#managing construction inflation

[asestimationsconsultants]

Managing Complexity | How a Construction Estimating Service Handles Multi-Phase Projects

Introduction Multi-phase construction projects—whether for residential communities, commercial developments, or infrastructure builds—present a unique set of challenges. These projects require meticulous coordination across timelines, trades, and budgetary constraints. A construction estimating service becomes an indispensable asset in managing this complexity. By breaking the project into defined phases and applying structured estimating techniques, estimators help ensure clarity, efficiency, and financial control from planning through execution.

Understanding Multi-Phase Projects Multi-phase projects involve construction that unfolds in sequential or overlapping stages. Each phase might have its own design, scope, permitting requirements, and budget. Without careful cost planning, projects can suffer from cost overruns, resource misallocations, and scheduling conflicts. A construction estimating service mitigates these risks by producing phase-specific estimates that contribute to an accurate overall cost forecast.

Phase-Based Budgeting and Cash Flow Planning One of the primary contributions of a construction estimating service in multi-phase projects is segmented budgeting. Estimators prepare separate budgets for each project phase, allowing stakeholders to manage cash flow more effectively. This approach ensures that funding aligns with the project schedule and avoids unnecessary capital tie-ups in early phases.

Improved Forecasting with Historical Data and Cost Indices Construction estimating services often use historical data from similar projects to inform pricing for each phase. They also adjust for anticipated material and labor price fluctuations using industry cost indices. These forecasting tools are especially useful for long-term, multi-year projects where inflation or market volatility can have a significant financial impact.

Trade Coordination Across Phases Different phases may involve different trades or subcontractors, and proper sequencing is crucial. A construction estimating service helps coordinate trade involvement across phases, accounting for their availability, costs, and project dependencies. This avoids delays caused by poor scheduling or miscommunication between contractors.

Scope Definition and Scope Control In multi-phase projects, the scope of work for later phases often evolves as earlier stages are completed. A construction estimating service provides detailed documentation and clear scope definitions for each phase, reducing the likelihood of scope creep. Estimators also flag areas where cost contingencies may be needed, ensuring flexibility without compromising financial oversight.

Phase-Specific Risk Assessments Each phase of a project carries distinct risks—such as weather impacts during specific seasons, regulatory delays, or equipment mobilization needs. A skilled estimator evaluates these risks and integrates them into the phase-specific cost models. This proactive approach allows contractors and owners to make informed decisions and reduce the likelihood of expensive surprises.

Technology Integration for Phase Tracking Modern construction estimating services utilize software that integrates estimating with project scheduling and management tools. This digital coordination enables real-time updates to budgets and forecasts as each phase progresses. Estimators can adjust estimates dynamically to reflect on-site conditions, scope changes, or updated client requirements.

Logistical Planning and Resource Optimization Multi-phase projects often require shared use of materials, labor, or equipment across different stages. Estimators help identify opportunities for resource optimization—for instance, bulk material purchases or long-term labor contracts that span multiple phases. This helps in controlling costs and reducing waste.

Inter-Phase Communication and Stakeholder Alignment Construction estimating services contribute to better communication between architects, engineers, contractors, and clients. They provide a financial roadmap for each phase that aligns everyone on the expected costs, deliverables, and timelines. This alignment minimizes rework, confusion, and last-minute budget adjustments.

Contingency Planning and Change Management In multi-phase projects, changes are inevitable. A construction estimating service builds in appropriate contingencies based on the complexity and uncertainty of each phase. Estimators also assist in pricing change orders accurately and swiftly, ensuring minimal disruption to both schedule and budget.

Regulatory and Permit Considerations by Phase Each phase may require separate regulatory approvals or permits. Estimators factor in the time and cost associated with these processes, including fees, consultant costs, and compliance-related expenses. This level of detail is crucial to avoid delays or cost escalations due to overlooked requirements.

Comprehensive Reporting for Long-Term Planning A professional construction estimating service provides consistent reporting and updates for each project phase. These reports offer insights on current costs, projected spending, and budget performance. They also help in adjusting long-term plans to align with real-time data, especially in projects lasting several years.

Conclusion Managing multi-phase projects is no easy task, but with a construction estimating service, it becomes significantly more feasible. These professionals bring structure to complex timelines, improve forecasting accuracy, and ensure financial discipline from start to finish. Whether it's a four-phase residential build or a multi-tower commercial complex, the role of an estimator is central to success, allowing project teams to move forward with confidence, clarity, and cost control.

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 35

summary: It’s your wedding night, and you’re finally alone with your husband in the privacy of your hotel suite. Not that you care much about privacy when things get hot and heavy on the balcony.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, explicit smut, age gap (about ten years), two extremely horny newlyweds, Husband Javier Peña, dirty talk, oral sex (f + m receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), rough sex, loud balcony sex, exhibitionism, romantic bathtub sex, BREEDING KINK (so much), praise kink, marriage kink, love kink, ring kink, drinking, being buzzed, love confessions, body worship, body insecurity (and Javier making you feel better), cuteness aggression, relationship insecurity, romantic comedy, domestic bliss, Javier with kids, a new POV)

word count: 20k+

a/n: Hey! I hope you remember me. Lmao Let me just say the last six months have been literal hell, and my life is still in shambles. On a positive note, I’m no longer working 60-80 hours a week, and I now have time to write. A couple of notes about this chapter. It takes place in January of 1999. With inflation, $150 in 1999 would be $300 today. A big thanks to @devineconjuring for betaing! Also, thank you to @juletheghoul for checking out my Spanish. Thank you for reading!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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The San Agustín de Laredo Historic District, located downtown along the banks of the Rio Grande River, was where the original city of Laredo was established in 1755. The area had many buildings dating back to the 1800s, like the district’s namesake, San Agustín Cathedral—a place you were familiar with as it happened to be the church Chucho and many members of your new family attended and was where he married your mother-in-law some forty-plus years ago.

La Posada was the fanciest hotel in town since it offered room service and had valet parking. It was just down and across the old, narrow brick road from your family’s church. The tall, white bell tower could even be seen looming high in the sky from the hotel’s entrance.

The inn, opened in 1961, had its own rich history as it occupied the original high school building that was constructed back in 1916 and was surrounded by some 19th-century structures—one was a former convent, and another was the Capitol building for the short-lived Republic of the Rio Grande. Most of the buildings in the area showed Spanish and Mexican influences, including the hotel, with its rounded arches at entryways and windows, thick stucco coating the outer walls, and many balconies, courtyards, columns, and elaborately carved doors.

Javi could’ve rented you a regular room at La Posada or even something at the Motel 6 off the highway, and you would’ve been happy as a clam. Your dear, sweet, wonderful husband, however, didn’t think either of those options was good enough for you and somehow managed to book the ever-elusive Presidential Suite; this was the room that a person with any kind of notoriety stayed in when they were passing through the Rio Grande Valley—think B-list celebrities, like Matthew McConaughey, or campaigning politicians.

Most of the hotel was only two stories high, but one stretch had a third level dedicated to a few luxury suites, including where you were staying. Through the double doors of your one-bedroom accommodations was a small entryway that led to the living room featuring a built-in bar—a shelf with a variety of liquors, a countertop with different kinds of glasses, and a cocktail shaker—a sitting area with an entertainment system, and French doors that opened to a private balcony that had views of Mexico across the river. There was a kitchenette, a four-person dining table, and a half bath. Through another set of double doors, the bedroom had a massive two-postered king-size bed, an en suite containing an oversized whirlpool tub, and a shower that could easily fit two people. Every room had beamed ceilings, the wall connected to another suite was made of brick, the color scheme of everything stuck to earthy tones that complemented the exposed beams and wooden furniture, and the art on the walls depicted beautiful river scenery.

No matter how many times you asked, your husband refused to reveal how much two nights in such splendor put him back.

And here you were in the bedroom, you and Javi stripped of your formal attire on the bed that he had the forethought to put a towel down on to keep things from getting too messy. You could not stop yourself from loudly moaning at how good it was; your husband had you in heaven with how he was filling you up, and you were finally at the point of feeling stuffed.

He was beside you, so close your bodies touched. “Yeah?” Javi purred. "You like that? You want more?"

You had to swallow before you could speak, shaking your head as you replied, “God, it’s so good, but I don’t want to get sick.”

“Okay, baby.” He kissed your cheek. “Relax while I clean up.”

Your husband carefully took the paper plate that you had practically licked clean of every crumb of wedding cake and the plastic fork you’d been using. Sitting crisscross on the mattress, you were dressed the same as Javier in nothing but a big, white, fluffy, hotel-provided bathrobe. On the towel in front of you were two more sets of dirtied plates and utensils from the leftovers the two of you ate, which Javi picked up as he got off the bed, heading out of the room to the small kitchen to dispose of them.

Earlier, when your husband revealed the surprise that you’d be staying in this suite for two nights, he told you all of the places in the room he planned to fuck you. From those promises, you imagined that he would toss you onto the bed upon arriving here and have his way with you. What actually happened was you got to the door, and Javi made you laugh when he lifted you over his shoulder like a caveman and carried you across the rented room’s threshold. He did throw you onto the big bed, where the two of you made out for some minutes. It just didn’t go any further because your sweetheart of a husband was aware you were hungry, and that made his biggest priority getting you comfortable and feeding you. So, the first thing he did was strip you out of your dress, the man unable to keep himself from taking a couple of minutes to admire the lacy thong you’d been wearing before he got you naked and had you join him in the shower. Aside from some groping and a little kissing, there was hardly any fooling around since he was so focused on taking care of you, which was sweet.

After that, Javi heated up some of the food from your wedding that the Murphys were kind enough to drop off prior to your arrival since they were staying at the same hotel, and the two of you had a little feast on the bed. Now you were nice and full, but not overly so that you felt sick, just enough that you were relaxed and a little sleepy—a food coma, if you will.

Many pillows were on the bed, and you moved some behind you to prop yourself up and lie back on. You grabbed your almost-empty complimentary bottle of water from the mattress beside you, unscrewed the cap, and took a drink.

“Cielito?” your husband called from the other room. “Do you want anything else to drink?”

The options included the bottle of champagne the hotel gifted you to celebrate your marriage, something from the living room bar, tap water, or the two of you could trek to the floor below to raid the vending machine in nothing but your robes and the slippers that were with them when you got there.

His question made you smile as you re-capped your water, stretching your arm to set the bottle on the bedside table. “No, babe,” you answered loud enough for him to hear. “I’m good—get back in here!”

He returned seconds later, his knees sinking into the mattress as he crawled onto it, smiling. Javi made his way over to you, and when he was at your left side, he wormed his arm behind your back, the other over your front to hold you close, his head nestled on your robe-covered chest. After getting comfortable, he sighed happily, closing his eyes with a little smile on his lips.

“Javi?”

“Yes, mi esposa (my wife)?”

The title made your spine tingle.

“God, I’ll never tire of you calling me that.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ll never tire of calling you it, my beautiful wife.” He quickly kissed over your heart, then rested his head on you again. “What were you gonna ask?”

“Oh, right. I know we should be having the dirtiest, nastiest sex known to man right now—” Javi snorted. “—but, since we just ate, are you cool with us hanging out for a little bit while the food digests?”

“Are you okay with cuddling, or am I hurting your stomach?” He lifted his arm off your belly.

“Cuddling sounds wonderful.” You lowered his arm back to where it was, resting your palm on his wrist.

“Okay.” He nuzzled you with his face. “Would you, uh, want to play with my hair…?”

“You can bet your cute little ass I do.” That made him chuckle. Your fingers pressed into his hair, playing with the soft strands and lightly scratching at his scalp, which earned you a noise from the back of his throat that came close to a purr.

“How was your day?” you asked.

“Fucking amazing. How about yours?”

“Fucking amazing, though talk about our bad sex luck—which reminds me, thank god your dad does his laundry on Saturdays. When we return the Mustang, I need you to distract him while I disinfect his laundry room.”

Javi groaned at the reminder of hearing his cousin and your best friend Robyn fucking in said room. “I don't wanna think about that.”

“And you think I do? I just don’t want our father coming across a condom wrapper, or god forbid a used condom, when he goes to do his chores. You know as well as I do that he’d tell his sisters, and it’d be the chisme (gossip) everyone is talking about Sunday at tía María’s.”

Your hand was still on his head, curling strands of his hair absentmindedly around your pointer finger.

“Los chismosos (The gossipers),” he grumbled. “Hold on, why do we care if he finds evidence someone fucked in there?”

“Um, because they’ll all assume it was us, and I do not feel like announcing to our entire family that I exclusively get rawed and creampied.”

“Why would you announce that…?”

“Do you want everyone to think we’re horny newlyweds who fucked in a laundry room because they couldn’t keep it in their pants until they got home?”

“We are horny newlyweds who couldn’t keep it in their pants until they got home. We almost did fuck in that laundry room.”

“Sure, except if we had, we wouldn’t have left behind any evidence. We’re not sloppy, thank you very much. I mean, I know a lot about Robyn’s sex life—like a lot—but I don’t know how discreet she is. So, we’ll need to make sure nothing was left behind.”

“I say, if they’re gonna be rude and leave shit behind, we just throw them under the bus…”

Your hand stopped moving in his hair.

“You mean the woman who convinced me to let you fuck my ass?” you asked. “The woman who’s held down the fort while you and I fooled around on my lunch countless times? The woman who covered while I got you off in an on-call room at the hospital? The woman who has had our backs so many times I’ve lost count? That’s the woman you wish to throw under a bus?”

There was a pause, and you heard him gulp.

“I’ll tell Pop that I think one of the Mustang’s tires is low on air,” he replied, “so he has to go with me outside while you take care of the crime scene.”

His response had you smiling. “Thank you,” you said, leaning forward to kiss his head.

You resumed playing with his hair.

“No need to thank me. You, uh, had some good points.”

“I know I did.”

“I haven’t had a chance to see your nails.” His hand moved to grab yours that’d been on his wrist, bringing it up to his face to look at your white-tipped fingernails. “Look at those, they’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Thank you. It’s a French manicure, and I thought they’d look really good with my dresses.”

“They’re perfect.” He kissed the back of your hand and continued holding it when his arm relaxed over your stomach again.

For a minute, it was quiet as you both lay there, your fingers slipping through the soft brown waves on his head in comfortable silence.

“Did I tell you what Olivia said before they left?” Javi asked.

“Um, I don’t think so?”

“She confused the fuck out of me—she thinks I play baseball.”

“What?”

“She gave me a pep talk…?” he said it like a question.

“A pep talk? About what?”

“Something about how she knows I secretly play baseball and that I shouldn’t be embarrassed I’m bad at it because I’ll get better the more I practice. To be honest, it was adorable, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t play.”

“That is extremely random. Why would she think you play baseball?”

“I have no fucking clue. I’ve been thinking back on my conversations with her, and I don’t think we’ve ever talked about baseball.”

“Maybe she misremembered something or misunderstood something her parents said? No clue why Steve and Connie would be talking about you and baseball, though.”

“I don’t know, either. They’re both aware I’m a swimmer and played some soccer.”

“True. Who knows where Olivia got the idea.” You shrugged a shoulder.

“Yeah…”

“It’s gonna bother the fuck out of you until you figure it out, isn’t it?”

“A little.”

“We’ll ask Steve and Connie tomorrow at dinner, Detective Peña.” The Murphys were flying home the following evening, and the plan was to have an early dinner at the hotel restaurant before they left.

“Okay, Mrs. Detective Peña.”

“Oh my god!” you gasped. “I am Mrs. Detective Peña now!” you replied excitedly.

“Yes, you are.” The smile was evident in his voice. “You’re my wife.”

“Yes, I am, and you are my husband.”

“The best fucking thing anyone has called me.”

His response had you smiling.

It sometimes caught you off guard how much Javier loved you since the love you felt for him ran so deep that it consumed every fiber of your being. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could love you the same, not when your heart was more his than yours, yet Javi did. His devotion knew no bounds, and he saw you for everything you were and loved you despite it all—to him, you were perfection. No one would ever love you more, and you would never love anyone else more because he was yours, and you were his; fate, destiny, the writing in the stars led you to each other, and now your lives were so intertwined that his heart was your heart, his hands were your hands, his smile was your smile, he belonged to you as you belonged to him.

Enough time had passed for the food in your stomach to settle, and now you could acknowledge the want burning low in your belly, making your pussy drip with arousal. Something about how happy Javi was that he vowed to spend the rest of his existence with you was such a big turn-on that it was time for things to heat up so you could give him the sloppiest blow job to show your appreciation—except, you wanted it to be spicier than usual.

“My wonderful, perfect husband?”

“Yes, my wonderful, perfect wife?”

“You know what we should do right now?”

“Depends—has your food digested?”

“Yep.”

Javi jostled you as he moved his arm from under your back, rising up on it in order to meet your eyes, his plush lips smirking under his perfectly trimmed mustache. “In that case, have the dirtiest, nastiest sex known to man?” And it became evident you’d been together a while when he wiggled his eyebrows at you as you’d done to him many times before.

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, playfully pushing his shoulder.

“That isn’t a no,” he pointed out.

“No, it’s not.” You shook your head. “But I was thinking we could get some fresh air out on the balcony.” It was your turn to wag your brows at him. Javi chuckled, giving you a big smile.

“Champagne?” he asked. “Or should I get out the salt and limes for tequila?”

“The room came with salt and limes…?”

“No—I brought the salt, limes, and our bottle of tequila from the apartment.”

He also brought you both overnight bags and somehow smuggled your toiletries out of his dad’s house–you’d taken them to Chucho’s the prior night when you stayed over, and you were pretty sure it was Connie who did the smuggling. She probably had Steve deliver your little bag with the food before he returned to their room, which Javi assured you was on the other side of the hotel and out of hearing range to your suite.

Your eyes rounded. “Because you knew I’d need liquid courage to fuck around outside?”

He gave you a look like the answer was obvious. “Yeah?”

“That is so unbelievably romantic. Horny, but romantic.” Grabbing a handful of his robe, you pulled him forward as you leaned toward him, slotting your lips with his, kissing him; he smelled like the floral rose petal-scented shampoo he used in the shower, and he tasted sweet from the bites of wedding cake you shared with him.

When you broke apart, you were both smiling.

“You get the goods,” you told him, “and I’ll meet you outside—I gotta pee really quick.”

“Okay,” he replied and pecked you on the nose.

The bathroom was on the other side of the room, which meant you had to go around the bed after you got off of it, Javi following you and smacking your ass. There wasn’t much of a smack with the thick robe in the way, but it still made you giggle. He headed for the bedroom door, and as you continued your journey to the en suite, something shiny on his bedside table caught your attention and made you frown.

“Babe?”

He hadn’t left the room yet, standing at the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Does the gun have to hang out on your table, or can we put it in a drawer or something?” It was Chucho’s small revolver that he kept in the Mustang. Your husband didn’t want to risk it being stolen, so he brought it up to the room.

“Put it in the drawer.”

“Is it safe to touch…?” Unlike Javi, you did not have a lot of experience with firearms aside from treating many gunshot wounds when you worked in a big city emergency room.

“Would I ask you to touch it if it wasn’t safe?”

“No…”

“Exactly. The safety’s on.”

“That’s good,” you replied and moved closer. “I was worried about you shooting your cute little butt off when you shoved it in the back of your pants.” It was bewildering when he got out of the car and casually tucked the gun into the waistband of his slacks.

A huff of air left his nose. “Fifteen years with the DEA, and I never shot myself in the ass.”

Opening the drawer, the only thing in it was a bible. You carefully picked up the revolver by its grip with two fingers like an old, smelly sock and set it atop the book. “Yeah,” you replied, “‘cause you had the sexy tac-vest-thingy with the holster on the front.”

“I didn’t always wear a tac-vest...”

“What?” you replied, shutting the drawer and spinning around to face him. His fluffy, white robe reached down to mid-thigh on him, and it was tied closed, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “So, you’d wear a holster on your hip?” you asked.

You thought back to the pictures you’d seen of your husband in Colombia, trying to remember if he was wearing a holster in any of them.

His expression turned guilty. “No…”

The realization hit you. “A butt gun, Javier? You’d just walk around with a gun at your ass? That is not safe.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “The safety was on?”

“Okay? But even with the safety on, it’s still dangerous. I had so many people come through my ER because they didn’t properly holster their weapons. One dude had it in the front of his waistband, and when he went to pull it out, it accidentally discharged into his thigh and hit his femoral artery—dead on arrival.” Javi grimaced. “And don’t get me started on all of the butts I had to look at and treat because they carried like you and weren’t as lucky. Do you think I enjoy looking at strangers' butts?”

“I mean…”

“Us checking out bootylicious babes in San Antonio and Miami does not count, Javier. These butts I had to look at for work were mostly men’s butts, and I can tell you right now, they were not anywhere close to how cute yours is, and dear god, were a lot of them hairy—which, I am so thankful you are not a super hairy guy, and I really do appreciate that you trim your pubes.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He shrugged.

Your eyes lowered to his crotch, picturing what the white garment covered, your mouth watering at the thought of blowing him. Javi cleared his throat to get your attention, your eyes snapping up to his that sparkled in adoration.

“What were we talking about?” you asked.

Javi snorted. “You were getting on my ass about how I carry a gun.”

“Oh, yes—stop being dumb and protect what little ass you have.”

Javier was not going to reveal that there was a gun in the back of his waistband most of the time they went horseback riding.

“I’ll start using a holster,” he said. “But, if we’re going out on Pop’s land, you can’t complain if you see me carrying; I know guns make you uncomfortable, but our safety is more important.”

“Okay.” Her shoulders shrugged.

His eyebrows pulled together—he was expecting more resistance. “Really?”

“Yeah? You told me about all of the dangerous animals out there, and I’ll feel safer if you’re packing—that’s packing as in a gun on your person, not the big dick in your pants.” She winked at him, and Javier huffed in amusement.

“Thank you for the clarification. You’re taking this a lot better than I expected…”

She walked up to him with a grin and threw her arms around his neck, Javier immediately pulling her into him. “It’s marriage, baby,” she said. “We gotta compromise sometimes.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, his head moving forward to rub the tip of her nose with his. He whispered, “Does that mean you’ll let me teach you how to shoot?” Something she’s always refused.

“I don’t know—will it make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then fine, you can teach me.”

He pulled back to look at her. “Really?”

“Yes, because I am an amazing wife who loves my husband dearly.”

He grinned. “You’re a fucking incredible wife whose husband loves you more than anything.”

Javier didn’t give her a chance to respond; his lips crushed into hers, kissing her tenderly, hoping she could feel how happy she made him.

She really was a fucking incredible wife.

When they parted, he gave her another smack on the ass and told her to hurry, his wife giggling as they went their separate ways.

The balcony was covered, with a beamed ceiling overhead and walls on either end to offer some semblance of privacy—the railing was made of wrought iron, the vertical bars twisting like vines into delicate loops and swirls. The only furniture out there was a wooden bistro table situated against the stucco-coated wall with two armless chairs on both sides facing the river. The outdoor light was too bright, and Javier thought it would bring too much attention to them, so he settled on what light filtered out from the living room through the French doors’ windows and the brightness of the moon in the clear sky, illuminating the space in a gentle glow.

He was sitting back in one of the chairs, his legs slightly spread and his arm resting on the table beside him. On the tabletop was the half-drunk bottle of tequila, ziplock bag of cut-up lime wedges, and salt shaker he brought from their apartment, along with a shot glass he grabbed from their rented room’s bar that he washed himself to ensure it was clean.

The night air was cool and a little crisp as he looked out toward the Rio Grande, where, in the distance, he could see the lights of Nuevo Laredo across the way in Mexico. For some unknown reason—maybe being outside or how emotional the day was—Javier was craving a cigarette; even after quitting almost two years ago, he still felt the itch for nicotine here and there, and he’d done pretty well not giving in to the temptation, mainly because there was someone in his life now who distracted him from it. The French doors opened, and immediately, his head was turning in their direction to see his wife coming out.

His beautiful distraction.

He couldn’t keep himself from smiling even if he tried. She looked so comfortable in her robe that matched his, her face lighting up when her eyes landed on him. Her expression took him back to the first time he saw that beaming smile after she handed him the perfect tomato: that was the moment she pulled him in and made him want to know more about the sweet woman who was easily excitable over fresh produce. It was like meeting the sun—bright, warm, happy, and he wanted to bask in her rays and see that smile every day for the rest of his life. Better yet, he wanted to be the reason for that smile, and now he was proud to say he was.

Only a couple of minutes had passed since the last time he saw her, and when she made it over to him, she asked, “Is this seat taken?” She nodded at his knee closest to her, and without waiting for his answer, she sat down on his thigh with her legs between his and her arms around his neck, Javier pulling her closer.

His head was tilted up to look at her, his hand reaching to cradle her face in his palm, staring her in the eyes, smiling.

“I’ve got something else you can sit on,” he said.

“Javier,” she gasped. Her fingers went to his forehead, brushing stray strands of his hair off of it. “I’m gonna need a shot first, maybe two—actually, two for sure, no more than three because, as we know, one shot, two shot, three shot, four-the-love-of-god-stop-crying.”

He chuckled. “Two shots then, pero, quiero que mi esposa me bese primero (but, I want my wife to kiss me first).”

“Cualquier cosa por mi esposo (Anything for my husband).”

Javier couldn’t get enough of her calling him that.

He pulled her down until their lips were a hair's breadth apart. “Dilo otra vez (Say it again),” he rasped.

“Cualquier cosa por mi esposo (Anything for my husband),” she whispered.

“¿Quién soy yo (Who am I)?”

“Mi esposo (My husband).”

“Sí, chingados que soy (Yes, I fucking am),” he growled, pressing his mouth to hers.

The kiss was anything but chaste with how Javier plunged his tongue between her perfect lips to tangle with hers. His heartbeat sped up, the blood pumping through his heated body and traveling to his hardening cock. He moved his hand from her face down to her bare knee, tracing his fingertips up under her robe over the soft skin of her thigh to her ass to squeeze a handful of it.

There wasn’t the same pent-up need like their kiss in the Mustang when he parked them in the field. This one was instead full of promise for their night ahead, making the anticipation swell that they could now take their time and truly enjoy each other since they already dealt with the sexual frustration of being cockblocked multiple times when they were frantic in the car.

Javier savored the feeling of her mouth on his, how their tongues intertwined, and the sweet taste of her lips. He savored her moans and her fingers combing up through the hair from the nape of his neck to the back of his head, where she clutched it tight in her fists; sparks danced along his spine and collected at the base of it, feeding the fire of his arousal that had him half-hard already and wanting to touch more of his wife’s body.

His wife. His beautiful, smart, sexy, amazing wife.

They kissed until they were breathless, both panting when they separated. He nibbled on her chin, his mouth blazing a path along the underside of her jaw until he was at the taut skin of her neck, nipping and kissing down the column of it.

“Oh, god,” she gasped when he sucked at her pulse point, and it made him smile. She lightly tugged his head back by the hair to make him look at her. “Shots.”

“Yeah?” He squeezed her ass.

“Fuck yes.”

“Okay, baby. Ladies first.”

He got his arm out from behind her back, his other hand leaving her ass as his upper body twisted slightly toward the table to grab the bottle of tequila, unscrewing the cap and pouring the liquor into the clear shot glass. Then he opened the bag of limes and picked up the salt shaker, his attention returning to her.

“Where do you want the salt?” Usually, a pinch was licked off the hand between the thumb and forefinger, but he had other ideas for his turn.

She worked open the tie on his robe and pushed it away to reveal his chest, his arm going back behind her again to give her room. “Here,” she said, bending her head to lave at his nipple with her tongue.

“Fuck,” Javier breathed, swallowing hard—it looked like she had the same idea.

While she sprinkled the salt on him, he took a lime wedge out of the bag and gently bit the rind, holding it between his teeth.

Cielito set the shaker down to grab the shot glass and raised it. “Fuck the leather, fuck the lace, here’s to the one who sits on your face!”

The only reason he didn’t laugh was because immediately after she spoke, her face dipped down to suck the salt off his nipple—the shock of pleasure had the muscles in his thighs tensing. She quickly drank the tequila, her face pinching at the burn before she bit the lime out of his mouth.

The glass was back on the table, his wife setting the remnants of the fruit she sucked the juice from next to it.

“Woo!” she exclaimed. “One down, one to go.” She untied her robe and opened it, Javier’s eyes lowering to her bare tits.

His hand moved on its own accord, skating his large palm up her stomach to fondle her breast. He could hear her say something but didn’t make out the words. Her smaller hand came into view, and the snapping of her fingers ended his trance—he looked up at her. “Sorry?” he said.

She smiled. “I asked where you want the salt.”

“I think you know where I want the salt.” His tongue swiped along his bottom lip at the thought of getting his mouth on her tits.

“That’s why the robe is open.” She winked. “My guess was boobies or neck, and I see you’ve chosen the boobies, a tit for tit.”

“Don’t you mean a ‘tit for tat’?”

“No.” She shook her head. “A tit for tit works better in this situation.”

“I am so in love with you.”

“Good, ‘cause I am so in love with you.”

He took her breast into his palm and leaned his head forward, sucking her stiff nipple into his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat, the fingers on one of her hands going into his hair. Javier came off of her with a wet pop, her skin shining with his saliva. He shook some salt onto her, then poured himself a shot as she got a lime wedge.

“I expect a good toast,” she said. “No, ‘salud.’ Give me something raunchy that you and your guy friends would say in college, or you and Steve in Colombia.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Something raunchy Steve would say? The guy who doesn’t like us kissing in front of his kids?”

“Okay, you know what. The moment I said Steve, I realized the raunchiest thing he’d say before you guys drank would be cheers or bottoms up if he was feeling a bit scandalous. There’s gotta be shit you and your friends in college would say, though.”

He picked up the tiny glass that looked even smaller in his hand compared to hers and took a moment to think about what he could say. He’d never been much into toasting, and in college, they usually drank to getting laid or winning a swim meet. There was something he overheard years ago, down in Colombia, that an American tourist said that stuck with him. He just had to remember the wording…

She had the lime ready for him between her teeth, and he lifted the shot. “Here’s to love, here’s to honor; if you can’t come in her, come on her!”

Cielito was doing her best not to laugh. He sucked the salt off of her breast and shot back the tequila, the mineral lessening the initial burn—it was smooth with a sweetness of flavors, picking up vanilla and caramel and a hint of something oaky that was washed away by the sourness of the lime when he bit into it. The glass went back onto the table, along with used rind.

He looked at his wife. “How was that?” he asked, his hand around her back, squeezing her hip.

“Very good. I loved the play on words.”

“How are you feeling?”

She smiled at him. “Fucking amazing. Ready for round two?”

Javier mirrored her expression. “Where do you want the salt?”

This time, she salted his neck, and when she raised the glass, she said, “To us: may all of our ups and downs be in bed!”

Once again, he didn’t have a chance to chuckle before her tongue was licking up the sensitive skin of his neck, his eyes closing at how good it felt. The alcohol was warm in his belly, and he knew it’d take one more shot before he felt any of its effects—his wife would be feeling it any minute now.

For his turn, he chose her neck as well—a ‘tit for tit.’ He lifted the shot glass, keeping his gaze on hers, another lime wedge in her mouth for him. “To my wife, who I love more than anything. You are my forever and have made me the happiest man in the entire fucking world. This isn’t the best day of my life—it’s only one of them because I know there are many more ahead of us. Te amo, mi Cielito (I love you, my Cielito).”

Her eyes were misty, and he went through the steps—lick, drink, suck—she leaned his way, and he closed the distance, his tongue licking up the salty trail on her throat before he drank the tequila, then sucked the lime from between her lips. The moment her mouth was empty, she said, “Javier, how dare you say something so sweet when my toasts were gross.”

He spit the rind out onto the table with the others, the glass going bottom-up beside them. His hand went to the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. “I meant it all,” he replied, smashing his lips to hers.

His mouth muffled her moan—taking advantage of her parted lips, he licked inside, tasting the lime and sweet hints of tequila, their tongues dancing together as they had countless times before. His free hand gravitated to her tits, roughly palming one, then the other, pinching and rolling each of her pebbled nipples with his fingers.

Javier loved her breathy sounds.

The alcohol’s warmth was spreading through his body, his dick hard and throbbing, barely covered by his robe. His wife gave as good as she got, and she made him groan when she freed his length and wrapped her fingers around him, slowly pumping him up and down.

It was starting to heat up, and there was a list of things he wanted to do, but first, he needed to ensure she was comfortable. He detached his lips from hers, kissing the edge of her mouth, his nose bumping into hers.

“You good?” he asked. “Or another shot?”

“I’m good,” you answered and kissed his plush lips.

The booze had you feeling warm and tamped down your nerves. You were good, you were more than good, your cunt weeping with your need for him.

With the way your husband had been obsessing about eating your pussy all night, you knew that was the first thing he’d want to do, and you were curious to find out what he planned—was he going to sit you in the chair and get on his knees for you? Bend you over the railing and eat you out from the back? Or put you in the position he had you in earlier when you were interrupted, with your back against the wall and him kneeling at your feet? It was honestly a toss-up on what he would choose. Luckily, he didn’t make you wait long.

Javi’s mouth broke away from yours, grabbing your hand that was on him, ordering you, “Up.” You didn’t waste any time, rising to stand in front of him. He grunted as he got up with you, the seat creaking from his movements; he was so close to you that your bodies touched, your palm still in his—he tugged it to make you face him and have you chest to chest.

His eyes were dark with lust when they met yours. “I fucking need you,” he rasped, and suddenly those big mitts of his were framing your face, his lips finding yours. This kiss was fervent, urgent, his need evident as he turned you away from the table and backed you up into the wall beside the chair.

From how passionately he claimed your lips, it seemed his words had a double meaning: he needed you physically at this moment and needed you always in his life. He needed you in every way there was, and wasn’t it the same for you with him? You needed him in every way there was, too. Not only that, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to breathe without him; would your heartbeat cease without him? These were questions you never wanted to learn the answers to.

With your robed back pressed to the stucco wall, it was apparent he wanted to finish what he started earlier, and you were happy to oblige. The glow from the lights in the living room trickling out through the French doors’s windows, along with the moonlight, softly lit the balcony. Thankfully, it wasn’t bright enough for anyone to make out what was going on if they happened to look, and that, added with the tequila, eased any worries you had.

Your robe was untied, Javi shoving it open to reveal your entire naked front, the cool air causing goosebumps to prickle on your warm skin, your nipples to tighten. He kissed you hard one last time and then began his journey down your body. Earlier, when you arrived at the room, your husband was so focused on taking care of you that he didn’t get a chance to take his time to admire your bare figure—something you could tell he wanted to do badly when he was undressing you. Now, he could, the man worshiping you with his lips and hands, kissing and touching every bit of flesh he came into contact with; his palms mapped out your belly and hips, his mouth trailing down your neck to your chest, Javier whispering into your skin as he went, “You’re beautiful… you’re so fucking beautiful… I’m so lucky… fuck, I love you.”

He took your breasts into his hands, his head lowering to suck one of your pebbled buds into his mouth. The pleasure had you gasping and needing to touch him, your palms sliding under his robe to hold onto his waist. His teeth grazed over your stiff peak before he lightly bit it and tugged, making you loudly moan his name; he let it go and moved to the other, enveloping it in the warmth of his mouth, giving it the same attention.

Arousal was coating your inner thighs, the anticipation welling up inside of you—you wanted Javi’s face buried in your pussy as much as he wanted to do it.

Once he gave your tits an ample amount of attention, leaving your nipples and the skin around them glossy with spit, he continued making his way down the front of your body. As he lowered, so did his lips, his kisses all over your stomach imbued with his words of love. “So beautiful… I can’t wait to see you pregnant… you’re gonna look so good with my baby inside you… I love you so fucking much… you make me so happy.”

Even after all this time you’ve been together with Javi, it was still hard to accept that he truly found you beautiful. You knew he meant everything he said, but there were parts of your body you hated, parts that you could still recall word-for-word the negative comments your mother made about them, parts that were far from perfect that you couldn’t believe anyone would ever love. Except, there was someone who did love them—Javi. He genuinely loved every part of you, and he loved them all so reverently and with such conviction—like if he loved them enough, you would, too.

Maybe that would happen; maybe he’d help you break through the years of insecurity, and you would learn to love your imperfections—only time would tell. For now, you were finally to a point where you believed your husband when he told you how beautiful you were, and with his excitement over eventually seeing you pregnant, he’d helped calm your fears about the changes your body would go through.

He kneeled in front of you, grabbing handfuls of your ass while he placed a kiss on your mound. He put your leg over his shoulder to open you up, his fingers spreading apart your lower lips where you knew he could see how wet you were for him.

“Finally,” he whispered, and that was all the warning you got before Javi dove in face first, the flat of his tongue licking up your slit. He had you biting your lip and curling your fingers into the soft strands of his hair, making you keen when he started lapping at your perky little clit.

“Oh, god,” you breathed.

No one ate pussy like Javier—it was like he was starving for it, the rumbling groans he made as he dragged his mouth all over your cunt, wanting to taste every bit of your essence while inhaling your musk. His words vibrated against your cunt, “You taste so fucking good.”

“You’re too good at this,” you panted. The back of your head hit the wall, your eyes closing, moans falling unbidden from your lips as the first signs of your orgasm took shape low in your belly. “I’m so lucky,” you continued. “I can’t fucking believe I get this for the rest of my life.”

For only a second, he paused. “Any time you want it,” he roughly replied. “Fucking love this pussy.” He then sucked on his ring and middle fingers to soak them in saliva. You whined his name when he pushed them into your sopping cunt. There was a slight stretch, Javi putting his mouth back to work, licking and sucking at your sensitive skin. His come—still inside you from earlier in the Mustang—and your arousal had his thick digits moving easily in and out of you, your hips grinding against his face and hand.

“Just like that,” you said. “Oh, god, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Your limbs were beginning to tremble as the pleasure built inside of you, and you cried out as his fingertips rubbed that one spot only he could find—that only seemed to encourage him. He growled into your pussy and doubled down, hitting nirvana every time he pumped his fingers, his mouth focusing on your clit, alternating between sucking it between his lips and flicking his tongue along it side to side, over and over again.

“Oh my fucking god, I love you,” you told him in your blissful haze. “I fucking love you, Javier Peña.”

He hummed something that sounded a lot like, “I love you, too.”

The muscles in your stomach started tightening, the liquor in your system keeping you relaxed as you stood there on the balcony with your tits out, getting your pussy eaten by your new husband. It didn’t take much more to have you cresting, euphoria exploding out from your core as you came, gasping Javi’s name. He loudly groaned, saying, with his face in your cunt, “Good girl.” He replaced his fingers with his tongue, licking up your come and what remained of his inside you while you rode out your high.

Your body went lax, and you slumped; your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths panting from your lungs. When Javi got his fill, he carefully removed your leg from his shoulder and rose back up onto his feet with a pained sound from his achy knees. He gently kissed your chin, then one side of your mouth, and the other—his lips were wet, and you could smell yourself on him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his hard cock pressing into your belly. This was when his mouth met yours to properly kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue, hugging him in return, the skin on his back warm under your palms.

Between the tequila and orgasm, you felt amazing, and you wanted your husband to feel the same. You ended the kiss, your hands moving to hold his face as you looked at him—his eyes were closed, his mustache and lower half of his face glistening with your juices, a happy little smile on his lips. He looked so unbelievably adorable that you gave in to the impulse and squished his cheeks to the point his shiny lips pursed—it made you grin.

“You are so fucking cute,” you said. “Even when you look like a goldfish, you’re a capital C, Ca-Utie. Ugh, it’s illegal how goddamn adorable you are.”

His eyes opened. “You done?” he asked, sounding a little funny.

“Obsessing about how cute you are? Never. Like, you’re so cute.” A thought caught you off guard that had your eyes widening, the alcohol in your system amplifying the doubts. “You’re too cute,” you whispered. Letting go of his face, you continued, “Why would you want to be with someone like me? Do you like me?” you asked. “As more than a friend? Like, romantically?” You chewed on your lip.

His eyebrows pulled together, and he squinted, clearly confused. “I married you…” he said slowly.

“Yeah, but did you marry me because you love me or because we’re best friends?”

“Am I married to Steve…?”

“No, but he was already married when you met, and polygamy is illegal.”

“Cielito, mi amor, I married you because I love you, and you’re wearing the proof of that on your finger.”

“Friendship rings exist.”

“I sure as fuck didn’t give Steve my mother’s ring because we’re friends. I love you as more than a friend—wait.” His eyes rounded. Quietly, he asked, “Do you love me as just a friend or more than a friend?”

“How can you ask me that? I definitely love you as more than a friend!”

“You asked me first, and it fucked with my head!”

“I’m sorry, I needed to double-check.”

“I needed to double-check, too.”

“Well, I love you so much that I want to have your babies—” You poked him in the chest. “—and I can tell you right now, I don’t want to have Robyn’s babies. I mean, unless it was like a surrogate situation.”

That made him smile, his hands rubbing up and down your covered arms. “I want you to have my babies, too.”

“Then that settles it. We love each other as more than friends, but you’re still my best friend.”

“You’re still my best friend.”

“I won’t tell Steve.”

“I won’t tell Robyn.”

He leaned in to kiss you sweetly, the two of you smiling when you broke apart.

“Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

An amused breath left him. “It’s a good thing we married each other, then.”

“True. Dumbasses need to stick together. Now,” you gripped the open edges of his robe and turned you both, pressing him back into the wall hard enough that he grunted. “It’s time for me to blow your popsicle, Mr. Peña.” Something you said you wanted to do earlier, but he told you could happen later.

“Mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo, Mrs. Peña (My body is your body, Mrs. Peña). You can do any-fucking-thing you want to me.”

You grinned. “I love when you tell me that.” You leaned in to give him one last lingering kiss.

It was your turn to make him feel good, and you began by kissing down his body, starting at his jaw and moving lower and lower, down his gorgeous neck, his chest, his soft belly, crouching when you made it to the happy trail of hair below his belly button that you followed until you were face to face with his hard cock. It looked even better than you imagined earlier–long, thick, and with that slight curve that felt so fucking good when he was inside you, the tip flushed and shiny with precum. The tile beneath you was unforgiving when you kneeled on it, raising your arms above your head to drag your fingernails down his stomach and through the curls, Javi’s head falling back against the wall with a soft moan.

You spat in the palm of your dominant hand, wrapping your fingers around his shaft—it was hot and hard, Javi twitching in your grip as you started languidly pumping him.

Looking up at your husband through your lashes, you said, “Hey, babe?”

His face tilted down at you.

“Yes, mi amor?”

“What do you call a nurse with dirty knees?”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

“A head nurse.”

He went from chuckling to groaning loudly when the flat of your tongue licked up his length from root to tip, swirling it around the sensitive edges at the head. You reveled in how his eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open, loving the salty tang of his precum as you took him into your mouth, continuing to stroke what didn’t fit. His big hands found their home in your hair, moving with your bobbing head as you hollowed your cheeks, taking more and more of him until he was hitting the back of your throat.

His rough voice came from above, “That’s it, baby—it feels so fucking good.”

That only egged you on. It could be said that you were an expert at blowing your husband. You knew all the things that made him tick and what would really get him going, like when your head rose off of him, gathering a wad of saliva on your tongue that you let drip onto the tip of him.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Spit on it.”

More saliva fell, slicking up the movements of your hand stroking him. You ducked your head, sucking one of his balls into your mouth.

His fingers tightened in your hair. “Fuck,” he groaned, and the way he said that word had your cunt clenching. You tongued at the thin skin of his sack, then gently sucked his other ball, your palm on his dick twisting on every upstroke to slide along the underside of the head.

The muscles in his thighs were tensed as you licked up his shaft to take him back into your mouth. His hips just barely rocked as his dick slid further and further along your palate until you were swallowing around him, his cock sliding into the tight space of your throat. Your nose pressed into the neatly trimmed curls at the base of him, smelling the soap he washed with in the shower.

“Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped. Tears collected in the corners of your eyes as saliva dripped down his length, your hands clutching his thighs. You looked up, meeting his dark gaze, seeing the clear love and desire he had for you. “So pretty with my dick down your throat.” His palm caressed your cheek. “That’s my good girl making me feel so fucking good—fuck, I love you.”

This was why you genuinely loved giving Javi head—he was always so vocal, and when he praised you, it made you drip for him. Arousal was hot in your belly. It always turned you on to hear and see the effect you were having on him. You swallowed around his thick cock, causing your throat to squeeze him—his body shivered, and you watched it travel down from his shoulders to his hips.

“Shit,” he moaned.

The glow of the moon and what light reached the balcony from the living room softly illuminated the man above you, and you couldn’t think of a prettier sight than your husband struggling to keep from coming, as he was right then. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at you with pleading eyes. “I don’t wanna come like this.” The words came out scratchy like sandpaper. “Can I fuck you? Please, Cielito?”

He didn’t need to ask twice. Immediately, you came off of him, strings of spit and precum keeping you connected. Staring up at him under your eyelashes, you answered hoarsely, “Yes. Fuck me, Papí.”

That had Javi helping you stand. When you were finally up on your feet, his large hands framed your face as he kissed you hard. He didn’t care that your chin was wet with spit or your cheeks had tear marks; he kissed you as if his life depended on it and slowly started walking you backward toward the railing.

He spoke between kisses, his mouth pressed to yours, muffling his words, “Estoy tan feliz de que seas mi esposa (I’m so happy that you are my wife)… Estoy tan feliz de poder pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (I’m so happy I get to spend the rest of my life with you)... Estoy tan feliz de que algún día seas la madre de mis hijos (I’m so happy that one day you will be the mother of my children)... Este es el día más feliz de mi vida (This is the happiest day of my life).”

Suddenly, your husband spun you, his palm smoothing up the cotton covering your back to signal you to bend toward the railing. The top of it reached the middle of your ribs, so you weren’t bent at the waist—you were leaning onto it, crossing your arms atop the metal, and popping out your ass with a widened stance to give him more room. He gripped your hips and pressed his throbbing cock into your backside. Javi leaned into you. “Feel how hard I am? That’s all you, my beautiful wife.”

Arousal swirled in your belly, the beat of your heart pulsing between your legs.

You turned your head, looking at him behind you. “You should feel how wet I am. It’s all you, my handsome husband,” you replied, wiggling your butt.

He smiled and kissed your shoulder blade. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too.”

It seemed he had enough talking. Javi straightened himself and flipped up the bottom of your robe to bare you, the cool air chilling the wetness at the crux of your thighs. He grunted as he crouched down behind you, squeezing handfuls of your ass. His teeth lightly sank into the meat of your inner thigh for only a moment, and it was like dousing gasoline on the flames in your core.

His hands spread open your asscheeks. “So fucking pretty,” he purred. A second later, a rumbling groan came from his throat as he licked up through your slit from your clit to your entrance before spitting on the skin between your two holes—you felt the warm wad of saliva dripping down to your already-soaked opening.

He smacked your ass, the cheek jiggling as he rose back up on his feet. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he whispered. One of his hands held your waist while the other slid his dick through your arousal and his spit to wet himself. He bent at the waist to rasp into your ear, “Don’t wanna draw attention to us—unless you want everyone to know how good your husband fucks you.” He squeezed your hip as he notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance.

Your robe was open, your nipples tingling when a breeze hit your bare skin. The alcohol made you brave as you looked at him over your shoulder again with a smile, your hand going up behind you to touch his smooth cheek.

“I want the entire world to know how good my husband fucks me. Give it to me, Papí.”

A shiver moved down Javier’s spine, his cock jerking in his hand.

This woman was going to be the death of him.

“Scream for me, baby,” he replied, turning his head to kiss the center of her palm.

He started pressing himself into the tight clutch of her pussy, her inner walls hugging his thick length as he fed it inside her inch by inch—her arm fell back onto the railing, and they both moaned, Javier’s eyes closing, his jaw going slack at how good she felt around him, all hot and wet. His hips met the softness of her ass, and he looked down to watch as he slowly pulled out, his dick glistening under what little light there was.

“I love how wet you get for me,” he said. “All nice and soaked for your husband.”

He couldn’t get enough of being called that: her husband.

The quickie in the car scratched the itch; still, Javier had been looking forward all-fucking-day to the moment when he got to take his time and properly fuck his wife. Gripping her waist, he pushed back in, Cielito’s head falling onto the cushion of her arms with a breathy “Yes” that riled him up. She wanted everyone to know how good her husband fucks her, and he was more than happy to oblige.

He started moving in and out of her, keeping most of himself inside for her to feel every ridge and pulsing vein as he reacquainted her cunt with the familiar shape of him.

“It’s so good,” she moaned. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah? I’ve got you, hermosa (beautiful).”

He could make it feel even better—this was a position where she wanted him to be rough, where she wanted him to fuck her until she was cock dumb and her legs shook.

He began increasing the momentum of his hips, slickly sliding halfway out and back into her over and over again until he was railing into her with hard, even strokes that stuttered her loud moans. Javier grunted with each thrust, their skin clapping where it met. With how the balcony had walls on three sides, the sounds echoed off the stucco.

Fuck, he loved being inside her. There was nothing better than feeling the squeeze of her pussy around him. He did love her going down on him a little bit ago, and earlier, when she gave him a hand job after their marriage ceremony, he loved that, too. He also loved the occasions when she’d let him fuck her ass—Javier loved anything she wanted to do with him. But if he had to choose a favorite, it’d be a variation of what they were doing right now.

“You like this?” he mumbled between grunts. “Is it good?”

Several seconds passed with no answer, and there was no hiding his smirk. He slid a palm up the path of her spine to firmly grasp the back of her neck, his other hand going to her front, roughly fondling her breast. He kept up the punishing pace of his hips.

“Am I fucking you good, mi amor?” he tried again a little louder.

Her head lifted, turning her attention to him behind her. Even in such dim conditions, he could see her eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed over. There was a scrunch between her eyebrows, and her mouth was slightly agape—she was absolutely wrecked. She finally answered, repeating, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Pride swelled inside him. “You like how your husband fucks you?”

“Yes! God, yes!” she cried.

Her words had sparks igniting at the base of his spine, making his cock twitch. His fingers plucked at her nipple, rolling the stiff bud. It’d be hard for anyone down below to fully make out what they were doing, but there was no masking the noise—the filthy repetitive slap of skin hitting skin, his rough grunts, and her whining moans that filled the air gave them away.

They were usually much more courteous to their neighbors when it came to their volume. His wife always found it embarrassing when Mrs. Hernandez banged on the wall between their apartments or the people upstairs stomped on the floor to tell them to quiet down. It had to be the tequila—the liquid courage—that had her acting so brazen tonight, and he loved it.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asked.

“Yes! Don’t stop!” She started chanting over and over again, “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop—”

He followed her orders, continuing to pound into her at the same speed, his fingers tweaking her nipple. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and the small of his back, his gaze locked on hers—she was so gorgeous.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Cielito,” he told her. “So fucking beautiful taking it like my good girl.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she loudly whined his name into the night. Her cunt was fluttering around him, her entire body quaking. She laid her head back onto her arms, and that told him she was almost to the finish line.

“Come for me, mi amor,” he said. “Let me have it.”

He’d follow soon after he. His orgasm had been slowly building inside him, feeling the pressure rising deep in his guts with every passing second. He was thankful they fucked in the car because there was no way in hell he would’ve been able to last this long if they hadn’t fooled around beforehand.

Javier loved every second of this, the thrill amplifying his pleasure. The thrill was the reason he enjoyed fucking in places he shouldn’t. He craved the adrenaline, something he experienced regularly in Colombia. But now, instead of possibly dying to feel that rush, he just had to try not to get caught.

It wasn’t much longer before they reached a crescendo. She let out an unintelligible cry, all of the muscles in her body pulling taut, choking his dick hard enough to stutter his rhythm—he sucked in a breath through bared teeth, willing himself not to come while he continued fucking her through her high, drawing it out.

It happened fast. Her legs went wobbly like a newborn calf’s. “Shit,” Javier breathed, quickly getting his arm around her middle and the other across her chest. “Don’t fall, baby,” he grunted, hauling her up against his body to prevent her from doing as much. It was his strength that kept her standing and walked her forward, pinning her by the hips to the railing.

By some miracle, his cock stayed inside her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “My legs feel like jello.”

He carefully pulled the robe off one of her shoulders to lightly kiss the side of her neck, her skin prickling with goosebumps. “Don’t apologize,” was his muffled reply. “Means your husband fucked you good.” His lips made a journey to her ear. “Do you wanna stop?” he whispered. “Or can I keep going?”

She reached up behind her, combing her fingers into his sweat-damp hair. “Mmm, definitely keep going.”

Javier smiled. “Yeah?” He kissed that one sensitive spot behind her ear—she hummed happily. “I wanna look at you,” he said. “Can I turn you?”

“Of course. Just help me, please. I don’t trust my legs.”

He chuckled. “I’ve got you.”

He slipped out of her, the back of her robe falling into place. Her legs were still shaking as he helped her face him, pressing her into the railing again. They locked eyes, and both smiled. His hands reached to hold her perfect face while her arms went around his neck, her fingers pushing into the brown waves at the back of his head.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” His thumbs stroked over the apples of her cheeks. “There you are. My beautiful wife.”

Before she could respond, he closed the gap between their lips, hers petal soft and slotting together with his perfectly. He wanted to kiss her slowly. He wanted to savor this moment, take his time, but she made this delicious little noise that broke his resolve, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again. It made him greedy. Not only did he want that noise, he wanted her moans and her sighs. He wanted to hear her mouth caress the syllables of his name and cry it out when he brought her to the brink of ecstasy.

The kiss turned hungry and passionate, both of them ravenous. When that sweet sound met his ears again, it spurred him on. He was still hard and aching to come. Unable to wait any longer, Javier reached down to hook her thigh onto his hip, then guided his length back into her pussy. The moment his cock breached her tight opening, he moaned into her mouth, his head going dizzy at how good it felt.

He started slowly thrusting, his lips breaking away to nip at her chin. “Can I make you come again?” he breathily asked. “Please?”

Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and she pulled on it to get his attention. “Is that what you need, baby? You wanna feel me come around your dick? You wanna watch your wife come?”

Javier whimpered—his eyes squeezed shut, and his cock pulsed inside her. He wanted to watch, he wanted to feel and hear her come, taste her tongue on his, and smell the sex on her skin. She already occupied his every thought, and he wanted her to take over his senses, too. Take over his entire world until she was all that existed.

He continued moving his hips, his dick sliding easily with how wet it was between her legs.

Javier looked at her, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. “Yes,” he answered. “Can I?”

Her palm pressed to his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “Yes, Javi.” This time, she was the one who crushed her mouth to his before he could utter another word, her fingers threading into his hair. Her tongue pushed past his lips, and he groaned, the kiss turning messy.

He was still so worked up that it wasn’t going to take a lot to get him off. Javier increased his pace, going harder and faster. There was an audible wetness where they were joined, and he could hear himself working in and out of her used cunt, her arousal dripping down his shaft and balls.

This was what he wanted. To be able to kiss her. To see her and watch her fall apart. He had one hand gripping her leg at his waist, keeping it up, and snaked his other between their bodies, sliding it down her stomach to the apex of her thighs to rub her clit. He swallowed her moan, her fingers tightening in his thick strands of hair. His lips broke away from hers, Javier ducking his head, spreading sloppy kisses along her collarbone, on her shoulder, and up her neck. With her robe open and off her shoulder, it gave him a canvas of bared skin for his mouth to map out.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he murmured against her throat. “Can you do that for me?”

He was doing everything in his power to hold off his own end so she could take him with her. The muscles in his belly were knotted up, his heart pounding in his chest. His cock was throbbing almost uncomfortably with his need to come.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” Javier sucked on her earlobe, then returned his attention to her neck and shoulder, kissing and biting the skin. His voice was muffled as he rambled, “I’m gonna make you come, and when I do—fuck—when I do, I’m going with you.” He was circling her clit, giving her the friction she needed. “I'll fill you up, and you’re gonna stay full. I fucking meant it when I said I’m gonna keep you stuffed full of me.” He was panting hot breaths as he kissed her, getting himself worked up with what he was saying. “I can promise you—shit—I can promise you, I am going to get you pregnant. I am going to knock you up.” He swallowed hard, his hips continuing to fuck into her. “You’re gonna have my baby. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

They were pretty sure her actual shot at getting pregnant was the week prior. But since they weren’t 100% positive, they didn’t want to miss their chance, and that possibility made the shit they said while fucking even hotter.

“Please,” she moaned. “Put a baby in me. Please. I want it. Fill me up, Papí.”

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You can have it—fuck—you can have any-fucking-thing you want. I’ll fuck a baby into you.”

He tucked his face in the crook of her neck, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. It was taking most of his focus to keep himself from blowing his load.

“I’m close, Javi!” Cielito whined. “Oh, god, I’m gonna come!”

The excitement caused his rhythm to falter for a split second. “Shit,” Javier hissed. He quickly got back into tempo, his head lifting to look at his wife. Her eyes were closed, her forehead shining with perspiration, moans spilling from her rounded lips. His fingers kept strumming her clit, and his other hand gently grasped her jaw.

“Look at me,” he panted. “Open your eyes, Cielito. Let me see you.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and he was met with hooded lust-blown eyes.

“Javi,” she gasped. Her fingers were clenched in his hair. “I’m gonna come, Javi.”

“I know, baby. I know. Come for me. Take me with you.”

She was quivering as his hips swung hard and fast into her. Javier watched as each stroke took her higher and higher, his gaze never leaving hers. After half a dozen more thrusts, she finally told him, “I’m coming.” Her eyes squeezed shut, moaning as she peaked; her body seized up, her pussy clamping down on him.

That was it for Javier.

A strangled noise left his throat as his balls drew up, pushing himself all the way to the root inside her. Pleasure erupted from his core, his dick pulsing, painting her insides with rope after rope of his come. He rolled his hips, fucking his spend as deep as it would go. The primal part of his brain making him ignore how sensitive his cock was in order to fill the depths of her cunt.

When every last drop was wrung out of him, he stopped moving, and his body became boneless. He slumped into his wife, but not before wrapping his arms around her and burying his face back into the crook of her neck. All thoughts had left his brain, the man blissed out, basking in her warmth and the familiar scent of her skin. And then she did his favorite thing and started playing with his sweaty hair. He sighed happily, nuzzling his face closer to her like he was trying to burrow himself under her skin.

This. This was the closest thing to heaven on earth. This was his heaven. She was his heaven.

Javier grew up going to church with his parents, and his interpretation of what he read and heard was that if there were a heaven, it wouldn’t be a physical place. There were no pearly gates or St. Peter waiting to greet you. Instead, it was a state of being where there was complete fulfillment and nothing but absolute happiness. How fucking lucky was he that he found that in life?

He stood there, his body pressed into her softer one, as the beat of their hearts slowed and their breaths evened out. There was a low rumble of cars driving on nearby roads and unseen crickets chirping in the distance.

It took a few minutes before either of them spoke.

“Javi?” she croaked.

He kissed the side of her neck. “Yes, baby?”

“I’m ready to go inside.”

He straightened to his full height to see her face. “Okay, mi amor.” He pecked her on the lips, rubbing his hands up and down her robed arms. “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrow rose. “Can I walk? Mr. I’m-going-to-make-you-come-so-many-times-you’re-gonna-need-a-wheelchair.”

Javier tried not to smile and failed, his hands pausing. “A wheelchair?”

“Yes, a wheelchair. Because my husband loves to fuck me to the point I can’t walk.” She wasn’t wrong, and it made his chest puff up. “Should’ve brought one home from work a long time ago.”

“You don’t need a wheelchair, baby.” He gently squeezed her biceps. “I did it, and I’ll get you where you need to go. Does a bath sound good? Or do you wanna get into bed? We could also watch TV on the couch—order a pay-per-view movie.”

Her lips lifted into a knowing smile. “Pay-per-view movie, huh? Like, porn? Javi, when you stay in hotels by yourself, do you order pay-per-view porn? You can be honest with me. I’m your wife.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “I mean, not every time… what about you? You can be honest with me. I’m your husband.”

“A time or two, out of curiosity.”

He smiled. “Out of curiosity, huh?” His voice went a little deeper. “Did you touch yourself while watching…?”

“What do you think?”

Javier grabbed her hips. He leaned in to hover his mouth over hers, nuzzling her nose with his. “I think,” he rasped, “you played with your pretty pussy while watching. Did you get yourself off with your fingers?”

“Vibrator. You know I don’t like playing acoustic pussy unless I have to.”

“You like my fingers.”

“Because you’re sexy and an acoustic pussy maestro.” She brushed his lips with hers. “It’s your turn to choose,” she said. “Bath, bed, or couch, Mr. Peña?”

“Bath sounds nice.”

“Bath sounds wonderful.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, Mrs. Peña.” He ended the sentence with a kiss, something slow and tender. They broke apart, smiling. “Let’s go, Cielito.”

The rectangular whirlpool tub was massive enough that your husband could sit across from you with his long legs fully extended while yours rested over his. Javi’s cheeks and chest were painted with a pink flush from the bath’s heat, his broad shoulders dotted with a constellation of freckles. Your bodies were submerged in the hot water, covered from your shoulders down, the bathtub’s jets rumbling as they massaged your backs. It was relaxing, the warmth of the water and the pressure of the spray along your spine easing all of the tension from your body.

To continue the celebration of your nuptials, your husband brought the complimentary bottle of champagne into the bathtub with you. He popped it open and poured you each a glass, the two of you toasting to your marriage and the start of your family before drinking and chatting, laughter quickly filling the room. The bottle was over halfway empty, and you both were buzzed.

“You’re fucking with me,” he said with a grin. His arm was resting on the edge of the tub, holding his flute of bubbly. The man always had to be touching you, his other palm under the water rubbing up and down your calf, but it paused when he spoke.

Your smile got bigger. “I’m not!” you laughed. Your champagne was sitting on the bathtub’s rim, your fingers fiddling with the stem of the glass. “When I graduated nursing school,” you said, “I was trying to figure out what I wanted to specialize in. So, I did a rotation in labor and delivery, and I had this mother in labor who needed a C-section. Like, it’d been hours with zero progress, and the doctor called it. She told the couple, and I quote, ‘This baby has to come out the other way.’ I shit you not, after the doctor left, the father looked at me and asked, ‘They’re gonna pull the baby out of her butt?’”

He huffed amusedly, his head shaking in disbelief. “Jesus.” He took a sip of his drink and set it back down.

“It was so hard not to laugh,” you said. “Surprisingly, not the dumbest or wildest thing anyone has ever said to me at work.”

His expression turned curious. “What’s the wildest thing someone has said to you?”

“Ummm.” Your eyes left his to think about it for a second, your mind running through many memorable interactions until one in particular stuck out. Your attention went back to him. “Probably the guy who may or may not have been a gang member who gave me his number and told me if I ever needed someone taken out—as in murdered—to give him a call. He even said it’d be free of charge, which was weirdly sweet? Not that I’d actually take him up on it,” you clarified, lifting your glass to your lips for a sip.

His eyes rounded. “What…?”

Your champagne returned to its spot on the tub’s edge. “It’s kinda like how people propose to me all of the time because they’re so thankful I brought them food after they fasted for their procedures. When scary-looking dudes who may or may not have gang ties come to the hospital, and you treat them like any other patient—you know, with dignity and respect—they really, really appreciate it. Their way of thanking you is by offering their services or illegal goods.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Illegal goods, like drugs…?”

“Sure, and weapons.” You shrugged. “One guy offered me illegal European cheeses, and I won’t lie, that one was tempting.”

“Do you still have the contacts?”

“No. I never kept their info, and let’s be real, they weren’t using their actual names. Once they left the hospital, they were no longer my patient, and what they did was none of my business. Snitches get stitches and all that jazz.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, and his hand began a new circuit along the skin of your leg. “What’s the dumbest thing someone said?” He had another sip.

“Oh, listen to this. A male patient came into the ER complaining about abdominal pain. After the doctor did a quick exam, he ordered an ultrasound. When we told the patient about the ultrasound, he shouted, ‘I’m not pregnant! I’m a man!’”

“You’re fucking with me,” Javi said again, looking just as amused as the first time, his champagne flute hovering over the water.

“I swear I’m not!” you giggled. “He said that! This guy was in his mid-fifties, too. His wife was so embarrassed. The doctor had to pull out a fucking human anatomy diagram to educate the dude.”

“I’d be a shitty nurse. I wouldn’t have the patience for all of the stupidity.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed, thinking about Javi as a nurse. “Between your grumpy resting face and the fact you cannot hide what you’re feeling, you’d be so bad. No offense, babe.” You patted his knee underwater.

“None taken. I said it first. It’s nice knowing my wife has the patience of a saint to put up with my bullshit.” He raised his glass your way in toast, then took a drink.

“Stop it. You’re perfect. Now, are you finally gonna tell me how much you spent on this room?”

He smiled, setting his champagne back onto the rim. “No.”

“Rude.”

He chuckled. “Just enjoy it, baby.” Water droplets trickled as he lifted your leg out of the bath and leaned in, kissing the inside of your ankle.

“But I’m curious as fuck,” you whined.

He returned your leg to the water. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Earlier, you mentioned we sometimes have to compromise, so I’ll tell you how I got the room, but I won’t tell you what it cost me.”

That had you perking up. Maybe you could call the front desk and find out the price yourself.

“The front desk won’t tell you,” he continued, looking a little too pleased with himself. Of course, he knew what you were thinking.

You deflated with a sigh. “Fine,” you said. “How were you able to get the room?”

“The manager is mi prima’s (my cousin’s) brother-in-law.”

You grinned. “You’ve got connections. That’s very sexy of you.”

He was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges and shining with love—a look you were all too familiar with and hoped he could see on your face. His hand continued stroking your leg.

He chuckled. “Even with connections, it took some negotiating. It was worth it, though. You’re worth it. I know our wedding was pretty short notice, and since we couldn’t get time off from work for me to whisk you away on a real honeymoon—which I plan on doing sometime this year before we have a baby—this was the next best thing to show you how much I love you and what you mean to me. You deserve the very best, and that’s what I’m always gonna give you, and nothing less.”

His words had you melting, your heart skipping a beat. It was a regular occurrence where Javier said or did something that made you wonder once again what you did to deserve him in your life or to be loved in this way you never knew existed. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“I beg to differ because I am married to arguably the greatest man on earth, who worships me like a goddess, and that’s not even an exaggeration. A freaking goddess! Me! Insane.” It was crazy how much you loved this man, and the alcohol had your feelings threatening to burst from your lips. So, you let them. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“You make me feel so safe. You make me feel comfortable and so fucking loved. Javi, I’ve never been so loved, and I know it’s sad, and you hate thinking about it, but I’ve never had someone love me unconditionally like you do.” The emotions had tears welling up in your eyes. “I’ve never experienced a love like this that I feel deep in my soul, and that’s how I know it’s real. I’m not as poetic as you are, so I’m just going to say what comes to mind. Prepare yourself for some sappy bullshit.”

He was watching you with a fond expression and watery eyes. “I’m ready.”

“Hold my hand.” You reached out to him, and he grasped your fingers, his thumb rubbing over the tops of them. You cleared your throat to compose yourself. “There was an emptiness inside my chest?” You said it in question. “A lifelong longing for something I never knew I needed until you came along. You redefined the void. You gave it meaning. You’ve shown me what it is to be seen, to be cherished, to be truly loved. You’ve shown me a world that, up until you entered mine, was nothing more than a fantasy I’d only ever dreamed about. It was something out of reach, you know? But here you are, a dream come true, who loves me unconditionally, and for that, you have my love, you have my total devotion, you get my every morning and my every night. You get slow dances in the kitchen and four a.m. grilled cheeses—ooh, I like how that kinda rhymes.” Your husband laughed, his lips curved up in a smile. “I’m not half bad at this. Javi, I am going to give you the life you’ve always deserved but never felt worthy of—a wife, kids, dog, house, and hopefully, happiness. I want to make you as happy as you make me. This is my long way of saying I love you, Javier Peña. Thank you for loving me.”

“I’m so fucking happy,” he replied. “Come here.” He beckoned you toward him, lightly tugging your hand. Without another thought, you moved, the bath sloshing as you pushed yourself up onto your knees and crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. Javi wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly to his body, your face nestled into the curve of his neck. His head tilted to touch yours. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so fucking much. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how fucking lucky I am to have you. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you, and sometimes I catch myself wondering if this is all a dream. You have no idea how many times I’ve almost pinched myself because being with you feels so right and so perfect that I think it all has to be too good to be true, and I’m gonna wake up alone in my bed at the ranch or in fucking Colombia.” You gasped, your heart squeezing at how heartbreaking that was. “Being with you is teaching me that life can be kind and there is hope for the future. You’re my future, and even though there are moments where it feels too surreal and too fucking good, it is real. What we have is real, and I am grateful for you. I will forever be grateful that you chose me, and I will never take for granted a single day that I get to share my life with you.” His head turned to kiss your cheek. “This is my long way of saying I love you, too. Thank you for loving me.”

“Oh, Javi.” You sat up, taking his face into your hands. Sitting in his lap, you were taller than him, and his chin raised to look at you with his red-rimmed eyes. “It is real. It’s so fucking real. I love you.”

That was an understatement of how you felt about him. Not when it felt as if his heart was beating in your chest, and looking into his eyes was like coming home—the familiarity, the comfort, the safety. Almost as if you’d always known that those irises, with their unique mix of chocolatey-colored hues, would belong to the one who was meant for you. A recognition, a certainty when your gazes met that he was your person, your other half.

Emotions had you smashing your mouth against his, kissing him hard. You poured your love into each press of your lips to his, letting him taste the devotion on your tongue. His arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you flush to him. It didn’t matter that you’d already come a handful of times tonight. The things he said had you wanting, no, needing him again, the desire searing through your veins and pooling in your belly.

An interesting side effect of being in love with Javi and knowing he loved you, too, was how it made you so fucking horny. Confessing your love to one another was basically foreplay, and wasn’t that adorable? A couple of love-sick fools getting turned on from loving each other. Robyn would absolutely fake-gag if you told her about you and your husband’s love kink.

He sounded breathless when he came up for air. “I love you.” He messily kissed your chin and the shape of your jaw. “I fucking love you,” he murmured into your skin.

“I love you, too.” His face was still framed in your hands, and you pushed him back to gain access to the line of his neck, your head dipping to swipe your tongue up his salty skin.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his throat bobbing. You rocked your hips, rubbing his already half-hard cock with your cunt, his hands grabbing ahold of your ass, the soft flesh firmly filling his palms as he helped you move. You sucked over his pulse point hard enough to leave a mark, Javi groaning, “Fuck, I love you.” The words vibrated under your mouth, making your lips curl in delight.

“I love you, too, Javi.” Your mouth traveled up to take his earlobe between your teeth, nibbling on it before your lips were at his ear. “I really fucking love you.”

“I’m yours.” His fingers dug into your asscheeks, moving you. “You fucking own me. I’m yours forever.”

“And I’ll always be yours, Javi. Always. For-fucking-ever.”

His large hand came up, lightly grasping your jaw to maneuver your face in front of his, Javier’s lips colliding with yours. This kiss was much more frantic, the headiness of passion overtaking you both, matching each other's energy, heartbeat for heartbeat, breath for breath. He was completely hard as you rolled your hips along his shaft, the bath’s water lapping at the sides of the tub. Your arms went around his neck, threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

You loved this man so much that he was your entire world, everything that mattered, and the wild thing was, he felt the same way about you—you were his entire world and everything that mattered to him. It was an intoxicating feeling to love and to be loved.

The sweet heat of want burned at the base of your spine, the tension rising with each desperate kiss until it hit a breaking point. In sync, your mouths separated, you lifted your hips high enough for Javi to position his cock at your entrance, and then you sank onto it.

“That’s it, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasped when he was fully seated inside of you.

There was nothing better than the familiar fullness or how he stretched you open.

Your gazes were locked.

“I love you so fucking much,” he said. “Use me, Cielito. Make yourself come. I wanna feel you.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. Javi leaned up to capture your lips once more, his hands gripping handfuls of your ass. Your palms slid up his flushed chest to grab his shoulders, and you did what he said: you started moving. You ground your hips, keeping most of him inside you while rubbing your clit on the coarse hairs at the base of his dick. Sparks danced in your core, your pulse pounding. Your husband helped you grind in his lap.

“Te amo (I love you),” he said between kisses. “Te amo muchísimo, mi amor (I love you so much, my love). Eres mi todo (You are my everything). Toma lo que es tuyo (Take what is yours).”

“I love you, too, Javi.” Pleasure built, and the coil in your tummy started to tighten. “I fucking love you. I’ll always love you.” Your hips circled in the most delicious rotations.

His tongue delved between your lips, plundering your mouth, moans coming from the back of your throat. With how close you were physically—your bodies pressed together like pieces of a puzzle—and emotionally—your love and devotion for each other—this was the closest you’d ever been with another person, and it felt much more intimate than sex. It was something deeper. Something on a different level where you were caught up in one another, lost in your own little world and the overwhelming feeling of love. Maybe it was the oxytocin, the love hormone, flooding your system that had you thinking this must be what it felt like when your souls came together, the two halves melding to become one.

The water splashed against your back and ribs, the bath’s jets continued to rumble. You didn’t stop the rocking of your hips or sloppily kissing your husband. He felt so good inside you, the pressure on your clit pushing you higher and higher.

“Eres mi vida (You are my life).” It was muffled into your lips. “Eres todo para mí (You are everything to me). Quiero que me uses como tú quieras (I want you to use me however you want).” He switched to English. “I wanna feel my wife come. You gonna get yourself off?“

“Yes.”

“My good girl. I love you. Take what you need, mi amor. Don’t stop. You come, I come. I’m following you. You’re taking me with you.”

Your orgasm was close, the muscles in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.

“I will, Javi. I will. I fucking love you.”

This man you married knew exactly what would have you careening toward your climax. He took your breasts into his hands, ducking his head to suck on your hardened nipple, his fingers teasing the other one. It felt like every nerve ending in your body lit up, your eyes closed, the shock of it making you cry out.

“I love you,” you repeated. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Each time you rolled your hips, it created the best friction against your clit, and that, combined with the attention he was giving your tits, had you tumbling over the edge, coming with a gasp of his name. This orgasm was softer than the others. When your body tensed and your cunt squeezed him, Javi hissed. He grabbed your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as he used his strength to keep moving you in his lap. He kept those gentle waves of pleasure flowing through you, letting you ride out your high while your husband chased his own.

“I’m yours, Javi,” you told him. When you opened your eyes, you saw his were shut tight, and his teeth were bared. It was that sexy look he got when he was close to coming; he just needed a push to get there. You touched your forehead to his, your fingers clutched in his hair. “I’m yours, baby. I want you to come. I want my husband to come. I want you to fill me up and fuck it so deep inside me you knock me up.” He whined, and that just encouraged you. “Get me pregnant, Javi. Let me have it. Let me feel it.”

“Fuck,” he gasped. “I love you. I’m gonna—Christ—I’m gonna fuck a baby into you. I’m gonna fuck you full of my come. Fuck it—shit—fuck it so deep in your pussy it takes. Te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo más que a nada (I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you more than anything).” The groan he let out was guttural. He hugged you to him, holding you still, his face pressing against your throat as he came. His teeth sunk into your neck, the pleasurable pain causing you to moan. His cock jerked inside you with each spurt of his spend gushing into your inner depths, and when it stopped, his heavy breaths were hot on your skin.

The only sound in the bathroom was the tub's jets. The water had turned lukewarm. The large mirror on the opposite wall over the two sinks was still fogged up. It was peaceful and calm. Time stood still in this little bubble where you luxuriated in one another and those happy chemicals flowing through your bodies. All of your muscles relaxed, making you melt into your husband. Javi nuzzled his face into your neck, and your fingernails lovingly scratched at his scalp, earning you a happy hum.

You loved these moments. You loved how comfortable it was to hold each other, your bodies and souls bare. You didn’t feel self-conscious or a need to cover up. You just wanted to share in the afterglow with the man you loved.

Javier told you once that his favorite part of having sex was this: the post-sex glow when you cuddled close and came down with the other person. He loved the intimacy of it. He craved it. He also revealed that down in Colombia, he’d pay the sex workers he slept with extra to stay with him longer instead of leaving immediately after he came so he could have some semblance of that intimacy. It was a little sad if you thought about it too hard; if you thought about how lonely and touch-starved he was, that was made exponentially worse because his love language was physical touch. You’d never let him feel that loneliness again. You were happy to spend those minutes with him after you both finished, cradled in his arms. You were happy to give him that intimacy he craved. You were happy to do whatever it took to make him feel as loved as he made you.

Seconds turned into minutes. Finally, Javi broke the stillness with a kiss to the skin his face was pressed against.

“Javi?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you.”

He was smiling when his head lifted to look you in the eyes, and you matched his expression.

“I love you, too.”

“I have a serious question.”

His smile fell. “Yeah?”

“Are you a sea lion?”

As expected, his face pinched in confusion.

“What…?”

“Are you a sea lion?” you repeated.

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean, you must be a sea lion ‘cause I can sea-you-lion in my bed tonight.” To really sell it, you wagged your eyebrows.

He tried to hold in the laugh, his cheeks flushing red, but he couldn’t keep it in. He sputtered into full-on laughter, his eyes practically disappearing with how they crinkled in glee. It had you cracking up, too, joining him in the merriment. His head fell against your shoulder as you both laughed at your stupid pick-up line.

It took you back to your wedding ceremony, when you both vowed your marriage would be filled with love, happiness, and laughter. Which was another thing you loved about your husband: he made you feel comfortable enough to be your true goofy self. Something you didn’t feel in your past relationships. But Javi–even with him being a somewhat serious, no-nonsense guy—he appreciated your humor and laughed at your dumb jokes. He never made you feel stupid or embarrassed, and it was truly a breath of fresh air that you could simply be you.

Eventually, you both calmed down. Your husband kissed your cheek and then sat up, rubbing his palms up and down your ribs. He looked at you with soft eyes and a sweet smile.

“I am so fucking in love with you,” he said.

You grinned. “And I am so fucking in love with you,” you replied, poking the tip of his nose. He snatched your hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss your wedding ring.

“I love you naked like this,” he rasped. His burning gaze traveled from your face to your breasts, drinking in the sight of you before his eyes returned to yours. “But you know what would look really good on you?”

“Lingerie? That red thong you love?”

“Me.”

“Oh,” you gasped, your eyes widening. “That just made my pussy flutter.”

“I know.” Because he was still inside you.

You gulped. “Can I, uh, see your left hand real quick?” It came out of the water, dripping. He held it straight up for you to see the back of it. You stared at his fingers, seeing the gold band on his ring finger, and nodded. “Yep, that is a wedding ring. Jesus, you really did marry me. Me. That’s fucking crazy.”

“Stop that.”

Your attention went back to him to see he was frowning. “Stop what?”

He sighed and took both of your hands into his. “Thinking I’m out of your league. I hate it. Cielito, you’re fucking beautiful. Say it. Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”

“You’re beautiful.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “You know what I meant. Say it.”

The thought of repeating it made you wince, but you did it anyway. You mumbled, “I’mbeautiful.”

“Say it louder.”

“I hate this,” you whined.

“And we’re working on fixing that. So, say it again.”

You took a deep breath. This was so fucking hard. “I’m beautiful.”

He smiled. “You are. Repeat it.”

“I’m beautiful.”

“Again.”

“How many times are we doing this?”

“As many as it takes for you to believe it. Again.”

You sighed. “I’m beautiful.”

“What are you?”

“I’m beautiful.”

He made you say it five more times, and it got easier each time you said it.

“One more,” he ordered.

“I’m beautiful.”

“Good girl.” He closed the gap to kiss you, his big hands coming up to caress your face. When his lips left yours, he nudged your nose with his. “You’re beautiful, smart, funny, sweet, sexy, talented, and an amazing partner. You’re perfect. I need you to remember that. You’re perfect,” he said again, “and I am lucky to have you as my wife.”

“Thank you, Javi. You know I struggle when it comes to that stuff.”

“Yeah, I do know. We’ll keep working on it.” He kissed your forehead.

“I’m lucky to have such a supportive husband who calls me out on my bullshit.”

He huffed. “You do the same for me. I love you, mi amor.”

“I love you, too.” You pecked him on the lips, then pulled back when you started to yawn, covering your mouth with your hand.

“You ready for bed?” he asked.

The question made you realize you were exhausted. “God, yeah.”

“Let’s go, baby.”

Thirty minutes later found you dry, your teeth brushed, and naked under the covers, with Javi spooning you from behind. The curtains were closed, the bedroom dark save for the alarm clock on the bedside table, whose glowing red numbers told you it was almost two a.m. Your husband’s arm was around your front, your hand over his on your breast, your rings touching. His nose was buried in the hair at the back of your head.

It was cozy and warm, feeling so happy and loved. Sleep was coming for you, and your eyelids were getting heavy, your thoughts slowing. In your sleepy haze, you remembered something.

“Javi?” you whispered.

“Yes, Cielito?” he answered just as quietly.

“I just realized Valentine’s Day is next month. I don’t know if you have anything planned yet, but you know what I’d love to do?”

“What?”

“You.”

He chuckled, hugging you a little tighter and kissing your hair. “That’s what we’ll do then. Any other requests?”

You smiled, wiggling back to get closer to him. “Nope. Do you have any requests?”

He was going to ask for the red thong.

“You said something about the red thong in the bath.”

There it was. You giggled. “You got it, babe.” You patted his hand, your rings clinking together. “Sweetest dreams, my wonderful, perfect husband.”

“They’ll be about you, my wonderful, perfect wife. I love you, Cielito.”

“I love you, too.”

Steve lifted his wrist to check the time, the hands on the watch face showing 3:16 p.m.

He frowned. He could’ve sworn he told Javier earlier when they talked on the phone to meet in the hotel restaurant at three p.m. Not 3:30, three on the dot, because he had to get Connie and the kids to Laredo’s tiny airport by six p.m. for their flight to Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, where they’d get on a bigger plane to take them home to Miami.

Where the hell were the newlyweds?

He was sitting at the head of the long eight-person dining room table at the hotel’s restaurant, Zaragoza Grill, with a clear view of the entrance. Instead of a chair to his right, there was a wooden highchair with his one-year-old, Nate, sitting in it, chewing on a small slice of bread from the bread basket. Connie was next to their youngest in the middle seat, talking to Stevie, their three-year-old, on her other side while he used crayons to color the paper kids’ menu the hostess had given him. Olivia was at the other end of the table, opposite Steve, coloring her own menu.

His arm lowered as he looked at his wife. “Con?” he said.

Her head turned his way. “Yes?”

“I told Javi three, right? Not, 3:30?”

“Yes, you told him three.”

“Why aren’t they here yet?”

“Honey, they got married yesterday. You remember what it was like the days after our wedding. All of the laundry we folded.” She smiled.

‘Folding laundry’ was their codeword for sex, and he absolutely remembered the days following their wedding. They went at it like fucking rabbits and didn’t leave their hotel room in Cabo San Lucas for days.

He smirked. “How could I forget our honeymoon, baby? We had a good time. A really good time. You know, we should go back to Mexico. Maybe we could get your sister to watch the kids while we go on a little vacation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Keep dreaming, Steve. We’re not gonna be able to go on vacation alone until Nate graduates high school, and that’s a good seventeen years away.”

He sighed. She was right. They couldn’t pawn their children off on someone to fuck off to Mexico for a week. “You’re right, sweetheart.”

“I always am.”

That was the end of their conversation, Connie’s attention returning to Stevie.

Behind him was a table for two against the brick wall. The young women sitting at it had walked by them when they were seated, and he estimated they were in their twenties. He couldn’t help eavesdropping on their conversation when one of the girls asked, “Can you believe all that noise last night?”

“Oh my god, I know, right? Like from what it sounded like, either the woman in the room above us was getting it real good, or the rumors are true, and this place is actually haunted. But I just don’t think spirits of nuns would make those noises, you know what I mean?”

“Girl, the moaning? The screaming? The sound of that pounding? Whoever was staying upstairs is one lucky bitch. Her man knows what he’s doing, and I don’t blame her for not being able to stay quiet. I also think they probably figured that since they were on the third floor, no one would hear them going at it.”

Steve inhaled deeply, shaking his head. He knew who was staying on the third floor—he’d even been inside the massive suite. Javier had handed over $150 per night, a pair of expensive courtside tickets to a San Antonio Spurs vs. three-time defending NBA champions Chicago Bulls game, and all of his wife’s tamales from his and his father’s freezers for it. The hotel apparently didn’t rent out the Presidential Suite to just anyone to keep its allure of being something exclusive for the rich and famous who passed through the area. Javier’s local fame, unfortunately, wasn’t enough.

That didn’t stop him, though.

His pal could be a real stubborn son of a bitch.

Javier got intel that the manager was a huge fan of his mom’s tamales and the San Antonio Spurs. He lucked out that his wife’s tamales were the closest to his late mother’s, so he bribed the manager with fifty-something tamales and the highly sought-after tickets to the Spurs vs. Bulls game to book the place at full price.

There was no way in hell Steve would ever pay $150 per night for a hotel room. That was a month and a half’s worth of mortgage payments on his four-bedroom, four-bath home in Florida, for Christ’s sake. The only reason Steve rented a two-room, double-queen suite here in Texas was because Javi and his wife paid for it. They wanted his family to have roomy accommodations since they had their three kids, which was greatly appreciated, and their room only cost a reasonable fifty dollars a night.

Movement at the restaurant’s entrance caught his attention, and he watched as the new Mr. and Mrs. Javier Peña made their way inside. Steve snorted at seeing the newlyweds in matching outfits of jeans and lavender-colored shirts, Javi’s a button-up, and his wife in a V-neck. If that wasn’t ridiculous enough, they were practically fused together, with her tucked under his arm and pressed against his side, their heads close together, smiling and talking as they walked his way.

Steve had been friends with Javier for close to twenty years, and in all that time, he had never seen his best friend happier than he was with his bride. He wasn’t the same man Steve knew in Colombia. He wasn’t even the same man who lived with his family after he took down the Cali Cartel and quit his job. He changed, and he changed for the better.

To be honest, at first, Steve worried about his friend leaving the DEA and returning to civilian life. Javi had all of the signs of being what they call a lifer—someone who spends, if not all, then a significant portion of their career with the same agency. He’d been married to his job and fully committed to seeing it through no matter what it cost him. He didn’t visit his parents for years, and when his mother tragically passed away, he’d only gone home for a few days. Instead of grieving her death, he threw himself into his work. It sure as hell wasn’t healthy, but it was what he had to do to keep going.

Steve was so fucking thankful his friend got out and was getting a second chance. After all of the bullshit he went through, Javier deserved to be happy, and there was no doubt that this girl he married made him happy. She was the best thing to happen to him, and even though they needed to cool it with the PDA in front of his kids, Steve could admit they were really good for each other. He would never say it out loud, but he thought it was cute that a grumpy fucker like Javi ended up someone so bright and cheery.

He rechecked his watch to see it was 3:20 p.m.

The couple approached the table.

“Hey, guys,” the dark-haired man greeted as he pulled out the chair across from Connie for his wife to sit in. “Sorry, we’re late.” He got her settled, kissing the top of her head before taking the seat to Steve’s left.

“Tío (Uncle)!” Stevie shouted and hopped off his chair to run around the table to Javier.

His friend smiled. “Hey, mi principito (my little prince),” he grunted as he lifted the child into his lap.

When Javier was around, Steve and Connie no longer existed to their two eldest kids. Did that bother them? No. It gave them a break, and they weren’t going to be mad about that. They never expected Javi to take on the role of an uncle to their children. They never expected him to be as great as he was with their kids, either. He took his title of tío (uncle) seriously and loved the little Murphys as if they were his flesh and blood. It honestly caught Steve off guard the first time he saw how gentle and sweet Javi was with Olivia.

Steve could admit that at first, he didn’t like that his friend was so good and helpful with his daughter because it made him look bad. Steve grew up believing that, aside from the occasional diaper change, everything involving the children was his wife’s job. Looking back, he could see how that was a shitty way of thinking, and he felt ashamed for putting Connie through all of that. Seeing everything Javi did and how it helped his wife ended up being the swift kick in the ass he needed to step up and be a better father and husband.

“We lost track of time,” the bride said. “Empire Strikes Back was on the TV.”

That title sounded familiar.

“Is that one of those,” Steve started. “What’s it called? Star Trek movies?”

“Star Wars,” Javi corrected. Stevie got off his lap to run back to his original chair to grab his menu.

Nate had lost interest in the bread, so Connie put it on the table in front of the baby. Steve leaned down to his right to get into the diaper bag on the floor, grabbing a bottle of watered-down apple juice that he handed to the one-year-old as he sat back up.

“The ones with those, uh, laser swords?” Steve asked.

Javi sighed. “Lightsabers.”

“Never pegged you as a sci-fi guy.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Peña interjected. She looked past her husband at him. “Javi’s a space nerd.”

Steve smiled. “Is he, now?”

His son returned, holding the paper up to his tío (uncle). “Look!” He had crayons clutched in his other hand.

Javi’s attention went to the toddler. “Were you coloring, bud?” The man put the child in his lap again, and the page with a rainbow of scribbles on the table in front of them. “It looks good, buddy. What are you getting to eat?” He had an arm over the back of his wife’s chair, his other hand pointing at the list of three options, reading what each one was. Mrs. Peña watched the interaction with a fond expression.

Steve looked at Connie. “Honey?”

She met his eyes. “Yes, baby?”

“Five bucks says our kids will have a new cousin by the end of the year.”

She smiled. “I’d be stupid to take that bet.”

“She’s right,” Javi added before going back to talking to Stevie.

“Y’all are no fun.” Steve pouted.

The server interrupted to take their drink orders. After she left, Olivia called from across the table. “Tío (Uncle)?”

Javi turned to see her concerned face. “¿Sí, mi tesorito (Yes, my little treasure)?”

She asked him something in Spanish while pointing at his head, and whatever the question was made the other man’s cheeks flush and his new wife’s eyes widen. Connie looked where their daughter indicated and tried but failed to stifle a giggle.

“What did she ask?” Steve asked. His eyes traveled to each adult, hoping for an explanation.

Javier’s expression could be described as ‘panicked’ when he met Connie’s eyes. She didn’t even let him say anything. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know what happened, so you have to take this one.”

“What did she ask?” he tried again.

Connie caught his gaze and put her hand up to hide her mouth from Olivia while she mouthed at him, ‘Hickey,’ and pointed at the side of her neck. Great. Steve pressed his fingers to his forehead and sighed. They better come up with a believable excuse. His daughter did not need to be finding out what hickies were.

Javi finally answered Olivia in Spanish, and the young girl asked him another question Steve didn’t catch.

He hated it when they did this. He could make out some words, but his daughter and her tío (uncle) sometimes spoke too quickly for him to understand. They also liked to make it obvious when they were talking shit about him because they found it funny and enjoyed annoying the hell out of him.

Javier smiled and shook his head as he replied.

“What are they talking about?” Steve asked.

His friend’s missus threw him a bone. “Olivia asked about the bruise on Javi’s neck, and he told her what happened; he hit it on something last night, and he’s embarrassed about it.” That was a decent excuse. “She also wondered if it hurt, and he reassured her that it didn’t. Is that right, guys?” She addressed the uncle and niece.

His daughter said, “Yep!”

Javi turned his way and nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced over to Olivia and then back to Steve as he said something in Spanish that his daughter laughed at.

This was shit that made his jaw clench. “Hey, you guys know it’s against the rules to talk about me in Spanish.”

“Who said we were talking about you?” Javi replied. His attention returned to Olivia, the two of them, plus his wife, chatting in the language Steve barely understood.

“Leave them alone, Steve,” Connie said, and his eyes went to her. “It’s good practice for Olivia.”

“It’s rude,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

The server returned with their drinks, and the newlyweds had a chance to look over their menus, so the table ordered their food. Minutes passed. While Stevie was occupied with coloring, and the women were talking to his daughter about some show or movie he’d never heard of, Javier leaned his way and whispered for only him to hear, “Why does Olivia think I play baseball?”

The blonde man’s eyebrows knit together as he thought over the question. Why would Olivia think that Javi played baseball? It hit him: the conversation Connie and he had the day before on their way to the party after the ceremony. They used baseball terms to discuss whether the newlyweds would figure out how to fool around on the drive back to the reception.

He leaned toward his friend to reply just as quietly, “She wasn’t supposed to mention it to you.”

“Mention what?”

“It was nothing.”

“It was obviously something because your daughter is under the impression that I am a shitty baseball player.”

Steve had to hold in his laugh, air quickly leaving his nose. He needed to give his friend some kind of answer.

“You know how Connie and I use ‘folding laundry’ as a codeword?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Well, we were talking more in-depth about the topic, but we used baseball terminology, so if the children overheard, they wouldn’t know what the hell we were talking about.”

“And it was about me…?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you discussing my sex life…?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Okay. I was being an ass and bet Connie that you horndogs wouldn’t be able to keep it in your pants on the drive to the party.”

“She would’ve lost. I hope she didn’t take it.”

“Of course, she didn’t, and I sure as hell didn’t take her bet that you guys would be able to wait until you got back to the hotel to score the first run on opening day.”

“Consummate our marriage?”

“Yeah.”

“That was a losing bet, too.”

“How the hell did you manage that with your wife driving?” he harshly whispered. She drove the two of them from the ceremony to Chucho’s house. “Wait, don’t tell me.”

“It was later on our way to the hotel,” he told him anyway. “We stopped in a field.”

“Are you guys trying to get arrested?”

“It was in the middle of nowhere. We were fine.”

Whatever happened to saving those kinds of activities for the bedroom?

“Uh huh, right.”

“Hold on a second, if Olivia overheard your baseball shit and assumed I played, where’d she get the idea that I’m bad at it? Did you fucking tell her that?”

Again, Steve had to keep himself from laughing, but this time, when he whispered, his voice was a little squeaky. “Maybe…”

His friend sat back to glare at him and forgot to keep his voice low. “You asshole.”

“You ass’ole!” the three-year-old in Javi’s lap parroted. “You ass’ole!”

The other man’s eyes rounded. “Oh, Shit. I mean, shoot.”

Steve groaned. “Goddammit, Javier,” he hissed.

“OH, SHI’!” Stevie yelled at the top of his lungs. He turned his head to look at Steve, pointing at him. “Daddy, you ass’ole!”

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[burgerrat]

Harley Sawyer x Reader

NOTE: reader is gender-neutral. Scenarios are often sporiadic.

( Because there's little to none and it upsets me greatly how out of character people write him as or label him as yandere, in the few writings there are about him. So I'm going to try my hardest to keep him strictly canon. )

Pre-Experiment 1354.

At first he might come across as grouchy, irritable even.

Then, there is interest. Genuine interest. He wants to study you, see what makes you tick.

Realistically, Harley seems to be quite literally incapable of caring about anyone that isn't himself in a normal way most would expect. His form of feeling 'love', in his mind, is really just a sugarcoated form of saying "I need you alive, you are useful and resourceful to keep."

He does not feel love in the traditional way, that doesn't mean he doesn't care for you. He just does not feel.

His way of showing love is through acts of service, verbal affirmations and gift-giving. He keeps a list of what you like, your interests, and important dates.

Complimenting him or any sort of praise instantly sends dopamine in his brain. Inflating his ego. Automatically in his best mood.

And boy is he smug. He doesn't even attempt to hide it.

He'll keep a facade, perhaps not even tell you about the kind of 'workplace' he's part of at Playtime Co., he needs you to trust him, and you can trust him! He needs you.

Although he uses emotional manipulation, it is not done with malicious intent. He seeks to build a meaningful relation with this person that he wants by his side.

You can sometimes tell he's very... robotic with his behaviour, his gentle voice can only make his charm go so far.

But god does he try, he doesn't even get mad and threaten you for forgetting to take out the sweet pickles in his sandwich! Instead politely reminding you that he dislikes them😁

His perception of having a partner is a very alien concept to him. It feels like focusing on his work for another Bigger Bodies Iniciative experiment, there's that same passion behind to get to know you. He carefully constructs a face to seem normal for you, and studies your behaviour in the back of his mind. Observes you, takes note of what you tell him, etc.

He acts like he's studying a future guinea pig for Playtime Co., honestly. Yet the thought of using you never even crossed his mind.

Physical contact is another thing that feels alien to him, you can feel him stiffen when you hug him, he remains frozen for a few seconds before reciprocating. You can get a small glimpse of his almost-robotic attempt to recreate genuine human emotion. He'd start sputtering incoherently when you'd suddenly give him a peck on the lips.

"No, don't worry, you don't need to ask for my consent, I allow it, you and only you are allowed. I was simply unprepared."

You of course get concerned everytime he freezes or doesn't respond right away, thinking you've crossed boundaries since he noticeably grows tense. But he's always reassured you that he does not mind, he merely gets surprised.

The one time you've managed to aggravate him is by being so insistent on making sure he was consenting because of his initial reactions. He wouldn't audibly admit "Yes I like you holding my hand, hugging me, kissing me." But he WILL angrily tell you something along the lines of "I do cherish your displays of affection. Believe me, you will know if something upsets me."

It's a half-joke half-genuine warning. He's aware of his inability to get along with most people because of his anger.

With you... he's making an attempt to be less volatile. Even at work his shift in behaviour is noticeable when he thinks of you.

He genuinely struggles to grasp the concept of why he'd allow himself to have a loved one at all, having internal fights with himself about the 'pointlessness' of it, realizing the hypocricy of it given his disgust at others for feeling sympathy for his experiments.

He eventually comes to terms that he is allowed to have a loved one because he deserves to be appreciated for his work and how hard it is to share his workspace with people who are objectively inferior and incompetent.

He makes sure to keep this relationship secretive as humanly possible. The last thing he needs is for Leith or anyone at Playtime Co. to discover he has a weakness. He has a loved one too.

Although he doesn't show it, and you need constant reminders from him, that he does enjoy physical contact, he's just kind of like a ragdoll. He allows it but doesn't often reciprocate, and when he tries to- it's often awkward and very automatic like he's trying to copy what you're doing, he prefers to recieve contact rather than giving it. Again, it's another thing that fuels his ego.

He doesn't understand you fully, your compassion, your display of emotion, your sympathy.

And it's what draws him further in, mixed with disgust at how 'lovable' you are. It makes him question himself (not in a moral/self-reflection way, oh no no no, more of a 'why do I like this? This is counterproductive for my work. But I like it.' way) and it makes him question human nature, what it is that draws us to seek closure in such a way towards one another.

He might get vocal about that. And you're going to end up getting a semi-pessimistic philosophy lesson, all because you wanted to cuddle.

Post-Experiment 1354.

Remember his ragdoll-non reciprocative behaviour when you'd initiate physical contact? Suddenly he regrets not having indulged you more often, or asked for more.

Probably laughs at himself over the irony of how he didn't value simple things he had daily access to, and now that has been taken away, and he resents that.

Should you be able to find him in this state, in however way you managed to dig so deep into the foundation to find him, and should you be able to still see him with the same eyes you did before even in the state he's in, discovering what he'd done. Well, you'll make his (metaphorical) jaw drop.

After the shock, there is an uncharacteristic fear. Because of the Prototype, it must know you are here just as well as he does, but it does not know your connection to him, and he must keep it that way.

You refuse to go? He'll go on a long-winded monologue about himself (of course), how stupid one must be to refuse to run away from danger, proudly boasts about his work, it's purpose, long story-short: he fully tears off the mask. Because what he wants is to get you out. He doesn't want you to leave him, but you are useless to him if you are dead.

You want to stay? Even after all of this? With the state that he's in? Being only a brain, lungs and liver inside Vital System Center machines?

He laughs. Starts genuinely pondering your sanity, and survival instincts.

As you approach the large machinery containing his mind, visible through the glass, his laughs grow silent. Waiting.

"Do you think yourself a hero? Coming to rescue the beast?" He'd condescendingly ask you to break the silence, dead-serious and mildly irritated that you'd be that stupid to risk your own survival for him.

"I don't. You deserved it."

Silence. Then, laughter booming through the lab.

"My, my! And here I thought you were always such an understanding golden heart. What happened to the old Y/N?"

You two argue. He's very mad at you for being so stubborn on staying with him even though now you know in full detail of just how evil he is. As if your relationship with him can ever go back to normal like before.

You are within his grasp, in his lab, deep down an abandoned toy factory. He could turn you into his next, newest experiment, he could feed you to Yarnaby, he could dissect you and keep you alive just like himself.

Yet he doesn't.

Something in his evil, metaphorical heart stirs.

You, the only person that he could tolerate. Could get along with. That he felt... something for. Something worth keeping.

"I've missed you."

Make no mistake, he says that with absolute seething spite. He hates the sentence he just uttered from the speakers.

But alas, it is a bitter truth.

Silence

...

He can't feel per-say your arms wrap awkwardly around the giant machinery containing his mind, but he sees it through his cameras, ever so-intently observing you; he heard it, as your clothes' fabric brushed and pressed against the metal.

Another incredulous laughter rasped from the speakers.

Though he can't feel it, it... warms him, in a way, that you still somehow find it possible to 'love', to care.

"I wonder... perhaps, somewhere deep down, we share a kinship of depravity? Or maybe you're just blindly loyal as my dear Yarnaby?" He'd playfully mock.

One thing is for certain though: you intrigue him. He doesn't understand you, your affections towards him, and it makes him want to keep studying you.

His mechanical vessels are a bit trickier to 'cuddle' with, if at all. You're welcome to try, Harley won't stop you, just be careful not to open a wound that'll require stitches.

He does appreciate the effort. And this time, unlike when he was human, he initiates contact first.

His hand reaches for yours, guides you to touch his screen. Although he can't feel it, he tries recreating the sensation in his mind.

You hear him sigh often when he feels content. And/or hum.

He might grumble incoherently in the typical old man fashion and try to pick at you in his typical, eloquent way of speaking, if you try to point out his hypocrisy towards his carelessness for others having loved ones.

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat; Chapter 19: Her Idiot

Parings: Wednesday x Fem reader. Wordcount: 3.5k-ish? Theme: Fluff mostly...

Summary: After the final session of the therapy, Wednesday spends the night with you..

Warnings: EmotionalOutOfCharacterWednesday! THE WEIRD THERAPY GANG IS BACK FOR THE FINAL TIME!

Chapter 1 ------- Previous Chapter

Her Heartbeat's Chapterlist.

Worklist

[Author's note: My hand was really itching to write some action in The Maiden Of Death... but Her Heartbeat is my favorite child...]

It had been a week since that evening, since the night she had admitted the truth—to herself and to you.

The week had been unsettling in its own way. Every time she caught your eye, every time you smiled at her, that same warmth bloomed in her chest. It was maddening and wonderful all at once. She wasn’t sure if she would ever get used to it, but she also wasn’t sure she wanted to.

But at least she had finally done it. She had accepted what had always been simmering beneath the surface, coming to terms with feelings she never thought she could have. Love. The word still felt foreign to her, like wearing a cloak too light for her usual shroud of darkness.

Yet, here she was, heading to your dorm, her thoughts filled with the memory of your lips on hers. It was you—your warmth, your laugh, the way your eyes seemed to hold her entire world in them. And now, standing outside your door, Wednesday found herself almost nervous. Almost.

She raised a hand and knocked twice and within moments, the door creaked open. And there you were. Those eyes, that soft smile that always seemed to be meant just for her. She drank in the sight of you, silently committing every detail to memory. It hit her like it always did, a pang of longing, a surge of protectiveness, and the overwhelming need to keep you beside her, forever.

“Ready?” you asked, your voice gentle and warm.

Wednesday nodded, her words caught somewhere in her throat. Instead of speaking, she simply extended her hand, and you took it without hesitation. Her cold fingers intertwined with yours, grounding her as you stepped out together.

As you walked through the campus, Wednesday’s dark eyes scanned the faces of passersby. She saw the curious glances, the occasional whispers, but she didn’t care. Let them look. Let them talk. They would know that you were hers, and hers alone.

Today was significant, though not for the reasons it should have been. It marked the final day of her anger management therapy sessions, a program she had been forced to enter, with every intention of simply enduring it without changing herself in the slightest.

And yet, here she was. Changed.

Not because of the therapy sessions... Because of you.

She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, her mind drifting back to the beginning. Your absurd request for help, the way you had barged into her carefully constructed solitude—it should have irritated her. It did irritate her.

The thought made her grip your hand a little tighter. What would her life have been like if you hadn’t been there?

“Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, breaking her reverie.

“Inflation has rendered that an insult,” she replied smoothly.

You laughed softly, and the sound sent a ripple of warmth through her. She didn’t respond aloud, but the smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

As you stepped inside, David, was there to welcome you, his ever-present smile a little wider today. “Wednesday! Y/N! You made it,” he said, his voice as cheerful as ever.

“Unfortunately,” Wednesday muttered.

Inside, the space was a haphazard mix of balloons, mismatched streamers, and a folding table stacked with snacks. Rick and Ashley were bustling around, setting up the last of the decorations.

“Rick’s in charge of the food,” David said proudly.

“Let’s hope it’s not drugged this time.” you joked.

Rick groaned loudly from across the room. “It was one time! And it was an accident!”

Wednesday glanced around the room. It was a pitiful attempt at a party, but there was an odd warmth to it, something she had never expected to find in this group of misfits. In the beginning, they were nothing more than an obstacle, a nuisance she had to endure. But now... now they were something more. And it was all because of you.

Every moment she had spent here, every ridiculous activity, every absurd assignment—it was bearable because you had been there, beside her.

She thought back to the “kidnapping fiasco”. She had been harsh back then, dismissive, and perhaps rightfully so. If not for the therapy sessions, she probably wouldn’t have helped you at all. And if she hadn’t…

Her gaze shifted to you again, her chest tightening at the thought. If she hadn’t helped you, if things had been different, you wouldn’t be a part of her life. That was a reality she couldn’t bear to consider.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of your laughter, a soft giggle in response to something Brooke had said. The sound was like music, a melody she wanted to hear for the rest of her days.

“Alright, everyone!” David’s voice rang out, cutting through the chatter. He clapped his hands to get the group’s attention. “Let’s gather around, take a seat.”

The group slowly settled into chairs arranged in a loose circle, the room falling into a comfortable silence as David stepped into the center.

“So, this is it,” he began, spreading his arms theatrically. “The end of our little anger management journey. I know, I know, you’re all devastated to leave me behind.”

Rick snorted. “Totally heartbroken, David.”

“Don’t interrupt my moment,” David shot back as he continued, “When we started this journey, I’ll admit, I had my doubts. Some of you”, his eyes flicked to Wednesday “were a little... resistant. But over time, I’ve watched this group grow. I’ve seen you support each other, challenge each other, and yes, occasionally drive each other crazy. And I’ve seen progress, not just in how you manage your emotions, but in how you connect with the people around you.”

His gaze swept the room, landing briefly on you and Wednesday. “I won’t name names, but some of you have surprised me in ways I never thought possible.”

“And now,” David said, his smile bittersweet, “it’s time to say goodbye. I could just hand out your progression reports and send you on your way, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, I want each of you to come up here and share a few words about your experience.”

A collective groan rose from the group.

“What is this, a graduation?” Alex muttered, slouching in his chair.

You giggled, and Wednesday’s head turned toward you, catching the sparkle of amusement in your eyes.

“Think of it as closure,” David said, his grin widening. “Alex, you’re up first.”

Alex groaned even louder, dragging himself to his feet. “Why do I have to go first?”

“Because you were the loudest complainer,” David shot back.

Alex muttered something under his breath as he trudged to the front of the room. He turned to face the group, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding eye contact like he was being forced to perform in front of a firing squad.

“Okay, uh… so this whole thing has been…” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Annoying.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes.

“But…” Alex continued, his tone softening, “it’s also been kinda… good. I mean, it’s been fun sometimes. You guys are all weird as hell, but I guess I needed that. It’s helped me… not punch my way through every problem, which is probably a good thing. And, uh, yeah. I’m grateful. So, thanks, or whatever.” Alex gave a half-hearted shrug before slinking back to his seat, where he immediately resumed slouching.

“Great job, Alex!” David said, clapping enthusiastically. “Next up—Brooke!”

Brooke practically launched herself out of her chair.

“Okay, so, like, first of all, this has been amazing,” Brooke began, her words tumbling out in a rush. “You guys are all, like, super important to me now. Like, I would never set fire to any of you. Ever.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Brooke quickly added, “Not that I set fire to people before! Just, you know, things. But I don’t do that anymore! No matter who hurts my feelings, I’ve learned to value love and friendship instead!”

Mike leaned over to Alex, “Brooke now burns things in Minecraft.”

Minecraft? Wednesday tilted her head slightly. Was it some kind of ritual? She’d have to investigate later.

Brooke continued her speech, rambling about how much she appreciated everyone and how therapy had taught her the importance of forgiveness. By the time she returned to her seat, she was practically glowing with pride.

“Thank you, Brooke!” David said, his smile as bright as ever. “And now, Rick, you’re up!”

Rick dragged himself to the front of the room, his lanky frame making his movements look almost comically exaggerated.

“So, uh, yeah,” Rick began, his hands gesturing vaguely. “First off, I want to apologize. Again. For, uh, the whole camp... incident. You know, with the coffee and the, uh... you know what, let’s just move past that.”

Everyone except Wednesday giggled, and Rick gave an awkward shrug.

“Anyway, this whole thing—it’s been... weird. But good, I guess. Like, it made me realize some stuff. Like, I need to grow up. Stop selling... certain things I shouldn’t have been selling.” He coughed awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with David. “Because I realized that life’s worth more than a quick buck. I even got a job. Like, a real one. I’m helping out at this shop to support my mom, and it feels… good. No. It feels better, like way better. So, yeah, thanks to everyone here for putting up with me.”

Wednesday’s gaze shifted to you. You were smiling, but there was a hint of tears in your eyes. Idiot.... Her idiot. Always so sentimental.

“Wednesday.” David’s voice cut through her thoughts, snapping her out of her reverie.

She glared at him. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Wednesday,” David chided. “Don’t make me burn your report.”

Brooke’s hand shot up. “I volunteer as tribute!”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed into a deadly glare, but she rose to her feet with a sigh, her posture as rigid as ever.

She turned to face the group, her dark eyes scanning the room.

“While I do not care for most of you,” she began, her tone as sharp as a knife, “I would be lying if I said this... experience left no impact. Which I hate. But,” she continued, her gaze shifting to you, “it has made my tolerance for absurdity significantly higher. It has reminded me that even the most improbable connections can... change you. For the better. And for that, I suppose I should be… grateful.”

The room was silent for a moment before she added, “I still hate every single one of you.”

The group erupted into laughter and applause, their reactions as absurd and unexpected as ever.

Wednesday smirked faintly. Crazy idiots, she thought. All of them.

As you both stepped off the bus and began walking toward the school, Wednesday held her therapy report in her hand, the edges of the paper slightly crumpled from her tight grip.

“I’m going to miss them,” you said suddenly, your voice soft.

Wednesday glanced at you from the corner of her eye. “I’m not,” she replied flatly.

You smiled, shaking your head. “Of course you’re not.”

But then your smile faded, replaced by a quiet seriousness that made Wednesday’s eyes narrow slightly. She could feel the shift in you, the way your energy dimmed just enough to set her on edge. “What’s bothering you?” she asked.

You hesitated, looking at the ground for a moment before answering. “My dad called me last night,” you said softly. “He told me that my doctors sent my medical files to some heart specialists in Germany. They’re sending a team to check on me.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

You gave her a small, sad smile, the kind that never quite reached your eyes. “Yeah, of course it is. It’s just… I’m scared. I don’t know what they’ll say. Tomorrow’s the appointment.”

Wednesday stopped walking for a brief moment, her gaze sharpening as it settled on you. “You don’t have to be scared,” she said firmly. “I’ll be there.”

You turned to her, and this time your smile was real. “I know. Of course you will.” The way your eyes shined, the light in your eyes showing the trust you placed on Wednesday. She hated the idea that someone... something...could take that light away from you. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to keep her emotions in check as you both continued walking.

When you reached Principal Weems’s office, she greeted you both with her usual composed demeanor. “Miss Addams, Miss Y/N,” she said, her gaze flicking to the paper in Wednesday’s hand. “I take it this is your therapy report?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied flatly, handing it over without ceremony.

Weems smirked as she opened the report, glancing at you knowingly. “I assume you had some influence in this, Miss Y/N?”

You smiled sheepishly, but before you could respond, Weems continued reading. “Well, Wednesday, this is… impressive. It seems you’ve made significant progress, well done.”

Wednesday didn’t reply, her expression unchanging as Weems set the folder aside.

“Is that all?” Wednesday asked, her impatience creeping into her voice.

“For you, yes,” Weems said, her eyes shifting to you. “But I’d like to have a word with Miss Y/L/N. Privately.”

Wednesday stiffened, her dark eyes narrowing. “Whatever you need to say to her, you can say in front of me.”

“It’s alright,” you said softly, placing a hand on her arm. She looked down at your hand, then back at you, her jaw tightening.

“I’ll tell you everything later, I promise.” you whispered, leaning closer.

Reluctantly, Wednesday stepped back, her eyes fixed on Weems as though daring her to say or do something untoward. She left the office but hovered just outside.

The door clicked open a few minutes later, and you stepped out. Wednesday straightened, her gaze immediately locking onto yours. “What did she want?”

You hesitated briefly, then smiled softly. “She offered financial help for my treatments.”

Wednesday froze, her mind reeling. Of course. Your father... The kind of money needed for specialists, for experimental treatments, wasn’t something easily attainable.

“What did you tell her?” she asked, her tone carefully measured.

You shrugged lightly, your smile faint but unconvincing. “I told her I’d let her know if I ever needed help.”

Wednesday studied you closely, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. She knew you too well. That was a lie. You wouldn’t ask for help, not from Weems, not from anyone. You were too selfless, too proud.

Her chest tightened again, but this time, it was with something sharper, something more painful. The thought of you struggling, of your father struggling, while you put on a brave face—it was unbearable.

She didn’t say anything as you began walking toward the dorms, her thoughts churning.

If you wouldn’t ask for help, then Wednesday would find a way to do it for you. She would do whatever it took to make sure you got the care you needed, whether you liked it or not.

“Thanks for walking me back,” you said softly as you reached your room, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

Wednesday simply nodded. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she said nothing.

You hesitated, your hand resting on the doorknob, before turning to look at her. “Hey, um…” you started, your tone light but carrying an undercurrent of nervousness. “Would you… would you like to spend the night with me?”

Wednesday froze. She blinked, her dark eyes widening slightly as her brain attempted to process your words. Her first thought was confusion what exactly were you asking? Then came the flicker of alarm, followed by something else entirely, something that sent a faint warmth crawling up her neck.

“Not like that!” you hurriedly added, waving your hands as if to dispel whatever assumptions she might have made. “I mean, just sleeping. You know, nothing serious. My roommate’s gone tonight, so it’s just me.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, the faintest hint of color rising in her pale cheeks. The idea of staying in your dorm, of sharing such an intimate space with you, the concept was so foreign, so utterly unexpected, that she didn’t even know how to process it.

You mistook her silence for reluctance, letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m just kidding. You don’t have to—”

“I’ll do it,” Wednesday said abruptly, cutting you off. Her voice was sharper than she intended, and she cleared her throat, quickly adding, “I just need to get fresh clothes from my room.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then your smile returned, softer this time. “Alright. I’ll wait here.”

Wednesday turned on her heel and walked briskly toward her dorm, her heart pounding in her chest. The logical part of her mind was screaming at her, questioning why she had agreed to this, but the quieter, deeper part. the part she was still coming to terms with, knew the answer. She wanted to be near you. She wanted to make sure you slept soundly tonight, safe tonight, especially with the weight of tomorrow hanging over you.

When Wednesday returned, she was still cringing at the smile Enid had given her after learning that she was spending the night with you. She hesitated in the doorway before finally turning the knob and opening it, her eyes immediately went towards you, sitting at the edge of your bed, you had already changed into a pair of comfortable clothes, your hair slightly damp from a quick shower.

"Come in." you said with a grin, gesturing to the room.

Wednesday hesitated briefly before stepping into your room, her eyes scanning the space. It was small, personal, filled with little touches that spoke to who you were—books stacked haphazardly on the desk, a soft throw blanket draped over the bed, and faintly glowing string lights lining the walls. It felt warm, inviting, just like you.

As the evening wound down, the two of you sat on your bed, talking or mostly you talking. You seemed more relaxed now, your earlier tension fading as you laughed at your own stories and teased Wednesday about her deadpan responses.

When it was time to sleep, you stood and began gathering your things, pulling out your nightclothes. Wednesday turned away quickly, her cheeks flushing as she realized what you were doing.

“You okay over there?” you asked with a laugh, clearly amused by her sudden stiffness.

“Perfectly fine,” Wednesday replied, her voice clipped as she stared at the wall.

Once you were ready, you climbed into bed, patting the space beside you. “Come on, Wednesday. I promise I don't snore.” you teased.

Her lips quirked slightly at the corner, but she said nothing as she slipped off her shoes and carefully lay down beside you, keeping her body rigid and her arms at her sides.

You chuckled softly, turning onto your side to face her. “Relax, I don’t kick in my sleep.”

Wednesday gave you a pointed look, but the tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction. “That remains to be seen,” she muttered.

You laughed softly, the sound settling into the quiet room as the minutes stretched on. Your breathing began to even out, and Wednesday could tell you were falling asleep. She lay still, her dark eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind racing despite the calm around her.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she felt it—a gentle tug at her arm.

She looked down to find you shifting closer in your sleep, your arm draping over hers as you rested your head against her shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat, her body going rigid as she tried to process what was happening.

You murmured something unintelligible in your sleep, your face peaceful, completely unaware of the chaos you were causing inside her. Your heartbeat was steady against her arm, a soft reminder of your presence, of your life.

Wednesday couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. The way your hair fell across your face, the slight curve of your lips, the way you seemed so completely at ease—it was almost too much. Her chest ached with something she couldn’t quite name, something she didn’t want to examine too closely.

All she knew was that in this moment, with you asleep beside her, holding onto her like she was something precious, she felt an unfamiliar warmth blooming in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to do with it, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to push it away.

As she watched you, her mind drifted to thoughts of tomorrow and the uncertainty it would bring. But right now, in this quiet, fragile moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was you.

Carefully, almost hesitantly, she allowed herself to relax, her free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. You shifted slightly, nuzzling closer to her, and she felt her heart stutter again.

“Idiot,” she muttered, though she wasn’t sure if she was speaking about, you or herself.

She probably won't be able to sleep tonight, but she doesn’t mind, staying awake feels worth it.

Next Chapter

@ognenniyvolk @mally-ka @protozoario @machyishere @freakshow2501 @101rizzlrr

[So, no angst this time, just some more fluff! And if you guys were hoping for something more in the sleeping part- 🏏 BONK 🌟, Comment some songs for me to listen while cooking the next chapters down below!]

[kaibutsushidousha]

The Hundred Line special guests interview from Famitsu issue 1895

A game is composed of multiple elements, like "plot", "characters", "world", and "experience". In what order do those get constructed when you make games?

Jirou Ishii: Me first. I can't present a project unless I have all parts sorted. A game only becomes a project when you have a plot, a cast, a world, and your gameplay sorted out. Of course, sometimes I can only come up with fragments of the story and characters, but I need to have some ideas, any ideas, in store for later.

Alright. You next, YOKO.

YOKOTARO: I work mainly with action games, so the process might be different from visual novels. For action games, you need to start from an estimate of the gameplay mechanics, and only then you're allowed to come up with a story, cast, and world that fit with this estimate. By estimate, I do mean a budget. Eventually, you will find some cases where the estimate will pre-establish the number of characters in your cast, and even force you to redistribute who is an ally and who is an enemy to work with that. Wait, this wasn't supposed to be a conversation about money (laughs).

Kazutaka Kodaka: But since you made it about money, I have to mention how The Hundred Line was funded from Too Kyo's own pockets and we had strict budget plans to follow. But as the game kept growing, the initial budget only lasted a few months. Mostly my fault for not knowing when to hit the brakes.

YOKO: And how much did it cost? Saying the price in yen would qualify as gore, so let's use Ronpas as the currency here.

Kodaka: I mean, I could just tell you the price in yen here and now. It's not like the interviewers would be allowed to put the number on the magazine.

YOKO: Still on the topic of money, with how inflated localization costs have been these days, I sometimes get requests to cut scenes shorter. With how colossal The Hundred Line is, how much did that weigh on your budget?

Kodaka: The Hundred Line was a collaboration with Aniplex, meaning the production costs were split between us. All procedures were carried out on agreeable terms. Well, agreeable on our end. I can't say for certain Aniplex felt the same (laughs).

In what order was the world of The Hundred Line constructed?

Kodaka: A major factor in defining the direction of the story and the characters was my age. I felt like this was my last chance to write ensemble casts and believable teenager dialogue. As for the gameplay, we went with a tactical RPG because that's what I assumed would be the cheapest.

YOKO: Oh, you fell for THOSE illusions?

Kodaka: Oh yeah, that was a total illusion alright (pained laughs). Considering this was my collaboration with Uchikoshi, we initially positioned the plot as the main item and the TRPG gameplay as just a bonus to hype up the plot. But the desire to improve the TRPG only grew as development progressed, so we kept tweaking the battles until the last day available for it. With how much we managed to add in terms of story volume, polish, and gameplay, this title is the closest thing I can call to my ideal game. Now I'm ready to die without regrets (laughs).

Ishii: So can we count the game as your will?

All: (laughs)

The Hundred Line has 100 routes and endings. Can we get YOKO's and Ishii's opinions on this length?

Ishii: It's outright amazing. Relatively short visual novels, like PARANORMASIGHT: The Seven Mysteries of Honjo or Urban Myth Dissolution Center, have been major successes lately. This game runs contrary to the trend, if anything running closer to the lengthy VNs from our careers.

Kodaka: Our goal was making a VN that the player can keep playing over time. To accomplish that, we made multiple route types, and allowed the player to interpret the ending that satisfied them the most as the true ending. This concept for this new IP came from a wish to create an aspect that would get the people of the current year to question our sanities. The best we had to offer was quality and quantity in terms of text and illustration, and that's why we created 100 routes.

Ishii: The closest thing I can think of in terms of how different the routes get from each other is Banshee's Last Cry. That game as a VN with TRPG elements instead of a pure sound novel is an amusing idea. The elements of continuing the game until you're satisfied is also an aspect I feel competes with Gnosia. All that has me very interested in The Hundred Line.

Kodaka: Making the TRPG match the plot was much harder than we imagined. We needed to fine tune the difficulty to make every battle winnable using only the characters currently featured in the story. Which is made more difficult when you have a huge number of routes with crucial differences on who is and isn't in the roster, something really time-consuming for a simple consistency check. I was often going "wait, it doesn't make sense for this character to be at this moment of this route".

Looking at the story branches, this game has a lot in common with YOKO's work.

YOKO: True. I created my route splits to add replayability to the Drakengard series. Those were times when everyone kept saying short games weren't worth it. But in the current year, making something with 100 different routes and endings is the more dangerous play.

Koutarou Uchikoshi: From a creator's perspective, my reaction to Kodaka's project pitch was "Let's rethink this one" (laughs). I showed him a flowchart with 100 routes to hammer it how rash his idea was, but that only got him more motivated…

Kodaka: I got so excited about our game (laughs).

So the document written to make him quit backfired?

Uchikoshi: Honestly, from a player perspective, I saw The Hundred Line as something that appeals both to the crowd that wants to rush it and the crowd that wants to take their time. If we actually managed to make the whole thing (laughs).

Kodaka: I remember the people at Too Kyo being really split on the volume. Due to that, I asked my close friends about their opinions on the game's length. Most Japanese friends were put off by the amount of text, but the American friends explained that only the really hardcore crowd plays Japanese games in the US, so this length would be like Christmas in July.

YOKO: Eh, I feel like the Japanese crowd is also huge on the "I want to see every ending, I want the full experience".

Kodaka: Absolutely. I certainly prefer people experiencing everything, but it's perfectly fine to walk away whenever you feel satisfied.

Uchikoshi: This might work somewhat like RPG side quests. You don't have to clear all of them, but each one you experience deepens your understanding of the game.

The Hundred Line is split into visual novel sections and tactical RPG sections. What do you believe a visual novel needs to be in this age of such rich genre diversity?

Kodaka: The most memorable title I played recently is Until Then. It felt like one of the old ones, going on extensively while still following the principles of "everything matters". We did have games that were unproductive with their high length, but nowadays, I believe the norm is keeping it short. Shorter stories mean more time-efficiency, bringing their narrative formats closer to manga chapters, TV episodes, or movies. Although I can't conclusively say one method is better than the other.

Can we consider The Hundred Line to be your personal answer to this dilemma?

Kodaka: No, not an answer to the VN genre, just an answer to the question of what VN would the current me make. Saying I hold the answer to such an indie-dominated niche would be in bad taste. I personally want large titles to be produced more often, and would love to see my game revitalizing the genre upon release.

Your thoughts, Ishii?

Ishii: I believe we could soon be getting a roguelike-style title, like the Gnosia I mentioned before. The number of games that can pull off the right balance of storytelling and roguelike gameplay is still close to zero, but I expect a high-level title to appear and codify the genre in the near future. Also, writing a visual novel has always been a battle against flowcharts and loading multiple save files. I believe in game design innovations that can create stories that eliminate the need for flowcharts and save files. I'm very excited both to discover and to create story formats never seen before.

What do you have to say, YOKO?

YOKO: I believed the advancement of technology would blur the lines between action, RPG, and visual novel. My prediction didn't come true. The genres are still as distinct as they always were. But the definition of visual novel changed. Back in the days of hardware limitations, what we currently call sound novels were the only possible style of visual novel. But now that any form of presentation is possible, the labels changed meaning. The story sections in Uncharted and Detroit: Become Human are very similar, so I imagine the only reason why only the latter gets called a visual novel is because it doesn't have action gameplay.

Uchikoshi: Good point, Detroit and Uncharted share the same base 3D character adventure controls. The only difference really is the emphasizes on their movement.

Kodaka: Visual novel and adventure game are labels used interchangeably in Japanese, but in my opinion, the English-speakers stick only with the former because it's the one that makes sense.

Ishii: Calling it a novel really draws emphasis to the writing. At the risk of going off-topic, a key similarity between novel games and basic literature is the added attention to the story text through the absence of any other element. But classic literature cares too much about being narrated in first person, and with that being the only POV option, the worlds of novels feel biased at best and barren at worst.

YOKO: Ishii, do you think you could make money with pure literature?

Ishii: Sounds doable, I already made Bungo and Alchemist a hit (laughs).

All: (laughs)

And Uchikoshi's thoughts on visual novels?

Uchikoshi: I believe Detroit: Become Human to be the ultimate form of VNs as we currently know them. Wonderful visuals, too. But if you asked me if the ideal visual novel is a live-action movie with route splits, my answer would be no. Being able to control movement is important. One project I want to create later down the line is what would Detroit: Become Human would look like if it came from the mind of a Japanese man.

Oh, I'd love to play that.

Uchikoshi: I still have a lot I want to create, but at the rate AI is evolving, I'm afraid the market will soon be dominated by AI-generated VNs.

YOKO: I'm also pretty concerned about AI running all game creators out of their jobs. In 50 years from now, people might think of us the same way we think of wandering bards nowadays.

You think AI would be able to create the outlandish worlds and stories you come up with?

YOKO: Yes.

Ishii: Same opinion (laughs).

Kodaka: I think it can copy an author's technique, but not their personality. For example, it could create a game script that resembles a David Lynch movie, but if the real David Lynch were to write for game, he wouldn't write it in the same style he uses for writing movies.

YOKO: I think a high-end AI would go beyond that and be capable of perfectly replicating the man's behavior. Its output would be based on the intention rather than the instructions.

Kodaka: The idea of an AI that fails deadlines tickles me (laughs).

YOKO: I believe we're slowly leaving the era of asking it to copy the style of our favorite creators and entering the era of asking it to create scripts catered to our tastes. The AI determines what the player likes and generates the route they would want to read. Just an idea based on how quickly the area is developing in the user recommendations department.

Kodaka: That would reduce the amount of experience people can share with one another, slowly fading away the concept of a bestseller from public consciousness worldwide.

The Hundred Line will be the first IP directly owned by Too Kyo Games. What do you believe to be the significance of owning franchises instead of only creating them?

YOKO: I don't own any of my series. I own partial rights to a manga, but for the games, I generally give everything to the client. Being real with you, owning a game franchise is not, by itself, something that makes money. But if you don't care about the money, then owning your series has one merit in the form of easier creative control. But I can control my franchises by having a relationship of mutual trust with the producers that hire me, which includes being able to tell them when I don't want a product to be made, so in my case specifically, I'd say I don't need to own anything.

Kodaka: Same here, I don't find IP ownership that significant. I may own The Hundred Line but it's not like Too Kyo Games can leverage that to make anime or stage play adaptations in our studio. We still need partner companies and production staff, and that makes the process not much different from how it would have been if the franchise rights were elsewhere. The only reason why I was so insistent in making The Hundred Line our first IP was because one of the foundation goals of Too Kyo Games was to own one franchise, didn't matter which. But with how huge of a project The Hundred Line was, it was maybe my last guess for which series we would get to keep.

Ishii: The Hundred Line really feels made with the intention of becoming a series. Kodaka already made a successful franchise out of Danganronpa, so I've been noticing the subtle details enabling the series expansion of The Hundred Line.

Kodaka: Whatever I did there was mostly unintentional. But my past successes were a basis for the creation of this new plot, cast, and world, so I could see it naturally coming out with franchise potential.

YOKO: It doesn't need to be conscious or intentional. Kodaka and Uchikoshi have a propensity for sequel hooks. A fetish, even. The games they make carry the seeds for sequels at their deepest core. I can see the sleeper agents in them.

Kodaka: I don't know about that (nervous laughs).

YOKO: You two can't help yourselves trapping characters in enclosed environments, to suffer until they reach their cruel demise. This inexplicable impact is something both of you share. It's honestly impressive how your games are so similar in plot but so different in flavor.

I agree (laughs). Onto a different subject now, tell us what makes a game built at your studio, or as a freelancer, uniquely good or uniquely difficult.

Kodaka: You think YOKOTARO still remembers anything from your employee days?

YOKO: I do. It felt really limiting, having to commute to work every day and work together with people who didn't vibe with me. The freelance life is a comfort to me. I have the freedom to choose when I go to the office and who I work with. Even when the client pitches a weak project my way, I can change it into something fun as long as I respect the important points of the budget estimate.

You're allowed to alter the client's base concept for the game?

YOKO: They get pissed because I only report that to them after the point of no return, but, y'know… negotiation skills can take you anywhere (laughs).

Ishii: I actually feel like I had more creative freedom in my employee days. I was fiercely determined to create something new, motivated by my need to charisma check the corporation in order to get my projects approved and secure a better budget. I looked really assured, since I thought casually giving them permission to fire me if it flopped was normal. That's also a reason why I wanted to be a director who supports creators after I went independent. But in reality, it's really hard to come across a director willing to quit the company for their mistakes whenever. When I say "If you're willing to put your job on the line, I'll provide you with everything you need", the default answer is "Sir, I have a family to feed". This conflict in worldview was the biggest obstacle of my early independent career.

Uchikoshi: Could it be a generational gap thing?

Ishii: No, a lot of people from my generation are strongly stability-minded, so I think I'm the only one built different.

What compromises have you been through in your freelance career?

Ishii: Once I was no longer capable of making super niche games, my first feelings were conflict and despair. I wasn't sure I'd be able to accept the person I'd become after many so many concessions to my identity, even knowing I had to do it to earn my daily bread. Nonetheless, most jobs I worked with after going solo were commercial successes. And my journey of self-search, analyzing what made them big hits, is still not over.

Kodaka and Uchikoshi went independent with the creation of Too Kyo Games. Did you notice any differences?

Kodaka: In my "salaryman era", when I had something I wanted to do, it was harder to assemble the necessary parts. Nowadays, if I ever feel like making a game for a manga or anime franchise, I can give it a shot. Being able to adjust mine and Uchikoshi's workloads at my discretion also makes life a lot easier. I can tell that trying to direct and write two or more games at the same time is too much for me, but where I have more minor roles, I have the option to move things forward by working on the weekends.

Uchikoshi : By becoming a commissioner rather than a commissionee, I learned that hierarchies were never real. When I relied on the company's salary, I assumed I was supposed to obey their request no matter how impracticable and the people being paid have no right to refuse. Then, at my first job as the one asking for things, I made my first impracticable request and heard a "No, that will not be possible. Not an option." (laughs). Turns out money and labor are items traded at the same rate. One side is not above the other. I want to be able to more confidently say no to impossible jobs.

Now we'll be moving away from the topic of work and talk about the real-life events and pieces of media that resonated with you in the past few years.

Kodaka: I've been too busy for games and movies these past couple of years. The only form of media I've been enjoying lately is wrestling. Each match ends on the same day it starts, and that's enough time to spend not thinking about my job. Things finally calmed down lately, and I took the chance to beat Metaphor: ReFantazio and Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth back-to-back so I won't get stuck behind the times. As for movies, I watched Mobile Suit Gundam GQuuuuuuX Beginning and Conclave.

YOKO: The movies I recommend are The Wild Robot and Petals and Memories.

Huh, not a lineup I'd have expected.

YOKO: I rarely go to the theaters on my own, so whenever I'm invited to a private screening of a movie, I always try to take the opportunity. The Wild Robot impressed with how much content it could pack in only 2 hours, and I spent the whole second hour crying. I genuinely had to fight not to make any noises in the theater room. Petals and Memories is another emotional piece. When I watch something that plays out too similar to what I write, my head goes into work mode and I can't focus again, but those kinds of titles that have nothing to do with my inner world are incredibly effective at pulling my heartstrings. I heavily recommend both of these titles. Please let me use the magazine's space to deliver lengthy sinopses of them.

What about you, Ishii?

Ishii: Shanghai's immersive theater is impactful. The viewers go to a theater styled like a 5-6 room apartment and walk around the residence, following the plot unfold in real time where the actors go. It's so high quality that it made me feel something I haven't since the first time I played Dragon Quest on the NES.

Kodaka: Were the actors speaking Chinese?

Ishii: I went in accompanied by Chinese-Japanese bilinguals. I had 3 people interpreting it for me, but depending on what was happening on the scene, all three would get too panicked to translate. That part only added to the amazing immersiveness. The theater also has plays that don't rely on spoken dialogue, so I could go along for the ride and get the most out of the interactive experience.

What about you, Uchikoshi?

Uchikoshi : The most recent game that really got me was Nier: Automata.

Kodaka: From, like, 2017?

YOKO: Are you just saying stuff to be funny?

Uchikoshi : I mean it! I don't believe any game has surpassed Nier: Automata yet. It really consumed my brain and I'm not just saying this because you're sitting right here. The story is just so deep and philosophical.

YOKO: I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I will never make another that lives up to your standards!

Uchikoshi : Can you elaborate?

YOKO: I've grown too old to have skills (laughs).

Be serious (laughs)

Uchikoshi : Also, I don't know if this counts as entertainment media, but I was on a promotional trip to the United States and something happened at the bar I was in. The American friend who took me to the bar suddenly walked to a huge black man and started a rap battle against him.

YOKO: Ok, NOW you're just saying things to be funny!

Uchikoshi : It happened! (laughs)

Ishii: You should have joined them.

Kodaka: Convince them to play Nier: Automata with your rap.

All: (laughs)

Uchikoshi : I couldn't parse what they were saying, and most of all, I was scared… I pretended I didn't know him until the rap battle was over. As Ishii mentioned just now, nothing compares to the immersiveness of a real life experience.

YOKO: So, in summary, what you're is saying people are better off dropping The Hundred Line and going outside?

Uchikoshi : No, I'm saying you should live real life experiences AFTER beating The Hundred Line.

Lastly, tell us your next plans and ideas.

Kodaka: I've been exceedingly busy for the last few years, working on multiple projects, with The Hundred Line at the center of it all, but now I finally settled down for the first time since forever. I gotta take a break from creative work and focus on promoting The Hundred Line until April 24th. Besides The Hundred Line, I also have another game already fully produced, so I will be announcing this one any day now.

YOKO: I do have an ongoing project, but nothing I can discuss at the moment… What kind of answer does the magazine even expect with this kind of question?

Hah, throwing the question back at the interviewer! Well, it's about the obvious, I'm fishing for info on the future of your known titles. An ideal answer would be something like "I want to make a new Nier sequel."

YOKO: Ok, so that's the answer I'm going with. I want to make a new sequel for whichever series you, the reader, personally wants the most.

Now we're talking (laughs).

All: (laughs)

Uchikoshi : Same answer as him.

Kodaka: Didn't you say you wanted to make a game like Detroit: Become Human?

Uchikoshi : That's the one I'm talking about.

What about you, Ishii?

Ishii: I got the perfect content for you. I'm ready to throw a bomb at my fans on April 28th. It's my personal passion project at the moment, but I started already expecting certain people to want to contribute once I have something to show them for it. Let's see how well that goes. Don't miss it.

Uchikoshi : April 28th? That's four… two…

Kodaka: I was trying not to say it.

All: (laughs)

YOKO: That Uchikoshi, doing the job of the Famitsu editors for them!

Uchikoshi : I knew that none of you were going to say it, so I had to… (nervous laughs)

"April 28th" coming from Ishii's mouth is a pretty solid hint.

Ishii: Yes, the 4/28 date matters. I hope my impact in the VN scene doesn't fall behind The Hundred Line.

—————————————————————————–

Links:

Writing team interview

Design team interview

Music team interview

[9vvo]

Hey all, first post I'm going to do here.

I'm going to talk about the USS Indianola (pictured above), mainly because the story surrounding this could honestly be an idea for a potential sam o'nella video.

The USS Indianola was a casemate ironclad which served under the Union during the civil war. The ship was built by Joseph Brown of Cincinnati, OH for the US Government for $128,000 dollars at the time or about $4,000,000 adjusted for inflation.

By September 1, 1862 construction was nearly complete, however this would be halted when Union Forces under General Lew Wallace seized the unfinished ship the day after and would be launched on the fourth that month in order to defend Cincinnati from Confederate Forces. When the Threat ended on the 12th that month, the ship was returned for completion and would be officially commissioned later that month.

The thing would finally be completed on December of 1862, but the Ohio River's water levels were too low to cross the Falls of the Ohio. Eventually on January of 1863, she would join the Mississippi Squadron at Cairo, IL.

During the Vicksburg Campaign, Union Navy Rear Admiral David Dixon Porter would order the USS Queen of the West (pictured below) down the Mississippi in order to intercept Confederate Shipping between Vicksburg, MS and Port Hudson, LA and would operate there until the 5th of February, 1863. Remember the Queen of the West as she becomes relevant later on.

The Queen of the West would later make a second trip and entered the Red River on February 14. Indianola would now be under the command of Union Navy Lieutenant Commander George Brown. Indianola would leave her moorings at the Yazoo the night before with two barges loaded with coal strapped onto her sides and steamed south under fire from the Vicksburg defenses. She would link up with Queen of the West in her operations down the river. After passing Confederate positions, she would anchor for the night and resumed sailing toward the south.

Indianola had been specifically chosen for this operation because her engines would allow her to reach a speed of 2 Knots (or 2.3mph/3.7kph) upstream against the current making it a lot faster than other ships under Porter's Command making her a better fit for escaping upriver if there were an emergency.

Queen of the West would disabled in a fight against Confederate Shore Defenses along the Red River and had to be abandoned. Her crew would make it to the Indianola on a captured packet steamer while being chased down by the Confederate Steamer CSS William H. Web.

Indianola would move against William H. Webb and would eventually spot her that afternoon. Indianola fired it's guns but William H. Webb was out of range and managed to escape into the fog. She would eventually hold a blockade of the junction of the Red and Mississippi, but withdrew on the 21st after learning William H. Webb, the captured and Repaired Queen of the West, and two steamers filled with Confederate soldiers were moving to attack her.

Indianola would be slowed by the two coal barges she was bringing and would be caught on the night of the 24th by Wiliam H. Webb and Queen of the West. Brown would face the Indianola toward the Confederate Ships and prepared for the inevitable fight by positioning the ship so that one of the coal barges were inbetween Indianola and the Confederate Ships.

She would fire her guns at the Confederate Ships, missing her shots. Queen of the West would ram Indianola on her left side and nearly smashed one of the barges in half. The William H. Webb would ram the Indianola Head-On immediately after with the William H. Webb also being damaged in the Collision.

Queen of the West would move upstream to build momentum and rammed the Starboard Side of Indianola, destroying one of the rudders and the Wheelhouse. The William H. Webb would perform a similar manuever, damaging the Indianola's Stern. Brown ordered the ship to fire, some say that the Indianola only scored a single hit on the Queen of the West which caused casualties but did basically no structural damage. Others say the Indianola scored two hits on the Queen of the West which one disabled cannons and also hit William H. Webb once.

At this point, the Indianola was barely functional and was sinking rapidly and Brown had the ship run aground to the Western Bank of the River and lowered the ship's flag. The Confederates were able to pull the ship over to the Eastern Bank which they held. Indianola would sink in 3 meters of water. During the fight, Indianola would be rammed seven times. All but one sailor onboard would survive the battle, but only three escaped the ship's capture to bring word to Porter. Brown and most of the Crew had been taken Prisoner.

The Confederates would dispatch a salvage crew to raise Indianola. The Union High-Ups knew if the Ship was repaired and added to the Confederate Navy like Queen of the West was, it would be disastrous for the Union Fleet on the Misssissippi and considerably harm the war effort.

Now, this is where it gets funny:

Porter did NOT have any ships available to send on the mission to destroy the Indianola before it fell into Confederate Hands, so he ordered the construction of an "Ironclad" in order to scare the Salvage Crew into abandoning the Wreck. This "Ironclad" would be made by lengthening an old Coal Barge with logs and adding a Casemate, Fake Cannons made out of Logs, and two smokestacks made out of Pork Barrels. The "Ironclad" would be given the name "Black Terror" and would be sent downstream on the 26th.

The Black Terror would pass the Vicksburg Defenses without any major damage and scared the Queen of the West into leaving the area of the wreck. The Salvage Crew (who were allegedly drunk at the time) threw the Indianola's 9-Inch Guns into the Missisippi and pointed the 11-Inch Guns at eachother muzzle-to-muzzle and fired them at eachother before burning what remained down to the Waterline.

On the 27th, the Confederates would realize the Black Terror wasn't an actual Ironclad Warship. Vicksburg would fall to Union Forces on July 4th and the Remains of Indianola's wreck were raised on January 5th of 1865 which were sold in Illinois on January 17th.

[mariacallous]

As the Trump administration executes an aggressive deportation campaign across the United States, a growing number of US companies warn that the crackdown could threaten their operations.

Since January, more than 40 companies have mentioned the impact of deportations in filings to the US Securities and Exchange Commission, with many saying it could hurt the labor force, increase the risk of a recession, or create more economic uncertainty, according to 74 filings reviewed by WIRED. The impacted industries span a wide cross-section of the US economy, including food production, tech, and construction.

“Many farms employ hard-working, non-criminal employees who have not yet achieved legal citizenship,” reads one filing from ImmuCell, which develops and sells drugs for animals in the beef and dairy industries. “Significant deportations of these individuals could have a negative impact on the operations of our customers and of our source farms.”

It’s highly unusual for companies to mention deportations in filings to the SEC. Between June 2020 and January 2025, just six SEC filings mentioned deportations. From June 2015 to January 2025, that number rose to 22.

Since taking office, however, President Trump has made cracking down on illegal immigration a cornerstone of his policy agenda. White House deputy chief of staff for policy Stephen Miller has instructed Immigration and Customs Enforcement to work toward a minimum of 3,000 arrests of undocumented immigrants daily, and the agency has been orchestrating raids at workplaces, outside elementary schools, and even inside people’s homes.

The highly visible deportation campaign has sparked nationwide anti-ICE protests and helped energize the “No Kings” demonstrations that swept the country this past weekend. The Trump administration has reportedly told ICE to scale back its workplace raids, in part due to concerns over how they are affecting the agriculture, hospitality, and restaurant industries.

Zevin Asset Management, a “socially-responsible” investment firm that owns shares in Google’s parent company Alphabet, said in a proposal on behalf of two investors that mass deportations should prompt Alphabet to have a better “due diligence process” to determine whether its businesses "contributes to human rights harms in conflict-affected and high-risk areas.”

Google’s work as “one of the leading cloud computing providers” to ICE, US Customs and Border Protection, and the US government at large raised concerns of a “potential complicity in human rights harms” happening at the US Southern border, the proposal claims.

“These abuses include the separation of children from their parents, arbitrary arrests and detentions, poor detention conditions, and unlawful deportations to countries with poor human rights records,” the proposal claims.

Most of the other filings mention deportations in relation to risks to future business or net income.

Hawaiian Electric, the primary electricity provider of Hawaii, said in its SEC filing that “recession risks increase due to federal policies and actions, including trade policies, mass deportations, and spending cuts.” The filing cited an economic forecast from the University of Hawaii published in May that predicted “limited GDP growth for 2025 and a contraction in 2026, marking Hawaii’s first recession since the pandemic.”

Other filings suggested a recession could come even earlier. The community bank Hanmi Bank, under its holding company Hanmi Financial Corp., said in an SEC filing that “the combination of tariffs, rising inflation, deportations, global political unrest and tensions, and reduced credit availability” could cause “a mild recession in 2025.”

Some companies said that deportations could fuel labor shortages. Century Communities, a homebuilding company, said in its 2024 annual report that if it's unable to hire enough skilled tradesmen and contractors, it "may have a material adverse effect on our standards of service."

“Labor shortages may be caused by, among other factors, slowing rates of immigration and/or increased deportations since a substantial portion of the construction labor force is made up of immigrants,” the filing says.

A few companies mentioned deportations but said that they aren’t sure how the crackdown will impact their business. The holding companies for banks Bridgewater Bancshares, Heartland Bank and Trust Company, and Heritage Bank, for example, mention mass deportations in a list of factors that could affect their “forward looking statements,” which predict how well the banks may perform in the coming months. However, the companies stopped short of saying whether deportations would harm or help their businesses.

Other companies said that deportations present some risk to the economy but noted they do not expect it to cause widespread damage or hurt their business.

In a filing for Forum Investment Group’s real estate income fund, the firm said that “stricter immigration controls and deportations” could have mixed outcomes. The filing claims these policies could increase inflation, but possibly be a “boon for U.S. workers (higher wages)” or cool down “overheated housing markets.”

Some companies argued that their businesses could be at risk if their customers are affected by deportations. Pacific Airport Group, which operates through airports in Mexico and Jamaica, said that policies like mass deportations and restrictions on international travel would hugely impact airport traffic, and therefore the company’s bottom line.

“These measures could create uncertain economic conditions in Mexico, affecting leisure, visiting friends and relatives, and business travel, to and from the country,” the filing says.

Meanwhile, the cloud communications and financial services company IDT Corporation said that mass deportations could “negatively impact” its enterprise customers, like the remittance transfer service BOSS Money, and the money transfer and international call servicing company BOSS Revolution. Anything that disrupts people’s ability to work or travel outside their country of origin, IDT claimed, could hurt customers and therefore its business.

The discount store chain Pricesmart, which operates throughout Central America, said that mass deportations could have a devastating effect on an entire region. If there’s a major reduction in foreign workers sending money to their families in Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Honduras, those nations’ economies would suffer and so would Pricesmart stores, the filing said. Money from foreign workers, the company warns, is “a key source of income and poverty alleviation for millions of families.”

[asestimationsconsultants]

Design Delays, Real Costs | How AS Estimation & Consultants Uses a Cost Estimating Service to Safeguard Project Viability

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In a world where time is money, the right estimate at the right moment can save more than just dollars—it can rescue your project’s potential. That’s the value we deliver at AS Estimation & Consultants: clarity, control, and confidence, every step of the way.

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[aeternisprime]

TOH Intros Part 8: Julia Porter-Tholomule

Alrighty, our last school-age fankid (I've still got a couple college ones in the tank) is my Gustholomule kid: Julia Porter-Tholomule!

Basic Info

Name: Julia Porter-Tholomule (goes by Jules, Julie, JP, etc.) Age: 13 years old (early Winter birthday) Pronouns: She/Her School: Hexside (8th Grade/Year Equivalent) Tracks: Bard, Healing, Illusion, Oracle Palisman: Ascii

Biography

Julia Porter-Tholomule is a 13-year-old witch, and the daughter of Gus Porter and Matt Tholomule. She currently attends Hexside School of Magic and Demonics as a multi-track student, enrolled in the Bard, Healing, Illusion, and Oracle tracks. She's a member of Hexside's unofficial Student Council and has MCed Grom for the past 3 years.

Julia is a kid with boundless energy and curiosity, always flitting from one thing to the next. She has a dramatic flair much stronger and more disruptive than her dad Gus's was. She inherited a muted version of Matt's high ambition as well, leading her to go way over the top on everything she does. She has a slightly inflated sense of self, believing herself to be 'the shit'. She's not arrogant about it at all, and tends to view it more as a reason to build people up rather than tear them down, but she can sometimes come off as insensitive or impatient when she forgets that some people just don't really see things the same way she does.

Her self-image, dramatic flair, and overboard tendencies have gotten her into trouble plenty of times. Her most recent stunt involved a performance project for Intro to Composition in which she managed to get the entire Bard Track wrapped up in a self-aggrandizing musical number to the tune of an old Earth song. This, along with several other similar incidents, has put her on rather thin ice with Hexside's newest administration team, who have been struggling to find productive outlets for her energy. One of the more effective outlets they've found is allowing her to MC Grom. She's done so for the last three years, going all-in on production value and effects every time.

Thanks to both of her dads’ interest and obsession with the human realm, Julia is well-versed in human technology. She has her own computer that she brought home when she was 9; an old laptop that she got from her dad’s friend Luz. She mostly keeps it as a novelty, but she did do some of the writing for her musical number on it, and she’s discovered that she really loves Moonfarm Valley. Interestingly, her Palisman being named Ascii is a very strange coincidence.

Julia is a short and small-framed girl. She inherited Gus’s skin tone, eye color, and hair, but got most of her facial features and general build from Matt. She has his sharper, more angular ears, his arrow-shaped eyebrows, and his wide mouth. She likes to keep her hair around shoulder-length, though she frequently changes the way it's styled.

Julia is a pretty decent student all-around, but her best tracks are Healing and Bard. She’s ahead of most of her classmates, and has even had a couple of her teachers advising her to take advanced-grade classes like Gus did during his time at Hexside. She hasn’t taken that path quite yet, though, and has instead chosen to spread her energies around into different tracks. She picked up Oracle a year ago, even though she’s not super great at it, and has been eyeing both Construction and Abomination for a few months.

Palisman: Ascii

Julia’s Palisman, Ascii, is significantly larger than the average Palisman, sitting at almost five feet long. He has a light grey back with a cream-colored stomach, and the two sides are divided by two faded, bronze-colored lines that start at his tail and encircle his mouth. In his staff form, he wraps himself around a long, bronze-colored staff that resembles a tree branch. The top of the staff has a small, empty cup that can be detached to act as a mortar, with Ascii’s tail acting as the pestle.

Ascii is far more subdued than his owner is. Ascii is quiet and docile, with a very affable nature. His carver and previous owner, a healer from the distant past, imparted on him a natural drive to heal and nurture those around him, a drive he frequently gets to employ with Julia. He’s taken on the role of a guide for the girl, imparting on her the knowledge and trade secrets he learned from his old owner, though he never really likes to talk about the witch themself.

Previous Part: Mycha Park

Next Part: Veles Noceda-Foster

[thephonemenarentreal]

Quick thing I wrote before sleep because couldn't sleep 83 a proper fanfic this time for once!

Title: The Heroes We Build

Rating: PG Warnings: Language/profanity

Characters: Paralipsis (OC), Polycephaly

Summary: It was not uncommon for Paralipsis to speak in vague terms when question. What Polycephaly was discovering though was the implications left lasting, uncomfortable musings in their wake.

-----

There never was a shortage of praise for the Titan TV-Man among the engineer team. From the chief engineer to the engineer that cleaned up the hangar, every single one had something endearing to say to the mighty Titan leader of the TV faction. It was amusing to watch, of course. The small engineers fawning and cooing, like they were imparting self-esteem upon a spoiled child, all while the Titan TV-Man thrummed over the attention and tried to play modest in the smuggest way possible.

Really, the rather substantial ego of the Titan TV-Man was a moot point given the abundance of praise from all. Even Polycephaly himself had been a culprit at times of sincere compliments. Praise was just a constant stream from every member of the TV faction towards the imposing, but much beloved tyrant which seemed harmless enough. Everyone was content to the little game of inflating their titan’s ego it seemed.

All, that was, except for a noted member.

LT-2 was not technically a large TV-man, although he was meant to be so when first under construction. He was to be a counterpart to Polycephaly himself, a comrade in battle to help manage the tides as the stakes seemed to be growing higher and higher. Those plans had gone up in smokes though. For a lot of reasons.

Like LT-2 activating too early. How LT-2 was a strange unit, self-destructive, impulsive, rash, ill-mannered, and reticent in ways that were even strange for the usual reserved members of the TV Faction. LT-2, who took on the name Paralipsis out of dislike of how everyone spoke about him without actually speaking to him. LT-2, who was the only one in the faction who when he heard the praise for the titan start to flow, tensed, hands curling into tight fists, and radiated an air of absolute distaste but always held his silence. That is what Polycephaly found strange. Paralipsis was not one to hold his words back. He was known to speak his mind in vicious, pointed words to those that crossed him.

And for all the obvious disgust he gave off, not once did he lash out at the others. He held his words inside in a manner that was clearly calculative that was counter intuitive to what his usual nature was.

“You don’t like how they praise the titan, do you,”

Polycephaly phrased it as a question, but spoke in a flat, to the point way that indicated his words were more a statement of truth merely looking for confirmation.

Paralipsis didn’t look over from where he leaned over the railing, twisting around it like he had no idea how sitting or leaning casually was suppose to work, more a four armed looming spider of unit, head cocked in Polycephaly’s direction as the only indication he heard the other large TV-man speak.

“It is annoying when it happens all the time,”

The answer was sneered out, venomous, and had taken a few moments to even be uttered showing careful thought. Everything Paralipsis said though was carefully mapped out. That is what had Polycephaly merely tilting his head, leaning in just a touch closer.

“Annoyance doesn’t cause that much disgust. You seem almost personally offended by the praise of another,” Polychephaly paused, voice a touch amused, but prying, “Would it be jealousy?”

That earned a scoffing sound from Paralipsis as he sat up some, finally turning to regard the other large TV with a buzz of disgust, “Hardly. I have nothing to be jealous of,” he stated bluntly, “You don’t become jealous of people you don’t respect,”

“Oh?” Polychephaly leaned against the railing carefully, letting the extra TVs on his back arrange themselves gently, “I had no idea you didn’t respect the titan,”

Paralipsis was silent for a long moment, staring over at Polycephaly before looking to where the engineers were moving about doing minor checks and repairs on the Titan TV-Man, “Not disrespect,” Paralipsis finally said, “That isn’t the way to word it.”

There was another long pause, one of Paralipsis’s four arms rising up to rub lightly at the side of his head, curled, pointed fingers like claws lightly dragging against the metal, “It is hard to explain the right words, if they even exist,”

“Complicated then?”

Polycephaly watched Paralipsis as he continued to scrape with delicate claws, not enough to leave marks, but just enough to create a grating, soft rasp under the claws.

“Complicated, yes,” Paralipsis gave a low hum, “There is respect, and disrespect, in equal values,”

“And the praise is all a part of it?”

“The praise is…” Paralipsis paused, careful again, as if realizing he almost said too much, “Harmless,” he said at last, “They all deserve to see their perfect idol, their hero, exactly as they picture him,”

Those words had the large TV-Man pausing, turning to regard Paralipsis more closely now, “That isn’t how you picture him,”

Paralipsis gave a shrug, “Doesn’t matter what I know,”

“What you know?”

An irritated sound rumbled up in Paralipsis’s speakers as he pushed himself up and away from the railing, “It doesn’t matter,” he repeated.

The walls were starting to creep up and a rattle of frustration was in the sigh Polycephaly let out as he regarded the other larger unit, “Would you answer if I inquired as to what you see of the Titan so I may better understand your disgust even in part?”

“Why are you curious anyways? You aren’t the sort to be inquisitive like a lost little cameraman, Polyphemus,” Paralipsis drawled, intentionally saying the wrong name.

Polycephaly at this point was use to the other TV-Man’s more disrespectful tone and attitude, especially when he was looking to push people away. Usually at this point, it was wise to simply stop as not much else would be pulled from Paralipsis, yet something in the air, or more his own exasperation has the larger TV-Man rearing up more to his full height, giving a rumble of his own distaste.

“At one point, we were made to be counterparts and that is not something I have abandoned entirely,” Polycephaly said, voice a low, flat sound, “I wish to understand you, not fully, just something more than the obvious barriers you put up. You are hiding something,”

Paralipsis was silent and for a moment, it seemed as if he would leave, vanish away to wherever it was he decided to hole up. He remained poised, a slight twitch of the head and hands, a rattle of irritation in his speakers like a soft feedback loop, before he let out a snort, crossing all four arms over his chest.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Paralipsis returned, “I just don’t like to lie for others,”

“Lie for others?”

“Lie for him,”

Paralipsis tilted his head to the side in the direction of the Titan TV-man who was leaned forward, chatting idly with the engineers as was usual for their faction leader. There was nothing out of the ordinary, although Polycephaly got the impression the titan was watching them from a distance just as carefully as Paralipsis chose his words.

“You are speaking vaguely again, Paralipsis,”

“Aren’t all heroes vague concepts though?” Paralipsis asked, “Every legend, every story, every history of valiant leaders, heroes who led armies into battles, defended cities, reclaimed homelands, stood up against the forces of evil?”

Paralipsis raised one hand to tap the side of his head, “But you never knew what was in their head, did you? Never once does all those stories tell us about how they really feel, do they? We just make them up, keep praising them until we all believe the story, the lie,”

Another long pause came as Paralipsis looked over towards the titan, staring a bit before snorting and turning away, “Lies sometimes are what is needed though to give everyone hope and keep morale up in this war. I just am not the sort that can swallow that lie whole even if I will keep it going for everyone else.”

“The praise for our titan then, you feel is a lie?” Polycephaly asked.

Paralipsis laughed, a raspy sound that was tired and amused all at once, “I know it is a lie,” he said, confidently as he tilted his head back some to look at the larger TV, “The biggest lie of all, and he wears it so fucking well, doesn’t he? None of you even know that-”

Again, Paralipsis paused, voice trailing off as if aware he was going to say too much. Some anger had bubbled up for a moment and Polycephaly felt he was on the cusp of something. Yet, it felt less like a blinding light of truth and more like a cliff into some dark abyss that he was standing beside. Paralipsis, shuddered, shaking his head, one hand coming up to rub at his head as he started to stalk off, shoulders hunched.

“Just let it go. Things are fine as is. I would rather everyone be happy than to know some things,”

Polycephaly stood a moment before he followed after Paralipsis, stepping around to cut the other TV off, “What it is you know,” he paused before lowering his voice, “Would it destroy this faction?”

Paralipsis took in those words, silent for a long while before he leaned in, voice hushed, “I think it would break a lot of people. That’s why I don’t say shit,” he hissed, “Because I care about the others and rather they were happy with their lie and their ideas and their perfect worldview of the titan to keep up the fight than to feel despair or question everything,”

He wanted to ask more and yet the questions didn’t come out of Polycephaly. The larger TV stood there, head turning some as he watched Paralipsis brush past him again, noting how now, the four armed TV was using two hands to clutch at his head, as if the whole conversation was causing some manner of physical distress.

Polycephaly wanted to ask so much more, but only one final true question escaped him.

“How would you know of something like that?”

Paralipsis paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder, not at Polycephaly, but further away. At the TV-Titanman that was staring back, the two silent as always around each other in ways that sometimes unnerved others in the factions. One of Paralipsis’s hands clutched harder at his head as his whole form jerked like he was about to go into a fit before he forced himself to steady, straightening up.

“Ask him how. I won’t speak until he speaks first,” Paralipsis said at last, “But he won’t tell you. Never will probably,”

Paralipsis gave a mocking laugh before he stepped through the doorway, “Cowards choke on the truth,”

Polycephaly stood there silently. He felt like the truth, whatever it was, hung heavy in the air around him, just out of sight. It was if the whole time Paralipsis had been telling him everything that he needed to know to piece this together, but never saying so directly.

Ironic really, given how that in of itself was a paralipsis.

The large TV-Man turned over the whole conversation in his head as he glanced back. The titan’s attention was back on the engineers again as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. The very picture of everything a titan and leader should be. Someone who was deserving of the praised heaped upon his shoulders and who all but glowed under it, smug and confident as ever. Powerful and skilled, fearless and bold.

“Cowards choke on the truth,”

Those words echoed in Polycephaly’s mind. Coward was not a word he would associate with the titan, and yet Paralipsis had spoken with such confidence, applying the word like a brand.

Coward.

But what did a titan have to fear?

Polycephaly let out a low sigh, raising one of his own hands to rub at the side of his head. Maybe he was thinking too much on this. After all, Paralipsis was a strange sort, a mean-spirited bastard who was known to say things to get reactions out of people.

Maybe that was all this was.

Maybe.

But something inside Polycephaly felt there was so much left unsaid, some terrible truth that wasn’t being voiced and now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know or not.

Perhaps this one time, it was better to let things be.

[mbta-unofficial]

If your city is a Brand, it’s already too late

Long post time. What is it that drives gentrification? Also, what is gentrification? Is it when a city gets blue hair and pronouns? No, it probably already had those.

Gentrification is the result of concentration of wealth in the hands of business owners, including landlords, over and above the hands of residents.

Let’s start with rent. Rent, like any good, is priced according to the laws of supply and demand. Supply of available rental housing is primarily determined by construction costs and estimated return on investment for new construction, and property management costs and estimated return on investment for existing units.

Breaking that down a bit, the higher construction costs get the higher the rent needs to be to break even on new construction. Construction costs include labor (which can always go down but you want it high for moral and practical reasons), materials (highly variable depending on the project) and bureaucratic costs. A bureaucratic cost is a cost that is based on how projects fit into the legal and practical environment, and are usually non-negotiable. Dig Safe, a program which requires three days of surveying local records before breaking ground, is an example where the function is to prevent crews from flattening a neighborhood by puncturing a gas main. Environmental Impact Statements, Fire Codes, Habitability Guidelines, and other regulations increase costs to projects. These programs are good and need to exist, but do stop smaller projects from happening at all because the capital investment required just to actually break ground on a new house might cost as much as the land and materials put together at which point you might as well build another 120$/sqft luxury midrise.

Property management costs for existing units are largely dependent on age and wear. A unit with no occupant is going to depreciate little, and may also appreciate in value. Depreciation and appreciation here are sort of unintuitive because they can happen at the same time. Imagine an old luxury sports car with a high resale price. Driving depreciates the value because it’s literal condition is poorer, even as the resale value goes up over time. The appreciation needs to beat both inflation and the value of depreciation for it to go up in real value. For companies with large capital holdings however, losses such as through the upkeep of empty apartment buildings are useful to a point because they reduce these organizations’s tax burdens. A company that makes a killing on the stock market only has to pay taxes if they keep it: if they buy houses they then don’t rent, they can claim they “lost” their stock market earnings with “bad investments” and then pay no tax while saving the real estate to rent later. Again, this favors the largest possible projects and the largest possible operators because small companies can be killed by an unprofitable quarter or 4 while large ones explicitly benefit from unprofitability in reducing their tax burden.

Expected ROI is the final piece of this, which affects both new and existing units. Every private developer and landlord wants to make as much money as they can, unless they are explicitly are renting as a service. An example of renting as a service would be families, who will rent to each other at favorable rates or for free, privileging people with large and/or wealthy families that are friendly with each other. Now, ROI is also subject to supply and demand. Everyone wants to build 120$/sqft luxury apartments but once everybody does nobody can sell/rent for those prices without setting a price floor and waiting for buyers to catch up. If you are a small developer, you can’t afford to do this. Your expenses will eat you alive. If you are a big developer, though, those expenses are offsetting the gains you make and serving to reduce you tax bill. Units at prices nobody can pay are effectively furloughed, meaning off the market, and, so long as they remain cheap to maintain, will remain that way, artificially restricting supply. It doesn’t matter if it’s for sale or not when it’s at a price you can’t afford. (Sidebar, anyone who tells you that the minimum wage depresses hiring because it artificially restricts demand is lying to you. It’s not strictly false, but like the above it’s a multi-variable equation and blanket statements about cost of labor are aimed at killing wages.)

What this alludes to also is a need for greater income equality. In order for rental to be a competitive option with furlough, not only does the price of furlough have to be increased, the real value of wages have to be increased in order to create opportunities for people to splurge. This is a twofold strategy, of both increasing the rewards of putting units on the market and increasing the costs of keeping them off. If real wages barely cover cost of living, or don’t cover cost of living, nobody can realistically spend more real wages on rent regardless of the percentage of their income it is. (Real wages here refers to the political power implied by dollar wages. A dollar is really worth whatever it can be exchanged for, whether that is a candy bar or a square inch of a 144$/sqft condo) The real value of everything except time and land are also constantly going down because of constant improvements in manufacturing. The cost in acres of land and hours of labor of a pound of beef, a bolt of cloth, or a pint of beer have dropped dramatically in the last century. Unfortunately, land is one of the few things that remains in marxist terms uncommodifiable, because it cannot be fully abstracted from the physical properties that make it valuable and we can’t make more of it just by making a better machine. This means that as the real value of things goes down because of supply and demand, the value of land only goes up because the supply is hard capped. If the value of everything under capitalism must go down because of increased production, while the value of capitalist assets must go up, or the system collapses, it makes sense that land would become a fixed point in that equation, the marxist speed of light observable from all reference points. The best approximation of land as commodity is, what else, apartments, which make available as living space the empty air above us. Because production never stops, the value of everything but land must go down. Therefore, as time passes, the price of land, and hence the price of housing, must tend upwards. Therefore, in order for housing to remain affordable, real wages must grow. This is the opposite of what is currently happening, as real wages have gone down for decades.

This income inequality which is one facet of capitalism is not new. For as long as people have lived in urban areas there have been issues between the abject class, the working class, the ruling class, and the professional class, a four part distinction I will seriously argue for in opposition to a lot of marxist theorists. The ruling and working classes ought to be familiar, or at least self explanatory. However, the other two classes I identify, the professionals and the abject, are useful to this analysis because they fill both a racial gap in the primarily marxist analysis I put forward and identify the two most likely groups to rent, which is to say the worker who works to produce but owns without governing and the professional who works to govern but does not own. The ruling class both governs and owns, but its court is full of courtiers who are there to push various agendas from within the rule of law without per se producing. Likewise, the working class pensioner exists in opposition to the abject who is denied the opportunity or the resources to be productive explicitly as a means to manufacture a threat against which inter-class solidarity between the workers and the rulers is developed. The textbook nazi conspiracy theory about “elites” doing a great racial replacement picks out perfectly what I mean by both the racial character of the professional and the abject and their utilization to foster solidarity between your plumber uncle and Elon Musk. This is relevant to both the broad theme of gentrification and the narrow theme of rent because gentrification is a wedge issue that divides the working class and the professional class far more than its impact on any other. The working class’ disidentification with doctors, lawyers, PMCs and other yuppie types, as well as the professional class’ disidentification with union politics, illegalism, and radicalism in general is brought to firecrackers in virtually any conversation about gentrification which seems in passing to be more about tapas bars than about real politics. Likewise, these groups shared distrust of and disdain for the abject, who are explicitly labeled by the state as constitutionally guilty, is the basis for the very broken windows policing strategy that empties neighborhoods of minorities regardless of class. The Rent is Too Damn High, and excluding homeless people from the “working” working class is a big part of how we got here specifically because the interests of small time owners and small time government functionaries, carried to their conclusions, are necessarily self defeating. These two groups eliminate the presence of the abject from their spaces at their own financial peril.

In addition to class, there is also a specific historical movement that is crucial to the understanding of gentrification as it exists, which is the movement of factories in search of cheap labor. The United States is not a good place to find cheap urban labor. You build a factory and suddenly everyone complains about air quality and labor violations and you can’t just kill them because everyone has lawyers. You kill one (us citizen) organizer and the NLRB is trying to get you in court for intimidation. What’s the country come to? But a shipping container costs a quarter cent per mile and the goods aren’t perishable so you go to Guangzhou or Cape Town where you can kill union bosses in peace. But for the American city, that’s a loss of what once made land prime real estate. What jobs can replace the insatiable demand for labor that a 24 hour paper mill once produced? Service labor, which crucially is site specific and therefore not outsourceable, is what the US has predominantly turned to. (and arms manufacturing which is not outsourced for very different reasons) However, service labor is only in demand if there is already a stable population that can be served, which requires a constant influx of capital holders in demand of service. This is why Airbnb exists and is hollowing out rental availability, why Boston as a college town is the way it is, and why there are in fact so many damn tapas bars. Fred Salveucci talked about being able to go north of the expressway in the 70s and being able to get a plate of mac and beans for half a buck. I went looking for a 5$ slice of pizza on my lunch break today around Government Center and found two places that were boarded up and ended up spending 20$ at Chilacates. Cities are being slowly turned into Cancun, complete with the fences to keep out the homeless.

What can be done about this? Obviously the factors we’ve discussed that favor consolidation of housing are mostly either contained within a gordion’s knot of tax policy or intrinsic to capitalism/goods as commodities. But, given that we narrow our objectives to making the rent lower, some obvious weaknesses jump out: increasing the cost of vacancy forces units out of furlough, because companies are no longer able to justify the losses, and increasing real wages increases the availability of capital for workers to spend on rent. These are the prongs I talked about earlier.

Legal means to pursue each prong exist. Both a minimum wage and a maximum wage, depending on their implementation, can potentially increase real wages, and vacancy taxes directly increase the costs of vacancy. The government can also ignore the market and directly mandate maximum rents within certain parameters. This tends to decrease the long term supply of housing for the reasons discussed at the outset, given that if the revenues from house building don’t cover the costs of building, less gets built. However, any political movement that exists exclusively within the white lines of the law fails to genuinely threaten change. Landlords, like bosses, break the law constantly with the impunity that a lawyer provides them against consequence. This is why a healthy dose of illegalism is an important part of any effective political movement. The most direct action one can take is property occupation, or squatting. Squatter’s rights are nearly non-existent in the United States. The most leeway that any state grants to any unknown persons occupying a dwelling is 60 days notice to vacate the property, and there are states that allow no notice evictions or lack statutes governing squatting at all. Every single state regards the occupation of owned property as trespassing, meaning most kinds of squatting are prosecutable offenses. However, squatting, even temporarily in ways that don’t expose the squatter to liability provided they don’t get caught, can seriously impact the value of properties. You have heard of rent lowering gunshots. This is the serious version of that. At the same time, illegal action needs legal defense, both in terms of non-compliance with police to protect those willing to take illegal actions from arrest and in terms of legal, 1st amendment protected disruption to keep focus on the issue. The most effective movements have a radical wing and a institutionalist wing who do not acknowledge each other but share the same tactics and objectives.

If you are housed, you need to be willing to protect and support homeless people because they are your front line. Start or join an Occupy movement, where they are your peers in occupying a public space illegally in a way that is too public to prosecute. Give to people on the street, and smash anti-homeless architecture if nobody is watching. Be willing to distract cops if you see someone doing something dodgy so they can get away. Remember that following the law is a tactic, and so is breaking it.

The case for this being on my transit blog is arguably weak, but I felt compelled after a particularly hateful experience looking at facebook memes about homeless people on the T. You should want those people there. You should want those people breaking down the doors of luxury apartments and setting up shop. You should want them keeping your city safe because the cops you hire to separate you from them will train their guns on you next.

And for gods sake, don’t let your city become a brand. Branding is marketing. Branding is clean, and bloodless, and a gloved hand around your throat that leaves no fingerprints.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

When Mohamad Khalil Aldroubi heard that his landlord would be increasing the rent by up to 5.5 per cent starting last May, he started knocking on his neighbours’ doors. 

Aldroubi’s family has lived at an apartment complex at 71 Thorncliffe Park Dr., Toronto, since 2015. He has five kids. Like him, other tenants at other apartment complexes at 71, 75, and 79 Thorncliffe Park were already struggling to manage previous rate hikes. 

Ontario’s rent control guidelines set by the Landlord Tenant Board (LTB) cap yearly rent rate increases in line with inflation, which is 2.5 per cent year-over-year for 2023 and 2024 respectively. But landlords can apply to the LTB for Above Guideline Increases (AGIs) for reasons such as construction and maintenance expenses.

Aldroubi and his neighbours say this AGI is unjustifiable. 

“We met in the lobby multiple times. We started very little, a shy group. Then we built trust between each other,” Aldroubi said. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada, @vague-humanoid

[tricitymonsters]

I know I put a lot of attention on Steam because of the sheer size of the marketplace and the effort Steam itself takes in marketing for devs but I really wanted to take a second to shout out TCM's numbers on itch.io because I really feel like the game found it's first platform there and I especially want to highlight what a great community it is for Indie Devs of all experience levels.

So I have TCM split up between 4 titles on itch- the main one is for all the new stuff and then each beta has it's own homepage. Downside, it kinda splits all my metrics up but the plus side its much easier to navigate for yall so I'll refrain from complaining lol.

Now given we started with just the Mori beta in late 2021, and added chapters slowly over time, here's where we're at right now.

Views: 312k

Downloads: 22.3k

Browser Plays: 35.6k

Ratings: 347

Collections: 5295

Comments: 189

So there are a couple really interesting things going on with this data. Let's analyze

Firstly, the numbers on the main chapter beat the *hell* out of the beta numbers. BUT this makes sense as more people are going to find the main game or PLAY the main game first at a vastly higher rate. So even though that game page has been up the least amount of time, it gets *by far* the most traffic. For example, if we take away the main page numbers, here's how the betas are doing on their own:

Views: 63.3k

Downloads: 5.4k

Browser Plays: 18.2k

Ratings: 133

Collections: 847

Comments: 42

So, if you were an indie dev posting your game on itch.io, these numbers should tell you to carefully consider how you're going to organize your game- especially if it comes in multiple parts. When I was going through the betas I did consider keeping everything on one page and therefore aggregating all of my traffic stats into one place but there are pros and cons.

Mostly, I went with separate pages because:

It's easier to organize files for downloads per character/game piece than to have a huge list of system-specific builds for every character that players have to scroll through. It's just hard to parse out.

Second, I thought that breaking up the chapters like this might help me better gauge each character's popularity via their stats. This... sort of worked. Because the Mori beta went up almost a year before Amir's, his numbers are MUCH higher and I have to be careful not to conflate that with his raw popularity. Another tricky note is that since Mori was the first chapter uploaded, many people will play his beta and then if they decide they're not into the game, won't play the other two characters, which again inflates Mori's numbers.

It was obvious in the gap after Spooktober 2021 and Amir's chapter that I had a project worth pursuing but the way I structured itch.io has made it hard to accurately gauge how popular exactly each character is.

Most of you know I'm running a popularity poll right now for some milestone art and while I expected Mori to lead (even with all the caveats I just listed, he does tend to be the most popular of the bunch) but I did not expect Akello to be *right* on his ass, even before weighing the patreon votes so.

Goes to show you that understanding structure and traffic trends can really go a very very long way to engaging your audience and build a stable, fun community around your game.

Another huge advantage to itch is that- in generalities- the community and ecosystem there is much kinder to beginner devs and passion projects. On steam, I'm taking up the same marketplace space as AAA multimillion-dollar games and while the eyeballs that comes with that is great for TCMs longevity hopefully, it also comes with the reality that I'm marking a queer niche adult visual novel right next to Mainstream Gamers. Now, I do want to be extremely clear that my experience with Steam so far has been really good- TCM has good and (more importantly) honest reviews, people have passed constructive critique to me and been extremely reasonable, I've managed to connect to some content curators who have similar tastes... But Steam is also the home to like. "Oooh Naur Woke Games Kill Art" Lists and stuff so. My experience on Itch is that- while some of that exists to a certain degree- the general ecosystem is much more forgiving and less sharply fractured.

I'm not sure that I would change anything I've done in the point leading me here so far, I think that by and large I've made the best choices I could given what I knew at the time and also managed to roll with the punches as the come but my experienced advice at this stage is definitely for an indie dev who hasn't landed a solid success yet or a hobby dev looking for feedback to start with Itch.io as a place to build your game's community.

There are other game hosting sites too, like Gamejolt, for instance, but while TCM used to be on Gamejolt their content policies and audience demographics were not a great fit, as was my experience with Newgrounds.

So. there are MANY choices but in all I'm grateful I didn't jump right into steam and also that my itch.io audience has been SO supportive and so enthusiastic about rating/commenting/and curating TCM to help spread the word. Especially since early in the project I had basically no marketing budget (I have a very small one now that covers the occasional blazed post but still).

ANYWAY thanks for reading my big dumb rambling posts but I really wanted to shed some light on the virtues of Itch after I've been chasing my own tail trying to get Steam working for me the way I want.

[darkmaga-returns]

By Rodney Atkinson Freenations

December 24, 2024

Britain’s new Labour Government has managed in six short months to reduce an economy growing at the fastest rate in the G7 group of leading economies to falls of -0.1% in both September and October with no growth in the large services sector as fearful consumers reduced spending and business paused investment. With manufacturing and construction declining at a pace of 0.6% and 0.4% respectively in October, annual inflation has risen to 2.6% and the 10 year government bond interest rate has risen from 3.8% to 4.6% – a massive vote of no confidence in Government debt management.

The largesse distributed by Prime Minister Starmer and Chancellor Rachel Reeves to doctors, train drivers and the nationalised sickness service (NHS – £25 billion extra) led to a budget in which the State raised taxes by a staggering £40 billion, increased the minimum wage, increased already crippling business rates and increased employers’ national insurance payments for each worker.

[dkaufmandevelopment]

📊 Economists Warn of New Inflation Hazards Post-Election

As we approach the presidential election, economists are raising concerns about potential inflation hazards. While inflation has cooled due to higher interest rates, supply chain improvements, and an increased workforce, the policies of the next administration could significantly impact its trajectory.

Key Insights:

- Trump's Policies: Broad tariffs, worker deportations, and pressure on the Federal Reserve could reignite inflation. Potential tax cuts and deficit increases may further drive inflation.

- Harris's Policies: Focus on home construction and anti-price gouging measures. Aims to offset spending with revenue increases to manage inflation.

Economists caution that Trump's approach may destabilize the economy if unchecked. As real estate developers and investors, staying informed about these potential changes is crucial for strategic planning and investment decisions.

#Economy #Inflation #RealEstate #InvestmentOpportunities #Election2024 

What are your thoughts on the potential inflation hazards post-election? Let’s discuss!

Stay informed with the latest economic insights and trends! 📈✨

[misfitwashere]

February 12, 2025 

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

FEB 13

Yesterday afternoon, in a bizarre performance, President Donald Trump hosted reporters in the Oval Office, the formal working space of the President of the United States. As Trump sat quietly behind the Resolute Desk, a gift from Queen Victoria to the United States as a symbol of international friendship, billionaire Elon Musk held center stage. Musk talked to the reporters, wearing a jacket over a T-shirt, and a “Make America Great Again” ball cap—a likely violation of the Hatch Act, which Trump’s people routinely ignore—while his young son X wandered around the room, at one point exchanging a look with a downcast Trump that observers immediately captioned: “You’re sitting in my daddy’s chair.”

The event was Trump signing another executive order, this one essentially putting Musk’s “Department of Government Efficiency” (DOGE) in charge of the U.S. government. The executive order, titled “Implementing The President’s ‘Department of Government Efficiency’ Workforce Optimization Initiative,” provides for an operative from DOGE to be assigned to every agency, where that operative will be in charge of all hiring and firing. It also puts downsizing in DOGE’s hands and establishes that only one new employee can be hired to replace four who leave.

Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo noted that these operatives report to Musk, who is “clearly operating here as an independent actor whose actions the President blesses after he’s found out what’s happened. This is a parallel overlaying of authority over the entire structure of the U.S. government.”

Trump said that Musk had found “billions and billions of dollars in waste, fraud and abuse,” but in fact they have produced no evidence of such waste. Today Representative Jared Moskowitz (D-FL) said Congress has had no information from Musk or DOGE, and when asked to produce evidence of fraud, White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt simply listed things that seemed to be “against the president’s policies and his America-first agenda.”

As both the New York Times and the Washington Post reported today, the big winner from all the cuts to the government has been Musk himself, who has eliminated the agencies that were scrutinizing his businesses.

On the floor of Congress today, Moskowitz pointed out that Musk’s claims to have uncovered waste, fraud, and abuse present a problem for Congress. Led by House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA), the Republicans have not yet managed to fund the government for 2025, but rather than trying to pass the 12 appropriations bills necessary before the March 14 deadline for a government shutdown, Johnson is hoping to pass a continuing resolution that will extend funding as a comprehensive package. Moskowitz pointed out that if, in fact, the government is full of waste, fraud, and abuse, Congress should debate each appropriations bill in detail rather than use a continuing resolution that would perpetuate what the Republicans say is billions of dollars of waste, fraud, and abuse.

Long gone is any pretense that the administration will work to lower prices for ordinary Americans. The Consumer Price Index report out today from the Bureau of Labor Statistics shows that inflation surged in January, gaining a half a point as the cost of gas, rents, and groceries went up. Egg prices rose 15.2%. On Monday, Trump levied a 25% tariff on steel and aluminum, raising concerns that prices for cars and trucks, as well as appliances and rebar for construction, will also rise.

Today Senator Mitch McConnell (R-KY) published an op-ed in the Louisville Courier Journal warning that “Kentuckians can’t afford the high cost of Trump’s tariffs,” which could cost the average Kentucky resident $1,200 a year. “[P]reserving the long-term prosperity of American industry and workers requires working with our allies, not against them,” McConnell wrote, and he called for “strengthen[ing] our friendships abroad.”

Trump responded to today’s report by posting on social media: “BIDEN INFLATION UP!”

The Republicans submitted their budget resolution for funding the government today. It called for cuts of $2 trillion to mandatory spending, a category that includes Social Security and Medicare. Two Republican lawmakers told Meredith Lee Hill of Politico that Republicans expect to cut food aid for more than 40 million low-income Americans; Hill’s colleague Grace Yarrow reports the House Agriculture Committee is eyeing about $150 billion in cuts to supplemental nutrition programs. The proposal also calls for $4.5 trillion in tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations and an increase of $4 trillion in the debt ceiling.

Today saw a landmark shift in the foreign policy of the United States. Since World War II, the U.S. has stood behind the international organizations that worked to stabilize the globe by creating spaces for countries to work out their differences without resorting to war. Among the principles of those organizations was that bigger countries couldn’t simply take over other, smaller countries, and one of the ways countries enforced that principle was through the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), the collective security agreement in which signatories agreed that an attack on one would be an attack on all.

In 2016, Trump’s people weakened the U.S. stance against Russia’s incursions on Ukraine by softening the language of that year’s Republican platform, and Russia worked to help Trump get elected, apparently because Putin believed Trump would look the other way as Russia took not only Ukraine's Crimea but also significant territory in eastern Ukraine. Then, in his first term in office, Trump often took Putin’s side and threatened to take the U.S. out of NATO.

President Joe Biden and Secretary of State Antony Blinken worked hard to strengthen NATO and pulled together a strong coalition to back Ukraine when Russia launched a full-scale invasion in 2022. But when he took office just three weeks ago, Trump alarmed observers by suddenly talking about taking over other countries like Panama and Canada, and Denmark’s territory of Greenland. Such moves would directly undermine the post–World War II international organizations the U.S. has always championed. They would destroy NATO and the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD), a joint U.S.-Canadian organization that protects North America from aerospace threats, and would also rip apart the Five Eyes intelligence alliance that has joined Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and the United States since World War II.

Today it appears Trump is making good on this threat to turn away from the longstanding policy of the U.S. and toward the foreign policy advocated by Russian president Vladimir Putin.

Trump has been talking about demanding $500 billion worth of Ukraine’s mineral resources in exchange for continued U.S. support, but today, at the Ukraine Defense Contact Group, a group put together under Biden to coordinate assistance to Ukraine, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth suggested a new U.S. position. Hegseth echoed Putin’s demands, saying that “returning to Ukraine’s pre-2014 borders is an unrealistic objective” and that the U.S. will not support NATO membership for Ukraine, thus giving up two key issues without apparently getting anything in return. He said that Europe must take over assistance for Ukraine as the U.S. focuses on its own borders. He wanted, he said, to “directly and unambiguously express that stark strategic realities prevent the United States of America from being primarily focused on the security of Europe.”

Trump’s social media account—it did not sound like his own words—posted today that he “just had a lengthy and highly productive phone call with President Vladimir Putin of Russia…. We agreed to work together, very closely, including visiting each other’s Nations,” thus offering a White House visit to Putin, who has been isolated from other nations since his attacks on Ukraine. And, the post said, they had agreed to start negotiations over Ukraine, although it also specified they had not included Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, in their talk. The post said that Trump “feel[s] strongly, [the talks] will be successful.”

The Russian government’s readout of the call added that “bilateral economic relations between Russia and the United States were also brought up during the conversation,” language that almost certainly means Putin wants Trump to lift the economic sanctions imposed after Russia invaded Ukraine that have wreaked havoc on the Russian economy.

The Trump administration also swapped U.S. teacher Marc Fogel for Alexander Vinnik, a kingpin of Russian cybercrime who operated one of the world’s largest currency exchanges, facilitating drug trafficking, ransomware, and money laundering. When announcing Fogel’s release, Trump was asked if Russia had given anything in exchange. He answered: “Not much, no. They were very nice. We were treated very nicely by Russia, actually." Russia refused to include Fogel, who was wrongfully detained in 2021, in the large prisoner swap of June 2024.

Today, the Senate approved Tulsi Gabbard, who has often made comments sympathetic to Russia and who has defended former Syrian leader Bashar al-Assad, who fled to Russia after the Syrian people ousted him, as the U.S. director of national intelligence. All Democrats voted against Gabbard and all Republicans voted in favor of her, with the important exception of Senator Mitch McConnell, who said: “The ODNI wields significant authority over how the intelligence community allocates its resources, conducts its collection and analysis, and manages the classification and declassification of our nation’s most sensitive secrets. In my assessment, Tulsi Gabbard failed to demonstrate that she is prepared to assume this tremendous national trust.”

Tonight, France, Germany, Poland, Italy, Spain, and the United Kingdom released a joint statement vowing to protect Ukraine’s sovereignty and making it clear that “Ukraine and Europe must be part of any negotiations.”

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