#O-Connect Review

[theaipromoter]

Unleashing the Future of Virtual Communication: O-Connect by ONPASSIVE

In today’s rapidly evolving digital landscape, virtual communication has become an integral part of our daily lives. With the advancement of technology, businesses and individuals alike are constantly seeking innovative ways to connect and engage with others remotely. One such groundbreaking solution that is revolutionizing the way we communicate is O-Connect by ONPASSIVE. In this article, we…

[dawntheduckrb]

Campus squirrel that stared me down while I was eating my lunch the other day, seems it had its lunch as well

[maisreview20]

⛔ TOP 4 MELHORES AR CONDICIONADOS ATÉ 9000 BTUS!!! (BOM E BARATO)

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Terry Pratchett about fantasy ❤

Terry Pratchett interview in The Onion, 1995 (x)

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Terry: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

Terry: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

Terry: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus.

Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

[hedayetullah]

O-connect Review-The World Best Video Conferencing Tool

O-connect-Review Introduction:

O-Connect is a modern-day online assembly control platform that allows individuals and groups to host and control digital conferences without problems. It is a part of the OnPassive suite of products. It is designed to offer an extensive option to all your online business. O-connect is an superb online meeting control platform. It offers more than a few features and benefits. In case you’re looking for a smooth-to-use, at ease, and reliable way to manage your digital meetings. O-connect is sincerely well worth considering. From this review, you can recognize all about O-connect.

O-connect offers various capabilities which includes super video and audio, screen sharing, scheduling and invitation control, recording and playback. And also safety features like password protection and give up-to-give up encryption. Users can easily collaborate with group contributors and customers. Users also speak efficiently and decrease prices associated with in-man or woman conferences. It also seamlessly integrated with various ONPASSIVE merchandise, consisting of O-staff and O-Cademy to streamline online commercial enterprise operations. 

What is O-Connect?

O-connect is an AI-powered HD audio and video conferencing tool. The characteristic rich O-connect offers brilliant audio and video conventions to connect and proportion the expertise from one element to some other part of the sector. Definitely O-connect offers excessive fine multi channels interactions with worldwide customers. Customer can talk with each other with none virtual disturbance.

O-connect Review-Overview

Product Name: O-connect

Creator: OnPassive

Launch Date: 08-09-2023

Front-end Price: 250$

Official website: Click here

Niche: Software

Recommendation: Highly recommend

Support: Exceptional Customer Support

Exceptional Feature of O-Connect Review

There are numerous capabilities that make O-connect one of the quality on line assembly platforms available. 

How to use O-connect?

Putting in place and the usage of O-connect for webinars, meetings, and different virtual gatherings is a trustworthy process. Here are the steps to get commenced:

Sign up for an O-connect account:

To use O-connect, at first you will need to enroll in an account on the OnPassive internet site.

Pick the form of digital collecting you want to host:

O-connect may be used to host a range of virtual gatherings, such as webinars, meetings and conferences. 

Installation the digital accumulating:

After you’ve chosen the form of virtual accumulating you want to host, you could set it up in O-connect by selecting the correct options. Inclusive of the date and time of the occasion, the range of members and the safety settings.

Invite participants:

When your digital accumulate is set up, then you can invite contributors through email or text message and manage RSVPs in actual-time.

Host the digital gathering:

Log in to O-connect and begin the meeting. You may share your display screen, present slides and talk with individuals using outstanding audio and video.

Document the digital amassing:

O-connect allows you to document the virtual collecting for playback at a later time.

Control the digital accumulating:

At some stage in the digital collecting you can manage individuals, mute or unmute audio and manipulate other settings to make certain that the occasion runs easily.

Benefits of Using O-Connect

There are various blessings to the use of O-connect for virtual meetings.

Stepped forward productiveness:

O-connect streamlines the process of scheduling, dealing with and web hosting virtual meetings, releasing up time and growing productiveness.

More desirable Collaboration:

With features like display sharing and extremely good audio and video, O-connect makes it clean for participants to collaborate in actual-time, no matter wherein they are placed.

Decreased prices:

It gets rid of the need for luxurious travel and lets in users to host conferences from everywhere, decreasing expenses related to in-character meetings.

Stepped forward communique:

With splendid audio and video, O-connect makes it smooth for contributors to communicate efficiently and surely.

Accessibility:

O-connect is obtainable from any tool with an internet connection, making it clean for contributors to join conferences from anywhere.

Safety:

O-connect gives strong security capabilities, which includes password protection and stop-to-cease encryption, to make certain that meetings are at ease and exclusive.

Why O-connect is a robust platform?

O-connect is a robust platform for virtual gatherings because of its variety of capabilities. It is designed to beautify collaboration, enhance conversation and boom productiveness. A number of the key factors that make O-connect a strong platform:

Wonderful audio and video: O-connect offers brilliant audio and video, making it smooth for participants to talk effectively and observe discussions genuinely.

Display screen sharing: With O-connect, individuals can share their displays with others, allowing for actual-time collaboration and presentations.

Recording and playback:

O-connect allows conferences to be recorded and played back at a later time, making it clean to review and percentage records.

Scheduling and invitation control: O-connect makes it easy to agenda meetings, invite individuals thru e mail or text message and control RSVPs in actual-time.

Protection: O-connect offers robust safety functions, which includes password safety and end-to-give up encryption. Also make sure that meetings are relaxed and private.

Ease of use: O-connect is consumer-friendly and intuitive, making it easy to navigate and use for both hosts and participants.

Seamless integration: O-connect integrates seamlessly with other OnPassive merchandise, making it easy to manage all elements of your on-line business from one vital region.

Is O-connect proper choice for you?

​Overall, O-connect is an superb choice for people and agencies searching out a sturdy platform to control virtual conferences, webinars, and meetings. The platform gives a number of functions that beautify collaboration, enhance verbal exchange and boom productiveness. Here includes terrific audio and video, display screen sharing, recording, playback and sturdy protection capabilities.

Similarly, O-connect is person-friendly and intuitive, making it clean to navigate and use for both hosts and members. The platform integrates seamlessly with different OnPassive products, making it a complete answer for people and organizations. It also seeking to manipulate all components of their on line enterprise from one important area.

But, it’s vital to notice that O-connect might not be the right choice for everyone. If you are looking for a free or low-cost digital meeting platform, O-connect may not be the great choice. As it's far a top class product that requires a subscription. Moreover, if you have unique necessities that are not met with the aid of O-Connects characteristic set, you can want to look for alternative solutions.

Usual, think you are searching out a strong, consumer-friendly platform to control digital conferences, webinars and meetings, and inclined to put money into a top class product. In that case, O-connect is an top notch choice.

FAQ about O-connect Review

A) what is O-connect?

Ans: O-connect is a top class platform from OnPassive products that gives a complete answer for managing digital conferences, webinars and meetings.

B) What are the key features of O-connect?

The important thing is O-connect include exquisite audio and video, display sharing, recording and playback, scheduling and invitation control, security functions, ease of use and seamless integration with different OnPassive merchandise.

C) Is O-connect easy to use?

Ans: yes, O-connect is designed to be person-friendly and intuitive, making it clean to navigate and use for hosts and members.

D) What sorts of digital gatherings can be hosted on O-connect?

Ans: O-connect may be used to host a variety of digital gatherings. It also includes webinars, conferences and conferences.

E) Is O-connect comfortable?

Ans: sure, O-connect gives sturdy security functions, along with password safety and quit-to-stop encryption. And it ensure that meetings are comfortable and exclusive.

F) Is there a free version of O-connect?

Ans: yes, O-connect has a few free capabilities at no cost.

G) How do I sign on for O-connect?

Ans: To enroll in O-connect, you need to create an account at the OnPassive internet site and select the O-connect product as part of your subscription.

Final Words About O-connect Review

In end, OnPassive merchandise’ O-connect is a sturdy and consumer-pleasant platform that provides a complete answer for managing virtual meetings, webinars, and conferences. The platform offers a number functions that decorate collaboration, enhance conversation and growth productiveness. It also makes superb desire for individuals and businesses looking for a premium virtual meeting platform.

O-connect is cozy and smooth to apply and it integrates seamlessly with different OnPassive merchandise. It makes a comprehensive solution for handling all elements of a web commercial enterprise. Whilst O-connect might not be the best preference for those searching out a free or low-fee virtual meeting platform. It is a top class product that offers extremely good cost for its fee.

So that we can say, OnPassive products’ O-connect is an amazing preference.

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[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[seaweef]

SO , SO NOISY !!

synopis. he just wont shut up, wont he? i guess we'll have to fix this issue...

feat. choso, nanami, gojo

cw. smut, fem!reader, riding, gagging, sex in potentially public areas ( reader is afraid they might get caught ), satoru being a bitch

weefnote. i have NOT reviewed for my test but writing this instead of studying was so worth it ALSO PLEASE REBLOG + COMMENT I LOVE LIKES BUT REBLOGS AND COMMENTS HAVE MY HEART

# — CHOSO

"o-oh, ngh, fuck..." choso whimpers, his nails digging crescents into your hips, mesmerized by how his cock gets swallowed whole by that pretty pussy of yours as you snap down on him. "s-so good, haah,"

"choso, shh, we'll get caught..." you drawl while dragging a finger down his handsome button nose, watching as he scrunches his face up at the ticklish feather light touch, in contrast to the hypnotic smack of your hips against his. your words fall upon deaf ears, he makes that clear when you press that finger against his glossy, parted lips in an attempt to shush him, but to no avail.

sighing, you halt your movement. he stammers, and you get a good look of those soft eyes and the tears hanging from his dark lashes. "baby, w-why'd you stop?" he sounds so upset, it makes you giggle into your fist. just as he's about to start whining again, you shove the same pair of lace panties you had been wearing earlier into his mouth. "mgh-!?"

you feel his cock twitch inside you while you smile as if youre innocent. "better."

he lets out a broken moan into the fabric as you slam yourself back on his cock. the sight was heavenly, drool spilling out from the corner of his mouth as his eyes roll back.

yeah, you should definitely do that more often.

# — NANAMI

kento is often quiet during sex, a few occasional groans here and there. but today...

"oh, sweetheart," hes throwing his head back, his once neat hair all disheveled and his eyelids heavy. hes like an animal, ramming into you with no restraints whatsoever as youre scrambling to find something to grab on, fingernails scratching desperately at the wood of his desk. papers fly everywhere, but thats a problem for later. "hngh, k-ken'! t-they'll, ooh, hear us!"

"why? dont want them to- shit, dont want them to hear how good your husband's fucking you?"

"i-its not thahaat, but- keeen!"

"fuck..." he looks down at the sight, the creamy white ring forming around the base of his cock, and he hisses. hes well aware how noisy he must be, so one hand leaves your arched back, pulling his tie to bite on it.

you look back, pussy tightening at what you see, and he all but moans.

"l-love you, love you so much," his voice is muffled, but you bury your face into the crook of your elbow while sniffling. "i- hah- love you too,"

and all hell breaks loose.

# — GOJO

"yeaaah, let me use this sexy cunt," satoru drawls out his words annoyingly, annoyingly enough that you register it through how deep he was in you right now.

"shut the fuck up, you're s-ah, so noisy," you seethe. hes always like this when in charge, and he clearly enjoy the power he holds at times like these, when hes on top of you, hands on the back of your knees and folding you back.

he laughs, licking his lips afterwards. "yeah?" and his face is suddenly so close to yours. "whatcha gonna do if i dont? make me, sweetie."

you (try to) roll your eyes at the challenge, a shaky hand extending to grab at his hair, and the other hand-

"whatre you-?"

you push two fingers into his mouth, pressing them against his tongue. for a moment hes hesitant, but then his blue eyes crinkle at the sides, and he swirls his tongue around your fingertips.

"fhuuck," you mewl, his stupid handsome face somehow getting you even wetter and tighter than you already were, his cock throbbing.

when you take your fingers out of his mouth, a string of salive connects them to his lips, and he grins. "wow, that was hot."

as you moan, he flashes a smug smile. "whos the noisy one now?"

before you can even reply, he pulls your own hand towards your neglected clit and guides you to rub yourself with the same fingers that were in his mouth earlier.

[reidsmanuscript]

Profiler, profiled.

Summary: When the past creeps up, more vivid and dangerous than ever, at the same time that the attraction becomes undeniable—and so do the mistakes. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: mutual pinning but painful, angst. wc: 7.3k! TW: Profiler, profiled canons! so Child abuse (implied and discussed), Sexual abuse, Framing/wrongful accusation, Police misconduct, Violence, mentions of traumatic readers' past!, female rage, violent thoughts. not proofread yet A/N: SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE, this is my take on soulmates, thank u for all the feedback/support btw, really mindblowing <3 part I - part II - part III - part IV - masterlist

　　　　 　　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

Something as routine and comforting as traveling to your hometown for your mom’s birthday can go wrong in an instant—sometimes, all it takes is a single moment of doubt. Unfortunately for Derek Morgan, it was the absence of doubt that could become his sentence.

Hotch was notified, as per FBI protocol, that one of his agents had been arrested as a homicide suspect. Maybe it was the fact that he knew Morgan wasn’t capable of something like that—he had been a prosecutor before joining the Academy, after all. As his boss, he refused to believe it. But as his friend, he knew that the smartest move—the one most people failed to make—was calling a lawyer.

The problem? Morgan didn’t have one.

The Bureau’s legal counsel wouldn’t intervene in a case where one of their own was being charged. It had to be someone who knew him, someone who would believe in him.

There was only one person who fit that description.

A.D.A. Woodvale.

So, after issuing an emergency recall for Reid, Prentiss, Jareau, Garcia, and Rossi—Hotch called you.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

One thing some victims, or their families, do after the person who ruined their lives is convicted is express gratitude. Sometimes immensely, sometimes barely—especially when the verdict isn’t what they had hoped for.

Still, they are grateful for your time and commitment to their pain. That’s why some send gifts like baskets filled with fruit, chocolates, candy, or all three combined. 

You were at your desk, late at night, again, reviewing case files and drafting a legal brief, absorbed in the task at hand. The basket with its chocolates, and cookies remained sitting on a chair near the window, quietly out of place among the legal paperwork without any card or name, maybe they forgot to put it or it fell on the way. 

The phone rings, and you answer immediately, announcing yourself. When the voice on the other end speaks your name, you recognize it instantly.

“I’m gonna need your help.” Agent Hotchner.

You straighten your back. “What is it? A warrant? It’s going to be hard at t—”

He cuts you off. “Morgan is in trouble.” That was enough to tell you this wasn’t just any ordinary favor.

You hesitate, cautious. “What happened?”

“He was arrested as a suspect in a homicide in Chicago.” Morgan? Homicide? For a moment, you’re ready to refuse—this isn’t your field. You put people in jail, not get them out. But then you remember—he saved your life over a year ago. And the weight of that debt settles heavily on your shoulders.

“Hotch, I... What do you want me to do? I don’t have connections there. Maybe I could talk to—”

He interrupts again. “He’s going to need a good lawyer. I know this isn’t what you do, but you know him. You know he’s not capable of something like that.” There’s a brief silence as you weigh your options, considering your next move.

"The jet takes off first thing tomorrow morning," he says, giving you an out—leaving the decision in your hands.

You exhale, and resolve settling in. "Send me the details. I’ll be there."

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

As you stepped onto the jet, you spotted Hotch already seated alone. Without hesitation, you slid into the seat across from him, greeting him with a quiet nod, your back turned toward the entrance.

One by one, the rest of the BAU arrived, offering you brief acknowledgments as they settled in. When Reid stepped onto the jet, he barely glanced up—until he caught sight of the back of your head. He hesitated for just a second before moving to a seat diagonal from yours.

Hotch quickly explained that you were joining them to assist Morgan as his defense counsel. The weight of the situation settled over the jet, unspoken but palpable. You noticed it in the way the air felt heavier, in the subtle shifts of the team’s expressions, like how Prentiss shifted in her seat or the way Reid’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Since the Katie Jacobs case, he wouldn’t call it an obsession—that would be an exaggeration, and his mind rejected the idea of something so unscientific, but a fixation? Perhaps. There was something about you that tugged at the edges of his thoughts more often than he liked to admit. His memories of your first meeting were frustratingly blurred, dulled by the lingering fog of withdrawal, but he remembered enough. The way you carried yourself—composed, sharp, unreadable. The precision of your movements, deliberate in a way that suggested control rather than ease. The way your voice stayed measured even when you were angry, like someone who had learned to sharpen their words into weapons rather than waste them on emotion. And your eyes—steady, assessing, like you were always five steps ahead in a game only you could see.

Did you ever place two magnets next to each other and test how close they could be without touching? If they would repel or attract?

Magnets could only get so close before they either locked together or violently repelled each other. If their north poles faced one another—mirrors of the same force—they would push apart, unable to exist in such perfect reflection. But if one turned, aligning its south to the other’s north, the pull would be instant, inevitable.

That was a physicist's way of explaining why, the moment you caught him in the corner of your vision, you noted how his hair was longer than before, tucked behind his ears; how his fingers brushed over the pages of a book, a well-worn paperback pulled from his bag. Crime and Punishment. The same one you had almost mistaken for yours once. North. North.

But now, seeing it again, you wondered—what did he think about Raskolnikov’s theory of extraordinary men? Did he believe true morality could be measured mathematically, the way Raskolnikov tried to justify his crime with cold logic? Or did he see through it, past the numbers, past the equations, past the desperate rationalizations of a man trying to convince himself he was above consequence?

And what would he think about your take on it? That a man was either a fool for failing to control himself or a coward for refusing to own what he had done? Either way you just wanted to know his opinion. North. South.

You were just about to ask him when JJ spoke up. “I don’t understand. Can you even represent Morgan if you’re an A.D.A.? Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”

It was a fair question, one you had asked yourself last night before finding a loophole.

You let out a slow breath, considering. "Technically, I’m not Morgan’s lawyer—he hasn’t called me personally to represent him. And I wouldn’t be joining you as his defense attorney… officially." You glanced at Hotch. "Prosecutors consult on defense cases all the time—off the record. I’m not filing any motions, I’m not putting my name on anything. I’m just… advising."

Prentiss raised an eyebrow. "Advising?"

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. "I can’t officially defend him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. And the police don't need to know every detail about that."

Hotch gave a small nod. "That keeps you in the clear. No official involvement, no risk to your career."

Reid, who had been silent, finally spoke. "But what happens if they’ve already decided Morgan is guilty?"

Your jaw tightened, but Rossi answers first "Then that’s where we come in. We find out who’s setting Morgan up—and we make sure they don’t get away with it."

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

As you arrived at the police station, you hung back from the group, not wanting to interfere with the BAU’s process. But when Detective Dennison refused to take Hotch to see Morgan, you decided you wouldn’t stand by quietly anymore.

You stepped forward, standing next to Hotch. “Are you going to take us to see Derek Morgan, or not, Detective?”

He glanced at you as though he didn’t understand the urgency. “Detective Gordinski's in with the suspect now”

“Now is when we need to see him.” you shot back.

“Excuse me?” he started to respond, but Hotch cut him off.

“I have your superintendent's personal cell number,” Hotch said calmly. “And, in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency, I’ve resisted calling him so far. We need to see Agent Morgan now.”

You couldn’t help but think how Hotch was finally getting some work done.

The detective nodded and, after disappearing into a room, came back with another man. Detective Gordinski, you assumed. It was something you were used to, this unspoken assumption that you were a junior, a minor player in the room, because of your age. It happened often when older men met you—defense attorneys, paralegals, specialists, and even police officers. They assumed you were less than you were. Gordinski was no different. When he approached you, he only offered his hand to Hotch.

“Detective Gordinski, CPD,” he said, as if you weren’t standing right there.

Hotch didn’t seem to notice the slight. “You think an FBI agent, a BAU profiler, committed a homicide?”

Gordinski answered with a level of pride that made your stomach turn. “Actually, three homicides at least, over 15 years.”

You heard JJ and Reid protest, both equally shocked by his ridiculous statement. And the way Gordinski spoke, as though the case was already closed, irritated you. “Has he been charged with anything?”

“I’ve got 72 hours for that,” he replied, clearly still lacking sufficient evidence.

“We’d like to see him,” you said, your tone final. He hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly agreed as Denninson took you and Hotch to see Morgan.

As you entered the interrogation room, you found him in a sort of trance, staring at a photograph in his hands. When he finally looked up, there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked, aware of the detective’s overbearing presence in the room.

Morgan exhaled sharply, turning the photo toward you. “This kid—I was with him yesterday.”

“So?” Hotch prompted.

Morgan shook his head, his voice tight. “So, he’s dead. I drove him home, Hotch, and Gordinski’s saying I was the last person seen with him.” His gaze flickered between the two of you, frustration and disbelief written all over his face.

You didn’t need to analyze the detective’s stance to know he had already made up his mind—his persistence was nothing more than a show, an act to reinforce a conclusion he had already reached. But the look in Morgan’s eyes told you everything you needed to know. He cared about that kid.

Turning to the detective, you asked smoothly, “Is there a more private place where I can speak with my client?”

The man hesitated, taken aback. Up until this moment, you hadn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t an agent. His expression tightened. “I’m afraid we don’t have another space for you and the suspect,” he replied with a forced smile.

You returned his look with a cool, unwavering stare. “You do know that any conversation between me and him falls under lawyer-client privilege, right?”

His mouth opened in protest, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“And denying us the proper privacy means that any so-called evidence you think you can get from this interrogation would be inadmissible in court. Not to mention, it’s a direct violation of SSA Morgan’s constitutional rights.” Your tone remained calm, professional—not threatening. Not yet.

The detective narrowed his eyes but gave a short, forced nod, his polite smile not reaching them. “I’ll see what we can do.”

That was code for We’re not doing a damn thing, but we’ll make this as difficult as possible.

Fine. You’d play their game. But first, you needed to find out exactly what they had on Morgan—and fast.

As you step outside, a harsh voice—too raspy and loud for your liking—carries through the room, discussing evidence. You stay quiet, listening. Being on the other side of the law feels strange, but it’s not difficult. If you know how to prosecute, you know the tricks and games cops play. And if you know your opponent's strategy, it’s easier to disarm them and lead them where you want.

The detective asks Rossi if he’s Agent Gideon, and when the detective explains he was the one who sent the profile that led them to Morgan, you curse Gideon internally. First Reid, now Morgan. 

"It also said the way the body was placed gently on a mattress, not just tossed on the ground, indicated someone who was probably consumed with guilt, especially for the first victim. The exact words are—'with a guilt-ridden offender,' the BAU postulates the first victim is the most important and the unsub may still visit the place of the crime or even the victim himself.'"

Gordinski’s voice drips with conviction. "Care to guess who visits my first victim every time he's in town?"

You notice Reid glance at you, but you keep your focus on the detective, listening carefully as he continues. 

"Then yesterday, another kid ends up dead, and the last person he was with was Derek Morgan. In the boy's pocket, we found one of his FBI business cards, his cell number written on the back. In fact, every time Morgan's in town, he hangs out with kids."

JJ calls it a coincidence.

"A hell of a lot of coincidences," Gordinski retorts.

“I prefer the term 'circumstantial'” you say from the back of the room.

Gordinski turns, sizing you up with an incredulous look—too young, maybe too idealistic. "And you are?"

"Derek Morgan’s attorney." There was no reason to hide anymore, you didn't bother offering your hand.

Gordinski barely reacts before flipping open a file. "Did I mention that your client found the body in 1991? Hidden way back in a vacant lot. Now, don’t they teach you that when a body is hard to find, the person who finds it is always a suspect?"

You do the math quickly, Morgan would have been too young.

And you feel like Reid reads your thoughts when he answers. "There are key pieces of the profile that don't fit, Detective. The age—25 to 35—Morgan was 15 at the time."

"Profile Also says that age is the hardest to predict, and I should never exclude someone simply because of a discrepancy with the age." Gordinski is grasping now, trying to force the facts to fit.

Prentiss speaks up. "What about the speculation that since he didn't leave any evidence at the crime scene, he's likely to have a criminal record or law enforcement knowledge?"

"He may not have had knowledge of law enforcement, but Derek Morgan definitely had a criminal record." He tosses a file onto the table. You open it, scanning the contents. Resisting arrest. Vandalism. Aggravated battery. You inhale deeply.

"So he was a troubled kid, not a murderer. What kind of 15-year-old kills another boy, then deliberately stages the body just to make sure he’s the one to 'find' it?" Your voice is sharp, challenging him to walk into your tramp.

Gordinski smirks. "I’m sure you know psychopaths are very smart people, Miss."

Bingo.

You tilt your head. "So, is Morgan a psychopath? A guilt-ridden killer? Or an FBI agent dumb enough to leave his own business card at the crime scene? Because he can’t be all three, and right now you're contradicting yourself, Detective."

The room is silent for a beat. Gordinski clenches his jaw, his grip tightening on the file in his hands. He glares at you like you are his personal enemy.

You don’t give him time to recover. "You're reaching. And I think you know it." you say as you leave the room to look for your client.

And if Reid hadn’t been so mesmerized with the way you had subtly guided Gordinski, he might have given in to the impulse he had to correct him when he addressed you as Miss and not Counselor. 

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　

Rossi had sent Prentiss and Reid to Morgan’s house to investigate, while you stayed to ensure none of the Detectives would do something sketchy with the proofs.　　

Maybe it was the PTSD Dr. Fitzgerald diagnosed you with when you were 11, but the moment Carl Buford entered the room, something felt off. It wasn’t obvious, more like a second nature—a survival instinct that had been honed over the years. You weren’t always right, of course. You’d had a few false alarms before, but this time, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t in his appearance or his words; it was in the way he presented himself—as someone kind, someone willing to help, harmless. But it triggered something in you. The sirens in your brain went on, even if they were faint, too faint to be taken seriously but still enough to be annoying.

Reid had just returned from Morgan’s house when he saw you standing by the board, JJ on the phone and Rossi talking to you. He noticed how you discreetly stifled a yawn, and it hit him—it was nearly evening. The Cheetos packet that probably belonged to JJ and the half-eaten cheese sandwich from Rossi were the only signs of food nearby. It dawned on him that you likely hadn’t eaten all day.

He didn’t want to be the kind of person who overcompensated in an obvious way, but seeing you like this stirred something in him. It reminded him of the last time he saw you at the mall, how you’d instinctively avoided him, as if you couldn’t stand being around him for more than a few seconds. The longest you’d managed to stay in the same spot was 8.12 seconds.

That had been the last time, though. Now, things felt different. You were talking to Rossi when Reid approached and offered coffee to everyone. You could tell he was overcompensating—or at least, that’s what you assumed.

Then again, maybe you were reading too much into the moment when he’d slightly quickened his pace as you all entered the police station, holding the door open for everyone. Or maybe he was just anxious about his friend and eager to get inside quickly.

Or when you were rummaging through your bag for a pen, and he handed you one without hesitation. It could have been just a simple gesture, a convenient moment. But you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it—if he was trying to do something, anything, to bridge the gap between you.

You felt stupid for liking his gestures, for craving his attention. That’s why you said yes when he offered the coffee—because you couldn’t help it.

And he was happy to do it. He put special care into preparing your cup, even though he hadn’t asked how you took your coffee. Statistically speaking, most people put about two teaspoons of sugar in their coffee, but he didn’t know what you preferred. Maybe you liked it with even more sugar than that, just like he did. Maybe you didn’t use sugar at all, maybe you used honey.

He caught himself before he poured too much, measuring out what he assumed was the “average” amount, then handed it to you with a small, careful smile. There was a brief moment when your fingers brushed, and maybe his lingered for a second longer than necessary.

But when you took a sip, it hit you. The sweetness of the sugar was overwhelming, and the unexplainable presence of Carl Buford seemed to crawl into your mind, making it worse. It was your fault for not telling him no sugar. Your hand froze for a moment as you fought to swallow, your fingers tightening slightly around the cup.

Reid noticed. He saw how you stiffened, how your grip on the cup tightened, and he assumed he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe you didn’t like sugar in your coffee, or maybe you just didn’t like it at all. He felt a pang of regret, thinking he’d misread the situation. He wasn’t sure why, but for a moment, he wondered if he was always this wrong about you. North. North.

You didn’t want to overreact or be rude, so you quickly excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to splash some water on your face and steady yourself. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, silently telling yourself to calm down.

Maybe you were overreacting to Buford. But that thought was short-lived. The moment Hotch and JJ entered the room and she began speaking, confirming what you had already sensed, everything inside you seemed to crack. Carl Buford—the man who was fervently helping the police catch Morgan, was the same one who had written a letter to clear his record. The contradiction hit you like a punch to the gut, and you couldn’t shake the sound of the sirens growing.

You followed Hotch as he approached the interrogation room, your mind racing with the unsettling sense you couldn’t shake. You didn’t even notice Reid following behind you, keeping a respectful distance. Hotch entered the room, and the questioning began.

"Carl Buford." Morgan’s voice was tight, his shoulders tensing at the name. He stood up from the table where his arms had been resting. "What?"

"Carl Buford. He runs the youth center." Hotch's voice was calm, measured, but you could feel the pressure building behind it. From the other side of the glass, you stood in front of the glass, only for a moment, before Reid joined you at a respectful distance.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Morgan's tone was dismissive, brushing off the mention of Buford like the idea of talking about him was unbearable.

"He's responsible for getting your records expunged." The words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. Maybe it was the steady presence of Reid beside you that kept you grounded, or maybe it was that something about Buford just didn’t sit right with you. The sirens in your head grew louder.

"I told you to stay the hell out of my business." Morgan’s voice rose, defensive, but not with rage—more like a wounded animal cornered by a predator.

"You said you visit the youth center every time you come here," Hotch pressed, not backing down.

"So what?" Morgan spat out the words like they were poison.

"Buford says he hasn't spoken to you in years. Why don’t you visit the man who made your career possible?"

"Damn you, Hotch." Morgan’s fist slammed onto the table as he stood up, knocking the box over in frustration. That was when you knew. The sirens in your brain were deafening now—loud enough to drown everything else out, and you couldn’t ignore it.

The sickness in your stomach was undeniable. You swallowed it down, fighting the urge to leave, but your instincts were already pushing you forward. You grabbed the door handle, taking one last breath before entering.

"Agent Hotchner, I would like to speak to my client." When Hotch didn’t move, still focused on Morgan, you added, "Now."

With a quiet but firm nod, Hotch left the room, his stoic expression unchanged. You sat down in the chair, your mind racing even faster. If you wanted Morgan to trust you—if you wanted to get through to him—you had to give him something first.

“Aren’t you supposed to be defending me? Looking for a way to get me out of here?” he snapped.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me, Derek.”

“I am being honest. I didn’t kill those kids! He has nothing to do with this!”

“Then why is he so eager to help the police?” you shot back.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just glared at you, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You recognized that look. It was the look of someone who had learned, maybe too many times, that the world didn’t always care about the truth.

"Derek I can't do much if you don't trust me." You say as calmly as you can.

Morgan let out a humorless chuckle. “Trust you?” he said, shaking his head. “I barely know you.”

You leaned back slightly in your chair, eyes flickering over him. That’s fair. Trust wasn’t something that could be commanded, especially not in a place like this.

But you also knew what it was like to sit on the wrong side of an interrogation table. To have someone who was supposed to protect you look at you like you were already guilty. To feel like the walls were closing in, no matter how much truth you were screaming.

You swallowed, forcing the memories down before they could surface. If you wanted Morgan to trust you, you had to give him something first.

“Derek… I’m on your side, whether you believe it or not. Not because I owe you one, but because I can recognize someone whose trust was betrayed by the person who was supposed to protect them.” That made him look at you—really look at you. And you hated it. Hated the way he was seeing straight through you.

Being read, being seen—that wasn’t something you allowed often. But Morgan had spent his life reading people, understanding them, profiling them to find the truth. And you had spent your life sharpening your edges, and weaponizing strategically everything you didn’t like. But right now, you were offering him a piece of yours.

You took a slow, measured breath, and even though the room felt too warm, you forced yourself to keep going.

“My parents… my birth parents ran a meth lab in the kitchen,” you said, voice steady, though your hands curled into fists beneath the table. “When I was four, it exploded. I was sent to the hospital with burns, malnutrition, and withdrawal symptoms I didn’t understand. That was the first time CPS got involved. They put me in the system.”

Morgan’s expression didn’t shift, but you saw something flicker behind his eyes. Recognition.

“And if you know anything about the system, you know it’s broken. It fails. It doesn’t protect the people who need it the most,” you continued, your voice steady, but your chest felt tight. “There are cracks in it, and some people…take advantage of that. They play the part, they act like saviors, they pretend to care.” Your voice caught, just for a second. But you forced yourself to push through it. “I know men like Carl Buford. I grew up with one of them.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. That name—Buford—hit the air like a hammer. You weren’t just asking for trust. You were offering something real. Something raw.

His fingers curled into fists on the table, and for a second, he looked away, shaking his head like he was trying to push a memory aside. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t challenge you. Because he knew.

“And what happened?” he asked, voice lower now, controlled but heavy.

You exhaled sharply. “I clawed my way out, just like you did, got adopted when I was 8. And when I had the chance, I became the system—to change it the only way it’s possible, from the inside out.”

Morgan let the silence stretch, studying you, his fingers tapping once against the cold metal table. Finally, he let out a breath, something almost like defeat but not quite. “So what now?”

“Now,” you said, straightening, “We stop playing defense.”

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

You stepped out of the room, and though the tremor in your hands had subsided, the warmth lingering on your back remained. Scanning the precinct, your gaze locked onto the person you were looking for—Gordinski.

You strode toward him, your pace sharp, your voice sharper. “Are you going to charge my client with something, or are you just going to keep stalling?”

He smirked, relishing the frustration in your tone. “Miss Woodvale.” The mockery in his voice was deliberate, savoring the way your desperation bled through. “I still have over 40 hours to hold your client as a suspect.”

“Have you found any new evidence? Because all you have is a questionable profile and circumstantial evidence.” You leaned in slightly, wanting to get under his skin. 

“We have motive.” He said it like it was a trophy, something definitive, something final.

You let out a short, dry laugh. “No, you have a grudge. There’s a difference, and if you don’t know it, the jury won’t buy it.” You’d seen stronger cases collapse under weaker arguments.

His jaw tensed as he looked down at you, exhaling through his nose like you were an inconvenience. “Look, we have three dead kids and a family that wants closure. We’re just doing our job.”

You knew it was a low blow. You knew it was too much.

“Oh yeah? I wonder where I’ve heard that before?”

That was exactly why you said it.

Gordinski’s expression twisted as realization struck. One of the other detectives snapped at you, voices rising, the BAU stiffened, and you could already see Hotch preparing to apologize—everything was escalating.

Then— “Hey! What, did we turn him loose?”

The tension shifted. The detectives forgot your words in an instant, all eyes snapping to the officer outside the holding room—where Morgan had been.

Chaos erupted. Gordinski bolted toward the room, Dennison scrambled to dispatch patrols, Prentiss and JJ exchanged alarmed glances.

And that’s when you slipped away. Nobody noticed… Well nobody except Reid. He always had an eye on you, even from a distance.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

The air was cold, and in the rush of the moment, you’d forgotten to grab your coat. But in some strange way, you were grateful for it—the chill seemed to cool the simmering anger that was creeping through your veins as you headed toward the community center.

Morgan walked beside you, leading the way. You kept your head low, ducking behind columns to avoid the patrols that were probably looking for you. The familiar sensation of hiding felt strangely nostalgic—if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine the cup of coffee in your hand as you walked through the campus at Harvard.

After ten minutes, you spotted a small field with the lights still on. A kid was out there, playing football by himself. Morgan moved closer to him.

“Lookin' good there, kid.”

You stayed a few feet behind, not wanting to interfere.

“I was tryin' to call you.” The kid stopped running and looked at Morgan.

“I’m here now.” Morgan spread his arms, inviting and friendly.

“Who’s that?” The kid glanced at you quickly, signaling toward you with a tilt of his chin. Unable to stay hidden any longer, you stepped onto the field and leaned back against the fencing, crossing your arms.

“Someone I trust. One of mine.” Morgan’s bold words were enough to drop the kid’s defenses.

You stayed silent, as invisible as you could be, observing how the kid tensed and relaxed automatically when Morgan mentioned needing to talk about Buford. You never thought you were good with kids—didn’t know how to act around them without overthinking, constantly looking for signs and flaws.

The more they talked, the more Derek described Buford’s manipulative ways, using his influence to make kids trust him only to exploit that trust, the more the freezing air of Chicago couldn’t keep the heat from rising inside you. Your hands curled into fists, squeezing your sides, wrinkling your shirt.

There were so many sick ways people used to reward or control others. Buford used alcohol and false bonds to make kids feel like adults, while others used toys or candy.

“My oldest brother’s in jail. My sister was paralyzed in a drive-by... She’s eight years old, and I’m all my mom’s got left. I gotta get us outta here.”

No kid should ever carry that kind of weight. No child should feel like enduring abuse is the only way out.

“Carl’s gonna make sure I get into college. Then I can make something of myself.” The gratitude in his voice was painful—the twisted sense of owing someone everything for their attention, their gifts.

You closed your eyes and looked up at the sky, trying to keep yourself from walking into the building alone and finishing whatever it was you had come here to do.

“James, you are something, man. You’re something right here, right now, without Carl Buford.” Morgan’s words hit you hard. He was right. James was someone. He was someone. You were someone, too. Despite everything, you were still breathing, still standing.

A tiny part of yourself felt grateful when you heard James had told Damien about what he was going through, that he had been brave enough to speak up and look for someone who would believe him and would do something about it. Damien knew. Morgan connected the same dots and realized who was staging the whole thing up.

Carl. Motherfucker. Buford.

Derek eventually finished talking to the kid and motioned for you to follow him. You didn’t know what his next move was, but you were backing him up. “Derek?”

He turned to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you want to do, I have your back.” You knew he saw it in your eyes—an intense, boiling rage that had driven you to places both good and bad. He knew that whatever he was going to do next, you wouldn’t stop him or doubt him.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

He gave you instructions on how to get through the back door of the office. But when you got there, Morgan was already calling him out.

“All these years, I kept my mouth shut. I let you go on being a hero. Carl Buford, my mentor.”

Buford’s back was toward you, and the more he talked, the more the air seemed to thicken with the heat of your rage. Your vision narrowed, blurred at the edges with red. A man. No—a monster. A predator who walked free for far too long, spinning his web of lies, manipulating, violating, ruining.

And he had the audacity to deny it. The smugness in his voice. The complete absence of remorse.

“Whatever lies James told you…” he said so easily, as if that erased the truth. As if that rewrote history.

Your hands clenched so hard they ached. How many lives had he destroyed? How many boys had suffered under his hands? You had seen men like him before—hell, you had been a child under the power of a man like him once. The weight of their hands. The control they wielded. The false kindness that masked something vile.

Your stomach twisted violently as you took in the sight of his office. The trophies. Row after row of gleaming gold, polished plaques. A shrine to his own ego. A testament to the world that this man was trusted, respected, celebrated.

And then you saw it. Dr. Or you think you did

The word burned itself into your mind like a scar. Dr. Calloway. It wasn’t his name, but your hands trembled anyway, your breath coming fast and ragged, and the sirens grew louder and louder. Was it the name? Was it the way the gold glinted under the dim light? Or was it just the overwhelming wrongness of all of this? 

Buford was still talking. Still spewing poison.

“How many lives have I provided? Look at you. You’d probably be dead by now.”

Lives.

Lives he had ruined.

Lives you could still save.

Your fingers curled around the base of a trophy—a heavy one, sharp at the edges. You barely registered the name engraved on it as your grip tightened, your knuckles going white.

For a split second, your mind whispered, Do it. The same one that had accompanied you in moments where you couldn’t move. Moments when your body wouldn’t answer to your orders. The voice of that version of yourself that would unleash violence. Do. It.

But then—Morgan. This wasn’t your moment. This wasn’t your fight.

But if he wanted to tear this office apart, you would hand him every single thing worth breaking. You would burn it to the ground and stand there, just to watch Buford scream as the flames took him.

Morgan’s voice cut through the storm inside your head.

“Actually, I’m saying you have everything to do with making me who I am.”

And so did you. Because this rage—this blistering, all-consuming, blood-boiling rage—was just another scar left by men like him. Men who stole, who twisted, who took and took and took until all that was left was ruin.

The sirens in your mind screamed. The voices clawed at your skull, howling for justice, for vengeance, for something more than just words, more than just silence.

Just like the ghosts of the past. Just like the hands of the past. Just like Calloway in the past. In the present.

Calloway. Buford.

"I never hurt you. You could have said no.”

Your grip on the trophy tightened, the sharp edges digging into your palm, but you barely felt the sting. All you saw was red. All you felt was fire.

"You're under arrest, Carl." The words cut through the haze, sharp and final.

Buford barely had time to react before the officers stepped in, twisting his arms behind his back, snapping cold metal around his wrists. He said something—denial, excuses, more of the same filth that men like him always spewed—but it didn’t matter.

It was over.

The red began to fade. The fire inside you simmered, but the embers still burned low, smoldering beneath your ribs. Your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls as you unclenched your fist. The trophy slipped from your fingers, clattering against the floor with a hollow, metallic thud.

Morgan was still staring at Buford, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

For a moment, you wondered if he felt it too—that same bone-deep ache, the need to destroy, to make it right in ways the law never could. But then he inhaled, long and slow, and you forced yourself to do the same.

He saw the trophy in your hand, and you expected to find judgmental eyes—eyes that would look at you like you were dangerous, like you had lost control, like you were no better than the man they were dragging away in cuffs.

But there was no judgment in Morgan’s gaze. Just understanding. Maybe even something closer to recognition.

Your fingers trembled around the trophy, your pulse still hammering in your ears, but you couldn’t let go. Not yet. The weight of it felt good in your grip, solid and real. It would’ve been so easy—so easy—to swing, to carve your fury into something tangible.

He must’ve seen it in you. The way your shoulders still heaved, the way your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Morgan reached out, slow, steady. Not to stop you. Not to take it away. Just there.

A lifeline, if you wanted it.

You exhaled shakily, then forced your fingers to unclench. The trophy slipped from your grasp, landing with a dull thud against the floor.

Your hands were empty now. But the fire still burned.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

Resting against the wall, breathing heavily, you watched as they took Buford away under your intense gaze. Gordinski approached you.

“Your actions could be taken as obstruction of justice, Counselor,” he said, the sarcasm in your title not going unnoticed.

An old man threatening you, just to scare you and gloat himself, a pathetic move, especially now when there were still remains of the fire, not ashes yet. You sighed, as if too tired to deal with him, not even bothering to look his way. “And what are you going to do? Arrest me?” You finally glanced at him. “I have the General Attorney one phone call away, and I could charge you with misconduct and Sixth Amendment violation, which could dismiss the case you have been working for so long.”

You let the words sink in for a second while he remained serious. “You got your guy Detective. Walk away while you can.” 

Like in chess, any smart player knows when to retreat. He glared at you but ultimately backed off.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Reid watching. For a moment, you couldn’t help but return his stare. But then, lifting your chin, you towards the SUV, ignoring the strange sting of shame, the kind of shame you feel when you want to show the best version of yourself to someone, only to show the worst. It wasn’t the first time you had talked your way out of a charge, but it was the first time you felt ashamed of doing it.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

You and Morgan were the last to board the jet. After last night, you'd talked—just not about the… incident. He'd invited you to the grave of the unidentified child with him and his family, and, for some strange reason, it had brought you a sense of peace. Afterward, you joined the rest of the team on the way home.

You spotted Reid sitting by the window, absorbed in his book. North. South. You weren’t one to judge anyone’s demons, especially when you couldn’t even control your own. Maybe that’s why you sat in front of him. Maybe you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to know what was going on in his head.

When he noticed you, his eyes widened slightly, and his fingers nervously traced the edge of the page. Was this it? Would you confront him? Would he finally have the chance to explain himself?

"Do you think Raskolnikov ever believed he deserved the punishment?" you asked, your voice quiet but firm, meeting his gaze. "Or did he just convince himself he was too special to face it?"

Reid blinked, clearly caught off guard, but after a beat, he answered. "I think Raskolnikov believed he was above it all. That his intelligence and theories made him different. But that’s the tragedy—he never understood that punishment isn’t just about what you deserve. It’s about confronting what you’ve done. The guilt you carry. Sometimes, it’s about having someone who believes in you, even when you can’t believe in yourself." His voice softened with the words, as if careful not to scare you off.

You didn’t break eye contact, letting the weight of his words settle. After a pause, you glanced back down at the book. "Someone like Sonia?"

Reid’s gaze flickered, sensing the shift in the conversation. You weren’t just talking about Raskolnikov anymore. Maybe it was about him. Maybe about you. "Someone like Sonia," he said quietly. "She believed in him, not because he was special, but because she saw his humanity. Sometimes, it’s not about whether someone deserves forgiveness—it’s whether someone else is willing to help them find it."

A quiet tension lifted from your shoulders, and your expression softened, the unspoken understanding between you both almost palpable in the air. North. South.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

By lunchtime the next day, the events of the prior day still gnawed at you. The feeling only worsened when your eyes landed on the basket sitting in the corner of your office—filled with chocolates and candy.

Taking a deep breath, you picked it up and turned to your temporary assistant, a guy covering for Molly while she was on maternity leave. “I’m stepping out for twenty minutes,” you told him.

Basket in hand, your thoughts blurred together as you walked toward the park. It was a familiar refuge, a place where kids and elderly chess players gathered, lost in their games. A little distraction wouldn’t hurt. It would be good for you to clear your mind—and they always appreciated it when you brought baskets like these or treats from your mom’s bakery.

　　　　 　　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　　　 　　 　　 　

So we finally see more of reader's past! been waiting for this since i started drafting the story in my mind. You'll know more the next chapter!　 　　　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3 Tag list: @arialikestea @hellsingalucard18 @pleasantwitchgarden @torturedpoetspsychward @cultish-corner<3

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Paint Me Red

Synopsis: You and Damian like horror movies for the same reason.

Pairing: Dark!Damian Wayne X Dark!AFAB!Gn!Reader

Tw: 18+ pwp; Kinda gore?; Cannibalism kink? Definitely hinted; Biting link; Blood kink; Fingering; Watching straight porn; Torture porn? It's all fake and no one’s suffering; Pain kink maybe; They are freaks and they are in love; Worshipping?; A hint of love-bombing? I repeat, they're freaks and they're in love, your honor; Mention of hipersexuality; Damian enjoys pain, gore and death, despite not killing anymore, Reader likes it too; Reader has long hair and is implied to be wearing a shirt or dress with straps and bare thighs; English isn't my first language.

Word count: 1,2k

Requested? No.

Extra notes: Inspired by the movie May and everyone who yaps about yandere!Damian being cannibal coded. I also love when someone writes Damian a little psycho, a little sadomasochist. And a Damian who worships his S/O is the best Damian!!! I recommend reading this while listening to Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. Not sure I like my writing here tho, especially the title, there were many good options that also seemed bad options

General masterlist

Damian was odd, you knew it from the start. Everyone who interacts with him knows it from the start.

That didn't stop you from being flustered when he confessed his — in his actual words — all consuming, undying love. You never thought anyone would actually use those words while declaring their feelings for someone, but as always with him, Damian was different.

And maybe you were different too.

You came back from your weekly date with him to the apartament you recently started sharing, despite being so young and having been dating for only a month when he asked. Your friends called it love-bombing. You had never heard of a more romantic term.

He took you to the bedroom as soon as you crossed the threshold, excited about a surprise he planned for you, but there was nothing different there, until he pulled his laptop out, fiddled with something, connected to the overhead projector you bought once on a whim, after watching a tiktok, only to realize it wasn't any better than just watching on your television or laptop. At least it wasn't as expensive as one would think.

Regardless, you still used it sometimes, even if for the sake of being spontaneous — and making your money worth it —, and your boyfriend was clearly looking for that.

You sat on the edge of the bed, and in less than a minute, Damian was sitting beside you, while a weird video started playing.

— I found it online, beloved. — Damian explained. — A short film, made by a group of independent artists, I think. — You nodded along, this level of cinephilia was not exactly your thing, but you did enjoy watching movies and leaving reviews on Letterboxd, if it caught Damian's interest, then it must be something.

— Yeah, very Texas Chainsaw Massacre. — You commented, not because it actually looked to be a horror movie, but more because of the quality of the camera, the eery atmosphere, and the scenario being filmed in the middle of nowhere. It seemed like an actually calm movie, but you knew something was up, there was only a young couple having a cute picnic.

Damian looked at you with wide, almost innocent eyes, boyish excitement coupled with some glint you couldn't identify.

— Exactly!

You felt some satisfaction and pride. You were the one who presented him with the classic slasher movies — one of your favorite genres — and were surprised by his eager acceptance of them, since a lot of them didn't have much quality. But he seemed interested in the death scenes and gore. Maybe it was the remnants of his childhood on him, but you didn't have that past and still related to him, much to his delight. He also commented about how unreal a lot of it was, from experience, no doubt.

It was almost cute. And hot.

Damian's hand laid on your thigh, while his thumb started rolling circles on your bare skin.

You let out a gasp when the girl in the movie, out of nowhere, bit hard on her boyfriend’s finger while he fed her a piece of pie with his hands. An exaggerated amount of blood started sliding down her lips and his hand, but he didn't scream, he just stared at her while she had mischief and desire in her eyes.

Damian's hand squeezed your flesh.

— How did you find this on YouTube? I'm pretty sure they wouldn't allow it there. — You wondered out loud, squeezing your thighs when the guy used his bloody hand to push the strap of her sundress down, revealing her supple breast. He leaned forward and peppered kisses down her chest, while pushing the other strap down, revealing her torso even more, until he bit her ribs’s flesh just as hard, face partially covered by her left tit.

Now, they were both smeared in lots of blood, from his hand travelling her body and the new wound.

— I did not mention YouTube. — He answered, and you hummed, paying extreme attention to the movie, intrigued, and half surprised to be turned on. But it was shallow, a thin layer of lust that went unnoticed by you, mistaken by intrigue and excitement.

You only noticed how hot you were, when Damian did the same thing to you. He slowly and deliberately got closer, pushed your hair back from your shoulder, and left wet, slow pecks down your neck, while pushing your straps down. You just stared at the images while he did his thing.

You were interrupted when he bit down on your shoulder, hard, leaving teeth marks, but not enough to bleed. You couldn't help the yelp of pain that escaped you by surprise, but didn't feel like reprimanding him when he soothed the feeling by still kissing you, and buried his hand between your legs, invading your underwear.

You opened your legs to give him more space, while your lips also parted to let out a deep breath, not out of nervousness, but anticipation. When you paid attention to the movie again, the guy was lying between the girl’s legs, leaving a nasty bite on her inner thigh. The blood dripped down and ruined her white underwear, but her boyfriend just started eating her out with the fabric still on the way.

Meanwhile, Damian played with your wet clit with his thumb while he inserted two fingers into your moist hole with ease, catching you both off guard with how wet you were with basically nothing. He had a hunch you would like his surprise, but not that much.

In need to let out some pent-up desire, he bit your flesh once more, this time above your breast. A low whimper of pain forced its way out of your throat. You looked down and noticed Damian's full-on boner.

You reached and pressed your hand against him, making him hiss and finally stop lapping at your skin, to look at you with desire. You kept eye-contact while rubbing him through his pants.

Damian pressed his lips to yours in haste, eager to taste your tongue while pumping his fingers faster and deeper against your walls, focused on abusing your sweet spot. The kiss was more sensual than ever, a dance which consisted in sharing heavy breaths, exchanged pecks, sucking lips and caressing tongues. While you both were like rabbits a third of the time, you being hipersexual and him being in love with you, the newfound shared taboo kink definitely turned things up a notch. And you expressed it by interrupting the kiss with a hard bite on his bottom lip.

Damian hissed like a cat until you let his lip go. When he glared at you, anyone would think he was livid like you just kicked his dog, but you knew him better than anyone. In fact, you were the only one to ever see him in the vulnerable side that came with intimacy, the only one he would ever want and trust to either lay beside his naked body, or willingly allow to leave a mark on his scarred flesh. Taste his muscles. Drink his blood.

He used his free hand to touch his lip, and found blood there. You licked your own, bright crimson and wet.

When he looked at you again, you wondered if you had finally ruined him for anyone else forever, and he made sure to paint both your faces red with a kiss, while he made you cum on his fingers.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[sir-tuitsum]

A funny continuation of An Empress' Harem, where you get to see what your concubines think of each other.

First part: here

Third part: here

Notes: I gave her a two day fanfic birthday celebration, off to bed for me now. Unedited, tried to finish before 6pm..

Warning: possible mischaracterization...?

*************************************

Gepard and Sunday

The two were acquainted before their marriage to you due to their high status among nobles already. There was knowledge between them that someone of their background would end up in the royal family even then. It was a silent agreement of sorts, Sunday did not want the Landaus on his or his family’s case and Gepard did not want the Oak family and their other branches on him or his own families’ case. In brief, they're on alright terms with each other, maybe even allies at certain times..

They respect each other enough and even spend time in each other's companies. If Sunday finds himself unavailable, a very rare and odd occasion, Gepard is one of the concubines he would trust to look after the things he cannot in his place until he can resume duties.

In the case of baring daughters for you, things become more complex. Both take great pride in their families and would want the honor of having Landau/Oak blood on the throne for their families’ own benefit. Perhaps this would disrupt the peace they've built with each other when they take their families into account.

Ratio and Aventurine

At first, Dr Ratio’s honest reaction to the blond when he first entered the harem was rather negative. He did not hate him, no. It was only the behaviour of Aventurine that he found a bit nauseating. In turn, Aventurine thought the professor much too serious and arrogant at their first meeting. For a short while their interactions with one another ended in snarky remarks.

Perhaps it was Aventurine’s easy ways of talking his way into your heart, an obvious beauty and smooth talker, it felt like watching a cheap prostitute seduce her way into a man's bed for money. Veritas Ratio did not like Aventurine.

In turn, Aventurine felt a certain way, watching you from a distance as you and Dr Ratio delved into deep talks on what he assumes are heavy topics, knowing Dr Ratio saw him as someone ‘without a talent for deeper meaning’ as the ex-professor would put it, seeing you connect with him on a knowledge level. It felt humiliating.

It was only during one of their snarky back handed comments, where Ratio had made Aventurine spill something nasty from his past that the ex-professor began to see the foreigner in a different light. Everything seemed to change.

Now, you can find the two visiting each other's palaces or conversing normally compared to their first times with each other. One would consider them allies in the harem, perhaps friends? They even encourage you as their Empress and master to visit the other.

In cases of children, they would probably raise their children close with each other and support the other if one ever wanted to push their daughter’s campaign to be the next Empress.

Aventurine and Sunday

Less than a positive relationship. They can behave in front of you but don't depend on it outside of your line of sight. Sunday’s comments can come off as subtly rude enough, Aventurine is more obvious with his insults, this makes Sunday’s masked insults peel off and become more degrading, more so if they are alone.

Their first meeting, after you had taken Aventurine on the night Jade left him with you, you had welcomed him into the harem. Sunday’s job as the Royal Consort and main man meant he had to welcome Aventurine, much to his displeasure. He had less than positive reviews of the IPC and watching one of their dogs seduce his way into your bed for the IPC’s benefit no doubt? Why doesn't he just hand you over to a dog then?

Aventurine thought of Sunday a bit worse than Dr Ratio when they first met. When the Consort showed him around his palace, he felt like a child being lectured on what not to do by his older sister when he was younger. The distaste for him was there, though subtle.

Sunday has no doubt his daughter would become Empress over the.. foreigner's offspring. Aventurine’s only reason for pushing a child of his on the throne would be for the IPC’s benefit, he finds himself rather numb to the idea anyway.

Aventurine and Jingyuan

Jingyuan was the less caring one of the harem he realized. Aside from that Vidyadhara green boy, Jingyuan seemed to care less that Aventurine was there and more for the fact he got called out of his palace to greet him. He wasn't that keen on etiquette either. He simply greeted the blond, yawned a few times, smiled at him weirdly then left the palace. Aventurine didn't mind this, Aventurine was actually one of the first people he enjoyed talking to at all.

Jingyuan cared less, he was only glad to see Aventurine wasn't ambitious in an exactly dangerous way, like that Sunday for example. Still dangerous, he doesn't like the way Aventurine sucks up to you like his life depends upon it, at least he's not like a few who are over the top when they first enter.

JingYuan isn't too ambitious about his possible future daughter becoming Empress. The only thing that would push him to do this would be his own family’s urgings.. well he doesn't care about that either. He wouldn't be fighting with Aventurine over this.

Jingyuan and Dr Ratio

Well, Dr Ratio doesn't have much to say about the lousing concubine. They get along well enough when they do interact which isn't for long.

What surprised Ratio was the man’s surprising ability with knowledge and philosophy. They did sit down once and had a good talk, it was the last thing he expected out of someone so.. lazy but he was impressed.

JingYuan's impression of Dr Ratio was his own mother, then later his guardian, Jingliu. Proper and straight minded. He didn't expect Ratio to last in the harem as long as he did, he was somewhat impressed to see someone with this mindset still breathing. Seeing their agreements when discussing deep topics, they became checker partners as well. Meeting up at random points of day, they battled in checkers and exchanged point of views.

Dr Ratio has no unhealthy thirst for power like the others. JingYuan does not either. Daughters might not ruin the little thing they have going on.

Dan Heng and Jingyuan

JingYuan met the young Vidyadhara when he was a teenager and the boy was younger than he was, he would assume 8 or 10. The boy was withdrawn and didn't speak much to him. It took great effort to have the boy speak. He hadn't realized he had interacted with a descendant of the famous Vidyadharas then. Either way his interaction with the boy dwindled.

Seeing him again, as quiet as ever, prompted JingYuan to rekindle their lost friendship. He spent much time in Dan Heng’s presence, as much as Dan Heng allowed him anyway. You can find them reading a book together, playing checkers, conversing with Jingyuan speaking the most or simply spending time in close proximity with each other.

Dan Heng held mixed feelings towards the male re appearing in his life but to have an ally in this place wasn't a bad thing. He knew of his circumstances and understood his choices must be careful. JingYuan's family were high nobles but surely not high enough to raise suspicion about his loyalties. He wanted to avoid any possible drama. He knew Jingyuan himself had no ill intentions, if his memories serve him right. If time is willing, he would call Jingyuan a friend again.

He is banned from having his offspring with the Empress inherit the throne anyway.

Jingyuan and Gepard

Jingyuan was pleasant company but for someone from a military family that bothered to teach a man fighting techniques as well, you would expect him to be more.. energetic? On his feet? Gepard learned some of it, as old tradition in his family demands, he enjoyed carrying out these exercises with your permission during the day. So why was Jingyuan so..

Jingyuan thinks the Landau boy is too strict, he was younger than him but was already such a nagger, he wondered how a young man could nag this much and still be married. The boy was gentle and sweet yet also too serious, too proper, Jingyuan didn't enjoy being told to do things during the day instead of lazing around.

Anyway, they are far from threats to each other. Gepard is more cautious of Jingyuan than Jingyuan is of him.

JingYuan and Sunday

Too strict. Too controlling. Talks too much. This is all Jingyuan wants to say.

Jingyaun enjoyed doing things on his own time, especially now that he is no longer in Jingliu’s training where things were more rigorous. The great opportunity to be free has been disrupted by Sunday's reign over the harem. He always had something to say. Sunday is more enjoyable when he's not running the harem and enjoying tea with him as they watch The Empress join in on the Annual Hunt. When they're back at the castle and Sunday is back to being a workaholic it's less enjoyable.

Sunday thinks Jingyaun is far too lax for someone of his standing, a relative of a great general who was even taught personally by her. Sunday had the opportunity to be taught female subjects and he took it very seriously, using his proper education to keep this harem in order. If Jingyuan hadn't taken charge one day when he wasn't around, he would think the man is capable of nothing.

Surprisingly, despite the man’s rather lax ways, if there's an issue Sunday trusts JingYuan to run things with Gepard.

JingYuan's family is still impressive, JingYuan can be a threat in the future if he tried to be. He is still on guard for any sign of trickery from the lousing male.

Dan Heng and Ratio

Meeting a Vidyadhara in the flesh felt like something else. Ratio hasn't seen the man when he entered the harem, the male claiming to be sick when it was around the time the other concubines were to accept him in.

Ratio met him in the Imperial Gardens, being told by his servant that seeing the boy around and about outside his palace was a rare occasion. As one invested in history, a Vidyadhara in his vision felt like a great opportunity. He had approached the boy first, not expecting to meet a rather withdrawn individual who seemed to honor his own privacy. They had only talked for a small while before Dan Heng retreated back to his palace, claiming drowsiness. It was a small talk but he could see Dan Heng would make a great partner to talk to, from the way he spoke and carried himself, like a true noble.

Dan Heng could see the ex-professor’s curiosity about his family and liked the fact he didn't make his questions too obvious or too much. It still took a moment for him to warm up to the other, what was particularly interesting was playing checkers in a match with both Jingyuan and Dan Heng.

They didn't see each other much outside of this aside from important events they had to attend with or without their Empress. Whenever he could find a window to talk, he did. When they warmed up, they became a bit more than a person to share simple knowledge with. The good thing was that they could enjoy each other's company in silence.

Ratio and Sunday

Initially not enjoying the way you seemed to start taking Ratio as a partner to speak to over him, Sunday grew to appreciate Rato’s personality. Where he'd usually drag majority harem out with him to distribute charity, it swallowed down to always making sure Ratio was there with him. Ratio seemed to be popular among the people, for previous acts of his before he became one your men in the harem. He put the imperials in a good light and that's all he needed.

Ratio did not personally enjoy Sunday’s company as he thought he would, not even for intellectual debates. He was uncomfortable with the idea of Sunday at times. Maybe it was the large gap in power or the way he spoke. He was glad he was seen in a good light by Sunday at least.

Dan Heng and Sunday

Sunday was more shocked by the choice of twisting ancient rules just to take this Vidyadhara into the harem.

He was particularly strict in his management of this one, as you had twisted the rules too that DanHeng should be kept under good surveillance by the Royal Consort. Even without the orders, Sunday would find himself doing this anyway. It was good to let the disgraced family know that this was no window of opportunity for them to stick their bloodied hands where it no longer belongs and that was keeping a strict eye on Dan Heng.

Dan Heng understood this, if anything he expected it. The bright part of this was that he would not be a threat to Sunday nor his family nor the other branches of it. He was disgraced enough. At worst, he'd get petty jealousy over you sharing your bed with him quite often but nothing would come out of bullying him anyway, he can't rise to power in any way and it would be too much to try this. He hopes Sunday will appreciate this and nothing major will happen in the future between them.

Aventurine and Dan Heng

Aventurine understood something of being ostracized in your own environment. He barely had many interactions with the Vidyadhara but he did feel some form of pity from the younger boy. Dan Heng was usually alone in social gatherings, whenever they spoke it was usually through Ratio making it happen. The boy was pleasant enough but nothing of importance to him.

Dan Heng had no negative feelings towards the blond, understanding this was simply Ratio’s close friend. Their conversations were nothing interesting, mindless chatter to pass time. If anything, Dan Heng didn't like the way Aventurine didn't seem to observe proper etiquette all the time but there's nothing about that to hate him with.

Consider them acquaintances.

Aventurine is more glad Dan Heng doesn't get in the way of what he's here to do.

************************************

Note: I totally forgot a duo but keep your mouth shut :>

[ivesambrose]

OCTOBER 2024 MINI MESSAGES 🧡

1. 2. 3.

How is spooky season treating everyone so far? ✨

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com

Services offered

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Thanks for the tip

Picture 1

its likely you might feel as though you're pushed to the forefront and are in the limelight or have finally decided to be brave about it. You'll be focused on your public image, long term career goals as well as the friends you keep associating with. Do they really empower you? Stand by you? Encourage you? Or keep filling your head with their own projections that deter you from your growth. You can look forward to a better community for yourself it may not come through fully this month for some of you, but sometimes having the awareness that this is the vision and reality you see for yourself does more than half of the work for you. You'll feel inspired to travel, pursue certain goals or see the earlier roadblocks slowly clear out for you. Keep in mind not to overwork yourself or be manipulated by someone to stretch yourself thin for their sake with little to no benefit of your own. There are some people namely at a higher place of authority than you are who are scared of your success and your ability to be authentic, cultivate friendships or be a good leader by yourself and they'll try to bring you down to 'show you your place' it's far from the truth. This month might end on a note of a new and better opportunity being presented to you, a gift, a sudden increase in finances or an idea that if nurtured will lead to something a lot bigger and fruitful. Know that you're in charge of your reality not the people who are bystanders in it.

Picture 2

so much to learn and so many ideas and thoughts to communicate this month. Write them all down and share them either with a trusted person or maybe even the world. Write and speak so you can heal and undo the knots in your heart. Cry if you must it's okay to let go of the burden of keeping a brave demeanor. You'll be having potential breakthroughs this month, almost overnight ones. You're about to do something unconventional in the long run but that too will require a certain discipline from your side so it becomes a daily ritual for you and then your lifestyle. You'll be really focused on your health and health goals as well. Some of you might get into a commitment with someone or will be soon or someone wants to be romantically involved with you for the long term. They compliment your energy will, someone whose willing to water you to see you bloom. Be wary of overwhelming yourself with too much content or information. You really don't need all that. Allow your subconscious to only absorb what it is that you want in your reality. The habits you cultivate this month will set the tone for the coming months too. You'll end the month on a note of getting better at something or achieving a goal that you have spent the most of the year on and celebrating it finally.

Picture 3

Your imagination does indeed create your reality and you'll be shown proper evidence of that this month. A lot of heightened awareness, intuition, prophetic or symbolic dreams that in turn fuel your creativity. You'll be self soothing a lot this month there's also a focus on your gut health and habits as well that you'll be changing. You'll also be receiving an opportunity through your creativity to travel or learn about different cultures, people and places. I also see you feeling closer to your mother or a female/maternal figure or a friend in your life. I feel like some of you have been hyper independent for so long and have burned so many bridges that when tenderness or loving connections knock on your door you refuse to see it. Please bring your awareness and intention to finally receiving what you've long asked for. You'll be receiving the love, friendships and opportunities you have asked for, I really suggest you remove the part of you that is hell bent on being an 'avoidant' because that will lead you nowhere but to the same state that made you so low to begin with. This month ends on things gaining momentum for you, like whatever you started is progressing to the next phase, launching something or even foreign travel. Things are set in motion. You will, inevitably cut through your obstacles. Rest assured.

[theaipromoter]

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[jaemlonfz]

s/o beeing all drunk and flirty with bsf shua

ps: i did not review it wc: 0,4k tw: suggestive but nothing explicit, s/o is just drunk and Joshua isn't, sleeping in the same bed and a pretty shy Joshua ik i dont write in so much time but my mind is freaking empity so im sorry

When you and your friends plan to go to a new club it's obvious that it's never going to end well, so after drinking like there was no tomorrow, it was kind of obvious that you weren't going to be able to get home alone so you decided to spend the night in your best friend Joshua's apartment

Knowing the house like the back of your hand, even though you were still a little drunk and sleepy, you managed to go to the kitchen and drink a glass of water without any problems, but when it was time to go back to bed, you were used to spending time in Joshua's bedroom. that automatically went there without even realizing it.

Laying down on the big bed, even with alcohol in your blood, it was obvious to feel the presence of another warm body next to you. Turning your body slowly and opening your eyes trying to recognize what was happening, you came across a very red Joshua.

Your loose hair with small strands stuck to your face from sweat, your thin white tank top slightly transparent thanks to the water spilled from the glass were all that Joshua could see after having you by his side.

"What is wrong with you?" Not being completely aware, you asked the brunette stupidly. “You look so nervous…” You quickly completed your sentence, not giving the boy time to respond.

"What.. are you talking about...” He whispered, looking away “I'm not nervous” He swallowed hard, trying to increase the small space that separated him from your warm body

"Oh yah? Because every time I get closer to you your face gets gradually redder.”

You said, finally managing to connect with his body, your warm hand pressed against his heaving chest.

“I was drunk a few hours ago, that’s normal.”

“Stop lying Shua, you didn’t even drink…” You smiled smugly trying to get up to be face to face with Joshua.

“If I make you nervous, just say it” You whispered, only paying attention to his eyes that diverted their path to follow yours.

“You're still drunk, go back to your bed” He said sighing trying to ignore the rapid beating of his heart

“Even thought im drunk, tonight I only wanna sleep with you” You said, closing your eyes and settling down to sleep, leaving the poor sober boy easily intoxicated with your words

[fatehbaz]

Between 1970 and 1973, rent strikes erupted in towns and cities throughout the Republic of Ireland. These were organised by local tenants’ associations, most of which were affiliated to the National Association of Tenants Organisations [NAoTO] [...], an umbrella organisation for local associations established in 1967. [...] [O]rganisers claimed that at its peak almost half of all council tenants in the state, or approximately 50,000 households, were withholding their rents. These localised campaigns coalesced into a state-wide movement in late 1972 with [NAoTO] declaring a “national rent strike” which lasted until August 1973. At this point, the government conceded to [NAoTO]'s demands including revisions to the B scale differential rent system, a rent freeze for those on fixed (non-differential) rents, [and] better terms for tenant purchase [...]. [T]he long-term consequences are more ambiguous [...]. Nonetheless, it was described in an article in the Irish Times as “undoubtedly the most dramatic [...] victory ever achieved in this century by tenants versus landlords” [within Ireland]. [...]

Despite the scale and significance of these rent strikes, before this project started there was effectively no information available about them. The [Community Action Tenants Union Ireland] CATU rent strike history project aimed to address this situation, which we understood as an important gap in the collective memory [...]. The project set out to leverage the history of the rent strikes to engage people and involve them in the contemporary housing movement by providing an example of the power of collective action and building connections [...]. The project has been ongoing since late 2021 [...].

---

Gray (2018a, 2022) argues that, beginning in the 1960s, the urbanisation of capital created a new [...] working-class struggle in Italy, [...] characterised by divisions related to suburbanisation and geographical fragmentation. [...] Clare's (2020) analysis of [...] clandestine textile workshops in Buenos Aires highlights the importance of the spatial dimension [...] by describing how workshops are located according to a distinct socio-spatial strategy that divides the workforce and minimises outside interference, thus ensuring access to cheap, vulnerable labour. [...]

There are [...] connections between political decomposition and the loss of memory and knowledge of struggle, such as in the case of workplace restructuring after conflict to prevent the transmission of knowledge and experience between different generations of workers [...]. Responding to this situation, there has been a growing interest in recovering forgotten or suppressed histories of housing and urban struggles [...].

---

The background to the CATU rent strike history project is the so-called “housing crisis” in Ireland, which, contrary to the idea of a specific moment of crisis, has been a continuous feature of Irish society since at least the 19th century [...]. A persistent challenge faced by CATU and other similar movements is that of overcoming a pervasive sense of disempowerment and persuading people that it is worthwhile to engage in collective action [...]. [T]he [housing] crisis [is not necessarily] a unique moment of dysfunction in the housing system [but is] rather [...] a persistent feature of Irish, and increasingly international, capitalism [...]. [L]and and housing have been deeply interrelated with anti-colonial struggles including the Land War of the late 19th century, the civil rights movement, and anti-internment rent strikes in the 1960s [...].

---

27 oral history interviews were carried out with people who participated in the rent strikes in the 1970s [...] from various towns and cities across the Republic of Ireland [...]. Approximately 2,000 relevant articles published in local and national newspapers between 1966 and 1973 were identified and subject to close reading [...] Further data was gathered through a review of 161 articles about the rent strikes in radical newspapers [...]. Previous analyses have emphasised the atomisation of new suburban council estates and how these were part of a concerted effort to undermine working-class radicalism (McManus 2003). Beginning in the late 1950s, suburbanisation was further accelerated by the state's policy to attract [...] speculative investment in commercial office space and the displacement of working-class communities, in particular from inner-city Dublin [...]. However, [...] that fragmentation was countered in the late 1960s and early 1970s through the widespread, rapid formation of tenants’ associations organised around shared interests [...].

The interviews and newspapers produced by local tenants’ associations demonstrated the organisational density and array of community organisations [...] that fought to improve the conditions of everyday life [...]. Some of the forms of organisation that existed across many areas included collectively built and managed community centres, women's and youth committees, sports clubs, social activities for elderly people, and food cooperatives, amongst others. Illustrating the scale of community organising, in August 1973 the [NAoTO] newspaper reported that the West Finglas Tenants Association was running regular outings to the seaside that were attended on average by 2,000 people transported in 20 double-decker buses. [...] As described by [P.], a rent strike organizer in Ballyfermot:

"Street committees didn't just run the rent strike, they also ran summer programmes. If there was old people to come around at Christmas, we'd arrange for someone to cook an extra bit of dinner. It was more a living thing. It wasn't just a single issue. [...]"

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All text above by: Fiadh Tubridy. "Militant Research in the Housing Movement: The Community Action Tenants Union Rent Strike History Project". Antipode Online Volume 56, Issue 3, pages 1027-1046. May 2024. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[reverieblondie]

Could I request headcanons for Raphael, and Zevlor with shy gn s/o?

Of course! We can't forget those two! Hope you like it, it did these ones pretty quickly. Last bullet point is NSFW.

BG3 Men with shy gn s/o part 1

Raphael

When his eyes first saw you he couldn’t help but smirk, taking advantage of such a timid little mouse, it was just so easy… However, Raphael was pleasantly surprised when despite your shy demeanor you were surprisingly strong-willed. He always enjoyed a chase… Though you were a person of few words, you enjoyed his poetic ones. You could listen to him for hours practicing his veiled words and he would gladly perform for you. Who wouldn’t love being admired, even by a meek mouse? 

Raphael relishes in watching you squirm and blush. All he seems to have to do is a smile or say a teasing pet name towards you. Loves the way your body heats up and shudders as he tempts you with honeyed words. You know you want to be his, how well he would treat his favorite pet. One way you have found to turn the tables and make him the speechless one for a change is to take the poetic words he spoke to you and twist them towards him. He loves a quick wit and the sound of his twisted words from your shy lips. 

Careful, he claws and bites. If he’s got you where he wants his little mouse he will mark you at every opportunity. Hickies and bite marks litter your once pristine skin. Your back and sides are decorated with raised red lines from his long nails dragging over your body. You are his and he wants to make sure you and everyone else never forgets that. Once you're feeling bold enough you will try and persuade him to let you mark him. Normally he would refuse if anyone would suggest such a thing, but you are his favorite… He will smile at you as he slowly tilts his head to the side to expose his neck to you simply saying, “You can try, little mouse…” 

A date with Raphael is surprisingly tame, thank goodness for your meek heart. A simple game of lance board is what he would suggest for the evening in his House of Hope. Loves to watch you take your time accessing your next move, biting back his smile as you fall into the trap he set. When you lose he says the loser now has to give the winner something, Don’t worry this time it’s not your soul. Raphael has something a tad sweeter in mind. 

A slow tsk will leave him as you start to shyly bounce and grind on his lap. You instantly still when you feel him swat your ass. A low groan leaves him as your walls tense around his cock buried deeply within you. The winner decided he wanted his cock warmed while he reviewed some contracts. Be patient little mouse he will deal with you soon…

Zevlor

Being a person of a similar nature, you two would instantly have a connection. Nothing but a perfect gentleman when you first met him, thanking you for helping his people and the grove with a bow of his head and a shy smile to match your own. You two will just be drawn to each other, often finding that you two have wandered into proximity of one another, getting closer and closer as the days go on. Sure you two have your differences but you can just understand each other so deeply and can provide the other with what they need so perfectly. It's like the match between you two was destined by the gods. 

Zevlor would never intend to make you flustered on purpose but he seems to do it quite often by accident. The main cause of your red cheeks would be when you are telling him a story, rambling through your words as he listens to you intently. Then before you know it, his large hand is brushing strains of your hair away from your face. Before you know it every time your hair is slightly messy in his presence he is fixing it for you with a smile and a hum. To get him to glow red like you are currently, you will ask to run your fingers through his hair, he might just explode at your suggestion alone. As he pulls his tie from his hair he will lean towards you averting his eyes bashfully. 

Expect to get a fresh bouquet of wildflowers every morning when he comes back from patrol. Zevlor is a huge acts of service guy, if you need help with something, it doesn't matter how small he is more than willing to help. Need help changing the bed linens? He is right there on the other side helping pull them down. Does laundry need to be hung on the line? Allow him to do it for you. Low on firewood? He will spend the rest of the afternoon chopping wood for tonight's fire. Maybe he will take off his shirt for you to sneak a glimpse or two. 

You and Zevlor are not fans of busy or loud places so your dates are usually very quiet. However on some nights when you two have extra energy from the day you two will have an impromptu sparring match. Zevlor would teach you moves he learned from his time with the hellriders. If you're not well versed with a weapon he will come behind you and show you how to properly hold it. While you're wrapped around his warm arms you will have a moment of bravery and kiss his cheek. You will both be blushing by the end of the match. 

When you and Zevlor get intimate he always takes his time with you. Despite his shy nature, he has experience and he knows how important it is to make sure that your partner is prepped. His favorite way to prep you? Man has a full-on oral fixation, he is addicted to your taste and will spend as much time as he needs lapping his experienced tongue on you. Zevlor won't even think about putting in his straining length in you till you have cummed at least once, and if you must know…he always swallows. One should never be wasteful.

[deminetly]

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