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zorciarkrildrush · 6 months

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I think the essence of what drives me crazy about current Enlightened Online Leftist Discourse Regarding My Life Personally And Whether This Time Killing Me Is Morally Correct (as in, commentary about the latest episode in i/p violence) is this:

I want a free Palestine.

I don't personally know a lot of people that don't! They might bristle at the tagline, because it's co-opted by people who do in fact want them dead, but as soon as I lay out why it's in literally everyone's best interest, how a non-free Palestine is horrific both to the people of Israel and to the people of Palestine, how pragmatically ridiculous the occupation of the west bank and the siege upon Gaza are (and I am a very pragmatic person), they get it. And I don't mean I debate people online about it - this, too, is a ridiculous concept - I mean having, time and time again, the deradicalization conversation with my friends, and colleagues, and my family. Obviously not only now - I've always been a very principled and argumentative Jew, ever since I became an adult - and I've been alive for, I don't know, a dozen flashpoints and operations and wars at this point, and I don't stop being argumentative and loud in peacetime either, but especially now.

But that's not what "from the river to the sea" means.

When you, gentle soul from across the sea, echo this slogan, you are either:

By apathy or will, ignoring that the sentiment cheers for the mass expulsion and killing of Jews. Indeed, any non-Muslim present from the river to the sea. This doesn't even begin to cover how even Muslim arabs still will not be safe under Hamas rule - and trust me, I don't care if a Hamas apologist told you different. A victory for Hamas (And we're ignoring the fact they do not have the military capacity for it - I hope you are aware of the privilege inherent to not understanding military conflicts) means exactly that. No "rule by the people". No socialistic, Palestinian utopia to be had, which is a fantasy I'm seeing alluded to a lot recently. Just an extension of the horrific power structure in Lebanon and Syria, where Hezbollah - friends and allies to Hamas - have been playing a tango for decades of both refusing to participate in actual government and betterment of civilian lives, while still draining their resources and controlling them with no real contest. "From the river to the sea" is not a sentiment for freedom fighting - it's a sentiment for a final solution to the people living here who are either Jewish, or for some Very Strange And Weird Reason would rather not submit to Hamas rule. You know - Israeli Arabs, secular and Muslim and Christian, Druze, Circassians, Bahai, take your pick. Their suffering, and my suffering - you know, a person who made the strategic error of being born in Israel while Jewish, which is inherently problematic and not okay of me - don't matter to you. Just the fantasy of an easy, morally correct cleanse of the land.

Are well aware of all of the above! You just don't care. You either smugly chuckle that I, and anybody else who will die, deserve it - or that it's an acceptable loss for the aforementioned fantasy. "Decolonization is an inherently violent process", you'll say to me, chillingly, before implying I have a summer home in Brooklyn I can just retreat to when things get tough. Israel is basically Rhodesia, a very popular blog here mentioned flippantly, so what's the issue with all of those lily-white Jews fucking off back home before the righteous freedom fighters strike them down? Well. This might be the part I urge you to open a book, or even Wikipedia or any god damn thing that will explain to you these upsetting, dense things you clearly struggle with.

So finally:

It's easy for me to discount islamophobes. Like, very easy. It's very easy for me to discount insane evangelistics who "advocate for me" simply because I'm a pawn in their religious rapture. It's easy for me to fight against Israeli and Jewish fascists - I have been long before this news item came across your feed, as did the insinuations that some civilian deaths are okay, actually.

It's easy for me for me to see promotions for donations to non-political aid in Gaza. It's easy for me to see the sentiment that hey! Palestinians deserve safe, healthy lives. That they have deserved an independent state, and were unfairly denied one, for decades. It's easy for me to see people saying "You know, the Israeli government is shit, actually, and their actions endanger and promote to the misery of innocents". Because that's right! I wouldn't be voting and protesting and donating for all of these sentiments otherwise!

It's not easy for me to see people, who I honestly held in high regard and saw having well thought out opinions on important matters, inadvertently echo the sentiment that my death is acceptable. That a terrorist organization, who rule over their own territory with fear and violence, are righteous freedom fighters, vox populi, only out to establish a free state. Like hey, their manifesto said otherwise, so it must be all there is - right? That Jews are just hysterical, they can easily live elsewhere - ever since that nasty holocaust business everything's fine abroad. Besides, it was just so long ago who even cares stop talking about it. Hamas, Hezbollah, ISIS, the Ayatollahs in Iran, the fucking Islamic Jihad - are not interested in freedom. They aren't, and echoing their slogan tells me you are either ignoring that, or support them anyway. If antisemitic rhetoric, half truths and lies by omission work on you today, they would have in any period of time. I'm sorry this makes you uncomfortable. I'm not, not really.

Know what your fucking words mean. Have a cursory glance at the history of the MENA and why it's so fucked, one that doesn't boil down to "The Jews, with American help, rolled into where they don't belong". This isn't even a joke. I've seen this braindead, history-revising sentiment repeated so many times, both online and in actual textbooks, that I feel I'm going insane. So many well-meaning people handwringing and assuring each other that repeating genocidal slogans is fine, that calling the i/p conflict "a simple problem" (which means it has a simple solution, right? Just kill the Jews.) is a well-adjusted and intellectual take. That "only the Zionists should die! The rest will be fine :)" I dare you to say that and also give me a correct definition of what Zionism is. Why I, a Jew that advocates for Palestinian statehood and rights and safety and always have, won't also face the wall in your little fantasy.

Freedom to Palestine. Peace in the middle east, fucking yesterday.

A curse and a plague on those who don't want either of those, and just want to cheer on the death of "the other side".

A curse and a plague upon you, when you tell me, smugly, from somewhere safe and far away, "from the river to the sea".

#selfpost #long post #i/p #israel #palestine #antisemitism #antizionism #I pondered linking every word of every claim I make to sources like Reuters and Wikipedia and what have you #but honestly? Please just read them #don't get your news off fucking Twitter #my respect for “critical thinking” online leftists is already at an all time low

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heritageposts · 1 year

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how do i start to read marxist leninist/leftist stuff ? i searched on the internet but it’s super confusing lol

the most important value for me as an ML is anti-imperialism, so i guess i'll always recommend that people start with works centred on that

some suggestions below (all books should be available either on marxist.org or as pdf/epub files on libgen)

American Holocaust by David E. Stannard

about the colonization of america. not explicitly marxist, but it's probably done more to radicalize me than any other piece of writing. this is the pile of corpses capitalism is built on:

Within no more than a handful of generations following their first en counters with Europeans, the vast majority of the Western Hemisphere's native peoples had been exterminated. The pace and magnitude of their obliteration varied from place to place and from time to time, but for years now historical demographers have been uncovering, in region upon region, post-Columbian depopulation rates of between 90 and 98 percent with such regularity that an overall decline of 95 percent has become a working rule of thumb. What this means is that, on average, for every twenty natives alive at the moment of European contact-when the lands of the Americas teemed with numerous tens of millions of people-only one stood in their place when the bloodbath was over. To put this in a contemporary context, the ratio of native survivorship in the Americas following European contact was less than half of what the human survivorship ratio would be in the United States today if every single white person and every single black person died. The destruction of the Indians of the Americas was, far and away, the most massive act of genocide in the history of the world. That is why, as one historian aptly has said, far from the heroic and romantic heraldry that customarily is used to symbolize the European settlement of the Americas, the emblem most congruent with reality would be a pyramid of skulls. - David E. Stannard

2. Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism by Vladimir Lenin

Imperialism is capitalism at that stage of development at which the dominance of monopolies and finance capital is established; in which the export of capital has acquired pronounced importance; in which the division of the world among the international trusts has begun, in which the division of all territories of the globe among the biggest capitalist powers has been completed. - Vladimir Lenin

3. The Wretched of The Earth by Franz Fanon

Let us look at ourselves, if we can bear to, and see what is becoming of us. First, we must face that unexpected revelation, the strip-tease of our humanism. There you can see it, quite naked, and it’s not a pretty sight. It was nothing but an ideology of lies, a perfect justification for pillage; its honeyed words, its affectation of sensibility were only alibis for our aggressions. A fine sight they are too, the believers in non-violence, saying that they are neither executioners nor victims. Very well then; if you’re not victims when the government which you’ve voted for, when the army in which your younger brothers are serving without hesitation or remorse have undertaken race murder, you are, without a shadow of doubt, executioners. And if you chose to be victims and to risk being put in prison for a day or two, you are simply choosing to pull your irons out of the fire. But you will not be able to pull them out; they’ll have to stay there till the end. Try to understand this at any rate: if violence began this very evening and if exploitation and oppression had never existed on the earth, perhaps the slogans of non-violence might end the quarrel. But if the whole regime, even your non-violent ideas, are conditioned by a thousand-year-old oppression, your passivity serves only to place you in the ranks of the oppressors. - prefrace by Jean-Paul Sartre

4. Discourse on Colonialism by Aimé Césaire

Yes, it would be worthwhile to study clinically, in detail, the steps taken by Hitler and Hitlerism and to reveal to the very distinguished, very humanistic, very Christian bourgeois of the twentieth century that without his being aware of it, he has a Hitler inside him, that Hitler inhabits him, that Hitler is his demon, that if he rails against him, he is being inconsistent and that, at bottom, what he cannot forgive Hitler for is not crime in itself, the crime against man, it is not the humiliation of man as such, it is the crime against the white man, the humiliation of the white man, and the fact that he applied to Europe colonialist procedures which until then had been reserved exclusively for the Arabs of Algeria, the coolies of India, and the blacks of Africa I have talked a good deal about Hitler. Because he deserves it: he makes it possible to see things on a large scale and to grasp the fact that capitalist society, at its present stage, is incapable of establishing a concept of the rights of all men, just as it has proved incapable of establishing a system of individual ethics. Whether one likes it or not, at the end of the blind alley that is Europe, I mean the Europe of Adenauer, Schuman, Bidault, and a few others, there is Hitler. At the end of capitalism, which is eager to outlive its day, there is Hitler. At the end of formal humanism and philosophicrenunciation, there is Hitler - Aimé Césaire

5. Blackshirts and Reds: Rational Fascism and the Overthrow of Communism by Michael Parenti

probably the most accessible introduction to communism that doesn't demonize countries that have undergone—or attempted to undergo—a transitation into socalism (like the ussr, cuba, etc.)

The very concept of "revolutionary violence" is somewhat falsely cast, since most of the violence comes from those who attempt to prevent reform, not from those struggling for reform. By focusing on the violent rebellions of the downtrodden, we overlook the much greater repressive force and violence utilized by the ruling oligarchs to maintain the status quo, including armed attacks against peaceful demonstrations, mass arrests, torture, destruction of opposition organizations, suppression of dissident publications, death squad assassinations, the extermination of whole villages, and the like. - Michael Parenti

#i'm too lazy to write an introduction for all of them #but i've included some quotes #get reading sickos #this is now on the tumblr university curriculum

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tamamita · 1 month

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Surely voting biden is worth it for the breathing room and ability to focus campaigns on boycotts and foreign policy rather than being under attack by trump? Ik you said biden is likely to lose but isn't it worth it just to try? Like, it won't be as easy to shed imperialism if we're busy fighting against even more oppression. But ig if you've decided biden is gonna lose then you're right abt it, I'm just thinking long term too, don't see what the harm is for voting biden

Well no, you can go for a class independence; vote for an independent socialist party. Like the point is that the workers must support their own candidates and perserve their revolutionary position. Marx said that the working class should not be led astray by whatever slogan the Democrats are throwing at you. Such talks only serve to swindle the proletariat. It is far more advantageous to operate independently than the disadvantages resulting from the presence of reactionaries in the representative body. The point is to tactically engage the state and society in a way which generates revolutionary capacity in preparation for a critical revolutionary moment as I've stated earlier.

The reason you're persuaded to vote for Biden is because libs/harm reductionists see the problem as lack of support from workers in the present, or limited capacity for consciousness due to immediate issues they might be facing (economic, political, racial, whatever), and therefore push for engagement in present systems to protect those who are most at-risk in domestic society in preparation for the arrival of such a moment. It becomes an issue of identity politics, because harm reduction does not concern itself with every marginalized group, only a few ones. Once that has been solved, what next? So the question is, who is harm reduction for and who is it not for? This approach will fail because it simply reproduces the grip of capital in an attempt to combat the detriments and puts a closure on the potential for a socialist or communist party outside the existing mechanisms of the state.

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mead-iocre · 2 months

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Football Scarves and Football Kits | Leah Williamson x Reader

Football Scarves: these are a popular accessory among many football fans. They are a subtle or not so subtle way of displaying your support for your football club by adorning yourself in your club’s colours, slogans or logo.

You glance down at the red and white scarf wrapped around your neck. It wouldn’t be difficult for the other passengers on the tube to guess which football match you were attending thanks to the glaring Arsenal Football Club logo that is printed on the bottom of your scarf. If that wasn’t enough, the new season’s classic red and white Arsenal home kit you are wearing underneath your jacket should be a good enough indicator.

The familiar rhythmic clickety-clack of the wheels as it rolls over the joints and tracks should be relaxing as a frequent commuter, but it does nothing to sooth the nerves in your stomach. The faster the train glides across the tracks, the closer you are to your destination. The destination being Emirates Stadium. You were attending your first ever football match– an Arsenal Women’s football match to be more precise. You weren’t necessarily a long-time supporter of the team or even a fan of the sport.

You were dating one of the players.

From what you knew of Leah Williamson at the time, she was a football player for Arsenal football club and the England national team. You knew she was a great player considering she is a regular starter for both club and country, but that was pretty much all you knew of the England captain. Everything that you knew about football comes from the few times you were forced to participate in the patriotic practice of cheering for your national football team during every major international tournament. You had watched the England mens team play– and consequently lose– during the last mens Euros, and you figured you might as well watch the women’s in the 2022 Women's Euros. Luckily, the results this time were favourable and you were lucky enough to witness the Lionesses parade the trophy at Wembley Stadium thanks to a friend who managed to secure you some tickets.

Once the post-Euros hype had quieted down a bit, and your friends got tired of using the ‘It finally came home!’ excuse to party, you carried on with your life. You were a currently a post-graduate student at university. Your days consisted of lectures, revision, eating, sleeping and repeat; so imagine your surprise when during one of your very very rare night out with friends, you were introduced to the same England captain who had lead her team to victory.

Apparently you and the defender had loosely connected social circles and found yourselves in the same party hosted by a friend of a friend. A few drinks later, and a conversation that was far more interesting than the textbooks waiting for you at home, you and the blonde had followed each other on social media and promised to stay in touch once in a while. However, it wasn’t long before the ‘once in a while’ instagram likes turned into daily texts and frequent FaceTime calls.

It wouldn’t be until a few months later that the blonde finally asked you out on a date, and the rest was history.

——————————————

You began to notice the growing number of Arsenal fans inside the train carriage. People with red and white scarves, beanies and caps dotted along the aisle of the train. Some fans sported kits from previous seasons that greatly contrast your usual view of men and women in black and grey business attire. This time there was a lot more colour and a lot more chatter, vastly different from the usual quiet bustling of a dull early morning commute. You would be lying if you didn’t admit that the excitement around you was doing a good job of quelling the initial nerves you were feeling.

Once the train stopped at Arsenal station, it was a flurry of fans donned in Arsenal gear everywhere. Stewards were present to direct people towards the exit, and it soon became a slow and sluggish walk towards the ticketing machines. You faintly heard the familiar names of the players being discussed by a group of giggling girls, and watched from the corner of your eye as a little boy animatedly told his mum about the goal that Beth Mead scored during the last match.

Once you were through the ticketing machines, you are greeted by a larger crowd of fans just outside of the station. The striking colours of red and white filled the streets at every corner that your eyes could see. You weren’t exactly sure where to go, but you figured following the crowd of Arsenal shirts was a good start.

It wasn’t too long before the aromas wafting from the many food stalls scattered along the pavement caught up to you. The air was a tantalising blend of savoury, spicy, and sweet notes, weaving together. The scent of sizzling smoky meats, mingling with the earthy fragrance of freshly chopped herbs and vegetables was almost hard to ignore. You recognise the faint aroma of caramelised onions, and the occasional whiff of freshly baked bread or frying dough. You mentally remind yourself to stop by the food stalls next time.

Expertly weaving through the clusters of people around you, you catch sight of a few other stalls. Some stalls were selling merchandise– from enamel pins and beanies to shirts and flags adorned in the Arsenal logo. Your eyes briefly caught sight of a scarf with ‘Williamson’ and your girlfriend’s face printed on it. You add the scarf to your mental wishlist of things to buy soon.

As you settled into your seat, surrounded by a sea of red and white, the anticipation was palpable. Leah had offered you a seat in the section exclusively reserved for the players’ friends and family but you informed her that you had already bought your own ticket. Initially, your girlfriend had argued against it, saying that she would love it if you sat with her family. However, you argued that you haven’t even officially met them yet and you would prefer to meet them at an occasion where the focus is not on a few women running and kicking a ball around on freshly cut grass.

“The friends and family section is lot less rowdy, baby. And you get food and stuff throughout the match”

“But I want to experience the craziness that you often yap about. You always brag that your fans have the coolest chants and that. I won’t be able to experience that if I was sat far away from it all, sweet”

So with a grumble, an eye roll, and a not-so-enthusiastic nod, the blonde had agreed.

Football chants: These are an integral part of the game, adding passion, energy, and a sense of camaraderie to the stadium atmosphere. These chants are often sung by supporters to show their allegiance to their team, mock their rivals, or simply to create an electric atmosphere during matches.

The stadium buzzed with excitement, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass, and the opening instrumental of what you’ve now come to recognise as ‘North London Forever’ echos from every corner. It was clear that this was more than just a football match—it was an event, a spectacle, a communal gathering of fans united by their love for the team.

As the players took to the field, you felt a surge of pride course through you. Your girlfriend was amongst those players on the field. Whilst you had watched a few of her matches on telly, nothing compares to the real thing. Those BBC high-definition cameras would never be able to accurately capture an atmosphere this loud and proud.

Once the whistle blew, the clock started, and the match finally began. You was quickly swept away by the flow of the action. Every pass, every tackle, every attempted shot at goal sent a thrill coursing through your veins. The tension mounted with each passing minute. Every near miss, every save by the United keeper sent your heart racing with a mixture of anxiety and exhilaration. Now and then you caught sight of Leah on the pitch. Even from your place in the stands, you can tell she exuded athleticism and determination. Her movements were precise and calculated as she anticipated the opponent's every move. There were moments where you had to tear your eyes away from your girlfriend, reminding yourself that you had to watch the player with the ball, and not just the defender that has quickly become such an important person to you. You both hadn’t said the three-words yet, but lately they were threatening to spill out.

Then, in a flash of brilliance, it happened.

A perfectly executed play, a thunderous strike done by Cloe Lacasse, and the ball found the back of Mary Earps’ net with a resounding thud. The stadium erupted in cheers and applause, as fans all around you embraced each other in wild celebration. You basked in the atmosphere, clapping and shouting when you spotted Leah gesturing for the crowd to get even louder. The rest of the match was practically an Arsenal fan’s dream, with the team scoring two more goals to extend their lead.

As the referee's whistle pierces the air, the feeling that courses through your veins is a potent blend of euphoria, relief, and sheer joy. There's an eruption of cheers from the stands, echoing the celebrations on the pitch. Fans jumping, hugging, and waving scarves or flags. More than anything, you couldn’t wait to find your girlfriend and congratulate her on the win.

Victory Lap: Players may do a lap around the pitch after a significant victory, with fans clapping and cheering them on in celebration. Sometimes, players might do a lap to show appreciation for the support of the fans, especially at the end of a season or during special events.

You couldn’t see from where you were standing, but Leah’s eyes were currently roaming the stands for you. She lagged behind the rest of the team, wanting to survey the crowds of fans that, unfortunately for her, weren’t dispersing fast enough. As much as Leah adored the fans, the big crowd of bodies, waving arms, and the poster signs were making it very hard for her to spot the one person she was looking for. Her mind was already itching to run to the changing room and call you.

“Looking for someone?” Leah nearly curses when she is thrown forward by the force of someone jumping onto her back. Luckily, she managed to find her balance before she can fall face-first in front of a stadium filled with fans. She doesn’t need to turn her head to see who it was when the distinct Australian accent and the voice pretty much gives it away. “Get off, Kyra”

“No! Want a lift” The Australian tightens her arms around Leah’s neck, and giggles when the blonde pinches her on the leg. “Who are you looking for? Your missus?”

“Yes. She wouldn’t let me sit her in the friends and family section” Leah straightens up when the brunette finally jumps off her back. Her eyes trail back to the crowd, still scanning the bodies for you.

“Who wouldn’t?” Lotte slows down to let the two girls catch up with her. Leah groans when a heavy arm gets thrown over her shoulders. She certainly doesn’t need another teammate sticking her nose in her business. “Y/N?”

“Yeah.” Leah mutters. “Bloody stubborn woman she is”

The blonde recalls how much you insisted that you want to use your own bought ticket, profusely refusing her offer of a free seat. A small part of Leah loved that you had went out of your way to buy your own ticket. She remembers how you argued that by buying a ticket, you would be directly contributing to selling out the stadium. However, that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t have preferred you sitting in the section where she knows exactly where you were. It would’ve been easy for her to sneak glances at your direction throughout the match.

The mere memory of how adorably stubborn you were brought a smile to her face.

“Wipe that cheesy grin off your face, man” Lotte playfully nudges the blonde away with a push and laughs even harder when her fellow defender doesn’t even bother to deny it. “Do you know which section she’s at?”

“…No. Forgot to ask” Leah mumbles, trying to avoid her teammate’s look of disbelief. She’s been so focus on training for this match, wanting to put on a good performance because she knew you would be watching. Outside of training, the blonde spent the last couple of days rewatching footage of their past matches against Manchester United so she can study where she can improve on the pitch. She had completely forgotten to ask you where you would be sitting.

“How the fuck are ya s'posed to find her then?” Leah didn’t even realise the young Australian was still eavesdropping in on the conversation.

But before Leah could get to her, Lotte already has Kyra under her arm and in a headlock. “How ‘bout you watch your mouth, kid"

The defender turns away from them with a shake of her head and a small smile on her face. Her eyes continue to scan to crowd as she waves back at fans, still hoping to find a glimpse of you somewhere amongst them. She wasn’t exactly sure why she so desperately needed to see you when you both planned to meet at her place later on anyway.

Maybe a small part of her just wanted to see you surrounded by a sea of red and white, at her home stadium, with her own eyes.

As they were nearing the end of the lap around the pitch, Leah could see that some of her teammates had dispersed and were making their way towards the barriers where a crowd of fans were waiting. Whilst majority of the fans seated in the upper tiers of the stadium had already left, there were a few still loitering around, dancing to the music still blasting from the speakers.

If it were any other day, Leah would’ve gladly stayed around to spend some time with the fans. However today, all she wanted to do was find you. As much as she wanted to celebrate their win with the fans, she wanted to celebrate with you more.

After not spotting you anywhere, the blonde had become anxious. What if the crowd was too rowdy or too loud for you, what if the match was too boring, what if you realised that dating a professional football was too much? All these questions were racing in the blonde’s mind.

This was your first time stepping into her world, and she was going to make sure that it wouldn’t be the last.

Leah tapped Kim on the back and quickly informed her that she’ll be heading to the changing room. When the Arsenal captain quirked an eyebrow at this sudden and unsual revelation, knowing that the defender was usually one to stay behind and sign for fans, all she got was a quietly mumbled “gonna go look for my girl”

And before Kim could even reply, the blonde was already sprinting down the tunnel.

——————————————

All this time you were still at your seat, and had seen the entire thing play out. Your eyes hadn’t left your girlfriend the entire time the team did a lap around the pitch. You tried to stand on your tiptoes and wave your hand a few times just as they passed your section, but you were pretty hard to spot amongst a crowd. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you smile at the text message from your girlfriend.

Hey, baby. Call me.

You turn to leave your row, excusing yourself as you side-step past the few people still waiting around. As you climb the stairs towards the exit, you press your phone to your ear and wait for your girlfriend to pick up. Not a moment too soon, you hear a familiar voice.

“Hiya”

“Hey, sweet. Good game–“

“Baby, the signal is shit–“

You frown and hurry your steps with your phone still pressed to your ear. You head straight towards the doors leading to the outside of the stadium, thanking the stewards on your way out.

“Can you hear me now?”

“Yeah. That’s better” You hear her breathing heavily through the phone. You could picture her pacing around, wherever she is, one hand either rubbing the back of her neck or brushing back her hair.

“Where are you?”

“Where are you?” You both say at the same time, smiling when you hear the blonde chucking on the other end. Part of you wonders if you are reaching the stage in a relationship where you begin to mirror or adapt your partner’s actions and behaviour.

The next words out of her mouth completely still you. In a softer tone, almost whispered, Leah asks “Where are you, baby? I was looking for you but I couldn’t find you…” The contrast between the confident defender you just saw out on the pitch and the palpable vulnerability that the woman on the other end of the phone was showing you was striking. You loved that you got to see this side of her.

“I was in my seat, Leah. Where I said I’d be” You teased, hearing her huff on the other end. You could bet £50 she was rolling her eyes at you.

Around you there was still a lingering sense of excitement. Chatter and laughter stalled in the air around you, and from the distance you could faintly hear a chant being sung. You would love to revel in the post-match atmosphere, but you wanted to be with your girlfriend more.

And as if she could read your mind, you hear her voice through the phone again “Tell me where you are and I can send a steward to you”

So you glance around at your surroundings and relay them to Leah. You note the massive poster of Arsenal Legends behind you and the small stall with the sign “Programmes” on the banner across from where you stood. Your girlfriend tells you to wait for the steward to come get you before she hangs up, but not before she mutters a quick “See you soon, baby”

Football programmes: programmes are printed publications that are sold at football matches and often available for purchase ahead of the match. They provide fans with a variety of information related to the match and the teams involved.

While you wait, you head towards the stall selling match day programmes. You had forgotten to buy one earlier, far too excited to head inside the stadium and find your seat. You smile and thank the steward who hands you one, and your smile only grows bigger when you see who is featured on the front cover– Leah. You place the programme in your bag, mentally reminding yourself to tease her about getting her to sign it.

It turns out you didn’t have to wait too long at all because soon enough you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around, fully expecting to greet a steward, but you end up staring right into the prettiest shade of blue eyes.

“Found ya”

Familiar eyes that you know to belong to only one person– your girlfriend.

“Leah–“ You start but before you could say anything more, your girlfriend has a palm over your mouth, leaning close to shush you, and forcing you to walk backwards until you hit the wall behind you.

“Shush, baby. I’m being discreet here” With her hand still over your mouth Leah turns her head left and right, probably trying to see if anyone else got a glimpse of her. She resembled a meerkat just then. In the meantime, you take the opportunity to take her appearance in.

She wasn’t Leah Williamson, the Arsenal defender, that you had just watched command the pitch. Right now she was just Leah. Gone was the red and white kit, and in it’s place is a matching Nike black tracksuit with the hoodie pulled over her head and her favourite pair of white trainers.

When your girlfriend turns her attention back to you, she uncovers her palm from your mouth and flashes you a grin. Her hair was slightly wet and her cheeks were rosey meaning she probably took a quick post-match shower and then came straight to find you.

“Discreet, huh?” You tug at her black hoodie– the only thing disguising her. “This isn’t very discreet, sweet”

Leah chuckles, hugging you by the waist “Yeah well I somehow made it ‘round the stadium without being recognised, so I would say my disguise worked very very well, baby”

You indulge in the feeling of being in her arms again. You hadn’t seen each other for a few days, with the blonde busy with training and you with your studies. You both texted each other frequently and FaceTimed when you could, but nothing could compare to being with her in person.

All of a sudden you gasp loudly, exaggeratedly, and grab Leah by the arms before she could turn around to see what shocked you.

“What? Baby, what’s wrong?”

You cup your girlfriend’s face in your hands– rosy cheeks, messy hair and all. Her blues eyes wide and concerned.

“I think someone saw you. Quick. Kiss me”

Without waiting for her to reply, you crash your lips into hers. Your soft lips meet her parted ones with the hunger of a starved woman. Tingles wash down your back as she meets your tempo without skipping a beat– impulsively, maybe even instinctually. Her hands glide upwards from their hold on your waist, warm hands curling you further into her, until they’ve climbed up to rest on your back briefly. Her hands then move to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head slightly so she can kiss you deeper. Her tongue brushes against your bottom lip before you feel a sharp bite, making you gasp and groan against her lips. She is quick to sooth the sting away with a soft suck.

For someone so scared of being recognised by the few fans still loitering around the stadium, she seemed far too focused on kissing you to care. To outsiders, you probably looked like any other couple. Imagine their shock if they knew one of those strangers was Leah Williamson– a footballer constantly put under the spotlight but has remained so tight-lipped about her private life and you– the girl she was been starting her mornings with and ending her nights beside. The world would have a lot to say.

But for now, under the safety of Leah’s black hoodie and the lingering golden hour sunset, you and her were just two people in love.

When you both pull away your chests are heaving, breathless from the kiss just shared and the emotions that have been pilling up over the last couple of months. You up look at your girlfriend, who wasn’t quite as breathless as you thanks to her athletic stamina, but her cheeks were flushed and her lips were swollen and red.

Her gaze darkens, pupils dilated, the corners of her lips turn upwards at the sight of your slightly dazed expression. “Nobody was there, innit? You were just having a laugh”

You laugh at that. Loud and carefree. Head thrown back and full body giggles. Your girlfriend knew you too bloody well. “Got ya!”

“You know if you wanted to kiss me you could’ve just said so, baby”

She tugs you closer for one more wet kiss to your lips and you gladly accept it, smiling against her soft lips and winding your arms around her.

“But we should go before someone actually spots me” With that, the blonde tugs the drawstrings of her hoodie, tightening it so it covers most of her face. From the pocket of her joggers, she pulls out a pair of black sunglasses and places them over her eyes.

“Oh so that’s how you actually disguised yourself” You gasp mockingly, poking Leah in the waist and laughing when she playfully shoves you away from her. Not a moment later, she grabs your hand and intertwines her fingers with hers as you fall into step beside her. She leads you down a set of stairs, and stops by a glass door. She flashes a badge attached to a lanyard to the guard by the door, and he nods to let you both through.

She leads you up the escalator, your hand still snug in hers, and smiles at everyone that walks by. You are led down a long hallway, Arsenal photographs and memorabilia decorate the walls, and eventually stop by the entrance of a large conference room of sorts. You can see round tables scattered with plates and cutlery, a buffet table that spans the room, and a few recognisable faces. You spot some of Leah’s teammates, and wave a hand at them as they greet you. However, Leah doesn’t stop for anyone. Even when Beth practically races over to greet you with a hug, your girlfriend tugs on your arm essentially forcing you to keep walking along. You smile apologetically at the freckled-face Arsenal forward but she just waves you off with a grin, mouthing ‘talk later’

Eventually, you see exactly which table Leah is leading you towards. Nestled in the corner of the room, there is a table with only a few people sitting around it. Her family and closest friends. You hadn’t met Leah’s family yet. She had invited you to dinner at her mum’s house before but you were swamped with university work at the time. You knew that she had been wanting to try again, take you to her mum’s, and officially introduce you as her partner, and there was a small part of you that was waiting for that invitation. However, you didn’t feel exactly ready right now.

You hastily pull your hand out of Leah’s, forcing her to stop in her tracks. “You’re not introducing me to your family right now, are you?”

The blonde turns to you and notes the slight look of panic on your face. She takes a step back so she’s right beside you again and intertwines her fingers with yours.

“Didn’t realise we were already in that stage of our relationship, y/l/n” Leah jokes, using her thumb to sooth the small wrinkles that has appeared on your forehead. Admittedly, she was planning to introduce you to her family right then but she also knew how much you hate feeling unprepared. Leah knows that you probably wanted to dress up a little instead of the casual attire that you are currently wearing. She knows that you would’ve wanted to gift them something like a bouquet of flowers or a nice bottle of wine because you always tell her that ‘it’s necessary to bring a gift when you are visiting someone else’s home’.

“Soon though, yeah?” She squeezes your hand, and gives you a peck on the cheek when you nod in agreement.

So instead of stopping where her family is gathered, Leah expertly weaves through the chairs and only stops to briefly wave and coo at her cousin’s baby. You sneak a peek at the faces of her family members, and they’re all smiling at you. Suddenly, you didn’t feel as nervous to meet them when the time came.

There is one person who seems particularly interested in you though. Leah’s mum.

“Keep ya nose out of it, mum.” The Arsenal defender sassed when she catches her mum’s gaze. With the way her daughter is gripping your hand and resting the other on your lower back to guide you, she could probably guess what kind of relationship you have with her daughter. She probably also witnessed the kiss earlier. The thought makes your cheeks flush red. You give her a smile in passing, and she gladly returns one with a quick wave of her fingers.

“She is coming to dinner soon so prepare an extra plate, mum!” The blonde shouts as you both walk away from their table.

Your girlfriend ignores the wide-eyed look you are sending her, and continues to drag you by the hand towards the doors lead you to the outside of the private box. Outside, you are treated to a few rows of plush red leather seats and a panoramic view of the entire stadium and the pitch. It is now eerily different from the atmosphere a few hours ago.

Gone are the boisterous chants and the full-house stadium of fans, but remnants of the day’s activities still remain here. You see it in the Arsenal scarf that an unfortunate fan must have unknowingly left behind on the barrier, the rolled up flags which proudly display the club’s badge on the floor, and the goalpost still left on the pitch but now unassembled.

You also see it in the woman sitting beside you. In her messy hair, her tired eyes, and her genuine smile. You knew that she must be tired– having played the entire ninety plus minutes that the match went on for– but she was still here spending time with you and entertaining your little quips at her. She could’ve texted you to let you know that she’ll be meeting you tomorrow so she can rest and recover, or celebrate the big win with her teammates but instead she’s right here with you. She seems full set on integrating you into the football part of her life.

“Hey…” You turn to her and squeeze the hand that is still holding yours. You feel your heart still when those pretty blues meet yours. “Have I told you how well you played earlier?” At your words your girlfriend smiles, but it’s different from her usual smile. This one is sheepish– like she’s suddenly gone shy.

“You played really well today, Leah. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you”

Leah runs a hand down her face, like she’s trying to hide the blush that she can already feel coating her cheeks. She presses her lips together to smother the smile forming at your compliment, but her lips are already turned upwards at the corners. It was her first time playing in front of you as her girlfriend, and she wanted to make you proud. Hearing you compliment her and seeing how happy you are right now felt like a massive weight off her shoulders.

All of a sudden the blonde feels a rise of emotion clogging her throat, as if she wants to blurt something out. Hearing someone that she has started to care so deeply about enjoy this side of her– and to add to that a massive win for the team after a series of shortcomings– it was all starting to feel overwhelming for her.

She needed something to anchor her back down.

The Arsenal defender stands from her seat and pulls you up to do the same. She tugs you close and wraps both of her arms around your waist. Tucking her face into your neck, her heavy puffs of breath warm against the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “Thank you, baby. That really means a lot”

Leah places a kiss on your neck and practically curls into you. You feel her take a deep shuddering breath, and her body slackens against yours, as if it is in your embrace that she can finally relax. You pull her tighter against you, wanting to envelope her in warmth and provide her solace. Hoping that your actions and your unspoken words are enough for now.

Football Kits: fans wearing football shirts with players’ names on their backs is a popular practice in the sport. It is common to walk around the stadium during match day and see people proudly showing off the last name of their favourite player on their backs. Wearing a shirt with a player's name is a way for fans to demonstrate their admiration and loyalty to their favourite player.

It seemed like it was only then that the Arsenal defender had noticed that you were wearing their home kit. You had slightly unzipped your puffer jacket, feeling a lot warmer now. The bright red kit you were sporting underneath was unmistakable. The smile that was already plastered on Leah’s face grew even wider, and there was almost a twinkle in her eyes as she took a moment to admire you being clad in the familiar red and white.

“Whose name have you got on your back?” Leah wouldn’t admit it right now, but she was hoping it was hers.

“No ones.” You reply curtly. You had thought about it, and considered it for a moment. You remember sitting on your bed a few nights ago, the Arsenal online shop pulled up on your laptop browser, and your cursor hovering over the ‘Williamson 6’ option.

Maybe if you had been braver you would’ve personalised your kit with her name, added it to your cart, and bought it. However you didn’t know how she would feel about that. Besides, you figured you could always ask to borrow one of hers in the near future

and it would be £126 cheaper

The blonde raises an eyebrow at your answer and glances down at your shirt once more. The plain red and white kit mocking her.

“You fancy having mine?”

“You proposing already, darling?”

“No, ya big goof” Leah lightly knocks on your forehead with her knuckles before she pulls you close by the waist and kisses the same spot. “I meant you can borrow one of my old match day shirts”

You look up at her. You weren’t that much shorter than the blonde, but those few inches difference in height still meant you had to tilt your head up sometimes, especially when she was standing so close. With her arms wrapped around your waist and yours around her neck, you were both practically intertwined.

Your eyes meet those pretty pretty blues.

“Didn’t realise we were already at that stage of our relationship, Williamson” You throw her own words earlier back at her with a cheeky grin.

You feel her tighten her arms around you before she leans down to your ear, a little secret only meant for the two of you, and murmurs

“We can be, my girl.”

This was a longgggg one so if you stuck through it till the end, you deserve a kiss!

It's been raining a lot these past few days here. Spare some sunshine from your side of the world?

– kisses, butter

#woso #woso fanfics #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine #a favourite of mine #my fic #wlw

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internationem · 2 months

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Just a reminder: intent is much, much more important to genocide than the amount of people dying. simply put, the amount of dead civilians isn't what makes a genocide a genocide.

for example, up to 33k bosnians are estimated to have died because of the bosnian genocide. in contrast, the estimated amount of japanese civilians dead during WWII is between 330k and 900k. yet most (serious) people wouldn't ever consider that there was a genocide against the japanese people. why? well, no government wanted to, planned or carried out systematic attacks with the intent of erasing, in whole or in part, the japanese people. yet, however, it is fairly easy to prove that the serbs wanted the bosnians gone and acted accordingly. You can even fullfill the material criteria for the Genocide Convention (ie killing people, or causing body or mental harm to a population) to a certain extent but if the intent behind those actions isn't to destroy a national/ethnic/etc group, then it's not genocide, the fullfilment of the material elements themselves aren't proof that there's a genocide without fullfilment of the mental element.

This isn't to overlook civilian deaths, but truth is, in modern warfare, civilians ARE gonna die, and that sucks massively, but we have a a whole branch of international law that help mitigate a lot of civilian deaths and allow for criminals to be held accountable for violation of civilian rights and livs, without having to erroneously call every single conflict where people die a genocide.

Similarly, it may be true that a lot more people are dying in the Israel-Gaza war than in the 7/10 attacks, but why did Hamas attack Israel in the first place? Why has Israel been attacked fairly frequently since it's independence? Because they want to completely erase Israel as a whole and expel (and kill, or best case scenario, convert) the jewish people out of the Middle East. This is very easy to prove, read Hamas founding charter and literally any history book that talks about wars against Israel or the expulsion of Jews from several ME countries. It's what the whole "from the river to the sea" slogan is about. It's also the very reason Israel needs to exist. But meanwhile, there's little to nothing that points out Israel wants to wipe out Palestinians as a group: 20% of their citizens are Palestinians who enjoy the same rights as Jewish citizens of Israel and aren't targeted, even Palestinians of the West Bank aren't usually targeted in a way that would even imply the IDF wants to erase them as a group, and even considering the Gaza campaign, its objective is to erradicate Hamas, not Palestinians, and nothing in Israel's policy outwardly implicates they want to erradicate all Gazans. Palestine, and especially Gaza, has massive population growth, which wouldn't make sense if there was a genocide campaign against them. This isn't to say the IDF is doing everything perfectly or that there aren't war crimes being commited. But war crimes don't mean genocide.

Calling what's happening in Gaza genocide is antisemitic, because not only are we applying different standards to Israel than we do any other country, we are also saying that Jewish people defending themselves is, inherently, a crime, one of the worst crimes defined at that. But it's also harmful to palestinians, because claiming that Israel's war against Hamas is a war against Palestinians equates Palestinians (many of whom just want to live regular lives, not war) with terrorists (who also target them, by the way), which seems islamophobic as hell if i'm being honest. it is also insensitive and damaging to every group that has been the victim of genocide, and every group which might be a victim of a genocide in the future, because how you're twisting the definition of the word to mean whatever you want it to mean. If everything is a genocide, nothing is.

#sincerely an IR major tired of people not knowing what words mean #i stand with israel #i stand with palestine #israel #israel gaza #palestine #hamas #israel palestine #genocide #hamas is isis #free palestine #free palestine from hamas #antisemitism

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femsolid · 7 months

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Well that's disappointing. 7 years ago Alicia Keys decided to stop wearing make-up. She was protesting against feminine beauty standards pressuring her to look a certain way creating insecurities and shame. She also stopped straightening her hair.

She was brave enough to pose for magazine covers, go to big celebrity events, on TV and award shows without make up, to perform without make up and she even wrote a song about it.

Now, not only is she wearing make up again but she's selling make up. She actually started her own make up line. Yep. It's called "Make You". Get it? Cause now you don't wear make up to cover your imperfections, you wear make up to express yourself.

When asked why the sudden change, she explained that beauty is what you make of it, if it's your choice and your own personal version of beauty (which just happens to be the exact same version as everyone else and what the beauty industry wants you to seek) then it's okay. She said all those years without make up have helped her rebuild her self confidence and she's now ready to... wear make up again for some reason? She's doing it for herself this time and is redefining what wearing make up is about. Her make up is different because there's a philosophy behind it. Which is what every brand is selling these days by the way: it's not a product, it's a ~lifestyle~.

She showcased her make up collection at the Met Gala 2022.

It might seem like a personal journey, that's certainly the way she perceives it, but it's neoliberalism in a nutshell: don't try to solve the issue, change the way you think about the issue instead. And find a way to profit from it.

It's such a shame. She must have felt pretty lonely in her endeavour. I mean look at this shit:

Or this one, missing the point entirely:

At least she tried and talked about the issue. She did something most have not. I just wish she wasn't selling it now. How can she do that to others after admitting how much pain it caused her in the past? You just slap some pseudo-feminist slogans on it and call it a day I guess.

Alicia Keys - Girl Can't Be Herself

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led-bloody-zeppelin · 5 months

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decade accurate marauders era wardrobes - sirius black

hair: black, wavy, and shoulder length.

while long hair for both women and men was popular in the 70s, the trend carried over from the later years of the 60s.

the 1960s was a decade characterized by youth rebellion and societal revolution. the decade was rife with countercultural movements such as racial equality, women's liberation, and queer rights. pushed largely by baby boomers, the young people of the 60s rejected the conservative values of their parents and the generations before them and instead valued equality, individuality, and self-expression. these values inspired the fashion of the 60s, which is why later 60s fashion trends consist of brighter colors, shorter hemlines, non-western influences, and long hair on men.

i'm not sure if sirius having long hair while he was younger is canon, but even if not it makes sense for his character. sirius practically embodies the larger societal reckonings of the time as he struggles with separating himself from his long, bigoted family history and subverts the expectations for him by actively fighting against it and carving out his own self image free from his familial legacy.

clothes: consist mainly of blacks, purples, reds, and silvers. leather, velvet, furs, and fishnets. ripped tops, colored pants, slogan tees, and a copious amount of band t-shirts.

glam rock is a british fashion subculture that emerged in the early 70s and was pioneered by various musicians such as marc bolan and david bowie. glam rock fashion allowed participants to play with gender norms with the men wearing typically "flamboyant" feminine clothing made with velvets, silks, furs, and glitter.

punk rock is also a british fashion subculture that came about in the mid 70. although having its roots in glam rock, punk rock visually seems like the exact opposite with its fashion pieces consisting of leather pants and jackets, combat boots, altered t-shirts, and body modifications such as tattoos and piercings.

for the longest time i haven't been able to choose between whether i think sirius would dress glam or punk. i think he'd like certain elements of both so i tried my best to combine them together.

he'd love t-shirts. they seem common today but before the 60s they were worn as underwear. during this decade t-shirt printing became easier and more accessible, and thus began the trend that was the slogan tee. you could get t-shirts with almost anything printed on them, short phrases, crude jokes, and band logos.

shoes: platform shoes, combat boots, and converse.

platforms platforms platforms

combat boots, specifically doc martens, were a staple in punk fashion

the converse are for casual wear

accessories: motorcycle gloves, star shaped belt buckle, buttons, patches, and sunglasses.

i couldn't find any good pictures or an actual belt that i liked but i feel sirius would love statement belts with a big buckle that has some sort of design on it

the patches and pins are for his infamous leather jacket™ i'm pretty sure his leather jacket isn't canon but it might as well be anyways 🤷🏿‍♀️

#after 5 million years i finished with sirius' everybody cheered #i have to be at work all weekend so i probably won't be able to post anymore this weekend but i definitely will next week #the plan is to do remus and then marlene dorcas mary and pandora (in no order)#maybe peter? i have a few ideas but i'm not sure #sirius black #marauders #marauders era #the marauders #the marauders era #mwpp #mwpp era #decade accurate marauders era wardrobes #not vintage

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psychedelic-ink · 8 months

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𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍.

DAY FOUR OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

pairing: ai-enhanced!miguel o’hara x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, sci-fi, enemies to lovers

summary: there are codeborns and codebreakers. In this world ruled by ai and the people who want to keep it that way, codebreakers fight for freedom while the feared codeborns (ai-enchanced humans) do everything to keep the so-called 'peace'. You are one of the codebreakers, hunted by one of the most menacing codeborn yet, miguel o'hara.

word count: 3k

warnings: hunter/prey, chase kink, size kink, power imbalance, fear kink, dancing on the line of dubcon due to the power imbalance, but reader very much wants miguel, hate sex, piv, possessive!miguel, biting (it has a slight aphrodisiac effect because why not), some blood, dystopian, bondage with mechanical arms, double penetration thanks to said mechanical arms, dirty talk, degradation kink if you squint,

a/n: i don't know with this is, it kinda sorta happened and, honestly, i don't hate it.

In a city perpetually cloaked in gray, oppression is an unrelenting weight. Surveillance cameras leer from every corner, tracking your steps and every muttered word.

This city used to thrive, alive with energy. Now, it's stifled by a regime that rules with an iron fist. Holographic banners hang in the air, projecting sanitized slogans that mask the truth. Rain splashes onto pixelated cobblestones, the wet ground echoing the neon lights into your eyes.

Heart pounding, you dart through the alleyways, every step echoing. You hear them chasing you, the CodeBorns, they were the AI-enhanced sentinels of this world. Their purpose; bring order to the intricate dark web of the city. You scoff as you run, what a load of bullshit. The sentinels are nothing more than mindless robots that have a barely working human heart—and brain—for that matter.

Very fittingly, you’re part of a group called CodeBreakers, a group of dedicated people trying to dismantle the regime and censorship. You just recently hacked into the cinema, which might seem not like a big deal, but you just had to save those poor people from watching the same damn thing over and over again.

Making people watch something else that wasn’t handpicked by the goverment might’ve not been a big deal, but breaking into the system certainly was, and something not everyone could do.

“Shit,” you hiss, accidentally tripping over a loose cobblestone. “Shit shit shit—”

The worst thing about the CodeBorns is the fact that they can do a lot that regular folk like you can’t. For example, they’re all ridiculously fast, they can see in the dark, they can hear exceptionally well, they have superhuman strength—

You hear a wall shattering behind you and heavy steps grow closer, you’re relieved when you realize it’s only one set of steps, but as you realize who those steps probably belong to, your chest caves.

Fucking, Miguel O’Hara.

You hear the familiar creak of mechanical limbs and the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips. Another thing about the AI-enhanced sentinels, they have body upgrades they can take off whenever they want to.

“You can’t unrun me!” he roars. “You know you can’t!”

He’s right, you can’t run a beast of a man like him.

You need to be smarter.

Ducking into another alleyway, you thank whatever god is left in this world overrun by technology for the web of light the neon signs provide. You quickly spot a string of utility boxes, It’s dangerous, but you manage to squeeze yourself between them and the hard stone wall. Heat radiates from the boxes. If Miguel doesn’t lose track of you soon, the damn thing might heat up enough to burn you.

The clatter of mechanical limbs echoes closer.

And then you see him.

The neon light reflects off his holographic suit, its dynamic red details reminiscent of flickering pixels. He's a towering figure. Spider-like limbs protrude from his back, their gleaming metal glistening with the moisture of the rain-soaked air. They move slightly as if looking around, trying to sense her. With panic, you hold your breath, the small hairs on the back of your neck standing with attention.

His brow is slightly furrowed, something you recognize he does when he’s either angry or annoyed—or both. His lips, however, curve into a faint, almost menacing smile, revealing a glimmer of satisfaction in this pursuit.

The alleyway seems to shrink around you as his steps grow nearer. Your pulse quickens, synchronized with the flickering lights around you. This isn’t your first run-in with Miguel, and you doubt it will be the last.

You squeeze your eyes shut. The fear you feel poisons you, making your stomach churn and your mouth taste of death. He’s captured you before but never actually handed you in.

Arousal rears its head among the fear, coating you in a sheer sweat. You can’t help it. It’s a Pavlovian response at this point, you see him and your body starts leaking like a damn faucet. Miguel had captured you twice, and in both of them, you ended up with his cock deep between your legs.

You just never know with him. He never contacted you outside of this, never acted in a way that would indicate that something had happened between you two.

All he gave you is this, the chase, the fear, the wondering if this might be the time he throws you in a needlessly futuristic cell—

"Here, you are. You tiny thing."

Shit.

It’s comical really; the way you look up with wide eyes as his red ones peer down at you. His smirk is non-existent, yet you can still feel his satisfaction in finding you. Your chest heaves painfully, you can move, struck with uncharacteristic fear. He might not be an animal you get the sense that he smells the horror sticking to your skin.

You’re about to make a run for it when the mechanical arm’s sinewy grace coils around your ankles. Miguel pulls you out of your hiding place. All the blood rushes to your face as you hang upside down.

“Dammit, Miguel!” you hiss. “Put me down!”

He raises a sole brow elegantly, his eyes moving up and down your body, his gaze almost predatory. “Rather bold for a criminal,” he answers, voice nonchalant. The limbs tighten around your ankles, just a shy away from being painful. The arm draws you nearer, your breath mingling with his in the dewy air. “I’m starting to think you enjoy getting caught.”

“Does it look like I have a death wish?” you ask. His lips twitch and you quickly add. “You know what, never mind, don’t answer that.”

“What if it was one of the others who found you first? Were you going to spread your legs for them too? ” he snarls. “Is that how you’ve been getting away from hacking our systems for this long?”

This time when the limb squeezes harder around your flesh and bone, you scream. The sound is drowned by the constant buzz of the world. “I should just take you in,” he murmurs. “Be less trouble.”

Due to the blood gathering in your skull, you might be imagining things but you swear you saw a hint of actual worry instead of anger in those crimson eyes. But that shouldn’t be possible. Codeborns didn’t feel; sure they felt anger, but they were programmed sentinels made not to care about anyone who went into their criminal system.

“Careful, your emotion is showing.”

Maybe you do have a death wish, after all.

“Bitch.”

His sudden anger chokes the air from out of your lungs. You’re suffocated. The limb around you suddenly scorching hot, his eyes redder than normal, bright enough to match the neon raining from above. He bares his teeth at you, sharp and venomous, when he wants them to be. Miguel leans further into your personal space, his scowl deep—you begin to shake all over, your heart begging for your body to move away but you can’t. All you fear and think is fear.

Arousal sneaks between the sinews of emotions. You taste it on your tongue, the scent of it searing as you take quick, sharp breaths.

Miguel’s nose brushes the tender skin right under your ear, the sound of his inhale deafening “Afraid?” he rolls his tongue, his voice nothing but gravel. Before you can answer, a chuckle halts your tongue. His breath dans over your damp skin, goosebumps rising across your skin. “Or aroused? Or perhaps both?”

You say nothing and it’s not for a lack of trying. You’re stunned into it, your tongue feeling limp and big in your mouth. The sharp edges of his teeth nip at your upside-down cheek, and despite yourself, a whimper escapes.

“No seas tímida ahora. Where’s all that bite from before? Cat got your tongue?” you joly at the sudden feel of his warm tongue, your nipples hardening under the fabric of your shirt. “Beg for it.” again, a darkness curls around each and every word.

This situation shouldn’t be getting you this hot and bothered. The want between your legs pulses so bad that it hurts.

“P—Please, Miguel,” you say barely above a whisper. “I. . . I want it.”

“Want what?”

Fucking asshole. “Your cock. I want. . . you to fuck me.”

His smile does nothing to quell the fear, “Good girl,” he rasps, the words echoing in your ear.

The rest happens in a blur.

Suddenly you’re not hovering upside down anymore, instead, you’re shoved up against the hard, cold surface of a wall, your pants being lowered for you. Now it’s your wrists that are bound and pinned above your head, your legs spread from the ankles thanks to the mechanical arms. Miguel’s large presence looms right behind you, his clothed cock flush between the crevice of your ass.

“Let’s see how wet you are,” he coos, ripping your panties into two. You make a strangled sound of disapproval, but all he does is click his tongue. “Be grateful I didn’t shred your pants.”

Grateful is the last thing you’re feeling as two fingers spread your folds, the middle one dipping between. Your body speaks for itself. Swiping his fingers up and down, he gatherers your slick around the digit and traces your entrance, pushing in. Your body jumps at the beach, pleasure licking the base of your spine. “So responsive,” he murmurs and you hear the familiar glitching sound of his suit.

Then you feel the heft of his cock laying right above the curve of your ass, both his hands cradling your asscheeks. The limb around your wrists coils tighter.

Miguel parts your cheeks, getting a better look. Your cheeks burn in response. The cool air hits your other hole and you hate the way your body clenches at the cold. His thumb traces the rim and a loud exhale of air rips from your lungs. Your legs start to shake, slick dripping down the insides of the tender flesh.

“Gonna fuck this pretty asshole one day soon,” Miguel gloats. Experimentally, he pushes his thumb forward, nearly knuckle deep until you start squirming. You’re dripping for him, your asshole fluttering around the digit. The mild pain only makes your pulse race. “Unfortunately for you, I can’t today.”

You hear his smile in his voice. The smugness that is laced into his every sentence. Your breath hitches when he pulls out, a moment later the warmth of his finger is replaced with something cold and metal.

You tense as you hear the machine whirring, the hardness of it is replaced with something rounder and softer. “M—Miguel. . . ?”

His lips touch your ear, “Shhh, don’t worry about it, princesa, just a little something to keep you satisfied while I fuck your pretty little cunt.”

The arm merely moves over your hole, a feather-like touch that warms your skin. When it gently prods at you, you arch your back instinctively, your ass moving up into the air.

Miguel only chuckles, the sound dark and low, a faint slap is delivered to your ass. You yelp but he doesn’t say another word.

He’s big.

You have no idea if it’s just lucky genetics or due to the ai-enhancement but whatever it is; he’s well-endowed.

He makes you feel every tantalizing inch as he pushes himself further into your cunt, your walls throbbing while adjusting to his width. Your jaw drops, mouth gaping. He presses deeper and deeper, every centimeter of your cunt claimed by him. Your knees buckle and for the first time, you’re grateful for the robotic tendrils holding you up. He growls into your neck, those same venomous fangs skimming the tenderness of your neck. You feel the sharp bite of his nails digging further into your hip.

Towards the base, his cock thickens and your eyes roll back as he shoves the last of it deep inside you. Your breasts feel heavy, tingling with pleasure despite being untouched.

Miguel doesn’t wait, he pulls back his hips and snaps them forward. Your stomach clenches with a delightful shiver. While slamming into you, the arm that holds your wrists together starts to pull you back until your back forms the perfect art, a mild discomfort steaming at the base of your spine. The way he’s angling you above his cock coaxes sweet, load moans from you. If possible, he’s even deeper now, hitting that devastating spot you can’t seem to reach when you’re on your own.

“You like being my little plaything?” he groans, kissing the sweaty skin between your neck and shoulder. You moan again when the rounded tip of the mechanical limb starts pushing into the tight ring. A fresh pulse of wetness soaks you and trickles down his length, leaving your body trembling. “Fuck,” thrust. “So,” thrust. “goddamn,” thrust. “wet—”

You attempt to say his name but all you manage is the pathetic repeat of the letter “m”. His lips curl cruelly and the tip of the arm forces itself deeper, fucking you with shallow thrusts. “Pathetic,” he spits. “You’re so fucked out that you can’t even say my name? You can’t help drooling around my cock, can’t you? This is why I think you enjoy getting caught, you tiny thing,” the hard edge of his voice softens as he drags his nose down your neck. “So pathetic.”

When he nips at your neck for the nth time tonight, you bare yourself to him by tilting your head. You want it. Want him. You need to feel him tear into your flesh, you want to feel the sting of his bite for weeks.

His movements slow on both ends. “It’ll hurt,” he warns.

“I don’t care,” you choke out. “P-Please— I–I can’t—”

You really can’t talk. Your cunt squeezes around him, begging for the hard pound of his hips. Miguel doesn’t make you say it twice. He sinks his teeth into the same pace he kissed not a moment ago, the pain is instant, the trickle of warm blood making you squeamish. He doesn’t suck, only bites, not that you ever thought he would be sucking your blood. You imagine it’s just something he enjoys doing, like a primal need. You feel the soft webs of psychedelic venom seep into your veins. Your body grows limp, your lids growing heavy, he resumes his thrust and the pleasure you feel is tenfold.

“Oh god,” you gasp, slack-jawed. “Oh my fucking god—Miguel—”

He pulls out his teeth, kissing the marks he made that were shiny with blood, “I know, I know,” he grinds his hips, the pleasure shooting up your spine like electricity. “The effects won’t last long.”

His words go through one ear and out the other. However. Your body singing with pleasure and nothing else, the word around you fading into reds and pinks.

Miguel snapped his hips hard into you, meanwhile, the limb resumed its thrusts, stretching you further with every stroke. Some part of you is reminding you that Miguel, as of right now, can see every part of you, your most intimate parts completely bare. But the soothing venom lurking in your veins whispers words of encouragement. You focus on being stretched further, your hips move in need to meet his thrusts, but having nothing to brace yourself against, you surrender and allow him to take you apart wholly.

His grunts became louder, Miguel pushed deeper and deeper, both cocks thrusting into you at the same time. Spit dribbles from the corners of your lips. Your mind empties with slack-jawed bliss as both lengths repeatedly strike your sensitive spots, pounding you with pleasure.

You let out a loud gasp when the limb pulls out of you suddenly and you’re left empty, Miguel’s arms wrap around you, hands sliding under your shirt to cup the heavy weight of your breasts. He presses flush against you, striking your ass, he fucks into you with short, deep thrusts.

His fingers pinch at your hard nipples, slightly turning them, “Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “Gonna fuck myself deep inside of you so no one will dare touch you.”

The possessive tone, the brutal pace of his thrusts, the large hands on your tits—all of it pushes you down the edge, your body going rigid before relaxing entirely. You gush around him, wet sounds echoing in the narrow alleyway as he fucks you through it, not slowing down in the slightest.

However, you do feel the hold around your wrists recoiling along with the ones holding your ankles apart. Miguel holds you close as you fall loosely like a ragdoll, animalistic sounds are grunted into your ear, another burst of arousal awakening on your tongue.

The tip of his tongue dances along the bite marks when he spills into you, his cock deep, just like he promised.

There’s so much, you feel the heat of it spreading inside of you, some of it spilling around from where his cock stretches you wide. His hips twitch, his arms forcing down the grind of your hips. You let out a whimper, your head falling over his shoulder.

The two of you remain like that until his cock begins to soften inside of you, Miguel slowly pulls out and lowers you to the ground so you can sit. He finds your pants and throws it towards your lap.

Sadly for you, your brain registers none of that. The dumb muscle only starts working again when he stands tall in front of you, that same menacing stance returning.

“Don’t let me catch you again,” he says, voice stern. He looks down at you as he stuffs his cock back in his pants. “If I do, I’ll have to lock you up. This was your last warning.”

And with that, he leaves.

A bitter laughter bubbles in your throat as the back of your head hits the hard surface of the wall. Rain begins to drizzle, the first tiny drops landing on your cheeks and sliding down to your neck.

Among all the people you could’ve fallen for, why did it have to be him?

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