#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????

[nerdykeppie]

Today, rather than talking about some washed-up former orange juice hawker who is currently hopefully getting pies to the face for eternity, let's instead remember Thomas Lawrence Higgins (June 17, 1950 – November 10, 1994).

Often credited as the man who coined the term "gay pride," Higgins was the first person in MN to be granted conscientious objector status from the Vietnam War in 1969. He lost his job at the State Radio Services for the Blind for his association with Fight Repression of Erotic Expression (FREE), a queer rights group which eventually became the Queer Student Cultural Center at the University of Minnesota.

In 1980, Higgins and his friend Bruce Brockaway founded the Positively Gay Cuban Refugee Task Force, which sponsored gay Cuban refugees for US residency as they fled persecution in Cuba for their queer identities. Without sponsorship, the refugees were confined in camps; PGCRTF's sponsorship allowed them to move out of the camps and resettle in the US.

Higgins died due to complications from AIDS in 1994 & is buried in Roseville, MN.

Oh, and in 1977, Higgins pushed a banana cream pie in the face of some woman who tried to keep herself relevant after her singing career ended by trading in homophobia at a press conference where she was announcing her very literal "conversion therapy" centers. This incident and her homophobia are largely credited with effectively ending her failing musical career.

[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.

[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…

[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]

[trashno0dle]

between rage and serenity // an xmen au

summary:

All along Erik had been right. Peace, never really was an option. Nor had it ever been part of the question. Charles had just been far too blind, too ignorant to see the truth of that simple fact. So, a voice in the back of his mind murmurs, what are you going to do about it? ~~~ The events of Cuba happen very differently and Charles is forced to live with the aftermath. As he starts to spiral, losing himself in his grief and rage, he makes a vow on Erik's memory that he will create the world that he had wanted for mutants, no matter who or what may stand in his path. Meanwhile, Raven, thinking about the different future she could've had, slowly but surely ends up working through her own pain thanks to the aid of her loved ones. All while she's forced to watch the man she grew up with, her very own brother, lose himself in his own in the process.

snippet from the newest chapter (ch4) below the cut !!

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Once, Charles was a patient man, he could withstand the time it took for certain things to unfold, understanding of the time required to complete such a task like this. Now, however, he’s far from patient. Time isn’t on their side, there very well could be some unforeseen threat lurking around the corner, poised and ready to strike at them at their most vulnerable. He knows how the minds of men work now, he’s spent enough time thinking over each sickening thought overheard in their heads. They’ll wait for the perfect opportunity, use their grief against them and slaughter them like animals. These thoughts seem less like his own and more like Erik’s, he’d been right to distrust the humans, correct in his way of thinking, Charles should’ve listened when he had the chance.

It’s been only a night since his conversation with Hank and waiting isn’t getting any easier, nor is waking up, he finds. How is it that he’s become so horribly dependent on such a foul liquid to unfocus his mind in such a short amount of time? He figures, maybe it’s because he was slightly dependent to begin with, he recalled his early twenties in a sort of bliss, he’d been quite the heavy drinker, he supposed he’d just fallen back into old bad habits. Though worse, quite worse this time around. Raven had been the one to give him a rather harsh wake up call both times things had reached a certain point. There aren’t words to describe just how grateful he is to her for that.

But he hates it, oh he hates being awake, forced to simply exist in a world without him. It’s that unbearable ache in his chest, the chasm in his very soul where Erik’s had resided, both so impossibly intertwined and suddenly everything was ripped away all in an instant. It leaves him bleeding on the scorching sand, choking beneath the thunderous waves of the ocean and swept away from the shore by the relentless tide. Charles curses himself for even wishing for death, as much as he so desperately longs for the silence it would bring, what would Erik think of him if he were to end his own life without seeking the revenge he so desired. It’s that thrill, the rush, the need to avenge his dear one that keeps him going.

In truth, it scares him, if only a little. The idea that he can lose so much of himself in his grief, all his anger. Erik had already taken the majority of his soul with him when he'd been slaughtered, now all that's left is a few shattered pieces that are impossible to fit together, not without the missing remnants which are now lost for good. He's broken, impossibly so, detached from himself in a way that makes it difficult to focus on anything except the few driving forces left in his life, keeping him going and awake through all this pain. 

He's barely coherent, he wants nothing more than to fall into a dreamless sleep, preferably one which he'll never wake from. Unfortunately, the universe is never so kind to him, it took Erik away from him after all. No, not even fate could be so cruel. Humanity, it was humanity that lashed out in their fear and took the person who he loved so completely, ripped him from his life and continued to taunt him every moment. Asleep, awake, he's always reliving the same nightmare of that cursed beach and a sight he'll never be able to unsee for as long as he lives.

A silent shot. The agonizing pull of Erik’s mind being torn, their connection shattered in one instant. Red, redredredred—

[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."

[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.

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Mature Rated Fics Masterlist (65)

Part 1 - Part 59 / Part 60 / Part 61 / Part 62 / Part 63 / Part 64 /

Created: May 24th, 2024

Last Checked:------

Daughters-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: Peeta navigates the rough world of raising girls. A one-shot from the "Two Wrongs" Universe. Dust to Dust-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: Katniss Everdeen was a ne’er-do-well when one night with a complete stranger changed it all. Can love grow after the most difficult of decisions is made? Modern AU. Inspired by the movie, “Obvious Child”. Easy Like Sunday Morning-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: “These easy Sundays where Katniss hunts and Peeta sleeps in my arms.” Gale ruminates over what brought him back to District 12. Canon Divergent Everlarkthorne. Green Crayon, Orange Crayon-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: A friendship sprung from discord over a span of time. A bit of Galeniss but eventually and always Everlark. Modern AU. Lay Me Down, Let Me Dream-katnissdoesnotfollowback, titania522 (ao3) Summary: Summary: Katniss and Peeta share a bond so strong, even death cannot defy it. When tragedy threatens to separate them forever, Peeta risks his soul to save Katniss from an eternity of despair. Inspired by the book, What Dreams May Come by Richard Matheson and the movie by the same name, starring Robin Williams, Cuba Gooding Jr. and Annabella Sciorra. Written for Prompts in Panem, Real or Not Real: Everlark Dreamscape Week. Leading Suspects-katnissdoesnotfollowback (ao3) Summary: When an old friend in need reaches out to Katniss, she returns to the small town she swore she’d never set foot in again. Help Madge and then leave, she decides. But a murder investigation and one sheriff with stupid blue eyes and dimples all conspire to keep her where she thought she’d never want to be. Let's Go for A Walk in the Woods-LemonLuvGirl (ao3) Summary: The woods were forbidden, dark, and untrustworthy, but for a man like Peeta Mellark, who had nothing to lose, they were also his last hope. When his village falls under a curse from the Witch of the Woods, simple and kind village baker Peeta Mellark is tasked with venturing into the haunted forest to resolve the conflict. But what Peeta finds when he reaches the heart of the woods may be more than he bargained for. no grave could hold my body down (I'll crawl home to her)-loungemermaid (ao3) Summary: Finnick makes his way back to Annie, alive but in several pieces. He loses his right arm and leg to the lizard mutts in the sewer. While Thirteen can patch him up, he's going to have to go back, back to the Capitol, if he's ever going to get better. As it turns out, Peeta has to go too, has to try and pull his fractured brain back together. They help each other keep it together. Finnick is there to help when Peeta can't remember what's real and what's fake, and Peeta helps Finnick cope with limb loss. odds & ends-loveleee (ao3) Summary: Just a place to collect the drabbles I've written. Lots of Everlark, some other characters & pairings too. One Last Hope-katnissdoesnotfollowback (ao3) Summary: Peeta knows only that he is supposed to protect her. He doesn't know why and figures out the how along the way, but he knows that he's meant to protect her. A retelling of the Legend of Hercules and his Twelve Labors. 

[florescentliterature]

Pretty thing

Jfk x Male!assistant

Further info: gay smut, oral sex, mention of affairs

Words: 2k

Notes: I’ve been wrote this fanfic but didn’t post it for reasons.- This is also my first jfk fic I’ve ever written so I hope it’s good 😭

Maurice nervously stood outside the white door of the Oval Office. President John F. Kennedy had called the younger man into his office, and he was thinking about all of his decisions he'd made in the White House as an assistant. What did he do wrong? Was he going to get fired? The thought of the worse happening plagued his mind over and over again, making him even more anxious. He then took a deep breath and turned the golden nob, revealing the entirety of the office.

The Oval Office was illuminated in a soft glow by the lights on ceiling, creating a relaxing atmosphere. President Kennedy was sitting behind the mahogany desk, papers scattered all over the surface making the desk a bit messy. He seemed to be on the phone with someone, his head nodding at the person's words from the other line, he also had one of his Cuban cigars between his fingers, taking a drag from time to time and blowing the smoke out with ease.

The sight of the president made Maurice's knees slightly buckle. Ever since he started working in the White House, he had always found Kennedy to be very attractive, even though the man was twice his age. His charisma, his charm, how he talked, how he moved, everything about him was just so... presidential. That's why he was always so nervous around him.

He then slowly walked towards the president's desk, the heels of his polished dress shoes hitting the wooden floor, making a soft clicking sound that echoed throughout the room. Kennedy was still on the phone, but he looked at Maurice and raised his hand to acknowledge his presence, gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. Maurice nodded and did as instructed, trying his best to appear calm and collected.

"Mhm, yes, I understand," Kennedy said, his Boston accent rolling smoothly over the words as he nodded along with the conversation. The president's green-blue eyes met his blue-grey ones, causing the assistant to get even more nervous under his presence. He looked around the room, spotting the painting of two ships at sea, a nod to the president's love for maritime related things. The room was rich with the scent of cigar smoke and the president's 'Jockey club' cologne, making him feel dizzy.

Kennedy then finally finished his call, putting the receiver back into the cradle with a gentle click. He took a final drag from his cigar before putting it out with a light tap. "Maurice, I've been meaning to talk to you about something," he began, his tone serious yet calm. Maurice felt his heart rate spike as he waited for the president to continue.

The president leaned forward, his leather chair creaking a bit as he did so. "You know about the situation with Cuba, don't you?" Maurice nodded vigorously, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Of course he knew. It was all anyone talked about in the West Wing. The Cuban Missile Crisis had the nation on edge, and the tension was palpable even in the most mundane of office tasks. "Yes, sir."

Kennedy's gaze was piercing, as if he was looking right through Maurice. "Good. And I'm pretty sure you've noticed how stressed out I've been. So, I need a bit of relaxation, and I need you to help me with that." Maurice was a bit confused. Why would the President of the United States ask for his help with something so... personal? He shook off the thought, assuming it must be something work-related. "And how may I help you with that, Mr. President?"

Kennedy then looked at the younger man up and down suggestively, a small smirk playing on his lips as his eyes wandered down his delicate frame. Maurice's cheeks then flushed of embarrassment as he realized what the president meant. Yes, he heard rumors around the White House about the president's sexual escapades or making secretaries drop to their knees, but the thing is that they were all women. And Maurice was a man. So, why was he being asked to...

"S-sir..You do realize that I'm a man, right? What happened to your secretaries?" Maurice stuttered out with shock and confusion, the air of the the room was so thick that it could be cut with a knife.

Kennedy leaned back in his chair, letting out a sexy chuckle that could make anyone weak in the knees. "Ah yes, those sexy secretaries. They always know how to make a man feel good. But I've gotten a bit... bored of the same old routine, Maurice. And plus, I've seen the way you look at me. You want me, don't ya?" He said with a cocky smirk, his confidence unshaken by Maurice's shock.

Maurice bit his lip, despite his nervousness he felt a bit of excitement from the president's words, which was not helping his obsession with older men. He wondered if this was a dream but as he felt the leather of the chair stick to his palms, he knew that this was all too real. He then gulped hard and tried to compose himself. "Mr. President, I-"

"Enough talking. Get your pretty little ass over here." Kennedy's voice was firm, yet held a seductive edge that sent a shiver down Maurice's spine. The way the president said that was so damn sexy, it made him want to moan. He's been fantasizing about this moment, but he never thought that it'll actually happen, now it was, and he was already reduced to a trembling mess. He stood up from his seat and started to walk towards Kennedy, his legs wobbling a bit as he did so. The president just smirked at him, finding his nervousness amusing, he put a strong hand on his waist, pulling him closer. "Get on your knees." He ordered.

Maurice's heart raced, he still couldn't believe that The President Of The United States was asking for a very personal favor from him. He sank to his knees infront of the president, softly hitting the plush green carpet beneath him. With shaky hands he reached for his belt and started to unbuckle it, causing the sound to echo through the office. Kennedy leaned back in his chair and watched with hooded eyes as the younger man's hands fumbled with his belt. The anticipation was eating Maurice up, his heart jumping out of his chest. When he finally got his belt unbuckled, he unzipped his pants, pulling them down to reveal the president's boxer briefs, which had a tent in it. Maurice then took a deep breath before pulling them down too, the presidential cock springing out.

Maurice's eyes widened as he saw it. It was thick and veiny, standing proudly with a slight upward curve, his pink tip glistening with precum. The president looked at him with a knowing smile, "good boy, now you see why ladies love me." He quipped with a chuckle. He then placed his hand on the back on his head, pushing him closer to cock. "Now go on, take it into your mouth."

Maurice gulped before gently grabbed the large member, stroking it a bit before pushing the tip between his lips, delicately licking the precum off the slit. Kennedy groaned, tilting his head back, "Fuck..." Maurice blushed from Kennedy's praise, making him feel a bit of arousal. He wrapped his lips around the head and started to suck on it softly, hollowing his cheeks out. The president's hand grabbed his blonde locks and started to slightly push his head down, encouraging the assistant to take more of his cock. Since Maurice didn't have a gag reflex, he was able to take half of his length into his mouth with no struggle. He then slowly started to bob his head up and down, his tongue tracing the veins as he started to suck him off.

Kennedy's grip on his hair tightened as he began to enjoy the sensation of Maurice's mouth around his cock. He loved the control he had over the younger man, the power dynamics making him grow harder. When Maurice felt Kennedy's cock swell in his mouth, he knew he was doing a good job. As the president's groans of pleasure grew louder, the more confident he became.

"Mmm, you're such a pretty thing...Why don't you take some more, sweetheart?" Kennedy's voice was like velvet as he moved his hand from Maurice's head to towards his neck, rubbing his thumb on the back of it while he urged him to go deeper, to which he complied. Maurice went lower, the tip of the president's cock hit the back of his throat, but he didn't manage to gag. Instead, he took a deep breath and went even further until he felt the tip of his nose touched the president's stomach.

Kennedy's eyes fluttered shut, letting out a sigh of pleasure. "Atta boy." Maurice then proceeded to deep-throat him, impressing him, he had multiple mistresses, but none of them had ever taken him deep without gagging. Now here was Maurice, a fellow man, sucking him off way better than all of them. His soft blonde hair fell over his eyes as he continued to bob his head up and down, but he didn't care. All wanted to do was please the president.

The only sounds that could be heard in the room was wet slurping and sucking noises and Kennedy's occasional groans. Maurice let out a soft moan, sending vibrations to his cock which made him let out a guttural moan. He looked down at the younger man again, his eyes half-lidded due to the pleasure he was receiving. "Look at me, honey."

Maurice looked up at him, his mouth full of cock. The president felt himself reaching his climax so he grabbed Maurice's hair and started to thrust upwards into his mouth. Maurice's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away, instead he took it like a champ as he still sucked on his cock. His hands gently rested on the older man's thighs, trying to stable himself due to the fast movements of Kennedy's thrusts. "Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum.." Kennedy said through gritted teeth.

Maurice felt a bit of excitement as he heard the president say that. He braced himself for the load, closing his eyes, his blonde lashes resting upon his rosy cheeks. He then feel a stream of warm liquid coming down his throat and filling up his mouth, but some of it dripped down his chin. He pulled away with a soft pop, swallowing Kennedy's cum and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Maurice then gave Kennedy's tip a kiss.

The president leaned back in his chair, panting heavily. He looked down at Maurice with a satisfied look on his face, a smile creeping on his lips. "Damn baby, that was good. You're such a good boy." He chuckled, ruffling the younger man's hair, making him blush.

Maurice got up from the floor and watched as Kennedy put his cock back in his pants and pulling out a cigar from its wooden case. "Want one?" Kennedy offered a cigar to Maurice, his hand shaking slightly from the intense orgasm. Maurice gave him a soft smile and nodded, gently taking the expensive cigar out of his hand. The president then lit both of their cigars with a golden lighter, causing the orange fire to reflect off their faces. They both took a drag from their cigars, the smoke flowing out of their mouths and into the air.

"Y'know...You were amazing. Even better than any woman I've been with." Kennedy quipped with a smirk, taking another drag from his cigar. Maurice blushed and felt a sense of pride that he was able to please the president...And the fact that he does it better than his mistresses. The president then looked up at him.

"How about you meet me at my room later on, say around 12AM sharp?" He suggested with a knowing smile, making Maurice's heart skip a beat. He couldn't believe that he was invited to the president's bedroom, that he was gonna be one of his secret lovers. "Y-yes, Mr. President. I'll be there." He helplessly stuttered, trying to contain his excitement.

Kennedy then got up from his chair, revealing the two men's height difference. He then raises the younger man's chin with a hand, giving his rosy lips a soft peck. "Good boy."