#task: cuba

[non-un-topo]

Bro how the fuck do I have roughly 16-24 readings (some 15-30 pages each, some webpages), a novel to read, 3 assignments, 3 forum posts, and some additional independent research all due in the next 4 days. I haven't even procrastinated????

[mesetacadre]

107 years ago today an organized group of workers in the Russian Empire decided they had had enough of war, misery, the oppression of women, and of a corrupt democracy that had promised much and changed nothing, the Tsar still in his palaces, the workers still giving their life for a cause foreign to the working class of Europe and the world. Most bolsheviks were industrial workers, with an insufficient formal education, precarious salaries and conditions. The working class in the Russian Empire had tried liberal democracy, had seen its hipocrisy in the months following the election of the provisional government, and understood their historic goal of progressing further beyond the democracy of the landowner, businessman and aristocrat. It wasn't the first time the proletariat had attempted to take power, both worldwide and in the Russian Empire, but this time they were ready, educated, an organized enough.

The armies of 14 imperialist powers combined could not stop the will of a mass of workers that had realized their worth, their potential, and most importantly, their dignity. They no longer had to bow down to paternalism, electoralism, and the capitalists to whom they sold their labor, no armed intervention, no amount of propaganda, no adventurist distraction, could take away from that fact. This isn't a fantasy, it isn't idealistic, it's a historical fact, that revolutions are possible, have happened, succeeded, and that the opportunity presents itself sooner than most expect. The only task at hand is to organize towards it. Agitation, education, an actual dual power structure predicated on a unified will, not on voluntarism and horizontalism.

I understand the topic at hand for the last 2 days and many more to come will be the results of the US election. But the US is not the only liberal democracy that increasingly creates disappointment among the social majority. After all the posting about the various liberals that make up the US electoral environment, it is imperious that nobody falls into despair. Not in a self-care way, not in the way most left-liberals have been talking about, referring to an abstract sense of "preparing", but because of the simple necessity for this election to further erode any popular faith in reformism, whether it's Trump's reforms, Harris' reforms, Bernie's reforms, or Stein's reforms. Wallowing in despair is as useful as placing yet more stake into whoever is wheeled out next to promise even less, in what will most certainly be also called the most important elections of our lifetimes.

Return to the working class of the Russian Empire, of a fractured and hungry China, to the colony of Indochina, to the plantation island that was Cuba. And I urge you to exercise some perspective. These masses of people had suffered more than you for longer than you. Nobody's asking you to feel guilty about your economic position in the world, we're asking you to realize that, for as long as there have been modes of production predicated on the exploitation, division and discrimination of a producing class, there have always been options, better options than sinking into despondent depression. They have managed to cast off their yoke and build towards a society not based on exploitation. They're not utopias, and mistakes have been and will be committed, but they all realized and understood that it's better to commit our own mistakes, than to toil under the rational oppression by another class for any longer.

[licensetocannibalize]

Hannibal Season 4 Predictions:

Frederick Chilton gets hit by a meteor. And Lives.

Abigail Hobbs is revealed to be alive, after Will Graham successfully faked her death at the end of season 2.

Winston the dog swims to Cuba to reunite with Will Graham.

Hannibal has a 2,000 page long Wedding binder. He is still waiting for Will Graham to propose.

Will Graham takes up deep-sea fishing.

Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary.

A wing in the BAU is named in Beverly Katz honor.

Alana Bloom and Margot Verger happily raise their family.

Jack Crawford heads task force dedicated to locating the Murder Husbands. Clarice Starling is his first draft.

[txttletale]

can you explain family abolition in a few words?

sure. there is no one unitary 'family abolitionist' perspective so be aware that i'm explaining this as a marxist and not as an anarchist or a radical feminist.

basically, "the family" is a social construct rather than a fixed self-evident truth. the family has been created and can be shaped, altered, or--indeed--abolished. this is evinced by the broad anthropological and historical record of radical transformations in what constitutes 'the family' (cf. clans, the extended family, the nuclear family). viewing the family as such opens it up to critique and also to the concept that it could be replaced with something better (in much the same way that, for communist and anarchist, refusing to accept the timelessness / naturalization of the bourgeois state opens up new horizons of political thought outside of engagement with electoral politics.)

among these critiques of the family are:

that it is a tool of patriarchal control over women and children by creating an economic dependence upon spouses / parents

ergo, that it enables and causes 'abuse' -- that child abuse, spousal abuse, and intimate partner violence are not abberations of 'the family' but in fact a natural consequence of its base premises re: power and control

that it serves as a site of invisiblised economic labour (e.g. housework)

that it is a tool of the capitalist (formerly the feudal) economy's reproduction of inequality via e.g. inheritance laws

that it serves as a site of normalization and reproduction of hegemonic ideology--i.e. that it is the site where heteronormativity, cisnormativity, gender roles, class positionality, & more are ingrained in children

among solutions family abolitionists propose to remedy it are:

the total dissolution of any legal privilege conferred by romantic or blood relationship in favour of total freedom for any group of people to form a household and cohabitate

the recognition of housework, the work of childrearing, & the general tasks of social reproduction as 'real' labour to be distributed fairly and not according to formal or informal (feminized) hierarchies

the economic and legal freedom of children--(i.e., allowing children unconditional access to food and shelter outside 'the family', allowing children the legal right to informed consent and self-determination)

similarly, the emancipation of women from economic dependence on their partners--both of these can only really be achieved via socialism (as marx put it, 'women in the workplace' only trade patriarchal dependence upon a husband for patriarchal dependence upon an employer)

communal caretaking of children, the sick, & the elderly

yeah. i know. this is a lot of words. its not few words. sorry. it's a complex topic innit. this is a few words For Me consideri ng that i've got a long-ass google doc open where i'm writing up a whole damn essay on this exact topic.

tldr: the family is not inevitable, it is constructed & can be replaced with something better. full economic freedom from dependence on interpersonal familial relationships for everybody now. check out cuba's 2022 family code for an idea of what this could look like as practical legislation.

[sapphosclosefriend]

- Money, Power, Glory pt 4 -

Pairing: CEO! Silverfox! Natasha Romanoff x Escort! Fem! Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, brief smut

Summary: you're finally ready to start getting to know more about each other while in Cuba. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word count: 4k

Warnings: top! Natasha x bottom! R, Natasha has a penis, big age gap (N=56, R=24), talks of miscarriages (not R), big mommy issues, very brief smut.

A/N: this story contains smut and mature themes so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. I can't believe we're on schedule…if it keeps going well, the Christmas special will come out next week!!! As usual, thanks so so much to @supercorpdanbeau and @rt--link !!! As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

You could barely breathe and the sounds that kept fighting to come out of your mouth over and over made it even harder for you to draw in some much needed air.

You could only lay limp on your stomach while Natasha had her weight on her hands on either side of your waist, getting enough leverage to thrust deep and hard into you and make your eyes roll back as she graced your ears with her breathless swears. She was incredibly close and, after a few more harsher thrusts that you were sure had to have made you slide up the bed at least a bit, she reached her peak with loud groans as she intently filled your pussy with all of her cum. Finally getting the chance, you tried your best to get your breathing back to normal while she stayed still inside of you and tried to do the same. You looked even more beautiful to Natasha as you lay under her. You were always ready to take anything from her, and your heavenly afterglow along with the way your pussy clenched around her while still coming down from your own peak, could've easily gotten her going once again. Sensing your tiredness, though, she immediately stopped her impure, spiraling thoughts to carefully pull out of you as gently as she could while lightly caressing the small of your back at the small hiss you tried to hide, before leaning down to land a quick peck on your bare back.

“You did so good for me”

You could only tiredly hum at the murmured praise as the older woman moved off of you to clean herself up, retrieve something to do the same to you and get a glass of fresh water. You were fighting to keep your eyes open, knowing that you could've easily fallen asleep as soon as you blocked the light coming from the large window, but you lost your battle once she came back to take care of you. You were starting to drift off as soon as her soft hand touched your shoulder to tell you she was back, but still made out her quiet chuckle once she finished her task and settled back in her spot on the bed. Feeling her gaze on you, you opened your eyes to be greeted by her lying form next to you, amusingly looking at you as you still hadn't moved an inch.

“Shut up”

Your grumbled words as you tried to look at her through only one eye seemed to be a way too entertaining show for Natasha as she fought to hide a smirk threatening to come out.

“I didn't say anything”

She was full on smiling now as you rubbed your eyes to get a better view of her.

“You don't need to”

Your sluggish movements as you did your best to find a comfortable position while turning to your side to face her would've made you almost embarrassed with any other customer, but you both knew deep down that Natasha simply wasn't any other customer. You both felt so at ease with each other and when your professionalism slipped away to leave space for genuineness, you gave her the courage for the same to happen to her and the constant control she always had even over her own self would leave some space for a more relaxed version of her you couldn't help but appreciate more and more. You admittedly felt very lucky to be able to witness the real person behind the big title and even though she was still clearly not ready to disclose too personal information about herself yet, you appreciated the effort she had put into sharing small, apparently meaningless, bits of her with you. You cherished every single word, every action, every joke, every glance and, unbeknownst to you, Natasha only felt her heart clenching more the less you asked her about herself. She would've poured her heart out to you, if only to make you happy and to satisfy your curiosity, but she knew that such a thing just wasn't possible. And seeing your clear desire to know anything you could about her, yet your restraint to do so, warmed her heart at the prospect of someone finally understanding her for once and letting her go at her own pace.

The happiness that always came from such beautiful thoughts that, by then, plagued her mind, though, was always destined to get shattered. Because she knew, deep down, that you were just doing your job after all. Yes, you were getting to know her and you wanted to do so, but you weren't actively looking to start a relationship or anything so crazy. You were just a girl being way too nice with a woman like her. Your interest couldn't possibly be as deep as hers was becoming. She just had to keep shaking the strange fluttering in her stomach away every time you looked at her like you were doing now, but your pretty eyes and your even prettier face made it impossible for her hand to stay in its place and before she knew it she was caressing your warm cheek before leaning in to leave a small peck on your lips and bashing in the incredible feeling of your touch on her.

She couldn't believe she was once again feeling disappointment, yet this time around it pierced her heart just so much harder. This time it wasn't someone else hopefully trying to get through the thick wall she had created against the outside and giving up before succeeding. This time she was the one who couldn't get to the person she seeked because such person simply didn't want her in the same way. She hated how vulnerable she felt, yet, for once, such a feeling, instead of the anger she was used to experiencing, got even more curiosity out of her. If nothing serious could happen it didn't mean that she couldn't indulge herself into knowing the most about you she could.

Noticing the goosebumps on your arms you tried not to bring any attention to, she silently got up from the bed, not bothering to cover up her godly body, to get some clothes for the both of you. As you lay alone on your side and admired the cloudy sky, free of all sun rays, the sight of the sea moving back and forth outside slightly started lulling you further into relaxation, also thanks to the oxytocin still running high through you. You didn't even hear her steps as she approached the bed once again and the warm light she turned on slightly startled you, pulling you out of your brief trance and getting your attention back to her. She was standing at the foot of the bed with her gray hair up in a messy bun and wearing only a pair of black boxers and a wrinkly band t-shirt, a kind of look you'd never seen on her. She looked pretty, like one of the truest versions of herself there was and one that made you want to hug her as hard as you could.

She was holding a pair of underwear you recognised as yours, that she probably found in your luggage, and a beige, slightly damaged, cashmere sweater you knew for sure was hers. You had seen it so many times in her house, always somewhere in case she needed it, if she wasn't wearing it already. You didn't know why, but the thought of something so simple such as Natasha having a favorite sweater made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, especially knowing that she was offering it to you now.

As you thanked her for the clothes and put them on, not even bothering to get out of bed to do so, she gathered the duvet from the floor to lay it over the bed once you sat back, letting it cover you and immediately warming you up a bit. You only wanted to admire her long legs and the snippet of her stomach as her t-shirt rode up while she got into bed, but the smell coming from the fabric on your body almost got you back into the post sex trance you just exited. The sweater sat soft like a cloud on your skin and the sleeves, a little too long for you, offered you the opportunity to ball their remaining fabric around your fists, warming up your hands and almost forcing you to move them closer to your face to fully breathe in the scent that intoxicated you. It didn't just smell like her perfume, it smelled like her, like her skin, like her hair, like Natasha.

You could've fallen asleep right then and there, with the soft sound of her even breathing and her smell clouding your mind, but you opened your eyes once her fingers gently moved a strand of hair away from your face and tenderly caressed your cheekbone once again. The second your gaze met hers, the vast ocean outside of the yacht completely disappeared, leaving you alone to drown in the greenish, addicting sea that were her eyes, instead. Gosh, how gladly you would’ve died lost in their depth.

“Can I ask you…can I ask you something about yourself?”

Her murmured question, spoken so quietly and even unsurely, pulled your mind off the beautiful endlessness of her eyes.

“Sure…I'm not that interesting, though, compared to someone like you.”

“You’re very interesting to me.”

Her small voice as she muttered the words warmed your heart like never before and almost made you tear up at the genuine interest she seemed to have over you. It was a bit hard for you to open up, certainly not as much as it was for her, but you did your best not to hold back when you could, hoping to make her trust you enough to let her guard down if she wanted to. And so, with a small nod from you, she moved to lie on her side, holding her head up on her hand, while you wiggled closer to her until you found a comfortable position to look up at her from your spot as you lay down next to her.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Everything you wanna tell me.”

You never disclosed personal information to your customers, after all it's not like they really wanted to know anything about you. Whenever they asked you something it was always out of courtesy, never of true interest, so you would just find a polite way to discreetly deviate the conversation to something they actually had interest in. But seeing the little smile on her face as she sweetly waited for your response with so much interest in her eyes, warmed your heart like never before and made you feel as though you could've never stopped yourself from telling her whatever the hell she wanted.

“Sorry, I’m usually not very good at opening up”

You tried to justify your initial silence as you thought about something to start the conversation with, your mind overcrowded by a turmoil of emotions.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t seem like it, but I like listening to people I care about. Of course you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, though.”

The sudden warmth in your cheeks at the mention of possibly being as lucky as being someone Natasha cared about immediately lost its importance, as you tentatively looked up at her. The disappointment you were afraid to meet wasn't anywhere on her face, though, as it was only filled with what you could only describe as love and care. She was at ease, she was talking and maybe she was even more than at ease. She trusted you. You couldn't ruin such an achievement and she needed to know that you noticed and you appreciated it.

“No no, I want to, really! I want to, Natasha”

You held her soft hand in yours as you intently looked at her in the eye as a way to reassure her of your willingness and, once you tried to let go, feeling slightly ashamed of your initial eagerness with your action, you were glad to feel her hold tighten on your hand, signaling she was more than fine with the contact.

“When we got here this morning you said the smell of the ocean reminded you of your childhood, why?”

You still seemed uncertain for a moment, but her comforting, warm hand in yours and her patient silence gave you the courage you needed to start talking to her. It surprised you how at ease you felt as soon as the first word left your mouth and after that, it was as if the floodgates had been opened.

"You know, there are studies that show how the faintest of smells or scents, in a mere millisecond can trigger whole memories that you never even knew you had or that you haven't thought about in years. That always happens to me with what I call the salty sea, this warm, dry, saline smell that always makes me feel so many things. It's bittersweet.

You know, when I was a kid I'd always spend the summer with my grandparents at the seaside. My parents couldn't take time off work so I'd spend those months away from home, only the three of us. I used to love that, I was always looking forward to it: we always stayed at a very beautiful campsite, in our trailer and it was so fun, to stay in our cozy little house during those three months and have more adventures every single day. I'd go to the pool, ride my bike, play at the park, paint at the kid's club, swim in the ocean, make sand castles. And every year I'd make new friends from all over the world. Sometimes I'd never see them ever again, which was sad, but I knew that I'd meet new ones and make the pain in my heart go away.

The thing that I liked the most about those summers, though, was how sweet my mom used to be to me. We wouldn't see each other all day every day, so there wasn't the risk of me pissing her off, doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing, forgetting to do something, making her forget to do something. We wouldn't see each other all day every day, so her daily evening calls were only filled with love and affection from her. Every day she'd call and she'd ask me what I had done and how the new kids I met were. She'd tell me she missed me so freaking much and that she couldn't wait for me to be back home in her arms. I'd cry almost every night, because every night I'd realize just how much I missed her and that I would've left and even walked all the way back home if she missed me too much. I hated how I could hear the strain in her voice from the whole day spent at work and the pain from being away from me. She was used to not spending a lot of time together, she had to go back to work very soon after I was born and always worked very long hours, but of course it was different in those summer months.

When I got older I realized that being away from one another was actually much better than we thought: after being apart for a while, the need to be together and the way she missed me would make the side of her that wasn't always happy with life go away, at least for a little bit. She didn't get the chance of getting angry with me or me triggering a mental breakdown and her telling me that she just needed to leave dad and I and get a new life or end it all. It's funny, I never realized how fucked up it is to say something like that to a 6 years old until very little ago.

Anyway, during those summers the only thing my mom did was love me, actually, not love me, she liked me, I wasn't flawed and always doing something wrong, I was her daughter and she liked me and she loved me. And then I understood, I need to stay away from her for a little while, so that she can love me for a little bit.

So yeah, it's bittersweet, the salty sea."

You couldn’t process what just happened, but what took over your mind as soon as you finished talking wasn’t the shock from being able to disclose such information to someone who wasn’t family or your therapist, but the fear of having ruined for good whatever small traces of a connection you had with Natasha thanks to your uncontrolled rambling. She said “everything”, but what if it was too deep? She said “everything”, but what if she wasn't ready to tell you something like that about herself and you made her feel forced to do so? She said “everything”, but what if you had built her wall back up with your own hands?

Sensing the panic you were almost perfectly hiding, she gently pulled you against her chest to hold you in her arms and kiss the top of your head before the “sorry” you had ready for her could leave your lips. Pulling back, she finally admired your beautiful face once again, feeling a bit more reassured at the slightly lessened, yet still present, traces of tension on your features. You looked small, young, younger than you were, with almost imperceptible traces of childhood you still seemed to unknowingly hold onto behind your eyes. You looked young because you were young and for the first time with her you didn't try to hide yourself behind a closely crafted composed facade that sometimes didn't fully fit you.

“And how is it now? If I can ask.”

"We don't really see each other anymore, except for the holidays sometimes, but we're not on bad terms at all. We always text and talk through the phone. It's just that her calls now feel like those old summer ones, always so sweet"

She didn’t respond to you, but she didn’t need to say anything, you understood how hard it could be for someone like her to express herself with her words. Her eyes and the warmth of her arm, still holding you in a loose hug, easily made you understand anything she would’ve wanted to express to you.

You tried your best to be as open as you could, but you knew you needed to take your mind off of certain things before your mood would’ve been ruined for the whole weekend and you still wanted to try to get to know at least something more about Natasha. You had to try, at least.

“Can I ask you why you like this sweater so much?”

You didn’t know where that question came out of, maybe the thought had been bugging you for way too long and your mind pulled a trick on you. Great, now she must’ve really thought you were crazy for good.

“I’m sorry, it must sound dumb”

You tried to brush it off with a small, pathetic laugh as you lowered your head to hide from her out of embarrassment, internally facepalming at your impulsiveness, but her hand on your arm, softly rubbing her thumb over it gave you the courage to look back up at her.

“No, not at all!”

The slight worry in her eyes, at first caused by the sight of your discomfort from your own question, soon turned into the usual worry she felt at the prospect of sharing certain aspects of her life with someone else. But the more she looked at you, the more the deep, gnawing feeling slowly got replaced by the mere melancholy of what the answer to your question consisted of. She knew it would’ve been hard but for once she wanted to do it, for once she wanted to try to open herself for someone she knew would’ve been willing to accept what came with her. And so she took the leap of faith.

“I know I have a poor reputation in terms of marriages, everyone apparently knows about it. I also know it was my fault for not making it work out every time, but if I have to be honest I never felt too…bad about myself for it. I mean, I know I’m not perfect and I have too many things to think about to try to be someone I’m not for the sake of a wife. I think the only oth-…time I did was with my first wife.

I got to know Maria when I was in college and as soon as I graduated we got married, got a house and I started working a shitty office job. We struggled for a bit, I wasn’t making a lot of money and she was working as a waitress, but I did anything I could to make our lives better and finally I got a pretty good promotion. That sweater was one of the first things I bought for myself and, I know it sounds stupid, but every time I looked at it, it reminded me that I had power over my life and we could finally have a decent life, I could give her a decent life. I was so happy, not only because I knew I could’ve done more for her, but I was also proud of myself, I mean, I liked my job.

I only realized just how much time I was spending away from home, away from her, when she told me she wanted to have a baby. We had more than enough money for it but I knew that my focus wasn’t at home back then. At first I tried to make any excuses I could, but eventually I just gave in. I think she noticed that I was doing it more for her than for me, but, if she did, she didn't mention it. We tried for a bit and at first it didn't work, but eventually she got pregnant. And she was so happy after all those months, she was over the moon. Of course I was happy we were expecting, but I could still feel my focus being somewhere else…and then she lost the baby and I was so stupid I barely even said I was sorry. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to help her…

We tried to go on for a bit and I knew I couldn't help her out emotionally, so I did what I know how to do best. I worked more and I bought her more stuff and I brought her on more trips but it was all for nothing and that sweater now reminded me that I couldn't be what she needed, that I wasn't perfect.

I cared, after she left me, then I didn't and now I know I just can't be perfect.”

You could still see some small hints of fake confidence she was so used to displaying, but the insecurity and sadness still drenched her words as she avoided your gaze at all costs. You could see her trying to get some last words out and her slightly shaky breathing almost got you worried for her.

“You know, I don't give a shit about what people think of me…but…you make me wanna be perfect”

Her brows were knitted as she tentatively whispered her words, almost as if she couldn’t understand such a concept. She didn't do what she was so used to be doing, what she had done with all of her wives. She didn't do her best just as a way to avoid you getting mad, she did it because she felt you deserved to always be with her best self, nothing less.

Everything was different with you, everything felt different…

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Part 5

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Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox @dmenby3100 @marvels--slut @dvrkhcld @elenimoris @mrsrushman @mrsromanoff @thalia-is-not-ok @alianovnasposts @clintsupremacy @taliiiaasteria @meowymari @lissaaaa145 @natashaswife4125 @olsenmyolsen @angrywhisperslove @aemilia19 @setsuna1415 @letsboandy @mrsromanovaa @wizardofstories @karsonromanoff

[animefreak1145]

Church Bells(Adler x Bell!Reader x Woods)

Previous Intel

Eighth Intel | Before

Description:

The world ended for Bell after Cuba.

The whole world followed soon after.

Zombies AU | Drabble Format

Warnings/Tags: Mature Rating, Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Trauma, Body Horror, Gore, Major Character Death, Brainwashing, Post!Cuba, Pre!Solovetsky, No Solovetsky, Female Bell, Older Man/Younger Woman, Toxic Relationship, Obsession, Menticide

Words: 4k (What's a drabble again?)

▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▛ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▟ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚

 ■ ▞ ■ ▚ ■  “Bell” ■ ▞ ■ ▚ ■ 

Day After Ukraine Mission

16:07 | February 28th, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN” 

“You do that a lot.”

You start from what you were staring at, the codes that are so tricky and you feel so close. The intel from what you have in your hands adding a piece to the puzzle that you’re enamored with—the complexities satisfying a carnal part of you that you can’t name. Your head turns to find Lazar’s curious yet amused smile, close to the television they used sometimes for the news not at your usual spot at the too small desk with the too large computer; at the center table instead is where you chose to haunt. 

“What?” you reply dumbly, too out of your element to say a more snarky reply. The transition from focused on the task to this interruption from the man that is more of an Eema than an Abba due to how hearty he looks and feels and making sure everyone felt the same by also stuffing their face. 

“That.” You were met with Lazar’s finger in your face. You resisted the urge to stare cross eyed and instead gave him a more inquisitive look, eyes searching. Which only humored him more, releasing a chuckle. “You have quite an intimidating stare.”

You push the hand away, scoffing,

“What? At my work? Isn’t that like everyone else?”

Lazar hummed, his eyes glittering at a joke you can’t understand.

“No. You have that type of stare that will freeze lesser men. Or get slapped by someone who thinks you’re looking for a fight. Or get you put into an asylum. Only, when you decode, you have an insane smile on your face. It’d be creepy if we didn’t know you.”

“Uh huh.” You dismissed, eyes glancing at the medical office. “You should work better on your compliments if you want Park to have a drink with you.”

If Park wasn’t in the medical office room along with Adler, you’re sure Lazar would throw his old cup noodle at you. Alas, he only gave you a dry “Ha. Ha.” with a neutral expression but still didn’t leave. He wants an answer. 

You turn to him fully, elbows leaning back against the desk, petulant.

“I doubt I smile like how you describe…” Lazar snorted while you frowned at him, before shifting your gaze back to your papers. “I don’t know. I just…love puzzles. They’re fun to solve.”

“Is that what makes you stare so intently?” Lazar leaned against the television, the stand slightly creaking at the movement, his intrigue seeming sincere. Another question hidden, two subjects being asked for one answer. A wall. “The thrill?”

Is that what love is to you?

You tapped at the papers, biting your lip in thought. 

“Maybe a part…I just have this need to figure things out. To open it up—to find the numbers, the letters, the riddles. In an order that is random but it’s not. It’s just a trick. A shadow on the wall. A reason for each piece. Each hint. Every piece of the puzzle has its purpose. It’s reason for being.” You didn’t notice when you started smiling, the topic consuming you like books and pictures do. But you just kept going as you grabbed your pen and fiddled with it, miming writing numbers or letters. “Like Sims with mechanics, I think. Or you with bomb wiring. You find the hardy wires or broken pieces—and I untangle it all. I even love how difficult it could be if I find a cipher intellectual. It’s fun.”

“Sounds maddening,” Lazar replied simply, brow raising. “And painful. Maybe even obsessive.”

You shrug, staring deeply at your own pen, tone far away. As if you were speaking about another topic than this. Something other. Like a secret.

“That’s love, isn’t it? Pain and obsession?”

“Your books tell you that? Or you come to that conclusion yourself?” You pressed your lips, silent. Only glancing at Lazar(are you easy to read?) who only smiled gently before switching gears and letting out a booming laugh. “With that description of love—you very much implied Adler is in love with our friendly neighborhood Perseus.”

Your jaw dropped, a gasp being released as you sat up rigid in your chair. A defense for Adler and a denial ready only for a startling guffaw to join in.

“What the shit are you talking about, Lazar?” Woods comes from his previous spot practicing with the boxing bag, Mason side by side with his own amused gaze as they come close to the center table. Woods snorted as he leaned back against the table near you instead of taking a proper seat. “Can you imagine our own Robert Redford switching spit with a commie? Ha!”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Mason quips to his friend with a nudge while Woods expression quickly changed to offended with no heat as he pushes Mason back with a disbelieving snort. “What? Sorry I’m airing out your fantasies.”

It was strange watching them. The easy back and forth quips and teases. Lazar felt like a warm hearth and home cooked meals compared to Mason’s steady kindness of a worn animal despite its past and Woods…

You briefly think of the night prior, how charged he felt out in the field. Not eager for it yet…willing to take everything and anything out his way. But his friendly taunts and words to you too. The arcade. The room where you got the intel and the knowledge he had of you, knowing you would’ve loved to play around more with the tech and computers there if the both of you had time and not world ending doom.

You weren’t impressed by his skills. Skills are to be expected in this line of work. People can call you cocky all they want.

But how personable he is? That was different.

It was unexpected.

(Why did it feel like he’s more close to you than Sims right now? Why has everyone been so disconnected from you? Even—blue fire for eyes hidden by the shaded wall, wheat dancing in the wind, artful cracks across a canvas—)

A hand waved in front of your face, your eyes broken from its lost look as you blinked back to the present.

“Hello? Earth to Bell?” Woods was still next to you and you couldn’t help but notice that Mason moved away with Lazar to where Lazar’s station is. Still talking with friendly smiles and easy atmosphere. You blinked again before turning towards Woods, who looked at you with a mix of amusement and concern. “What happened there? Did you even listen to a word I said?”

You didn’t. You’ve been doing this a lot. Getting lost in your head. Your brain foggy and mind distant. Not as quick as you usually are. You thankfully haven’t had this happen in the field. You hope it stays that way.

Instead of giving a straight answer, your lips only rose in a dry smile.

“Sorry, was thinking just how you got the guts to punch Hudson of all people.”

Woods huffed, crossing his arms and leaning back, brushing your shoulders as he did. 

“Doesn’t take guts to punch a prick.”

“No,” your smile turns up a tad, more mischief. “Takes some balls instead. Can’t have balls without a prick nearby or there’ll be trouble.”

Woods made a choked sound, as he stared at you dumbly before slapping the table and releasing a loud boom of a laugh. You wonder how he does that. So loud. So free. 

“You got more spunk than I thought, Bell. Guess you need it to even get the idea to escape in a Ruskie tank.”

You huff out your nose, but your chest still lightened at the praise. Your smile coming easy now and tension completely fallen away. You hid it though as you turned back to your work, picking up a stray picture of the Ukraine base you took.

“Did it for you. I figured you would want to run some commie’s over.”

“Oh, I’ve dreamed of it. I would say top five of my favorite wet dreams.”

You couldn’t help it. You snorted, it bursted through your chest and it didn’t stop, only turned to a laugh. You put a hand over your mouth to try to contain it but Woods satisfied expression only made you laugh more.

“Why—why did you say that?!” You try to collect yourself but you couldn’t. Not when Woods waggled his brows as if in answer. “Pfft—should I even ask what’s top one?”

Woods shrugged. 

“No can do. Gotta protect your innocence somewhere. My mind is a crazy place. Don’t wanna scare you off.” You snort again, shaking your head at him and tried to get back to work. Woods didn’t move as you stared around at the different pictures you took with Intel. “Say, where’s the random pics you took of me?”

“Don’t worry, Woods. I didn’t take out a camera with you over the mannequin—“ You stopped when he shook your shoulder, a warning gaze that only made you bite back another smile and only glare at him with no heat as you pushed his hand off. “Calm down,” you say quietly. “I haven’t said anything. Scout’s Honor.” You raise a hand as if to show.

Woods rose a brow dubiously.

“Were you even a Girl Scout?”

“Doubtful. Looks like you just gotta hope I don’t open my mouth about it.”

Woods grunted. Yet still didn’t leave. 

“Do you normally take pics of everything and everyone? Even on missions like that?”

“I like it. I like taking pictures. Did I make you uncomfortable?” You did take a few of him before you took a picture of the base. It was nice lightning and he looked good. “I can give you the pictures I took to you, if you want. They were good shots.”

“I suppose I can add it to my scrapbook.” Woods joked before shaking his head, his eyes turning more curious as the conversation went on. Gaze more assessing as he stared down at you. “Nah, it’s fine.  Don’t mind you keeping them. After I take a look of course. I guess I’m just asking…what’s the obsession with the camera? Film is precious right?” At your shoulder tensing, you starting to get defensive, he quickly changed tactics as he rose a hand in calming manner. “I ain’t judging. Just curious. Couldn’t help but overhear Park talk to you that Adler doesn’t like wasting resources. Or some shit like that. I don’t get the big deal. But it must be if you keep doing it despite them having a stick up their asses about some film of all things.”

Your brows pinched together, gazing intently at Woods eyes. You don’t see a reprimand. Or exasperation. Or even amused exasperation, like you were just being cute while doing something disobedient—like a pet jumping at their owners even as they tell them no with an amused smile. (“Always the one who never listens. Huh, Bell? Didn’t I tell you before about the pictures?”) He’s being sincere in his interest. It was his expression that did it.

You looked away, eyes taking in the safehouse around them. 

“Ever feel like a ghost in your own body?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Woods answered roughly. You nodded next to you, him taking that as permission that he can finally properly sit next to you. You didn’t mind thighs or shoulders brushing. Comrades now. Both of you throwing your lives on the line. Getting shot  by a common enemy brings people together no other way can. 

“Well, the coma did a number on me. I don’t remember much. I can’t put a story to scars on my body. My life, my memories—it’s only Vietnam.”

“Fucked up thing to remember. That whole war was a shit show,” Woods provided. “You must’ve been young.”

You only hummed, distant. Eyes straying in the direction of the red room. Your skin prickled in goosebumps, ears falsely hearing shots and napalm strikes. You shuddered but hid it by clenching your fists on the table, eyes on your jumbled words of your work. 

“Yeah…Hue City was just the start of everything going downhill…But I guess my point is…” You don’t know how to properly say it, you can’t find the English word for this. Esurient for memories erased. The feeling of not quite fitting in everyone’s circle, even with Sims. Monachopsis. (Are you even here at all? It’s like they stare past you.) “Life is memories. I don’t have any. What’s a person if not memories? So…I don’t feel…like it. A person.” You shrug casually, mutely. Hand wandering to a picture, thumbing it. “Ghosts don’t seem to remember stuff besides a deep motive. That’s what others believe. But…with pictures…pictures are for memories. If I take pictures, I’m actually taking memories. And if take enough memories…” You struggled once more how to explain but Woods was sharp despite his looks.

“You’ll be a person again.” Your eyes darted towards him, giving him a minute nod as he seemed to consider your words with a tilt of his head. The silence between the two of you wasn’t stifling, just…there.

You felt like something was released from you. 

Unlocked. 

The key was just for someone to ask. 

“Hey, listen—“ you turned at the soft touch to your shoulder, and you noticed Woods looked uncomfortable about the atmosphere you created. Not used to sharing open emotions like this no doubt but still had what appeared like care in his eyes. “You should really talk to Mason, he—“

Your ears honed in on the medical office opening, your eyes quick to follow as your head swiveled. Everything turned silent as your eyes settled upon the body you can recognize even in the thickest of jungles or deepest of wet rice paddies. And as your eyes settled, your thoughts of ruminating toska and the sense of lacuna dissipated.

You were so busy trying to catch what Adler was saying to Park beside him, you temporarily forgotten Woods next to you. You could hear him talking. Some form of advise. 

You turned back to your work and absently nodded with a quick smile to match at him. Your lips moved to say thanks. You think you did.

You didn’t see Woods throw another look of concern towards you, of suspicion. Turning something over his head.

You forced your ears to stretch, as if with force you can have super hearing. With brute force you can have the arcane man with valleys upon his visage, with liquid nectar that bounces with voluminous silk, voice of gravel that leads to the path of victory and makes your mind hazy. 

You still had a pen in your hand, tight as you looked down with a frown at the papers. Your leg beginning to bounce under the table. Impatient. Restless. Athirst.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Adler called out(Beckoned, Signaled, Enticed—trinket waved like a treat. Your nepenthe.) clearly, more loudly than how he was talking to Park. You didn’t turn your head as he walked out the door near the garage door, too obvious. But you did sneak a look when he exited, stealing gaze right when you saw his back before the door closed.

Except it didn’t. A small rock held it ajar.

A secret.

“What the hell?” Woods was bewildered, staring after Adler while you tried to hide the fact. Waiting a beat. Or two. Your leg bounced under the table, growing more insistent. “Doesn’t he get his fix in here anyways?”

You heard Lazar answer for Woods, something about Adler needing a change of scenery sometimes. You can see in your peripheral his glance. You ignored it as you stood up to head back to your computer desk.

“I’m taking a break too,” you say, quickly picking a book from your pile in the corner after a brief deliberation.

“Uh…” Woods face would’ve made you laugh from how scrunched up it was as he stared as you quickly fixed your work papers back in the center table, book under your arm. “Isn’t that what you were doing? Like fuckin’ a second ago?”

“No,” you answer, organizing the pictures and quickly scanning them before you do so. “Lazar interrupted me from my work. And then you did. It was an interruption. Not a break.”

“You sure turned prickly,” Woods said in answer.

You pause, seeing Woods was somehow offended. He just doesn’t get it.

“Says the cactus,” you quip with a quick smile, twitching up more at Woods huff out his nose. “I…like taking my break the same time as Adler,” You decide to answer the question in his eyes. He did listen. “It’s what we’ve always done. I read. He smokes. And right back to work we go. It works better this way.”

You didn’t wait for his reply. 

You didn’t even bother to see if he was about to.

You have the book in your hand, and you have your tether(Your eyes looks for the sun tanned gold even though it should blind you, but you never cared for your wellbeing. Protect the quiet monster like a demon enraged. Demon for monster. Monster for demon. The coin. You keep it in your pocket, whelve it—the whispered confession—the gravity of your ustulation and agastopia can burn through your pockets and skin all it wish. You keep it in. Like the pain killers Adler gave you earlier for your migraine after their meeting with Hudson about Ukraine.) outside. 

You open the door and without looking, you went to the left side of the door that’s by some unused pallets. Sitting on them and opening your book to your last point, as if you were ignoring him. (How could you?) He was smoking as he leaned against the wall beside the door. You always left of it, him always right. (▞ He’s always right. ▞ He ▙ never ▞ lies. Not to ▖ ▞ ▗ you.)

It was silent. Only the turning of your pages as you focused on reading, and the occasional exhale you hear now and then if you strain your ears. A puff of grey smoke above the two as your audience.

You don’t mind the quiet moments. You take what you can get. The two of you have too long a history for you to be uncomfortable at silence. Or needing something more. 

You don’t.

(The secret coin in your pocket burns, and you try not to flinch nor whine. You must stay sated, ▚ демон ▚ ▛ ▖ ▖.) 

A shot went through the front of your skull, your hand darting up as it seemed to go to the back of your head, a hiss to your lips. You almost dropping the book with your other hand.

“Another migraine?” He was close. You opened your eyes you didn’t realize were closed as you were hunched over your knees, spotting his shoes. 

You only offered a small nod before closing your eyes again, jaw tight. 

“I don’t…” you stop, speaking more quietly to help with the pounding. The sunlight was too much already, you don’t want to add your own voice to your own misery. “Dont know why it’s getting worse. Is this…normal?”

“It can be.” He replied simply, to the point. “Here. Take this.”

You blinked your eyes open and lifted your head to spot he took out some more medicine from his leather jacket, holding it out to the pills in the palm of his hand. At the sight, your stomach curdled.

You felt yourself pale and you don’t know why.

Adler must’ve noticed your hesitation. Tilting his head and lips twitching to a frown around his cigarette. He lifted a hand, taking one deep inhale, embers subtly lighting his face before he threw it off. He exhaled out his nose, smoke flowing smoothly. 

Your throat tightened as you stared. But not in want. It felt more heavy. More heady. Your mouth open more in a wince than for anything else.

“You know this will help. We gotta make sure you’re in shape for this, Bell.” You bowed your head in shame, book now beside you on the pallet as you clenched your hands on your knees. You heard him sigh. And now you see him, closer—he’s kneeling in front of you. One knee down, the other having his elbow leaning against it. “I don’t have to explain to you the stakes currently. You know how serious this is since you and Woods found out Hudson’s dirty little secret about Perseus and the nuke he has. You know it. We can’t fuck around anymore.”

You hunched your shoulders, as if that can hide you from your guilt. Because you spotted his glance towards your book. You can guess what else he’s hinting.

Stay a ghost or try to be a person? A part of your mind asked. You tried to not let your heart crack of no more pictures.

“I know…” you say, eyes down and to the side. Yet… “It’s just…it wasn’t that long ago you gave me them…I don’t—I mean—“ Your tongue is tied again. Like always near him. You didn’t mean to sound accusing or hinting. Adler is trained for medical issues on the field. You tried to take a breath. “I just don’t want to be a burden with all this. Slow you guys down. I don’t want to disappoint you.” You did a tight squeeze of your knees, practically white knuckled grip, a mix of uncaring at your honesty and hating yourself for it.

You felt your chin be lifted up, Adler’s forefinger doing so you can be face to face. He assessed you seriously.

“You won’t, kid.” He’s so close. Breath to your face. So calm too. Your anchor. He believes in you. If you or him leaned just an inch or two forward—he took his hand away from your face before bringing his palm with the medicine again. “Taking these will help. I’ll watch over you. Just like the good ‘ol days.” He tilted his head, a quirk of the mouth up. And you think he couldn’t be more charming. 

You ignored your past nerves, quickly taking the medicine in a dry swallow, gloved hands brushing his bare ones(Damn it all.). 

He nodded at you, the barest thing of it before he stood up. Glancing at your book again with pressed lips before facing you once more with a raised brow.

“Oscar Wilde? Here I thought you only read Dostoevsky and Nietzsche.”

“It’s a collection of some of his poem’s. And a break from existentialism and nihilism is good for the mind. But you’ve always been more of a stoic,” you shoot him a teasing look, an attempt to get your bravado back. “Our very own Prince Andrei Bolkonsky.”

Adler did a small huff out his nose.

“Just don’t start bowing.” Adler did a quick motion of his to the door. “Come on. Back to work, Tolstoy.”

You nod, marking where you were in the book before following Adler back in, your hold on the book tight. Who knows when you’ll get to read again.

Stay a ghost or try to be a person? 

(It doesn’t matter. Adler made the choice for you.)

You tell yourself it’s fine. You instead let yourself be a book for Adler—willing to be read. You imagine how he would do it, a book of you in his hands. Read through your pages, open up your spine and let his fingers run through your creases—how easily can he finish you? How many times could he, until you’re worn and wrinkled from use? Will his touch trace the abuse of a loved book?

The place where he put his finger on your chin burns.

…

The page you marked on the page reads: “Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light."

▞ ▚

▛

▞ ▚

A/N: Bell is a SIMP. Poor girl. The best way to tell if Bell is in love, is if she suddenly starts thinking in poetry. Bell stares intensely you say? Bell loves intensely too.

I’m also confusing myself with Dark!Adler and Soft!Adler. But again he’s both so 🤷‍♀️ Man so toxic and a red flag, he’s even confusing the author.

Also, I’m planning to write really quickly to finish up For Whom the Bell Tolls. Didn’t want to but I really want to go ahead and write for BO6. Then again, that fic was NEVER supposed to be that long or longer. Sorry if I speed through some stuff, I just want to finish it and move on then torture you all further.

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121 @pyxis-stellae @makeyourpeacenow @obsessedgremlin

You have to tell me if you want me to tag you for each update or else I won't know. Or if you wish to be removed.

[reddest-flower]

Cuba broke through its colonial domination into freedom. From the mountains of the Sierra Maestra and from the cities came the torrential power of the people against the US-backed dictator Fulgencio Batista. ‘The revolution is made in the midst of danger’, said Fidel Castro as he led his band of peasant-soldiers from the hills into the cities. They had triumphed against remarkable odds. Quickly, the revolutionaries passed a series of decrees – just as the Soviets had – to draw the key classes to their side. To draw in the urban Cubans, the revolutionaries cut rents by half – sending a strong signal to the bourgeoisie that they had a different class outlook. Then, the revolutionaries took on the United States, whose government held a monopoly over services to the island. Telephone and electrical companies – all American – were told to reduce their rates immediately. Then, on May 17, 1959, the Cuban government passed its agrarian reform – the keystone of the revolutionary process. Land holdings would be restricted so that no large landowners could dominate the landscape and so that the US sugar industry could not strangle the hopes of the island. The most radical part of the reform was not the land ceiling itself, but the logic that agrarian reform would transform the stagnation of the Cuban economy and its dependence upon the United States. The law clearly stated that, from a socialist standpoint,

«The agrarian reform has two principal objectives: (a) to facilitate the planting or the extension of new crops with the view of furnishing raw materials to industry, satisfying the food requirements of the nation, increasing the export of agricultural products and, reciprocally, the import of foreign products which are essential to use; (b) to develop the interior market (family, domestic) by raising the purchasing power of the rural population. In other words, increase the national demand in order to develop the industries atrophied by an overly restrained consumption, or in order to create those which, for lack of customers, were never able to get started among us.»

The revolutionaries wanted to diversify their sugarcane island, produce food security for their people, remove people from desperation, increase the ability of people to consume a range of goods and engineer a people-centred rather than an export-centred economy. Long before Castro announced his commitment to communism, the regime had already developed a carefully thought out socialist platform.

The United States of America, having overthrown the radical nationalist government in Guatemala in 1954, was eager to repeat the task in Cuba in 1959. An embargo came swiftly, as did every form of humiliation possible against the Cuban people. The Cuban economy was structured around dependency to Washington, with the sugar bought by the US firms and with the island turned into a playground for American tourists. Now, the US decided to squeeze this little island, only ninety miles from the US shoreline. Gunboats were readied, a failed invasion tried in April 1961 at the Bay of Pigs. Cuba was vulnerable but also protected by the deep roots of its revolution. But would this protection be sufficient? Could Cuba, alone, be able to survive the onslaught from the United States?

On February 5, 1960, a leader in the USSR and an Old Bolshevik – Anastas Mikoyan – came to Havana to join Fidel Castro at the opening of a Soviet scientific, cultural and technical exhibition. A week later, Mikoyan and Castro signed an agreement for the USSR to buy Cuban sugar at the world market price (in dollars) and provide credits for the Cubans to buy Russian goods. The USSR would subsequently buy almost all the Cuban sugar harvest, even as the Russian consumer market could very well have been supplied by beet sugar from within the USSR. Prices fluctuated, but, on balance, the Cubans were able to find a regular buyer to take over from the United States. The Russians also provided over a $100 million in credits toward the construction of Cuba’s chemical industry as well as trained Cuban technical and scientific workers in the USSR. Diversification of Cuba’s economy remained on the cards, although it became clear that it would not be an easy task. In August 1963, Castro announced that diversification, as well as industrialization, would be postponed. Cuba needed to concentrate on its sugarcane harvest to earn the means to survive the embargo.

On February 24, 1965, Che Guevara addressed the Second Economic Seminar of Afro-Asian Solidarity in Algiers, Algeria. He had come to talk about the economic problems for a revolution in a post-colonial country. Overthrowing the former colonizer was not enough, Che said, since ‘a real break’ is needed from imperialism for the new state to actually flourish and not remain in dependency. How could the post-colonial state survive a hostile economic climate? Who would buy its goods – mainly primary, unprocessed goods – at a fair price, and who would lend it capital at fair terms to develop? Capitalist banks and countries would not provide the post-colonial state, particularly a socialist state, with the means to break out of the trap of underdevelopment. Banks would lend money to a post-colonial state at rates higher than it would lend to a colonial power. Expensive money would only put the post-colonial state into further difficulty, as it would find it hard to service its debt and see its debt multiply out of hand. To prevent this situation, Che argued, the ‘socialist countries must help pay for the development of countries now starting out on the road to liberation’. Trade between socialist countries must not take place based on the law of value of capitalism, but through the creation of fraternal prices. ‘The real task’, Che said, ‘consists of setting prices that will permit development. A great shift in ideas will be involved in changing the order of international relations. Foreign trade should not determine policy, but should, on the contrary, be subordinated to a fraternal policy toward the peoples.’

China, in 1960, offered Cuba credit of $60 million without interest and without a timeline for repayment. This was an enviable loan. But the scale was much smaller than the Soviet assistance. By 1964, the USSR had provided Cuba with economic assistance valued at over $600 million, while the Eastern European countries offered several hundred million more in aid and assistance. The USSR had also trained over 3,000 Cubans in agronomy and agricultural mechanization as well as 900 Cubans as engineers and technicians. Che recognized the value of the Soviet ‘fraternal policy’ both in terms of the training and in the prices offered. ‘Clearly, we could not ask the Socialist world to buy this quantity of sugar at this price based on economic motives’, he had said in 1961, ‘because really there is no reason in world commerce for this purchase and it was simply a political gesture’.

Red Star Over the Third World, Vijay Prashad, 2019

[sinspirefly]

Cherik is so special to me. Writing their kiss in my fic was a daunting task. I kept thinking it was going to happen, but the moment never felt right for the characters—their slow burn was always going to be long. They couldn't kiss until they were emotionally on the same page, or it wouldn't be earned. What matters more than their physical expressions of love are their mental ones.

Erik wasn't going to kiss Charles until he was absolutely sure Charles wouldn't reject him. Charles wasn't going to kiss Erik until he trusted Erik again.

The moment fell into place. A callback to their previous kiss before Cuba in 1962. If you read those scenes together, they form a whole.

Charles is only able to experience the full pleasure of the kiss in 1962 in the moment he realized he would kiss Erik again, knowing that this time, he'd be able to have him.

Just some thoughts.

Link to my fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33086503/chapters/82134211

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The New Yorker just issued its cover: Donald J Trump, A Man of Conviction, by John Cuneo

+

Justice.

May 31, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Justice.

On Thursday, May 30, justice was served in a Manhattan courtroom.

A jury of twelve citizens convicted Donald Trump on thirty-four felony counts of falsifying documents to interfere in the 2016 election.

Justice was served.

Trump received a fair trial before an impartial jury presided over by an even-handed judge.

Trump had the right to testify or remain silent. He chose to remain silent—as permitted by the Fifth Amendment.

He had the unlimited right to challenge jurors “for cause” if he demonstrated that a juror could not render an impartial verdict. Trump challenged only one juror for cause—a juror who had once been the houseguest of one of Trump's attorneys. That juror was later excused on a peremptory challenge by Trump.

Trump had ten “peremptory challenges” that allowed him to excuse jurors without providing a reason. Trump exercised all ten peremptory challenges.

Trump was able to object to the testimony of witnesses and the introduction of exhibits. He objected continuously. Many of his objections were sustained, and most were overruled (because they were baseless).

He cross-examined every witness offered by the prosecution. He offered two witnesses in his defense. They sealed his fate.

He made an opening statement and a closing argument to the jury.

He was able to submit and object to jury instructions.

After the jury began deliberations, its requests to review key evidence and important jury instructions indicated that it took its charge seriously.

The length of the jury’s deliberations and the unanimity of its verdict on thirty-four counts demonstrate that they were persuaded beyond a reasonable doubt that Donald Trump was guilty as charged.

Justice was served.

The verdict matters because it demonstrates to Americans that the core of our democracy is strong and true.

One fair verdict will offset a dozen compromised and corrupt judges and justices. The verdict demonstrates what justice looks like—and reminds us of what we can have again if we gain control of Congress and retain the presidency.

The verdict is important because it reminds Americans that no person is above the law in our democracy. That bedrock truth must be reinforced periodically, or it will lose its animating force.

The verdict also speaks to the world. It reminds friends and foes alike that the audacious American experiment is robust and secure. Convicting a former president in a fair trial is something few other nations would attempt—much less accomplish in a peaceful and orderly manner.

The verdict gives Americans much to be thankful for:

A fair jury composed of twelve Americans willing to perform the simple but extraordinary task of sitting in judgment over a former president.

A District Attorney willing to carefully review the evidence and follow the law.

Competent and diligent prosecutors willing to do the hard work necessary to achieve justice.

An honorable, fair, firm judge willing to protect the rights of the defendant and the interests of the people in seeing justice served.

Court officers, law enforcement officers, clerks, paralegals, and court reporters who ensured that the court proceeding unfolded in an orderly and safe manner.

Given the fundamental fairness of the trial and verdict, Republicans are reduced to attacking the justice system itself. In a coordinated effort, Republican members of Congress issued statements that called the trial “rigged,” insulted the integrity of the jury, compared the proceeding to “show trials in Cuba under Castro,” and said that May 30 was “the most shameful day in American history.”

While we should be concerned about the assaults on the justice system, let’s recognize that the system prevailed today—despite seven years of attacks by Trump and his enablers. The trial and verdict served as a stress test for the justice system—and it passed.

There will be time to assess the political ramifications of the verdict. Today, we should celebrate that the justice system worked despite enormous efforts to obstruct and undermine it.

That is a remarkable, glorious achievement that stands alone.

Sit with that truth for a moment before returning to the urgent task of preventing Trump's reelection. We deserve a moment of calm reflection and sober relief that justice was served.

Justice.

Finally.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[enigmatist17]

Continuation of this idea

---

Ratchet always knew when someone was in his medbay; it was like a sixth sense their human allies had told him about a while back. Be it the twins wanting to prank him, wayward officers trying to discreetly snag some emergency repair parts, or a particularly slippery Prime who knew where Ratchet kept his good rust sticks, no bot was safe. So when he returns to his domain after diffusing yet another argument between Grimlock and his kin, Ratchet isn't surprised to find the newly arrived human digging through some of his supplies, jumping when the medic lets out a sharp vent.

"May I help you?" The smaller being scrambled upright in surprise, squinting up at Ratchet before shaking his head.

"I'll never understand how tons of metal can move so silently." Cade looked almost awed as he looked Ratchet over before continuing his previous task, grumbling under his breath. "....Ratchet right?"

"That's right." The medic watched him pull out a few bundles of wiring with an approving look, setting it beside a mini-welder and an energon patch he'd already grabbed. "Do you know me?"

"Ah no...no I never did get to meet you." His voice catches, and Ratchet watches as the human's eyes take on a faint glow, his expression changing to one of sadness. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" The medic frowned as he leaned closer, pulling out a scanner.

"For failing you, old friend." The Cybertronian stared as Cade spoke in both his voice and Optimus' in unison, stance changing subtly to give the medic his full attention. "It warms our sparkheart to see you alive and well here."

"Optimus?" What in the name of Primus

"Yes and no." Cade shrugged, watching the blue light that enveloped him from Ratchet's scanner with mild curiosity, said bot's optics widened at the readings he received. "This is new."

"This...these readings are impossible." Cade moved to resume grabbing what he wanted from Ratchet's supplies, the glow fading from his eyes as Ratchet looked through the data.

"Don't ask me, I still don't understand...whatever this is, exactly." Cade shrugged, grinning at some tubing he found. "I was patching Optimus' chest up after fighting Quintessa when boom, it was like I was electrocuted? Next thing I know, I know everything about Cybertron and can understand Cybertronian, and Optimus can quote freaking Shakespeare and understands Earth lingo better than I do. Still weird, but really cool at the same time."

"What about you both speaking as one?" Ratchet grabbed a seat and pulled it over, grabbing a replacement strut from a higher shelf before taking a seat. "I saw that limp of his, you'll need it."

"Thanks man! I'm not the best doc for you bots, but I think I do pretty well." Cade shrugged, pushing the piece over to his stash. "Bonus for not having to dig through a scrapyard, parts for his model are kinda hard to find in a normal yard. As for the speaking thing, Optimus might be able to explain it better than I could."

"Do you not have a base?"

"Uh...not really? It's uh, the world governments are still trying to pull their head out of their collective asses in undoing the ban on bots, and we're still just moving around to stay safe."

"...what?" Ratchet can't help but remember the Decepticon plot that had nearly wiped out their entire Earthbound faction, and his spark twists in pity.

"It's a really long story that I'll leave to the big guy. I've only been around the last few years, but it...it got bad. A lot of you guys are either dead, still off-planet, or one of the few in hiding in Cuba for some reason." Cade shook his head with a sigh, stretching as he looked down at his haul. "So..."

"Come on." Ratchet let out a long, drawn-out vent as he carefully placed the medical supplies into one of his various subspaces before offering his servo. "While you might be a decent medic, I am vastly superior."

"Ego much?" Cade snorted as he hopped onto the offered limb, yawning as he was placed onto Ratchet's shoulder before the white and red mech headed out of the medbay.

"I wasn't given the title of Chief Medical Officer for having pretty optics." The medic grumbled, this time getting a full-on laugh from Cade as he traveled the halls of the Ark, heading toward the room that had been turned into a home away from home for their human companions and liaisons. The alternate Optimus was sitting in his alt mode, Ratchet's years of practice as a veteran medic shrugging off the suspicious EMF field that washed over him, only to fade just as quickly. "Optimus."

"Ratchet, it is good to see you." Optimus slowly transformed as Cade was set down on the ground, Ratchet pulling out the supplies and trying to gawk at the bot, who was far taller than he needed to be in his opinion. "I see Cade escaped your wrath unscathed."

"This time, don't think you'll be allowed to rummage through my medbay again unsupervised." The human rolled his eyes as Ratchet chuckled, scanning Optimus before the other could protest. "What in the Pit happened to you?"

"That...is a long story." The weariness in his voice kept Ratchet's snarky answer at bay, merely holding out a servo toward Cade.

"I'll need some of that tubing you grabbed and the green welder on your left." The inventor nodded and grabbed the required items, Ratchet tapping above some of the worst injuries on one of Optimus' legs. "Open up."

"As you wish." Battered plating pulled back to allow the medic access to his inner workings, the silence between the three heavier than any of them wanted it to be. It broke when Cade decided to stretch his legs, patting Optimus' armor with a murmur Ratchet couldn't quite catch before he wandered out of the room, leaving the two alone.

"Cade has done a good job with your repairs, reminds me of Raoul." Ratchet hummed as he replaced the fractured strut he'd eyed earlier.

"Who is Raoul?" The taller bot let out a relieved purr when the new piece was inserted, and the dull ache he'd been dealing with for days was finally gone.

"A human ally I've been training to provide medical aid in the field, he became interested after helping us a few times. He's quite the natural at it as well, and don't ever mention it to Tracks, he'll never shut up about it."

"Tracks...I don't know if he's still alive." Optimus shook his helm with a frown, searching his processor for anything he may have heard.

"He might be, you never know." Ratchet gently squeezed his shoulder, the Prime almost immediately leaning into his touch like his own did. "Optimus...what happened to you? You know you can confide in me, no matter where we both come from."

"It is a friendship I cherish deeply." The battle mask that Optimus had kept on when he transformed receded, and Ratchet felt his spark warm at the trust. "A large portion of humanity turned against our entire kind after we were betrayed by a close ally, which resulted in the destruction of a massive portion of Chicago. A majority of us went into hiding when Lockdown arrived to Earth, and he..." Optimus' vocalizer fizzled out, covering his face with one servo as he let out a slow vent. Optimus couldn't tell him how he'd seen Ratchet's execution, and how, later on, his body had been melted down for the disgusting notion of human greed. The anger was still there within his spark, a big reason that he kept moving around with Cade, unwilling to give humanity another chance at taking what little was left to him and his race.

"I know you did everything you could, Orion." Ratchet's spark felt overwhelmed with sorrow as he moved to embrace the Prime, his EMF field surrounding the other with as much comfort as the medic could pull from himself.

"I was in stasis, I should have been there, not hiding in some building like some sort of coward." The anger threatened to spill into his own field like a tidal wave, and Optimus cycled his optics off with a soft growl. "I am a Prime, I have taken worse injuries."

"I don't know how he is in your world, but Lockdown fights dirty and has taken experienced mechs down without batting an optic. You are not infallible; no matter what that Matrix feeds you, you fall like the rest of us. I know I would have said the same thing to you, so I'll say it to you now." Ratchet pulled back with a fond look, waiting for Optimus to look up at him. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

"I am too, you deserved to see the end of the War."

[thedungeonbat]

mock exam preparation🗒️

I feel less anxious than yesterday and my neurobiology exam went a lot better than expected! Managed to do 7/8 tasks so I’m pretty confident about my grade :) Went home, had lunch and then worked through the 8 pages of history homework on the Cuba crisis and Korean War. (Yup, half the text is highlighted- people tend to make fun of me for it but it helps me remember things; that way I can remember exactly what information was stored on what part of the page)🌀

Today and tomorrow will be spent at my desk studying for my 4 hour long politics mock exam on Thursday. We got 84 (yes, 84- not 48) pages of material to go through. I’m already loosing my mind and all I did was download everything…

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

World War Z is one of my favorite novels, but every time I reread it I am reminded of how painfully American it is. Very "third-way centrist," very "Democratic Liberal during the Bush years," very "I believe in America, we're the best country on Earth, let us show you the light." it is vehemently anticommunist, and plays the "both sides" card by having a character whose family suffered under Pinochet claim that imperialism and white hegemony are ghosts from a bygone era that developing nations need to get over; "far-left is just as bad as far-right, why can't we all just get along?"

A lot of the stories are interesting, and I want to do an in depth analysis of the timeline of the Great Panic someday, but this is a book that suggests Colin Fucking Powell would have been a great bastion of democracy and freedom, so I can't take any of the politics seriously anymore.

Iran becoming a nuclear nation and going to war with Pakistan

A Chinese civil war splits the PLA and dissolves the PRC, but not a single word is spoken about the multiple separatist movements in the United States after they were abandoned by the federal government for YEARS in zombieland (only that they were "given the option to be readmitted peacefully" when the feds came marching back)

Floridians turning Cuba into a "capitalist utopia" and Fidel Castro taking credit for the subsequent Cuban Evolution

Nelson Mandela personally signing off on an Apartheid-era plan to abandon half the country as human bait

The whole situation between Israel and Palestine (that is a can of worms I am neither qualified nor willing to dissect here)

Hollywood military propaganda gives people the will to live

The British royal family "shielding the soul" of the UK under the burden of their godlike mandate?!? (gag me with a fucking spoon...)

This book would be VERY different if it were written today. Published in 2006, it was obsessed with the Cold War but barely glossed over the War on Terror with one reference to "Gulf War 2" (Iraq) and a handful of references to a low-intensity "brushfire war" (Afghanistan) that ended in American victory by 2008, although a Pyrrhic one. I do not remember nor can I even imagine a time when ANYTHING within this book could be considered plausible outside the deepest fears and/or wettest dreams of the most diehard 'Mericans.

The more I get into it, the worst is sounds. I think I like the idea of the book more than the book itself now.

The prologue ends with a hint at an eventual sequel. The narrator says that a lot of people consider it too early to write a history book about a war that only just ended (and in fact is still being fought in some northern countries), and that it will take a few generations for people to fully process what happened. "Perhaps decades from now, someone will take up the task of recording the recollections of the much older, much wiser survivors." That is a book I would like to read; a retelling of WWZ with far less hero worship and characters who don't all sound like a 30-something American SNL writer.

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Another remastered oldie. No cute banner this time because I'm lazy. [ SYNOPSIS ] Your slutty boyfriend convinces you to fuck in a nasty bar bathroom. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.9k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, sadomasochism, exhibitionism, public sex, rough oral sex, degradation (Zeke calls you a slut, says you're dumb), cum eating, drugs (marijuana), alcohol, Zeke's pullout game is mid tbh, and there's Neopets nostalgia.

Any establishment that opted to have red lighting as an aesthetic choice never failed to put you on guard. There was nothing quite like a wannabe speakeasy to set the mood. You had sad men hiding in corners. Sad men waiting for cute girls to talk to them. Sad men who hoped their presence in a trendy, gaudy bar with old guns hung on the walls made them interesting.

You and Zeke passed by it one cold morning and you mentioned how tacky you thought those kinds of places were. You said you wanted to go ironically. And of course called your bluff and decided your next date night would occur there. You reluctantly agreed. Denying him was a near impossible task.

You were the first at the bar, a disappointment because you wanted to have some form of comfort greet you. But no, Zeke was late as always.

He was probably at home, sitting on his ugly couch, smoking his ugly weed. His perfect body laid out next to an ugly ashtray overflowing with ugly cigarette butts, watching old Jerry Springer episodes on Youtube.

There was no other place you’d rather be. You wanted to be sprawled out on top of him, your head on his chest as he dithered about class disparity in the United States.

We can laugh at Beau and Cletus all we want, but look at us. I pay for high-speed internet so I can watch this shit unfettered and make fun of their shoes. You just complained about two-day shipping not being fast enough. And you ordered, what, loose leaf chamomile tea? We’re just as embarrassing as them, maybe even more so. The difference is that we have disposable income.

On second thought maybe you were better off languishing in a faux speakeasy. The ground may have been sticky underneath your shoes, but at least you didn’t have Zeke blabbering in your ear.

“Miss me?” Zeke purred in your ear before.

“Nope, I’ve been too busy.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Yeah. I got caught up feeding my Neopet… Or if that’s not an acceptable answer, I can say I was sleeping with your dad. You choose.”

“Neopet. I like knowing you care about things.”

“Did you know they never die?”

You order a round of Cuba Libres.

“I don’t like rum,” Zeke whined.

You shoved the drink in his hand and stole a handful of cut limes from the little container behind the bar.

“Really?” he asked bluntly.

“They never put enough. Trust me. Anyway, that little green Mynci you made in 2001 is sitting there. Literally starving! Zeke.” You grabbed his wrist. “That is verbatim what it says on the website. Starving.” You plopped two slices of lime in his drink.

He stared at you, his grey eyes full of concern. He was high off his ass. “She was yellow.”

“What was her name?”

“I can’t remember, but I know it had like six numbers and probably three underscores.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Every fucking day.”

Laughter overtook both of you. You grabbed a table closest to the exit and he slid his backpack under it. You figured he didn’t want to linger long as well. The chairs were freezing. You shifted in your seat. The cold didn’t help your sore ass. Zeke took notice of this.

“I told you I was paddling you too hard.” He took a tiny sip of his drink.

“I still stand by that you weren’t hard enough.”

“You were crying, pet.”

“They were tears of happiness. You know, like when people win a Golden Globe or whatever.”

“No one gets that excited over a Golden Globe.”

You slumped down into your chair. You had no witty retort. This happened more often than not when he was around. In just about every other social situation you were the paragon of humor, a true queen of comedy.

“Aww, did I hit a nerve?” He kicked your shin from under the table. The pain perked you up. You proceeded to stomp on his foot eliciting an audible wince from him.

“How long are you trying to stay here?” you asked, hoping he’d say something like zero seconds or if I stay here any longer I’ll turn into sand.

“Long enough to have sex in what I am assuming is a gross bathroom.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re high, right? You can’t—This place is gross.”

“I had this planned from the beginning.” He leaned back in his chair. “It shouldn’t be too gross. This hellhole hasn’t been open that long.”

“My feet stick to the—”

“That’s character.” He leaned forward over the table, yanking you by the collar of your shirt so you were inches away from his face. “It makes for an interesting experience.”

You let out a nervous laugh, desperately fighting off the beginnings of arousal. The gross old men leered.

“Ugh. Fine. But I wanna be high too,” you complained.

He glanced at the growing pod of old men. “Let’s hit the bathroom.”

He got up, leaving his unfinished drink behind. It prompted you to do the same. They weren’t that impressive. You walked down the hall turning corners until you saw a sign for a bathroom. Zeke kicked in the door and shoved his head inside.

“I’m pretty sure no one is in here. And look, there are even stalls.”

He made his way over to one and tried to lock its door.

“Well that’s broken.”

He repeated this process on the remaining two stalls. None of them had working locks.

You looked around. “This is—”

“An even better opportunity than I could have imagined.”

You were speechless. You knew he was a borderline insatiable tramp, but this was a lot. You were conflicted. On one hand, getting railed by him always sounded like a good time. But on the other, getting potentially caught by one of those decaying dinosaurs sounded like torture. And you hadn’t committed any crimes bearing that level of punishment.

“But those guys are so weird looking,” you whined like a child.

“Who cares?”

“I care. It’d be one thing if they were like your hot friends…”

“You can’t say that and not specify which ones. It’s illegal. You and I both know that.”

“Fuck… Pieck, duh. Or Colt.”

“Oh god. Really?... Colt?” he sounded vaguely disgusted.

“Fuck you! Yeah, really Colt. It’d be a learning experience for him.”

“I wouldn’t let him join in.”

You smirked. “You say that now, but in the moment the tides may change.” You punctuated the sentence with a wink.

“Alright, you might have a point with the Colt thing. But I’m disappointed Reiner didn’t come up.”

“You know you can just say who you would want to catch us? Like my answers aren’t the end-all-be-all.”

You went to join him in the decrepit stall. You hugged his toned body and buried your face into the crook of his neck. His hands went straight to your ass, typical.

“Reiner, because I know it’d fuck with him,” he yammered on. “Or what’s that one guy’s name? The one that hangs out with my brother?”

“So many people hang out with your brother. You really want a 19-year-old catching us?”

“Hush. I’m thinking. Blonde. Blue eyes.” He paused. “Also Colt’s 19, dumb ass.”

“Colt doesn’t count!! Are you thinking of Historia?”

“What?! No.”

Zeke broke the hug and rubbed his temples. “It’s a boy. He is a boy.”

“Well, more like a man.”

“You’re not helping. Blonde. Blue eyes. He’s a,” Zeke paused for emphasis, “man.”

“I think that’s Armi—”

He barreled through your sentence. “Armin! Yes, him. It’d fuck him up too. He’s like an angel; we’d be stripping him of all innocence.”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure a cute, 19-year-old college boy is getting at least some form of action. We all know who the right option is.”

“Alright, fuck it. Fine. Colt. Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Pervert,” he mumbled.

“Like you have room to talk.”

You grazed his cock with your hand. He smirked and pulled a joint from his pack of cigarettes. He held it between his lips and sparked it.

“I see you’re not concerned about getting caught.” He took a hit and then passed it to you.

You took a heavy drag off the joint. “I’m already going to get loudly fucked in a bathroom. I might as be high.”

You passed the joint back to him and he took a lengthy hit. He let the smoke drift from his mouth slowly. You plucked the joint from his fingers.

“I recommend taking another. A long one.”

“Why?” you said, smoke drifting from your mouth.

“Because you’re getting on your knees the second you exhale.”

You held the rest of the smoke in for as long as you could to spite him. But Zeke quickly tired of your bullshit and took the joint from you. He grabbed a chunk of your hair from the back of your scalp and pulled.

“Knees,” he muttered.

You scoffed. “Rude.”

However you did as you were told and he loosened his grip. He took a hit from the joint and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. The ground wasn’t sticky, but that did little to quell your disgust. You were always ashamed at the depths of depravity you allowed yourself to descend into for your boyfriend.

You looked up at him and asked, “Are you really gonna be able to keep the door shut?”

“No. Undo my belt.”

You gritted your teeth and started to fiddle with his belt. His rough hand rested on your head, softly caressing it. You knew such tenderness wouldn’t last long.

“I know you can work faster than that.”

You sighed dramatically. You quickly pulled his belt off and unbuttoned his jeans. You pulled them down and noted that his black briefs were sullied with precum. You yanked his underwear down and was greeted by his thick cock, a beautiful sight to behold. Drool pooled in your mouth, a small drop of it trickled from the corner of your mouth. Zeke lifted your chin and wiped it away with his calloused thumb.

“You’re foul. What will I ever do with you?”

You gazed up at him. “I don’t know… Let me milk every drop of cum from your cock?”

He smirked. “You’re so fucking stupid. Are you done talking?”

“I guess. I can’t think of anything else to—”

He grabbed the back of your head and forced his cock into your mouth. You lurched forward, using the bathroom stall door to keep some semblance of balance. His thrusts were methodical. Never too deep as he didn’t want you to gag on him, it was too early for that.

“You’re filthy, you know that? An utter degenerate.”

He continued to plunge his cock deeper and deeper into your mouth. You carefully breathed through your nose and tried to not cough on his length.

“You deserve to get caught. Everyone deserves to know what a disgusting slut you are.”

You attempted a nod, but Zeke put his rugged palm on your forehead and shoved you off of his cock.

“Say it.”

“I deserve to get caught.”

His grey stared down at you hazy with lust. “And?” He took one last hit off the joint.

“And everyone deserves to know how gross I am.”

He frowned and blew the smoke directly in your face. “Not quite, but close enough.” He shoved his cock back down your throat.

The bathroom stall proved to be a poor source of balance so you rested your hands on his tense thighs. His muscles contracted with pleasure. You relaxed your throat, finally getting the entirety of his cock in your mouth. You held it there for a few seconds before you felt the beginning of a gag. You pushed his hips away from you. He pulled out and continued to jerk off as you coughed and caught your breath.

“I’m getting really close,” he teased.

You smacked his hand away. You spit in yours and jerked him off while running your tongue along his slit.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He held your head in place and rammed his cock in your mouth. You grabbed onto his taut ass for leverage. His thrusts were becoming sloppy. He came hard, filling your throat with cum.

“I’m getting fucked, right?” you asked, wiping your lips.

“No, I thought I’d just stand here in this bathroom with my dick out.”

You rolled your eyes and got undressed. He led you out of the stall and shoved you against the sink. He groped your breasts, rough fingers pinching your nipples.

“Ouch!” you yelped.

Zeke laughed and pinched harder. He slipped three of his dexterous fingers into your slick pussy. They slid in and out with ease. He pushed you harder against the sink, the basin digging into your spine. You winced. He took notice and put his hands under your ass and lifted you up.

“Lock your legs around me,” he commanded.

He slammed his cock balls deep inside you. There was no tenderness in his thrusts. He wanted you to moan his name louder than you’d moan anyone else’s. But you resisted. The last thing you wanted to do was to bring any attention to yourself.

“Come on, pet,” he practically begged. “Say my name.”

You shook your head. You pictured those leering old men sipping their martinis, cocks stiff as they heard you moan. Zeke rubbed your clit with his thumb and started kissing your neck. His soft flaxen beard tickled your skin.

“Say my name or else I’ll go find some cheap whore that will.” 

His breath was hot on your neck. He pressed his thumb down hard on your clit.

“Fuck! Zeke!” Your legs tightened around his waist.

He placed his hand under your chin and forced you to make eye contact. His eyes were feral, darkened with desire.

“Weak. You can do better than that.”

You hugged him closer, fingernails digging into his chiseled back.

“Zeke!”

You felt your body growing warmer. Every cell in your body writhed with pleasure. You clung to his body as your orgasm intensified.

“I don’t remember giving you permission,” he whispered in your ear.

You attempted to hold back but it was too late. You moaned his name louder than even he anticipated. He held his hand over your mouth, his cock still inside you, thrusting away.

“I don’t remember saying you should start screaming either.” His tone was anxious. “I never thought I’d say this, but please shut the fuck up.”

You glared at him, but remained silent and allowed him to continue fucking you with his engorged cock.

“Good girl.”

The words barely left his lips before he let out a hearty moan. He pulled out of you.

“Hurry, get on your knees.”

You dropped down to them and opened your mouth. For the first time in years he missed, getting his cum all over your chin and down your neck. You were not impressed.

“You look so cute.”

He pinched your cheek and ordered you to stand up. He held your face in his hands. Just as he went to lick your neck the bathroom door swung open. It was one of the old men. Zeke didn’t stop licking you.

“Oh my word! I am so sorry. You, uh… You two… have fun.”

The guy ran out as quickly as he came in.

“I wonder if I could pay that guy to walk in on us whenever I want.”

You went to search for your underwear and found them inside a toilet. You flushed them away.

 “No. We talked about this already.”

“Colt would be traumatized if he walked in on this.”

Zeke finally put his dick away. You both stood at the sink washing your hands.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?! Whatever, let’s leave before we get kicked out for being absolutely disgusting. Not that I ever plan on coming back here.”

You walked out of the bathroom and faced the geezers. You kept your head down. Zeke on the other hand seemed to relish in the shame and even tried to high five the man who caught you.

Zeke grabbed his backpack from under the table you two had been previously sitting at. You headed to the spiral staircase that led to the exit. It was one of those rickety metal ones that would be considered decorative in a world that made sense. Zeke offered you his elbow and you held on while you cautiously made your way down the stairs. You pushed through the heavy doors and were greeted by a rush of cold air.

You shivered. “Fuck! I was inside before the sun went down.”

You were woefully unprepared for the weather.

“Good thing I’m a genius then, huh?” He pulled out a sweatshirt from his backpack. “Arms up.”

You raised your arms and he tugged the sweatshirt down onto your body.

“Thank you. I didn’t think it would be so chilly.”

Zeke pointed up at the perfectly clear night sky. “Yeah, we’re in for a cold one. Look.”

You both let out a collective whoa. It was a gorgeous sight; it almost made up for the ugliness that had previously occurred moments ago.

Zeke lightly slapped your ass. “Let’s get moving. We need to shower.”

“Come on, you don’t wanna stare at something dumb ass beautiful?”

If you had craned your neck back any further to see the stars you would have toppled over.“I already have a beautiful dumb ass I can stare at whenever I want. Now come on. I was balls deep in a paternity dispute before I got here. You’re going to love it, the baby daddy threw his gold tooth at his ex-wife. Jerry is pissed.”

[catboymoments]

I've been on a bit of a Danganronpa kick lately, and I wanted to share some thoughts I remembered (originally from 2022).

I am having a hard time believing that the whole world outside of Japan also suffered from the same total societal collapse (+ brainwashing?) that Japan fell to. Yes, I can imagine that countries with particularly close ties to Japan could suffer greatly, some perhaps even falling to civil conflict, but I'm not sure if I buy the totality of it, especially in the countries more isolated from the outside world (eg. Cuba), or ones with draconian censorship regimes (eg. China). The developing countries in particular I imagine would be spared most of the brainwashing, instead taking the brunt of the damage from the worldwide economic crisis, which yes it would also end in blood, but -- if I allow myself to be cynical for a moment -- nothing that particularly exceeds the scale of the wars and genocides we've seen there in the late 20th century. Really, the less culturally connected a country is to Japan, the less brainwashed its populace should probably be, given how Japanese Hope's Peak student body is. And, especially in the developed countries, this is probably where the effects of the Tragedy are the lightest, allowing them to gather themselves relatively quickly and act as starting points for rebuilding the world. Which honestly provides interesting story material on its own, as many of these governments could have visions of the post-Tragedy world that conflict with the Future Foundation's and each other's...

This is going to be a direct criticism of the Future Foundation now: of their 14 divisions, none of them are tasked with rebuilding of governments, local and national institutions of power. Almost as if they planned on ruling the world indefinitely after defeating Despair. And the fact that they don't seem to have a plan for handing over power makes me fear for how the world would actually look after their victory at the end of DR3. And when people start demanding a say in how they're governed, how will they respond? Will they respond to these protests like Hope's Peak did to the Parade, and set up another Tragedy as a result? Will they hastily restore status quo ante, with all its systemic failures that allowed Despair to fester and set up a Tragedy reprise, just further down the line than the first option? Because fixing these systemic problems is a work that should be started Day 1 of the Foundation's operations, to have a proper plan that adequately addresses them. And, like I said, they don't seem to have any kind of team dedicated to making such a plan.

I know this is a long ask, but I needed to get all of this off my chest. Thank you for your time, and have a nice day.

I agree with u. DR3 has so many issues

[possumcollege]

Tumblr just fed me a repost thread where someone responded to a meme that said "The Right gave us the Klan and the Left gave us weekends" with this extremely broken nugget of US history. 👇

🌈 This is horseshit.

1: In the 1860s, under what US historians call the Third Party System Republicans were what we would call "progressive" and Democrats were the "conservative" party.

Lincoln was a Republican, as were many Americans who called for the abolition of slavery. Lincoln stated that he was not personally in favor of total abolition and emancipation but he did believe regulation of slavery was a power of the federal government as opposed to state governments. Democrats of the Reconstruction Era favored strict moral legislation against race mixing, opposed citizenship and voting rights for African Americans, and largely opposed the expansion of Federal powers over the individual states.

It's honest-to-god not that hard to understand that American political parties haven't always been the exact same parties they are today. I can't help it if no one ever taught them this but it isn't an obscure or contested piece of information. Anybody trotting this shit out as a dunk on contemporary Democrats is either wrong or lying.

2: The Klan was never a "Leftist Anarchist alternative to law enforcement"

The concept of organized State law enforcement was barely a thing in the South at that time. Most southern law enforcemement consisted of slave patrols mustered from state militias, tasked with finding and capturing runaways, and preventing large-scale slave rebellions like the French experienced in the Caribbean. Slave patrols were abolished after the Civil War and officers were instead charged with enforcing "Jim Crow" laws under Reconstruction. Many of the Klan's tactics were literally the unofficial, vigilante continuation of practices that were legal for slave patrols. At no point were organized "law enforcement" and the Klan working at cross purposes. They both sought to maintain the social order through violent enforcement of white supremacy, the klan just wasn't an official agent of the state.

Anarchists may seek to operate without centralized state authority, but vigilantes are not inherently "Anarchists" because they're ungoverned. By that reasoning, children fighting on the playground are Anarchists.

White Supremacy is itself antithetical to central Anarchist principles, which call for a society based on voluntary participation, free of social heirarchy, or rule-by-force.

3: Whether they know it or not, when someone says that the Klan formed as any kind of peacekeeping force, they are parroting Pro-Klan propaganda.

There are 3 distinct, widely accepted eras of organizations calling themselves the KKK. The first is the most relevant as it formed during Reconstruction in the immediate aftermath of the American Civil War. It began when a number of young Southern men and Confederate veterans took it upon themselves to terrorize and intimidate newly-free African Americans by raiding homes and businesses, destroying property, harassing black communities, and murdering black leaders, organizers, and their allies.

The first iterations of the Klan were heavily influenced by a growing fascination with fraternal orders and secret societies in America during that era. They cribbed heavily from another secret society, the Knights of the Golden Circle, (the Klan's name came from the Greek word for "circle") who hoped to establish a new county around the legality of slavery. This country would've included the states of the CSA, Mexico, Cuba, the islands of the Caribbean, and parts of Central/ South America.

Claims that the Klan existed to oust Scalawags, Carpetbaggers and other Northern opportunists (often said to be Jews and Catholics) who rushed in to fill the vacuum of deposed Southern leadership doesn't emerge until 1868-69 when Nathan Bedford Forrest was formally elected as their first (holy fucking shit 🤦‍♂️) "Grand Wizard."

(this absolute dipshit)

These retroactive narratives were further amplified in the 1880s-90s as Lost Cause rhetoric began to gain momentum among those sympathetic to the confederacy, white supremacists, and those seeking to profit off the continued disenfranchisement of African Americans as cheap prison labor.

These tales of masked men protecting downtrodden southern whites from the grasping, predatory Yankee Carpetbaggers were further enshrined as founding myths of the second Klan, in Georgia in 1915. It remains a popular Whitewashing narrative to this day.

I do not give half a proud southern shit what the guys who were scamming their buddies into buying official Klan dishes in the 20s said the Klan was about. Those actually existed btw. I don't have to give Forrest's claims any more weight than I give Spencer's claims on the motivation of neo-nazis.

Spencer got exactly what both of them deserved when he got socked in the head on TV.

[maurawrites]

William Levy gif pack [‘Killing Sarai’]

In this here gif pack you’ll find 541 gifs of William in the movie ‘Killing Sarai' (originally known as 'En Brazos de un Asesino'). All these gifs were made by me, so please don’t claim as your own. Do NOT put into other gif hunts.  If credit is given, you may use/edit them as sidebars, crackships, etc, just please ( @ ) me in your creations!

Made for @tasksweekly tasks #027: Cuba, #070: Jewish, and #016: Age Diversity  

Trigger warnings for: violence, guns, blood, nsfw content

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