly force it.

"What's all the commotion, then?" She asked, a Neuvian accent. Neuvian sounded like old world British, with a slowness and methodicalness that sounded almost Japanese in nature. 

The only reason I have any context to old-world accents is because of the stash of Westerns and Samurai movies the captain kept on-board. Old-world media is always in high demand; and companies make billions simply finding and restoring old vinyls.

"Some new contract sent down from management. Biological sampling. Hazardous materials, so it's pay is insane. I'm sure cap will give you a cut for helping out."

I say, trying to delay another sip of the bitter coffee. It was so dark today. She's grinning and munching on a tin-foil wrapped coffee cake. I wanted to taste her coffee breath in that moment.

"Oooh, exciting. Think it's an alien?" She said, giggling. Uhg. I wanted to swim laps in her. She was fucked the second we docked somewhere.

"No, probably just a bio-weapon or Malaria or something."

I take a long sip of the warm coffee.

I am a comms technician, besides just being a hauler and a decent repairman. So, today, my jobs included sending out our status report, getting in contact with the jungle planet's SatComms, to establish a timeline, and hopefully getting head from Leerson under my desk at some point.

I'm writing up the first status report when Minerva enters the room. She has that pleasant grin, like a cat's or a crocodile's. Always sly and a little smug. She knows something you don't.

"Good evening, beautiful." I say as she steps in, squeezing in a few looks over her amazing frame between looking at the screen I'm typing on. It was all analog here. Digital wasted too much power. Digital wishes it could have double-D tits on a shortstack body. 

She laughs gently, covering her grin with a dainty hand, before carrying over manifests and maintenance reports to my desk to be bounce-faxed.

"Here you go, Camuth. Those reports that you requested."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Please, Minerva will do fine."

"What about goddess?"

She lets out a long, playful sigh.

"It's flattering, sweetheart. I'm not that kinda synth though." She says shaking her heard slightly.

"When we touch down, can I buy you dinner sometime?"

"When we get back, I will be put back into company assets."

"Can't have shit in space." I whisper to myself.

She rolls her glowing eyes, turning on her heel and honest-to-god sashaying away. I could swear she's putting extra swing into her hips just to fuck with me. 

I sigh and roll my eyes towards the ceiling. 

She could crush my skull like a fucking melon and I'd tell her thanks. 

Or I'd try to. It'd probably sound more like "hoouggchhh" to be honest.

"Such a greedy little thing," said Leerson between sips of coffee. 

I had almost forgot she followed me to my office.

"The heart wants what the heart wants, honey." I said.

"And the cock wants what the cock wants." She said, voice flat. She let a manicured hand rest on my inner thigh. Leerson had long, sturdy arms that let her reach over counters and on top of high shelves. They were just a little too long for her body, which did something for me. She took another long drink of her coffee, not breaking eye contact.

"That too, yes." My voice came a little hushed.

Siiiip...

"You always go still." She sets the coffee down behind her without looking. Ka-thunk. "Like you're waiting for a storm to pass."

"I'm just... taking it in." I say. My eyes dance over her. Her lips, her eyes, the zipper that's starting to undo itself from her tit's sheer mass. Lord. 

"I think... you're just," Leerson steps into my space, facing me, pressing me up against the desk I'm half sat on and staring at me.

"A scared little creature..." 

I lick my lips.

"Like... a squirrel?"

Her eyes curl into a look of confusion, and she giggles before she pounces on me. Lips and tongue way too eager, parting mine, spreading me open, invading me. Her teeth scrape, not sure if she's just that reckless or if she has to draw blood every time we make out. A fistful of my hair and my jumpsuit.

"I dreamed about this in cryo," she pants, wrenching my hair back so she can breathe into my ear. I stare at the floor and rut my cock against the tight spot in her jumpsuit between her legs, growing tighter as I get close to fucking her, abusing the plyable space-suit.

"Y-You can't dream in cryo, your brain-" I start to speak.

She kisses me again, filling my mouth with her spit.

I can't really recall what happened next. At one point she was licking the inside of my ear. She made me say "I'm your dog." over and over again, until she punched me in the stomach. Before I knew it, I was laid out across my desk, with my head awkwardly pressed against the terminal that was hard-wired in.

We both moan as I enter her slightly, her hips working as she stands above me and the desk. She had just finished sucking my dick; biting my thighs and ass hard enough that I'm sure I'll be bruised.

My cock twitches, and Lord, I'm about to ruin both of our suits and really give the Captain something to bitch about when-

She throws my head and body back, away from her, by the tangled grips of hair and fabric she was just holding onto like a lifeline. My head bangs against the wall, my breath coming in quick and panicked, and she unsheaths herself from me. My ears are still ringing by the time her jumpsuit is back on. I didn't cum. She might have.

Dr. Leerson smiles at me, spit still glistening around her mouth, hair messed up. 

"See you later," she wiggles her fingers, and turns to go. But not before I catch a glimpse of how soaked through the crotch of her jumpsuit is. Lord. She turns and leaves, walking almost as magnificently as Minerva had just a few moments ago.

She's a memory, just the smell of sex in the air and your dick still refusing to give up. She was going to walk all the way to her lab like that too, the absolute animal. She's lucky everyone knows what I'd do to em' if they even looked at her funny.

I lean my head on my desk for a second to re-cooperate myself. She was absolutely hungry, absolutely cruel. Nothing but absolutes with this girl. No middle sliders. I've shared bunk with a pantheon of freight-hiking hobos and hippies, lots of girls of the night and girls of the street and girls of the whatever the fuck else. 

No one had ever been nearly as insatiable as Dr. Amelia Leerson.

I think I'm in love. Or pregnant, I don't know, anyway, I scoop myself up off the desk and try to focus on the papers. Try is the keyword, because I have to shamefully jerk off twice to even muster half focus; after all of that.

Our next destination is nicknamed Osiris. It's designation is P-333, and It's Planetary consultant sounds half drunk when I call.

"Calling 16-43, This is Starfreight Demeter."

"Mmm what?"

I sigh.

"Starfreight Demeter, Calling in a land notice for... 43 days from now. Do you copy?"

"Copy... Watch out around landing time. That's monsoon season."

I yawn, this man's exhausted energy like a contagious flu.

"Copy, Thank you PlaCo."

Next, is to bounce-fax our reports to central command, or CeCo if you are feeling frisky. To bounce a fax is to send it careening through a semi-privatized string of local satellites until it reaches it's destination. You "bounce" it from satellite to satellite. It takes a while, but is incredibly cheap. 

After that, I smoke a cigarette while reading the last chapter of some fantasy novel. The dragon was actually the wizard all along, by the way. 

After that, When its around 14:23, thats Camuth's Special Hour. I setup my vinyl player, and plug it into the mic port. It plays it over the intercom. I keep all my old world vinyls under my desk. Today, I'm playing Talking Heads: 77 by Talking Heads, then it's The Doors by The Doors. Old worlders were incredibly creative when naming records.

After that I turn on 10 minutes of Thelonius Monk, and then I finish it with Califronia Uber Alles by Dead Kennedys, and then some old nations national anthem. The American One, not the canadian one; although that was equally funny.

Halfway through, I take a coffee and smoke break in the cafeteria.

"You're such a freak," said a voice from one of central's many, many entrances.

I turned in time to see a pale figure dragging a chair towards me. It was Sierpinski, one of the clones on crew. They were lanky, pale, with clear signs of clone degeneration tearing through them.

Besides the normal space-freighter paleness, Sierpinski was albino, with long fine hair, almost no body hair, and wine colored eyes that shined red when a bright light was near. They never removed their helmet on sunny planets. 

Sierpinski, who didn't have a first name, had dodged the worst of the potential degenerative cloning symptoms. Excessive or misplaced facial hair. Various types of baldness. Increased risk of cancer, which Sierpinski did have, but at least they weren't sprouting tumors yet. 

All things considered, Sier looked more like a beautiful wax figure than a half-baked copy of some old fuck's genetic code, sold off to a company for half price and high profits. Now, like most sold-off clones, they were used for dangerous and cheap labor, usually doing the jobs that were deemed too risky for normal workers.

"You ever gonna play normal music for us one day, Cam?" asked Sier, sitting backwards in the chair and grinning cock-eyed at me.

"You call that corpo synthesized trash you play 'normal'?" I grin back, and we trade a little handshake we made up together. Just a short thing. Sierpinski is one of my few other friends on this ship, and the only one of those that I hadn't fucked.

"At least the rest of the crew doesn't want to, uh, dig my eyes out with a spork."

"And how long you think that'll last when you keep hanging out with my ass, hmm?" 

"Hopefully not much longer," Sier's grin turned positively shit eating. "I'm getting tired of visiting you." 

We both chuckled as Sier rested their cheek on top of their arms, on the back of their chair, looking at me. 

"So... whatcha think about this hazmat job?" They asked after a second, faux casual.

"It's weird, so I'm leaning towards military subcontracting. If I cared I would research the corpo that handed it down the line to us, but I don't. Jobs a job."

They sigh a little, and look over their shoulder for prying eyes.

"Listen, I got something I need to show you."

"Oh yeah?" I ask.

They sigh.

"Alright so I'm a bit of an eavesdropper right?"

They hand over a small camera. Mini-digi. About as small as a digital camera could get, and it was still viewfinder sized. I look into it's port at the loaded picture. It's of a monitor, in Minerva's lab. That lab doubled as Leermans at the moment. The screen was a readout, order from command that Synths practically absorb like scripture. It simply read;

PROTECT CARGO AT ALL COSTS

ALL OTHER PRIORITIES WAIVERED

CREW EXPENDABLE

"Huh."

That's all that leaves my lips as I stare at the picture in mild bemusement. 

No. Befuddlement.

"Weird right?"

"I'm sure it's fine. The contract is bloody expensive." 

Long sip of coffee. Pause. Both of us ponder the other alternatives.

"So why is it Biomat and Hazmat?"

"What do you mean?"

They sat upright in the chair, stashing the camera away in a satchel.

"Thirteen parsecs ago, a few crews before this one. I ran a militarized virus cargo. We only needed Hazmats. Biomat is usually reserved for..."

They sip their coffee, puff on a cigarette.

"Live Animals." I finish for them, realizing what they were panicking about.

"Okay, that one is pretty weird. Maybe the virus is in a monkey." I say, laughing a bit.

They smile, but it's weak. Wracked with concern.

"Something else." They say, Cylav accent shining like an old 80s communist bad guy.

"Uhuh."

"On the Buzzers. Talking with loved ones. I tell them 'we're going to Osiris.' They think it's strange."

"Why's that?"

"Osiris has been under quarantine for the past six months. They refused emergency landing to three separate vessels. That's illegal." They say.

"Huh..." 

"So you see where I'm going with this?"

"Yeah, it's sketchy, but-" 

"But what? We cannot take on this job." 

"Oh, so what, we just quit?" I felt my eyebrow twitch in frustration. Sierpinski had a nasty habit of thinking they were always fucking right. 

"We just go home, yeah? Take one of the shuttles and a paycut to fuel it and call it a day, yeah? Maybe we can share one and split the costs."

"Fuck you." Sier sighs, leaning away from me and sitting up straight in their stupid wide legged stance, the back of the chair like a wall between us.

"C'mon, Cam, you've been around longer than any of us. Even longer than Cap, depending on how you count it. You know this isn't right. I can see it in your eyes." Sierpinski sounds defeated. They stare at the floor.

"And what do you want me to do, Sier? You're my friend, but we're powerless here. You know that too."

"Sure, but we could talk to the Capt-"

"Who would say exactly what I'm saying. And then if- if we got him on side, what would he do? Talk to some lackey of the boards, and up and up and up-"

I sigh. 

"It's too late. We'll never climb that ladder in time. Don't you see?"

I wait for Sier to look me in the eyes again before I finish. 

"It's already too late."

...

"So we may as well do damn good job of it, yeah?" I propose.

"Yeah," Sier sighs, not meeting my gaze anymore.

"Listen," I grab their knee, my squeeze going straight from gentle and reassuring to manic and panicked. "It's just a hazmat. We follow protocol, we play it careful, and we're fine. Like any other job." 

Sier stood up and left in a hurry, pausing once they hit the entrance to the nearest hallway.

"Our job," they said the word like a swear, "has a 63.9% mortality rate. That's not even counting the clones."

And then they were gone, and I was alone again.

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

Me and Leerson bang a few times, dinner, sleep, breakfast; maintenance, and then after dinner that night, we all toast with some of the last vodka we have onboard.

Дай Боже! God help us.

We all get drunk, and myself and Leerson sloppily give each other head in the cryo room ten minutes before nap time.

Then, we all lay down. We all sleep. The big sleep. 

....

Two months later, the routine happens. This time, I get the bad pod. Or I'm just hungover, because when I wake up my brain is broiling practically. I groan loudly. You weren't supposed to get in these things drunk. 

Something Something average freezing point of your blood. Something Something brain damage. 

Whatever, I'd done it plenty of times.

And I was perfectly fine.

Coffee, Even Cap is quiet as we all shuffle to the main quarters. The center table is a circle, a huge one that fits all 26 crew members. Leerson practically sitting on my lap as we both chug coffee and eat tin-foil wrapped cornbread. She snuck Elysian Honey in her carryon. 

Having a huge dick really has it's perks. Like honey on cornbread.

I'm putting on a pressure suit; Replacing an antennae.

Something dinked us while we were asleep and almost gave center command a heart attack. Leerson corners me in the airlock bay and kisses me deeply; before plugging in my larynx-chord, and helping me with my helmet. 

"Stay safe out there."

"Oh honey, don't worry ... ... ... Done thousands of these." I say, through the oxygen injector cutting my sentence in half and forcing my breath back down my throat.

She nods, and I step into the airlock. She closes the door, and suddenly in my ear, I hear Sier's voice.

"Alright, let's do this nice and safe today, ja?"

"Who let an alcholic cloned ... ... commie monkey ... ... operate CommSat?"

"Eat shit,  Cammy."

"No thank you, but ... ... ...  maybe piss if I'm drunk enough."

This makes them laugh. The suspense of the wait. You gotta time things well in these suits.

The airlock depressurizes, and suddenly I'm living life in a ziplock bag. Void pinching around me.

I actually love this feeling, once my eyes and the rest of my body adjust and I can stop squinting. 

Spacewalks were peaceful, to me. I didn't really fear for my life or get wildly anxious about falling out into space like some of the more terrestrial crew members. It was like any other job. Just do it right, and you don't get any problems. 

And there was the tether besides. Motherfuckers always forgot the tether.

So yeah, Cap usually gave me this job, which suited everyone just fine. The rest of the crew probably would have drawn and quartered me by now if I wasn't the designated Space Walker™.

I take a deep breath of filtered air, my favorite, and let my gaze sweep out over the fields of stars. There was nothing out here, no suns close enough to hurt my eyes through my horrifically thick and deeply tinted helmet visor.

I turned- the automatic air jets in my suit activating in tune with my muscle movements and responding to me, allowing me to move in Zero G. 

I'd used far, far clunkier suits, heavy things that controlled more like tanks with too much momentum and often led to first time space walkers splattering themselves on the hulls of their ships. 

Even though the suits were far sleeker and almost completely automated these days, that imagery had never left. People still had images of splintered bones and mangled metal, burst O2 canisters sending tiny beads of blood out, out, into space, forever drifting with the inertia of a wasted death.

Couldn't be me. Skill issue to be honest.

There, past the helm of the ship, was one star that was maybe five times larger than the pinpricks around it. A small ink blot of white light that shone through the darkness like a beacon. Our job lay there, more or less.

I whistle a workman tune, comedically interjected with the oxygen tubes forcing my lungs to expand, while I kneel in position, starting to unscrew the original antennae, and getting the new one ready. The old one's tip is broken off and melty. Poor thing. 

I tuck the scrap metal into my pack, and then get to work rewiring it's base, making sure everything is still steady. 

I could practically tap dance out here if I wanted to. The artificial gravity always made these things a cake walk. Just don't be an idiot. 

And pray a meteor too small for your radar to pickup doesn't come.

"Hey, Cam, You hear the Ceruvian Civil War ended?"

"No shit?"

"Mhm, The rebels won too. Silicosteel Corp made some deal with them and now have mineral rights."

"Huh. Well ... ... ... I guess it's better than ... ... ...nothing."

I'm stepping back to the hull but... I turn back and look at the ink blots. I grab my view finder and look out. At the speed we were going, we'd be arriving in 26 hours. I zoom in.

Osiris. The planet is covered in dense storm clouds. It sits grey. It looks sickly. Doesn't help the pit in your stomach as you watch hurricane clouds swarm and swirl.

"Cam?"

I jump and little, and grip hard on the viewfinder.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah, sorry, I was... starspotting."

"Mhm, well c'mon cowgirl, you are wasting o2."

The airlock hisses and pressurizes behind you. The room fills with matter. You swim in it again as you start to twist your helmet off. 

On the other side is a short, tiny femboy. 

He would punch you if he heard you say that, but he was. Cricket is what everyone called him. Everyone also made him clean the vents for that reason. He was holding a clip board, and looking up at me.

"Hey, cutie."

"Don't."

I snicker, and start to zip off the pressure suit. Cricket was the ship's Nutrition Officer. Basically, he handled the food, cooked and freeze dried everything between wake-ups. 

He actually wakes up three days before us to make sure all of our food is up to code. Which is why he always looked exhausted. 

One time he had fallen asleep on my chest while we were watching some alien movie on the television.

To over exert my point, Cricket had never even let our hands touch when he handed me food. Still, he worked harder than most of us.

"I need you to authorize the credit charges for rations."

"Oh, ... ... ...  and what if I don't?" I ask, and then finally rip the tubes out of my nostrils, with an unflattering gag.

"Then I'll feed you the leaking xerox gel out of the radiator."

I laugh, and took his papers. End of shuttle shit. Everyone for the next few weeks was going to need their papers signed and faxed. Papers they were supposed to do months ago.

"Okay honey."

"Thanks." He said, eye twitching ever so slightly. 

I couldn't help it, really. It was compulsive. I'd told him so before. 

He'd said I should kill myself about it. Once, he'd threatened to call HR on me. I just laughed and told him to go ahead. 

I laughed even harder when the Captain told Cricket to, and I quote: "Suck it up." 

So good.

I looked down at the shortstack and smiled my best crocodile smile. The one that drove him crazy. Cricket's nose wrinkled and he made a noise of disgust. 

"You are an animal, you know that?" 

"We're all animals baby," I replied, leaning forward. "Lemme show you what animals do-"

WHAP

Cricket slapped me in the face. Full palm, hard. Hard enough that I knew my face would be red for a few minutes after. I blinked in shock and rocked back on my heels. 

Ah, my old friend... 'Did I just get hit?'

Cricket is already stomping away in his chunky space boots by the time I'm back to my senses. I let out a low whistle. 

"What a woman," I say to no one in particular.

"That 'woman' is a 5'4" man who could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to."

I jump, forgetting that my headset isn't attached to my spacer helmet.

"I'd rather he break my neck with those thighs of his. Mmmh." I pause after a moment. 

"So you heard that, huh?"

"Ooh yes. A real solid one, eh? Your mic peaked." Sierpinski replies.

"I think I'm in love."

"I will never understand you."

"He has hips that make me wanna get him pregnant. Simple biological urges, Sier."

"You are a fucking idiot."

"I know, I know. You better not be recording this session."

"I already deleted the archive."

I grin and put a cigarette to my lips. Face still stinging. I'm about to go rail Leerson over her little research table, maybe even make Minerva watch for as long as it takes her to leave the room. But then;

"Second Private Syntrax, Please report to garden bay for rewiring duty."

I grit my teeth. That's Nutritional Officer grounds. I bet Cricket was thrilled to hear that announcement. 

I have one of those changes of hearts that come with really not wanting to push someone to the actual point of murder. Last couple of jumps. Then we're all home. 

I pickup a toolbox on the way over, and slap Jameson's ass as I walk past him. He's one of two physicians onboard. He laughs, and points a meaty finger at me.

"See you on the court tonight, bitch." He says.

"You'll wish you hadn't when I'm done porking your shit."

I turn the corner and the shit eating grin turns sour. 

I punch in access to the greenhouse. This part of the ship was very important. So, I get misted with sterilizing agent and then step through a tent flap, after putting on a clear plastic body suit. I have to put all the tools through a wash too.

Cricket is sitting in the corner, by a access panel next to a display.

"Hey, I wanted to apologi-"

"No." He says.

Cricket sighs, and shakes their head. Speaking delicately and angrily in a way that made my head spin.

"No, just... I shouldn't of laid hands on you. It was unprofessional." He says, crossing his arms.

I shrug, sorting my toolbox back together as they all come out of the sterilizer.

"No, It's okay, I get it. I've been chasing you for a while now, you are straight and I'm sure i-"

"What? I am not straight." He says.

A moment of quiet sits between us as I move closer to the wiring. 

"Why do you hate me so much then?"

"Because you are persistent and annoying. And greasy. and an alcoholic. Not to mention, even if I were straight, you are a girl, no?"

"Well... You got me there." I say, sighing. We both sit in silence for a second.

"I'm... I'm sorry. This detour has just got me all frazzled. We were barely gonna pull through our original course there, with half rations. We're going to be down to... Spirulina pucks and Protein paste, disgusting." He says, sighing.

I'm disconnecting some faulty wires, and reattaching new wires while I listen.

"You are a really good chef. I'm sure you'll figure something out." I say, absent mindedly as I work.

He sighs a little, and looks up at the UV lights that were currently awake.

"Why did you start working freight?" He asks.

"Paying for my surgeries and hormones. After my first few runs all my friends were dead. Figured I just keep doing this."

I spark a soldering iron a few times, testing it's battery pack, before sitting back and looking at the wires as if they were a beautiful art piece.

"What about you?" I ask.

"It started with a way to see the worlds. See other culture's cuisines. But... I don't really even know anymore. At a certain point it just became cornbread and diet schedules..."

He laughed a little, but it's sour. A heavy silence. I close the panel, and stand upright.

"We still have all that synthyolk from that misdelivery right?"

"Mhm, Why?" He asks.

"And plenty of flour, right?"

"Always."

We step into the sterile-locker room and put our used jumpsuits in the dirty bins.

"Well... Maybe tonight you could whip up a pasta. Watch one of those Ceruvian monster movies you like so much?" I ask.

He's quiet, thinking as we walk out of the green house together.

"Leerson stowed away some Elysian Prawns in the freezer. I think she forgot about them." I say, maybe sweetening the deal.

"You aren't going to try to fuck me the whole time?"

I scoff a little.

"I'll do my best not to be a horny weirdo."

He grins a little.

"It's a date then." He says, squeezing my hand. I can still feel the outline of his slap and for some reason those two combined stimuli make my dick throb.

"You sure you wanna use that word with me?" I raise an eyebrow.

Cricket half shrugs, clearly trying not to get pissed at me again already. 

"Just be good. Please?"

"Oh, I'll be sooo good."

Cricket drops my hand like a sack of bricks and walks away. Not quite storming off. 

Me and my big fucking mouth. But hey, I still had a date for tonight. His words, not mine. I try to muster up the energy to feel bad about it and find myself coming up short. Oh well.

Right before the short... man? walks out of sight, he turns back around, face is that familiar annoyed mask that I'm used to again. He opens his mouth once, twice, then closes it again.

"I'll see you later," he says finally, and leaves.

I sigh, and barely have enough time to oogle him before I'm tightening connector-pins again.

[treethymes]

With the exceptions of North Korea and Cuba, the communist world has merged onto the capitalist highway in a couple different ways during the twenty-first century. As you’ve read, free-trade imperialism and its cheap agricultural imports pushed farmers into the cities and into factory work, lowering the global price of manufacturing labor and glutting the world market with stuff. Forward-thinking states such as China and Vietnam invested in high-value-added production capacity and managed labor organizing, luring links from the global electronics supply chain and jump-starting capital investment. Combined with capital’s hesitancy to invest in North Atlantic production facilities, as well as a disinclination toward state-led investment in the region, Asian top-down planning erased much of the West’s technological edge. If two workers can do a single job, and one worker costs less, both in wages and state support, why pick the expensive one? Foxconn’s 2017 plan to build a U.S. taxpayer–subsidized $10 billion flat-panel display factory in Wisconsin was trumpeted by the president, but it was a fiasco that produced zero screens. The future cost of labor looks to be capped somewhere below the wage levels many people have enjoyed, and not just in the West.

The left-wing economist Joan Robinson used to tell a joke about poverty and investment, something to the effect of: The only thing worse than being exploited by capitalists is not being exploited by capitalists. It’s a cruel truism about the unipolar world, but shouldn’t second place count for something? When the Soviet project came to an end, in the early 1990s, the country had completed world history’s biggest, fastest modernization project, and that didn’t just disappear. Recall that Cisco was hyped to announce its buyout of the Evil Empire’s supercomputer team. Why wasn’t capitalist Russia able to, well, capitalize? You’re already familiar with one of the reasons: The United States absorbed a lot of human capital originally financed by the Soviet people. American immigration policy was based on draining technical talent in particular from the Second World. Sergey Brin is the best-known person in the Moscow-to-Palo-Alto pipeline, but he’s not the only one.

Look at the economic composition of China and Russia in the wake of Soviet dissolution: Both were headed toward capitalist social relations, but they took two different routes. The Russian transition happened rapidly. The state sold off public assets right away, and the natural monopolies such as telecommunications and energy were divided among a small number of skilled and connected businessmen, a category of guys lacking in a country that frowned on such characters but that grew in Gorbachev’s liberalizing perestroika era. Within five years, the country sold off an incredible 35 percent of its national wealth. Russia’s richest ended the century with a full counterrevolutionary reversal of their fortunes, propelling their income share above what it was before the Bolsheviks took over. To accomplish this, the country’s new capitalists fleeced the most vulnerable half of their society. “Over the 1989–2016 period, the top 1 percent captured more than two-thirds of the total growth in Russia,” found an international group of scholars, “while the bottom 50 percent actually saw a decline in its income.” Increases in energy prices encouraged the growth of an extractionist petro-centered economy. Blood-covered, teary, and writhing, infant Russian capital crowded into the gas and oil sectors. The small circle of oligarchs privatized unemployed KGB-trained killers to run “security,” and gangsters dominated politics at the local and national levels. They installed a not particularly well-known functionary—a former head of the new intelligence service FSB who also worked on the privatization of government assets—as president in a surprise move on the first day of the year 2000. He became the gangster in chief.

Vladimir Putin’s first term coincided with the energy boom, and billionaires gobbled up a ludicrous share of growth. If any individual oligarch got too big for his britches, Putin was not beyond imposing serious consequences. He reinserted the state into the natural monopolies, this time in collaboration with loyal capitalists, and his stranglehold on power remains tight for now, despite the outstandingly uneven distribution of growth. Between 1980 and 2015, the Russian top 1 percent grew its income an impressive 6.2 percent per year, but the top .001 percent has maintained a growth rate of 17 percent over the same period. To invest these profits, the Russian billionaires parked their money in real estate, bidding up housing prices, and stashed a large amount of their wealth offshore. Reinvestment in Russian production was not a priority—why go through the hassle when there were easier ways to keep getting richer?

While Russia grew billionaires instead of output, China saw a path to have both. As in the case of Terry Gou, the Chinese Communist Party tempered its transition by incorporating steadily increasing amounts of foreign direct investment through Hong Kong and Taiwan, picking partners and expanding outward from the special economic zones. State support for education and infrastructure combined with low wages to make the mainland too attractive to resist. (Russia’s population is stagnant, while China’s has grown quickly.) China’s entry into the World Trade Organization, in 2001, gave investors more confidence. Meanwhile, strong capital controls kept the country out of the offshore trap, and state development priorities took precedence over extraction and get-rich-quick schemes. Chinese private wealth was rechanneled into domestic financial assets—equity and bonds or other loan instruments—at a much higher rate than it was in Russia. The result has been a sustained high level of annual output growth compared to the rest of the world, the type that involves putting up an iPhone City in a matter of months. As it has everywhere else, that growth has been skewed: only an average of 4.5 percent for the bottom half of earners in the 1978–2015 period compared to more than 10 percent for the top .001 percent. But this ratio of just over 2–1 is incomparable to Russia’s 17–.5 ration during the same period.

Since the beginning of the twenty-first century, certain trends have been more or less unavoidable. The rich have gotten richer relative to the poor and working class—in Russia, in China, in the United States, and pretty much anywhere else you want to look. Capital has piled into property markets, driving up the cost of housing everywhere people want to live, especially in higher-wage cities and especially in the world’s financial centers. Capitalist and communist countries alike have disgorged public assets into private pockets. But by maintaining a level of control over the process and slowing its tendencies, the People’s Republic of China has built a massive and expanding postindustrial manufacturing base.

It’s important to understand both of these patterns as part of the same global system rather than as two opposed regimes. One might imagine, based on what I’ve written so far, that the Chinese model is useful, albeit perhaps threatening, in the long term for American tech companies while the Russian model is irrelevant. Some commentators have phrased this as the dilemma of middle-wage countries on the global market: Wages in China are going to be higher than wages in Russia because wages in Russia used to be higher than wages in China. But Russia’s counterrevolutionary hyper-bifurcation has been useful for Silicon Valley as well; they are two sides of the same coin. Think about it this way: If you’re a Russian billionaire in the first decades of the twenty-first century looking to invest a bunch of money you pulled out of the ground, where’s the best place you could put it? The answer is Palo Alto.

Malcolm Harris, Palo Alto

[belladonnabefore]

Im coming back to Tumblr, and as much as it's not important to anyone, the reason is actually socially and politically interesting and i wanna explain it.

So, some context before anything, im Brazilian, grew up a Tumblr kid in from 2016 to about 2018, left for a good while, then i got a Twitter ( i refuse to call it X ) cause of Animation School during 2022, and now im migrating back to Tumblr, and it's cause Brazil is actually banning Twitter, giving a 8,912 dollar fine to anyone who uses a VPN to acess it and to top it off blocked Starlink's financial resourses in Brazil, the reason being justified and absolutely nuts that it happened too, at least in my conception.

So, from 2018 to 2022 the Brazilian president was Jair Bolsonaro, basically the dummer and more openly facist Brazilian version of Trump ( and that's a whole can of worms that im not gonna get into cause this post is already bound to be massive ), and on the end of 2022 presidental elections were held and Bolsonaro lost to Lula, a left leaning guy that will 100% sacrifice his morals for money and power ( but ended up being, sadly, the least worst option on that election, kinda like Biden ). So Bolsonaro started discrediting the electoral results on the internet with the help of other far-right politians and surprisingly ( or not ) Elon Musk. Following these series of inflamatory accusations from Bolsonaro and the far-right there were a few riots and then his following ( and most recent facist movement of Brazil ) stormed the Capitol in January 8th 2023 with enabling from the Brazilian police and military forces ( which sadly kinda work as it's own conservative cell seperate from the government due to Brazil's badly resolved Military Dictatorship issues ), politicians were evactuated before they entered, but when they did they tore down and stole priceless diplomatic gifts and works of art all over, but since it was mostly elderly people they were detained and jailed pretty quickly, even with the police's unwillingness allowing tons of them to escape.

And a huge investigation was open to see if the Coup was organized by political figures or not, led by supreme court judge Alexandre de Moraes. And well, from the involvement of the police force blocking highways so rural and poor communities couldn't vote, to a general testifying that Bolsonaro presented him papers detailing a organized planned Coup that didn't happen ( that were later found to be in a liutenant-colonel's house ), to Musk stepping in himself to discredit a deny Judge Moraes' requests to ban the accounts of people involved in the coup and in spreading missinformation about the Covid-19 vaccines back in the pandemic, it was obvious political figure's were neck in deep in shit, and Musk's box-shapped visage was no different.

So, cause of his involvement in this crazy mess, various personal attacks on Judge Moraes and the fact that brazilian facist cells are finding refuge on Twitter without any sort of reprimanding from the plataform, Judge Moraes threatened arresting Twitter's Brazilian representative. Elon Musk's response was to completely shut down Twitter's offices in Brazil, leaving them as a rougue agent with no representative on the eyes lf the law, and so Moraes responded by blocking Starlink's financial resources here and threatening to shut down Twitter for good in Brazil if Elon keeps disrespecting and delegitimazing Brazilian democracy and law, Musk responded to this by throwing more anti-democratic tamper tantrums and posting edited pics of Moraes as Darth Vader or someone of the sort ( i don't watch Star Wars ) like the little facist troll he is. And that's why Brazil ( Twitter's 6th biggest userbase ) is just gonna vanish from there today or soon enough, and why im here now again! And let me tell you something, not having character limitations and being able to say "FUCK YOU ELON MUSK" without getting kicked to the curb is absolutely FREEING.

So, prehaps expect a influx of Brazilians even though most will go to Bluesky, and don't expect me to cover politics anytime soon, maybe expect me to cover history though.

Thanks for reading. ♡

[transrevolutions]

if trump loses, his supporters and allies are still going to exist. that's a fact. there are people in this country's political landscape who hold the same (or worse) political views as him that will in fact continue to be active even if trump loses/goes to jail/gets embarrassed/what-have-you.

fascism (and yes I do mean fascism as in the ultranationalist ideology involving belief in a natural social hierarchy with the members of the revered nation-state at the top and a militarized society designed to enforce this) is alive and well and can be found amongst both republican and democrat politicians.

I see a lot of rhetoric going around saying that trump losing this election will defeat fascism in the usa, and this is both blatantly untrue and dangerously ignorant of how these kinds of ideas take hold in countries. fascism isn't gonna get defeated by voting out one specific fascist figurehead, and that goes double when his main opponent is also actively enabling a genocide.

the political system of the usa is designed to prefer just about any brand of horror over the possibility of losing control over imperial assets or "strategic points". the problem lies within the political system itself, not in one guy who happened to be good at taking advantage of that fact. likewise, the fight against the systemic injustices perpetrated by the usa is not and will not be centered around the ballot box.

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

Hello hello! I hope you're having an amazing day! If not then I hope your day gets better!! I was kinda hesitant to try out your matchmaking because I've never done one before but also your blog is mainly The Outsiders and I didn't want to break the chain (if that makes sense?) with me randomly coming in asking for DC ^^. If you're not still part of the fandom that's totally okay! I'm fine with whatever fandom or can ignore!

I am a short queen standing at 5'0 😔😔. I have long black hair that goes down to my waist with chocolate brown eyes and wear glasses. I have a warm yellowish tone to my skin with a scar or two somewhere on my body either from minor surgery or being a bit clumsy 💀💀.

I like to think I'm a friendly person! When meeting people for the first time I'm very polite, though I can be a bit awkward sometimes when socializing but I do my best! With friends though I'm very silly and playful, I like to tease friends, mainly bringing up a slightly embarrassing story that I know we will all laugh together about. I'm very nice (maybe a little too much for my own good) and somewhat smart. I like to play along with the whole "aCTUalLY 🤓👆👓" skit because it gets a good giggle or two both from friends and myself. You could say I'm a bit of the mom friend? I stay observant when with friends, make sure no one is left out or if someone's having a bit of a rough day I stay mindful and check up on them if they need anything or just a simple shoulder to lean on/ear to talk to. Overall I'm a very bubbly person that likes to be silly at times! (Sorry I'm very bad at describing what kind of person I am 😔)

The things that I like: I am a very big book worm. I have a good pile of books on my desk that I absolutely adore, though they're mainly fantasy romance books (I'm a big sucker for those). I also ADORE the rain! From the sound it makes to how it smells just makes me go kind of feral. I also really love the ocean! If I could, I'd really want to just float in the deep blue or go exploring through underwater caves or shipwrecks (to live the mermaid dream 😔😔 CLEORR OH NAUR). I also do a bit of writing myself and dabble in video gaming!

Hopefully this was okay! I'm not the greatest in describing myself so I sort of just wrote down whatever was at the top of my head. I hope you have a wonderful day!! 🫶🫶🫶

No, I’m actually gonna thank you so much. I just happen to majority get outsiders requests, but I’ve been really wanting someone to try and break the chain so you’re actually doing me a huge favor dude

Your DC Universe Ship: Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Explanation: starting off with your appearance , I think that he would be extremely attracted to you and I think that he loves the fact that that you’re short and would definitely tease you about it by lifting you up if you’re comfortable with that and just constantly making jokes about it. I think he would really love your eyes and constantly admiring them and staring into them. I think he also likes the fact that you both have pretty dark hair. I don’t know. I just feel like he would like matching with with you. he also completely relates to the Scar thing and if you ever felt insecure about them, he would definitely kiss them until you didn’t or show you his own scars to kind of tell you that it’s OK to have them. Personality wise I think that you two would get along very well because he definitely turns up the charm and is generally kind person who is also very clever and such, and I think that he would also love, teasing and teasing as his love language I mean, he loves teasing the rest of the bat and I think you guys would have a great time teasing each other. I think he would be good at setting boundaries about what he wasn’t OK with teasing him about and things like that and hopefully you’ll be good at setting boundaries as well. I think you guys could be a really healthy relationship, Which would be a good thing for him because he hasn’t had that many healthy relationships. He also really likes being silly as well and I think you guys would totally have a lot of fun together and just absolutely vibe with each other. He’s also a very observant person so I think that you two would definitely be similar in that aspect of coming from a place of helping people and noticing the small things that not everyone does. Many people think that out of the bat family Tim is the avid reader, but the truth is that everybody in the family reads. They just tend to read about their own interests like I think that Dick Grayson would highly prefer reading things like comedy and romance, and period dramas. he often gets teased for reading romance novels, but I think that he genuinely enjoys them and can understand that as long as he likes reading them nothing else really matters, including anyone else’s judgment, but as soon as he finds out that you like reading romance novels too I think you guys would that would just be one of your things that you do together and bond over it and I think you guys would have little discussions about characters and theories and just talk about how cute some characters are together and ship people, I think would be the best person to read a romance book with. I feel like he also really enjoys the rain just for the aesthetic. I also feel like he’s super grateful to have found you and being in such a healthy relationship and he’s definitely willing to work through some of his trauma so he can always improve on being a better person for you. YALL ARE CUTE I SHIP 💙💙💙

[wedielike]

If u have time, I would love to request a fic about jealous Cher. Because he’s been selling his bf to the customers without hesitation :))) thank u

Sorry this took forever. But you can Read on AO3 or...

---

Ever since Yak won his world championship, the gym has been inundated with requests for personal training, which is a very good thing in Cher’s opinion. He doesn’t have to sell as much and Oyei can’t turn down legitimate work that helps the gym. Not that it’s hard to sell training sessions with both a current and former world champion on staff, especially since Yak kissed Dee on live television in front of thousands of fans. The amount of men who would normally never get near a boxing ring has tripled since then.

Cher knows it mostly comes down to how handsome the Phadetseuk brothers are—he gets a ridiculous amount of requests for Yak as a trainer. Fewer for Oyei but that doesn’t mean he’s any less desired. Cher has seen the way those older women flock to Oyei, fawning over him as he politely brushes them off.

It’s amusing to see, and sometimes Cher likes to perch in the doorway during sessions and watch Oyei fend off their advances. He does it so well, so easily most days, even with the most aggressive women.

Before they’d gotten together, Oyei had been known as something of a manwhore, going through women like tissues. It was obvious what he really needed wasn’t a woman, and Cher had proved that. Cher knows he has nothing to worry about when it comes to the women Oyei coaches.

The men on the other hand…

The gym is busy today, with multiple sessions going on, and Cher moves through the rooms, taking pictures for social media. He’s got a few good shots of Yak and the other boys. Oyei has a new client today—maybe he should get some video of training for reels.

He hears the conversation before he rounds the corner to the weight room.

“P’Yei, you look so strong. How much can you bench?”

“It’s been a while since I checked,” Oyei says, and it makes Cher smile. So many guys know the exact number so they can throw it out and impress people. “Maybe a couple hundred pounds.”

“Does that mean you could lift me?”

Stepping around the corner, Cher fixes his gaze on Oyei and the new guy. Oyei is fiddling with the equipment, adjusting the weights while the guy hangs on the bar, the waistband of his designer label tank top inching up.

Rolling his eyes, Cher isn’t surprised by the scene. After all, hadn’t he used the exact same tactics with Oyei the first time around?

“Probably,” Oyei answers simply, as if completely missing the innuendo. “But it’s more about strength training than being able to lift heavy things. You need to build up the muscles if you really want to pack a punch.”

The guy, a pretty little thing if Cher is forced to admit it with his slim hips, big wet eyes, and lips shiny with gloss, takes a step over to Oyei and reaches for his bare arm. “I bet you leave your opponents breathless.”

It’s ridiculous, how obvious this guy is, with his fingers grazing over Oyei’s arm.

Cher has seen it a thousand times—usually with women who compliment Oyei’s biceps, but Oyei always dismisses them so easily.

Oyei doesn’t this time, glancing at the fingers on his arm, as though he’s confused by the action. He shouldn’t be. He should know exactly what’s happening.

“I’ve knocked out a few,” Oyei says with a laugh, and the guy returns the smile.

Crossing his arms, Cher doesn’t interrupt, and neither of them have noticed him at the door. Is Oyei really that dense? Or is he actually flirting back?

“You could knock me down,” the guy says, eyes intent on Oyei, licking his lips.

Cher expects Oyei to laugh it off, like he does with the women, as if it’s a joke. But he smiles instead and maneuvers the guy around to the weight bench with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Not once we build you up a little.”

Something unfamiliar and hot drops into Cher’s stomach as he watches the guy grab a few weights that are obviously too heavy for him and Oyei has to gently pry them from his fingers and move behind him to support his elbows as he shows him the proper form.

As Cher watches Oyei’s fingers brushing over the guy’s skin, he can’t help frowning. He knows that exact move because he did it first. He did every thing this guy is doing—from the shorts that are way too short to pretending to need help with easy tasks. And Oyei had helped him because that is the kind of coach he is. It had taken Oyei so long to understand what Cher was trying to do, even with the obvious hints, but once he had figured it out, there’d been no stopping him.

Cher had enjoyed that part of their relationship, but he wonders as he watches Oyei with the new guy if it could happen again with someone else. What would happen if Oyei figured it out?

Cher doesn’t like the coiling in his chest, jealousy and anger fighting for dominance as the guy laughs brightly at something Oyei says and Oyei smiles.

He can’t stay there and watch this happen, Cher decides, turning sharply from the door. He needs to not think about Oyei spending all his time with some shameless client who is practically in his lap for a simple weight session. He can’t think about it or he’ll lose that calm demeanor that everyone expects from him.

Instead, he leaves Oyei with his fanboy and heads for the office where he can tell anyone who asks that he’s working on the books and try not to let this feeling take him over every time he pictures the guy’s hand on Oyei’s chest.

*

Cher can’t get it out of his head—not just the guy’s hands on Oyei, but the way he smiled at him, the body language that begged for Oyei to fuck him.

Even as he lays in bed, wrapped up in one of Oyei’s coaching tanks, he can’t stop.

Cher has felt like this before, with other partners, and he’s let it get out of hand before too. For some reason, he’d thought it would be different with Oyei—everything else has been over the years—but that doesn’t stop the annoying clench of jealousy when he thinks of that guy.

“You’re in bed early.”

Cher barely glances up at Oyei entering the room. He’s freshly-showered—Cher can smell the body wash as Oyei slides onto the bed behind him. Normally, he would roll over into Oyei’s beckoning arms and curl into his chest, but tonight, he stays with his back to Oyei, breathing in the scent of his shirt to calm himself.

The mattress jostles as Oyei pulls up the covers, seemingly oblivious to what’s going through Cher’s head. He isn’t surprised when Oyei’s hand snakes around his waist and he scoots in behind him. It feels like every other night except that Cher can’t enjoy it because he’s thinking of Oyei in bed with someone else. Someone else who wears tiny shorts and uses all the same tricks Cher has to get a guy.

Oyei’s breath is warm on the back of his neck, soft and slow, but Cher doesn’t relax. Instead, he reaches for Oyei’s hand heavy on his waist and pushes it away.

“Cher?” Oyei asks the second it happens, and it’s to his credit that he’s become much more adept at noticing when things are off (not that Cher appreciates it at this particular moment). “Is it too hot? I can turn up the AC.”

“No,” Cher just says, which isn’t really an answer, and he feels Oyei pause.

“Are you okay? You didn’t say much during dinner.”

Cher didn’t have much to say. And he doesn’t now either even with Oyei pushing himself up on his elbow so he can gaze down at him on the bed.

“I’m fine,” he lies, but they’ve been together long enough that Oyei has to see right through it.

Early on in their relationship, Oyei might have let him get away with it. After all, Oyei’s family had always been the fight it out type instead of the talk it out type. But Oyei can’t beat a confession out of Cher, so he usually opts for holding him hostage until he spills.

“Cher,” Oyei says again, and his tone is the one that makes Cher’s chest tighten and reminds him that Oyei is the older one in this relationship, and as mature as Cher tries to be, he can still fall into the petty traps of youth.

Rolling over onto his back, Cher gazes up at Oyei. It reminds him of the first time he saw Oyei. He’d been lying on the ground just like this, bruised and beaten, clutching his stomach, when a pair of strong hands rolled him over and he’d caught sight of the concerned furrow in Oyei’s brow, those big soft eyes rounded with worry, much like they are right now.

“Do you remember our first training session?” he asks after a minute, and Oyei seems confused by the question.

“Of course,” Oyei says, reaching up and stroking Cher’s hair. “You wore those pink striped shorts and those adorable little sweat bands on your wrists.”

“I only wore them so you could take them off,” Cher admits and Oyei smiles in return. “And I only signed up for lessons because I wanted to spend time with you.”

Oyei’s eyes are soft as he gazes down at Cher, and it makes Cher feel bad for being jealous, but he keeps thinking about the guy and his stupid come-ons and how Oyei had taken the compliments so easily.

“I know,” Oyei says, brushing his hair from his forehead, a gentle touch that should calm Cher, but his heart is beating fast in his chest as he pauses.

“How long did it take you? To figure out I was hitting on you?”

Oyei paused, biting his lip. “I’d say the day you not-so-accidentally dropped your towel in the locker room was a pretty big hint.”

That had been months into their acquaintanceship, after Cher had tried all his other tricks, even tried blatantly asking Oyei out on dates which he had happily participated in but continued to call “lunch with a friend.”

“You didn’t know before then?”

For a second, Oyei doesn’t say anything, and Cher hopes against hope that Oyei had figured it out. There had been so many ‘accidental’ touches, so many times Cher had dropped a compliment or innuendo, so many times Cher had caught his gaze and thought maybe he knew already and was just holding back.

At length, Oyei sighs, dropping back onto the bed and positioning Cher’s head on his bicep. “I didn’t know I could feel that way about a guy,” he says. “And I’d never really felt that way about a woman either. I just kept telling myself that it was just how you were.”

Cher sighs, looking away from Oyei. He couldn’t really blame Oyei then. He’d been confused and had to figure things out when Cher had come along. But he shouldn’t have to now. Now, he knows he likes guys. He knows what flirting is. So why had he let his new student hang all over him?

“Why are we talking about this?” Oyei asks finally, nuzzling into Cher’s cheek as if there’s no point in bringing up the past when the present is so good.

Opening his mouth, Cher stops himself. Oyei will just think he’s being stupid if he admits he’s jealous over a client. But it’s not just any client. It’s a client that reminds Cher so much of himself that he wonders if Oyei would even notice the not-so-subtle flirting that might eventually lead to more like it did with them.

He pauses too long, though, and Oyei isn’t as oblivious as he once was, especially when it comes to Cher.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Oyei asks, tightening his grip over Cher’s shoulders as if he’s not going to let go until Cher admits whatever he’s thinking.

Annoyed, Cher tries to shrug out of his grip but he can’t. He can’t go anywhere and escape this conversation.

“How was your training session with the new guy?” he asks instead, and Oyei frowns.

“Sun? He needs a lot of work, but he seems enthusiastic.”

Enthusiastic. Cher scoffs quietly. That’s one word for it.

“You needed a lot of training too, remember?” Oyei says when Cher huffs. “But look at you now.”

Cher purses his lips together, staring at Oyei’s bare chest before him. “So he reminds you of me?”

Oyei shrugs. “A little. Why?”

“Because he’s obviously flirting with you,” Cher says, unable to stop himself, and he catches the surprise on Oyei’s face as he begins to work it out.

“Most of my clients try to flirt,” Oyei reminds him, as if Cher isn’t aware. “Aren’t you the one who sells me to them?”

Of course Oyei would throw that back in his face, Cher thinks, annoyed when Oyei just stares at him innocently. How can he be so obtuse?

“Most of your clients aren’t sexy little twinks that you let put their hands all over you.”

Cher doesn’t like how Oyei’s face changes when he says it, as though he realizes exactly what this is about, as though there is no need for Cher to feel this way. There may not be a need but he still feels it.

Oyei lets out a breath, drawing a hand up to Cher’s cheek and holding his gaze steady. “You’ve never been jealous before. What’s different about this guy?”

The hot hungry pit in Cher’s stomach seems to melt away, leaving it empty instead as he tries to come up with the words to explain it. He knows jealousy isn’t rational and that he has no reason to suspect Oyei would cheat. But he could fall for a careful seduction, a slow burn the way they’d started out. Subtle and careful and in the middle before they’d begun. He doesn’t want that to happen.

“He’s like me,” Cher admits finally, knowing Oyei won’t understand. “He does everything I did, and you fell for that.”

He doesn’t expect Oyei to exhale, to smile slightly in the face of Cher’s crisis, tilting his chin up.

“I fell for you,” Oyei says simply. “The sweet, persistent, sassy guy who’s always supported me and this gym, who lets me take care of him even though he can take care of himself, who tells me when I’m being stupid, and who I could not live without.”

Oyei’s thumb grazes over Cher’s cheek as he says it, and Cher feels tears welling behind his eyes. Not because he’s upset but because he loves Oyei so much. He pretends he doesn’t need the reassurance, acts annoyed when Oyei gets handsy in front of the guys, but he wants it now as he scoots closer to Oyei and curls into his chest. He feels Oyei’s lips against his cheek, strong fingers on the back of his neck, and his heart crumples.

“I can switch him with another trainer,” Oyei offers, the words murmured into Cher’s shoulder as Cher clings to his back.

“No, you can’t,” Cher says, reluctant, but he sighs into Oyei’s chest. “Just don’t flirt back.”

He hears Oyei’s gentle laugh, feels how he hugs him tighter and presses a kiss to his neck. “I won’t.”

Breathing out, Cher relaxes finally, safe in Oyei’s arms. He knows Oyei will keep his word, and if Sun tries anything, Cher was trained at this very same gym, so he’d better watch out.

*

FIN.

[sugarsnappeases]

politely asking if you could pretty please talk about option b from the jily post

HELLO!!! let's do it!!!!! this post is probs also gonna be a bit of a mess but it's mainly about sociopath lily who i love and miss dearly.

firstly, i would highly recommend paying a visit to jen and asking her about the baby killing fic <- link to the tag <3 bc godddd.... makes me crazy. but lily killing james (and harry) in general is something that can be so special.

so this is a lily who's careful and strategic and calculated and who's public image is a purposeful performance, she's the one in control of the expectations that people have of her - a lot of the time, for me, her ultimate goal is to be Remembered, or Revered. she wants glory and she doesn't care what she has to do to get it. coming to hogwarts as a muggleborn, she was basically starting at the bottom of the ladder in terms of people that would make the history books. but from there, she was top of her class, and in the slug club, and head girl, someone important in the school, remembered fondly by the teachers. after hogwarts tho, she's still just a muggleborn, and in that political climate, with the war and also just the general blood supremacy ideology, there's not much glory to be found there. but, she has james, the boy who's been loudly pining after her for years, a pureblood with a lot of social standing even if he's a blood-traitor. in fact, it's for the best that he's a blood-traitor bc she's a gryffindor and therefore, according to stereotypes, one of the good guys, on the light side of the war. if that even makes sense.....

so she marries james, and it's a big event, and now she has the potter name behind her. it's a very pragmatic approach to things, but james is mostly inoffensive, and he only sees what she wants him to see, and he gives her a much more solid social standing. and also simultaneously she's now fighting on the front lines of a war and she makes herself an indispensable member of the order. but she's still just a soldier. and then she has harry, and i don't think she really wants him but as much as she's in control of the expectations, she's still a pureblood wife now, and imo they're a very traditional, get married young, have kids young kinda bunch, even the 'progressive' ones and she's subject to that and sacrifices must be made and so harry is born

and i think she's thrilled when she finds out about the prophecy, bc with the war, she's kinda plateauing a little in terms of what she can do to make a name for herself and the prophecy means that she's Important - 'born to those who have thrice defied him' - and that she has the chance to Do something, the approach of some kind of glorious apotheosis. now, if we're talking canon-compliant sociopath lily it's the kinda thing where she decides that if she has to die to reach the glory she feels she deserves, then that's absolutely what she's going to do and she won't feel any qualms about that. taking that pragmatism to the extreme.

i think ultimately (and this is where the murder comes in), it just depends how the cookie crumbles from a certain perspective. like if the martyrdom that she can get from her death is worth the months in hiding with just james and the baby, if it's worth having to share that martyrdom to a certain extent with james and potentially harry, if the uncertainty of what might happen w the prophecy is too great to risk her entire legacy on - she can't just die and have it mean Nothing. if she decides she can't risk it or it's not worth it, i can very much see her deciding to cut her losses with the public image that she's so carefully built up, cut her ties with the life she's lived so far, and fuck off somewhere. the glorious apotheosis is the murder of her husband and son. she doesn't think she's going to get where she wants to go if she stays (she's also very impatient and really, she's been waiting long enough) and decides that the only way out of that life is doing something drastic. also it's so cathartic to just let go and kill them. also it's so sexy.

in baby killing fic i think (?? jen correct me if i'm wrong i may be confusing this w something else idk) she blames their deaths on voldemort which i loooooove but i also like the idea of her just upping sticks and leaving completely after the murder, and watching the aftermath from afar as people are like 'lily would never' and 'something must have happened to her' and the major uproar that results from it all considering her disappearance is surrounded by both the end of a influential pureblood family line and also the death of the child of the prophecy (even if less people know about that latter part). it's another way of leaving a mark. she becomes a Figure of Importance. nobody knows where she is, there's a whole big mystery surrounding her, she's front page in all the papers, it's a different kind of glory. and also so satisfying. i think she also quite likes the fact that she robs voldemort of the chance of killing them. like she would think that she was the one who had to put up with them for so long, why should voldemort be the one that gets to kill them?!?!?

idk i just think it's nice to let lily be messy and impulsive and murderous and just kinda snapping and deciding that she's had enough of her charade. good vibes yk. and then after she like lives the rest of her life somewhere in hiding, she changes her entire appearance and gets a fake name and a new life and maybe she like. makes a name for herself by like inventing potions or enchanting things in like. cairo or something. like she's reached the end of her the performance of 'lily evans', gone out with a bang, and now she's something new, something more. or idk maybe she goes on a killing spree and eventually kills herself too before she gets caught..... depends on my mood

(also. in terms of lily killing james like. in a fic. jen and i have spoken a bit about this big tomlily au - tomlily post for those who are as of yet unenlightened - where we've fucked w timelines and stuff but tom and lily are basically partners in crime/racing each other to achieve immortality. and they're looking into like. all different methods for it. and lily marries james bc she traces the Cloak of Invisibility down from ignotus peverell to the potters and she thinks maybe she could try and unite the hallows. and then she later kills him, taking the Cloak as she does but also using his death to make her first horcrux. tom's like standing in the corner of the room so proud as lily brutally kills her husband and then performs a horrible piece of the dark magic to secure her immortality...... omg what if she makes a horcrux out of the cloak... like tom does out of the Resurrection Stone.... jen are you seeing this?? i'm not entirely sure about it.... will consider further. anyway then tom and lily go on the run together travelling about looking for like, the philosopher's stone or some kind of fountain of life idk. anyway i think it's very sexy but that's kinda just a side note)