#bring me back to the time when everyone was against the federation

[kamomie]

This is kind of a view on q!Bad's current personality and it's heavily based on my own experience with my personality and how quickly people will define you by your worst traits during your worst moments. I Mostly wrote this for my own peace of mind but feel free to read and engage however you want :D

I've been seeing the sentiment that q!Bad is being his true self rn, because he snapped and went "back"(?) to his true self.

I disagree. q!Bad isn't being the person he "really" is. He's being the person he becomes under extreme emotional distress.

Was he always a good manipulator? Yes. Was he always hypocritical? Yeah. Was he always paranoid? Yep. Was he always somewhat morally dubious and willing to do what others wouldn't? Yeah.

Did he ever really cause harm to anyone before this arc? Not really. He annoyed people a lot, but it was never the way it is now.

All his worst traits have amplified and his good traits are somewhat surpressed. And he has traits that are unusual for him. Like, he's been awfully meaner to people and doing dangerous pranks that he normally wouldn't. He was always capable of a degree of cruelty and violence, but not towards his friends.

The worst part is before the eggs went missing he was dealing with a lot of emotional turmoil, after the furniture shit and being imprisoned on no proof. Like it has been shit upon shit for q!Bad lately. Like his trust issues have been sky high, and it really culminated today, with him telling q!forever outright that he's not welcome in his home...

Anyways, the person q!Bad was when he was stable/"under normal conditions", was kind, caring, helpful, trustworthy/reliable, protective, paranoid, childish, hypocritical, a bit of a liar, and a bit of a manipulator. That was so much more his true self than what he is now.

However this arc is one that might permanently alter how q!Bad is as a person. I honestly don't see him return to how he was before and if he does, it'll take awhile.

I'm sad.

[enderlovez]

A Little Timid

Spencer Reid x Shy Female Reader WORD COUNT: 1100+

Summary: You bring Spencer something for dinner during a particularly stressful case. One thing, though—nobody else knows you exist.

Content Warning: Spencer is overworking himself and forgetting to eat, reader has a sister and a niece/nephew (not specified), pet names

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You and Spencer have been dating for nearly three years, and throughout that time he's visited your workplace more times than you can count. Usually to spend your lunch breaks with you, sometimes just so he can sit and be in your company as you work.

Which your boss is completely fine with, for some reason unknown to you.

Oftentimes you find yourself wishing you could do the same for him, on the nights where he doesn't come home until stupidly late, but every time you bring up maybe bringing him lunch on your days off, he shoots you down entirely. Like a bird out of the sky, or some other stupid simile you can't be bothered trying to come up with.

It's quite different for him, being a federal agent and such, working with sensitive subjects and often in harsh environments, so you suppose it does make sense that he would want to keep you away from all that. Still, you can't help but feel a little hurt and slightly embarrassed every time he denies your requests.

And yet...

"You sound tired," you comment softly, stirring the pot of chicken soup in front of you.

"Mhm."

"Have you eaten anything yet?"

There's no response, which is answer enough for you.

"Lovey, you need to eat," you say with a sigh, putting down the spoon you were stirring with and lean back against the counter beside the stove.

"I know," he mumbles quietly.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes turned down to the ground. "I'm making chicken soup, I could bring you some for dinner, if you'd like?" you suggest weakly. "And some of the bread I finished making earlier. You know, I could sit with you for a while."

Before he's even responded, you're bracing yourself for rejection.

"That would be nice," he sighs.

Immediately, the tension in your body melts away, a tiny smile making its way onto your face.

"You want me to bring one of those cinnamon rolls you like, too?"

"Yes please..." His voice is so quiet, you're sure he's practically falling asleep at his desk.

"Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Spencer doesn't really think about much when he hangs up the phone. Only that he's really hungry right now, and that he really likes your chicken soup.

The fact that his coworkers don't even know you exist doesn't cross his mind once. Only when you're actually walking into the bullpen, does he realize he should've given them a bit of a heads up, because everyone is looking at you now.

No horrible looks, of course, they're only curious of who you are and why you're here, but you've never particularly liked people looking at you. It makes you feel all anxious and jittery.

Your eyes quickly scan the room (definitely taking note of all the people watching you) and when you finally find your target, a small smile makes it onto your face, despite the discomfort.

He pulls another chair over to his desk as you make your way over, walking just a little faster usual, and place one of those reusable supermarket bags in front of him.

"Hey there," you murmur, bringing his hand to your face so you can press a soft kiss to the back of it. This time, he doesn't even mention how many stupid pathogens can be passed through your hands.

"Beautiful girl," is all he says, quiet and uncharacteristically drowsy, as he reaches into the bag and pulls everything out. Two perfectly warm thermoses, a brown paper bag with some of your fresh bread inside, and two saran-wrapped cinnamon rolls that you've already heated.

You chuckle softly, taking your share of the food and offering him a hunk of warm bread.

Spencer bites off a chunk of the bread and really takes a look at you, now that you're distracted with your own soup. You're wearing a baby pink milkmaid dress, the same one you wore to your sisters baby shower last year, and a white cardigan with little flowers embroidered all over it.

He gifted you the plain cardigan, you were the one who added all the flowers and personal touches.

"I really appreciate this," he hums, finally opening the thermos of soup and spooning some of it into his mouth with one of the metal utensils you brought with you.

"I'm always happy to bring you food when you need it, lovey. Even when you don't necessarily need it, I'll come running," you say in a low voice, sipping your own soup straight from the thermos. "I wish you'd let me do it more. Even when you're not starving and sleep deprived."

He chuckles at the playful lilt in your voice, but knows you're actually being completely serious. "Maybe we can make this a more regular. On the nights I can't be at home—"

"And who might this be?" someone asks, appearing suddenly enough for you to jump a little.

You turn your head the smallest fraction to find another man leaning against Spencer's desk, a (seemingly permanent) smirk breaking through the tired, clouded expression everyone here is sporting.

"Uhm—hi—erm..."

You glance over at Spencer, who is, for the most part, paying no attention to the encounter, simply sipping on his soup and gnawing on his bread like he hasn't eaten in weeks.

"I'm Y/N," you manage, in a voice soft enough to bring serial killers to their knees (now there's an idea), wiping your hands on the fabric covering your thighs and sticking one of them out.

The man hums, eyes flicking between yourself and the man seated beside you. "I don't think Spencer's ever mentioned you before."

Your smile falters slightly, but doesn't disappear completely. "I'm his girlfriend," you say, "and I never really expected him to talk about me here. He said he wouldn't, anyway."

"Girlfriend?" he asks, as if it's the craziest thing he's ever heard. "You. Are Spencer's girlfriend? Spencer has a girlfriend?"

That seems to grab the aforementioned mans attention.

"Morgan. Is it really so hard to comprehend," he asks, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close—as close as he can, with the chairs in the way, "that I could find a beautiful woman to love me?"

Ah. Derek Morgan, that explains it.

"You know that's not what I mean," Morgan argues, the smile not leaving his face. "And now, if you don't mind, I'll be around. Telling everyone. That you've got a gorgeous girlfriend, and kept it from us."

Neither of you have a chance to argue before he's gone. You're honestly surprised he didn't ask exactly how long it's been, but you're sure he wouldn't have liked the answer, so you don't push it.

"...this is great soup, by the way. I love you."

You chuckle, red coloring your face. "Thanks. I love you, too, baby."

[dollfacefantasy]

hiiii Kenny! here to request re6 Leon taking you out to dinner while controlling the vibrator you’re wearing. him just calling you princess and good girl because you’re trying so hard to keep a straight face while he makes you come repeatedly. then maybe he fucks you in the bathroom because neither of you can wait until you get home? 🤭🤭🤭

pairing: sugar daddy!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon figures your dinner date is a good a time as any to test out the new toy he bought you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, vibrating panties, public sex, slight exhibitionism, daddy kink, age gap (20s, 36), mirror sex

word count: 3.8k

a/n: yippie thank you so much for the request! it was right up my alley. i changed it to be sugar daddy leon cause that's what i was feeling. i hope you and everyone else enjoy <33

The points of your heels click against the hard ground as you traverse across the restaurant and find the seat waiting for you. It was in the back corner of the dining room. The same table as always. You pull out the chair and sit down, slinging your small handbag over the right corner.

"Hi, daddy. Sorry I'm late," you say with a grin.

The federal agent sitting across from you doesn't share your look of amusement. He puts the menu down and his hard eyes cast upon your face before drifting down your body. You knew he had a hard time being irritated with you when you got all dolled up for him. Your hair was styled just the way he liked it, your makeup applied with a precise hand, and your dress was the best part of all. It was his favorite color to see on you, shimmering in the dim lighting. It hinted at your figure while still leaving his mouth watering with the desire to rip it off.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that in public?" he mutters.

"Keeping it a secret won't make you feel less icky about liking it," you tease.

Leon chooses to ignore your remark and instead takes your hand. His thumb rubs up and down your fingers, feeling the soft skin. His gaze traces over every little line on your unblemished knuckles. Your hands were always clean, never littered with callouses, cuts, or bruises. Your nails were pretty too, pointy and painted. His money well-spent.

"Why were you late?" he asks and returns his eyes to you.

"Traffic," you offer and shrug, sipping the drink he'd ordered for you before you arrived.

"That's not what Devon told me," he says, "He said you took an extra fifteen minutes to get ready."

Your eyes reach the ceiling with how hard you roll them. Devon is the driver Leon has take you almost everywhere. 

"He's such a snitch," you mumble. You go to retract your hand from his grasp, but he doesn't let you.

"You're not in trouble, baby," he chuckles, "I just wanna know what you were doing."

You stare at him for a moment before sighing. "If you must know, I was putting on the present you sent me," you answer, "It just was a little confusing at first so it took me a minute."

"Confusing?" he asks, the confession bringing out that smile he hid most of the time.

"Yes, confusing. It didn't come with any directions," you say like it's obvious. You quiet down further to explain the next part. "I didn't know if the vibrator was already inside or not, but then it fell out and it took me a minute to slide it back in."

"Alright," he chuckles, "That makes sense. And that's all you had to say. No need to be so defensive."

You smile, and you're starting to relax into the rhythm of how your outings with him typically go. Putting your drink down, you scan over the menu to try and decide what you want. He lets go of your hand and gives you a minute to look over the options.

"What do you think you're gonna get?" you ask.

Upon receiving no response, you look up at him. You find his attention focused elsewhere as he's looking down, fidgeting with his phone.

"It's no fair that I can't go on my phone when I'm with you, but you can go on yours when you're with me," you huff.

He still doesn't say anything which irritates you further. Sure, he was older than you, but he wasn't at the age where texting takes up one's entire mental capacity and renders them silent.

"If you're texting some other girl, I can just give you some privacy because-" you start to tease. You're cut off when the device between your legs whirs to life. You bring your hand up to cover your mouth, trying to conceal your initial reaction.

Leon simply smirks at you. His thumb moves in slow circles on the screen of his phone, similar to how he'd move the digit if it was on your clit.

"So cagey tonight," he teases lowly as he watches you squirm and adjust to the thrumming sensation. "And you know, if I say it's fair, it's fair. All I ask for is your time and your affection. If I let you go on your phone, you couldn't give me your affection, and my time would be wasted."

Even from behind your hand, he can hear the little pants you're letting out. His thumb slows down further, dropping the vibrations to a lower level. He taps the screen quickly and slides it under the table to rest on his thigh. The stimulation was constant on that teasing setting, no longer requiring him to manually operate it.

"I know," you breathe, finally able to remove your hand from your mouth. You grip the edge of the table though. The toy may not have had you screaming, but the consistent buzzing against your most sensitive spot definitely had you a little off balance.

"Good girl," he says with a look that felt almost as good to you as the vibrator did.

There's a brief silence between the two of you. You're simply trying to hold in your soft whimpers while he watches on in amusement. Taking your lip between your teeth, you decide that a distraction would be the best way to avoid humiliating yourself.

"So... how was your last mission? Seems like you weren't gone as long as usual," you say.

"It was fine, honey. Don't worry your pretty little head about that stuff," he says.

His hand slides under the table, and his fingers flick a few more controls. The vibrations evolve to a stronger rumble, killing any further questions before they could even make the leap from thoughts to words. Your eyes screw shut for a moment. Your head's natural inclination is to tilt backwards, but you force it the other way, stretching your hand across your eyes.

"There you go, princess. That's my girl," he coos, "All you need to worry about is keeping yourself under control. You don't have to think about anything else."

He can hear your breaths getting sharper. To anyone else, you probably looked like you had a headache. Or maybe like you'd just heard some bad news. That would've been the case if he didn't have this little toy handy. Instead he gets to adore you from across the table, admire the beauty that seeps from every pore and orifice on your body.

To Leon, that was the beauty of your relationship. He cared for you deeply. He'd take a bullet for you without a second thought, stop his own pulse if that's what it took for yours to continue. But he still didn't call you his girlfriend. You were his baby, his darling, his princess, the only one he longed to be with, yet he didn't officially claim you.

It didn't bother you so much since he spoiled you rotten and treated you as if you were his in every way that mattered, but the state of limbo he held you in weighed on him. He craved more with you; letting you move in, buying you a ring instead of another set of lingerie, cumming deep inside of you rather than on your stomach. 

But with a girlfriend came obligation. He'd have to tell his girlfriend he'd been having nightmares since he came home from this last assignment. He'd have to let his girlfriend know he had an ache in his shoulder that wouldn't go away. He'd have to watch your face fill with worry while his heart sank with the guilt of roping you into his bullshit.

For now, this was better. Watching you ascend to paradise in the middle of this restaurant while everyone around you remained ignorant would suffice for the time being.

He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he'd missed the signs that you were fast approaching the edge. Your chest was puffing more frequently while it looked like the table might snap under the pressure of your iron grip. Reaching over to you, he takes your hand back into his. Your fingers clasp around his own just as tightly as they had held the table. He swears he can feel the vibrations from between your thighs emanating through your blood and pulsing against your skin.

"Look at you, baby. Such a pretty girl," he whispers, "Think you can cum before the waiter gets here? Or are you gonna try to be stubborn and hold it?"

You're honestly unsure whether you can speak without it turning into a moan, but you force yourself to spit the words out.

"Gonna cum."

Shudders overtake you, and he can see the way you fight to maintain your posture. Your body wants to convulse and explode, to let everyone in this place know just how good you're feeling. Your hand is locked on his now. He doesn't think a crow bar could pry you off in this state.

"That's it, sweetheart. Just cum for daddy," he croons quietly, "Let it all out. Such a good girl staying so quiet. I'm so proud of you."

The words make your eyes roll back behind the lids. Your thighs squeeze against one another, only intensifying the power of the vibe. He's shifting in his seat too at this point. He'd been able to stave off his boner so far, but seeing you come undone in front of him was too far. There was no way to prevent his blood from flowing South and stiffening up his length.

"My baby, so precious," he says, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, "I know that felt so good for you, princess."

You lazily nod as you float back down to reality. Your breathing becomes deeper as the high of the orgasm fades into the blissful haze of the afterglow. He even gives you a tiny break and puts the vibrator back on the lower setting.

"Thank you, daddy," you whimper. It was a reflex at this point. Thanking Leon for letting you cum was like day turning to night. One naturally followed the other.

"Don't worry about it, sweet girl. This is what I bought those panties for," he says.

As your body begins to calm down, your hand covers your mouth and your eyes stay locked on the table. The waiter comes by only a minute or two later. You still don't look up because you know Leon will handle this for you.

And he does. He orders for himself and then for you too. As soon as the waiter's pen scrapes across his notepad for the final time and he heads away, you peer up at Leon through your lashes.

"You ok, baby?" he chuckles.

You nod which only amplifies the smug look on his face.

"Good. I think you're ready for some more then," he says.

"Don't-" you start to protest. But before the rest of your statement can come out, he's already boosted the buzz to the higher setting it was at minutes ago. The only difference is that this time the rhythm is pulsating. It's more random. It won't make you cum as fast, but it will get you squirming all the same.

"What was that?" he mocks.

"Shut up," you whimper.

Each wave of pulsating pleasure made you tighten up and press your thighs together which in turn pushed the device harder against your cunt. It was a vicious cycle that had your mind spinning, unable to break out.

"Shut up? That's not very nice, princess," he taunts, "I'm just making you feel good. Think you should be saying thank you instead."

"I can't stay quiet again," you whine. It comes out strained. He can hear the will you have to exert to not give in to the heavenly thrumming on your center.

"Yes you can," he reassures. He takes your jaw in his hand, pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb before rubbing your chin. "I know you can. You're my good girl. You always make daddy so proud."

Your eyes flutter and a shaky breath expels from your lungs.

"I- I wanna make you proud, but... it feels so good," you say, your voice trailing off into a quiet whine.

"Oh I know it does, baby," he coos, speaking as if you were made of glass, "But you can handle it. You can handle getting your cute little pussy played with in front of all these people."

"Stop... you're making it harder," you pout.

"You're making me harder, angel," he jokes before kissing your lips gently. He then lets your chin go, but his eyes stay locked with yours. "You're doing great. This is what a little doll like you is made for, hm? To be played with."

You grit your teeth, but you still can barely restrain the mewl rising in your throat. Your head hangs forward. You use everything you have to stop yourself from melting into a puddle in your seat. You're close to cumming for the second time, and both you and him know it.

His hand goes for his phone yet again, and with a few more taps, the vibe is no longer pulsing. It's strong and constant. You didn't know how it wasn't rattling the chair beneath you. Your hands claw at the wood of the table.

"Fuck Leon," you whisper. Your legs quiver violently, and you're just grateful at this point that you were sitting down.

"Who?" he teases, grinning as you cling to your last sliver of composure.

"Daddy, sorry, mmph-" you squeak as your hips roll against the toy.

"Good girl," he purrs, "C'mon, baby. You can do it. Let yourself cum again. Just stay quiet and cum again."

It's easy to give into release again. The difficult part is staying quiet. Your face contorts in all kinds of ways to try and rein in the lewd noises that wanted to erupt from your mouth. Turning your head, you look at the wall to conceal your expressions from everyone else in the room.

"Hiding that pretty face from me, sweetheart?" he teases, "That's ok. You're being such a good girl by keeping it down. No one's even looking over here, princess. You're doing perfect for me."

The praise is enough to carry you through the high and bring you down without a sound. A light sweat is breaking out on your forehead, and you're breathing a little harder. Other than that though, nothing seems amiss. As you feel the vibrations fading away, you look up at him with half-lidded eyes.

"Still with me, dollface?" he asks mockingly.

Your head bobs up and down in a nod, but it's clear your head is still up in the clouds for the time being.

You're so precious all blissed out like this. It drives him absolutely wild. The strain of his cock against his zipper is becoming noticeably uncomfortable now, and he's eager to get rid of the tension in his pants.

His eyes flit around the room, strategizing routes for the plan that was forming in his head. Quick as a viper, he grabs your arm and pulls you to your feet. He drags you around the corner to the restroom and ducks inside. You stumble behind him, blinking in surprise at his sudden movements.

Your lips are on his as soon as the door is shut and secured. He holds you close in a deep kiss, one arm around your waist, the other cradling your head. He doesn't waste time with niceties and swipes his tongue across your bottom lip for entrance. The two of you engage in a full make out as he walks you over to the sink and flips you around.

His lips attack your neck next. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat to your exposed shoulder. You watch in the mirror the entire time, your eyes still hazy from your previous releases.

"Couldn't wait, pretty baby," he murmurs, "Need my dessert before dinner."

You sigh pleasurably and let your head fall back against his shoulder. His hands sweep up and down your sides, squeezing your waist and groping your hips. As much as he wants to savor you and experience every inch of your body, he knows he can do that later tonight. Right now, he had to be quick.

He shimmies up the fabric of your dress to bunch around your waist and pushes your upper half forward. You brace yourself on the smooth countertop as he crouches down to be level with your throbbing cunt.

Before indulging in the luxury that was your pussy, he teases the lacy outline of the panties and gently kisses up your inner thighs.

"Sweet, sweet baby. Gonna have to buy you a pair of these for every day of the week. Don't think I'll want you wearing anything else ever again," he mumbles.

Finally, he pulls them down and stands up again. His fingers slide through the slick that had gathered between your thighs. You were practically dripping from all the time you had with the vibrator pressed to your sex.

More kisses land on your shoulder and neck while he fumbles with the buttons on his pants and frees himself. Your hand returns to cover your mouth in preparation of him entering you. He lines up and nudges the tip against your entrance.

"You ready, baby?" he coos and rubs your back, "Think you got one more in you?"

"Mhm," you hum from beneath your palm. The sound quickly escalates into a needy whine as the thickness of his cock penetrates you.

It slides in with ease, going all the way to the hilt in a matter of seconds. Your eyes roll back at first but drop back into place to stare at yourself and him in the mirror. His hands migrate to your hips and hold you steady as he begins to pump himself in and out of you.

You're a little more relaxed about your noises now given that you're in the privacy of an isolated room, but you still make an effort to muffle them. He watches you, finding all your little reactions endearing. Leaning down, he nuzzles the side of your head while thrusting.

"It's so cute that you're trying to be quiet," he coos, "You think what we're doing is a secret, baby? You think people don't know what I'm doing to you in here? They saw how wobbly your legs were, they saw the look in your eyes."

You whine at the tease, knowing the two of you hadn't made the most discreet exit. Still, you shake your head defiantly. He laughs at the gesture.

"You're lucky all I have to do to get us out of it is flash my badge or some cash. Small price to pay to take care of my slutty little girl," he taunts.

Your body rocks back and forth with his momentum. You arch your back on top of the sleek marble, gripping the clean edge harder with your free hand. The sight before you in the mirror pulls you closer to the edge with every ragged breath or hushed grunt from him. You just press your own hand harder against your lips in a weak effort to contain yourself.

"You could be completely silent, darling. That's not gonna stop anyone from seeing you dripping down your legs when we go back to the table," he says, "And you know, by the time we head out to the car, I'm sure you'll have soaked through your dress too."

His fingers dig deeper into the plump of your hips. He's squeezing so hard that his knuckles have gone white. All he's focused on is holding you in place so he can keep rutting into your warm cunt without incident. His head tilts back, and he lets out a deep groan.

"You're being louder than me," you whimper.

He chuckles at your comment and responds with a smack to your ass. It echoes throughout the bathroom and makes your face boil at the idea that someone passing by could've heard. To make matters worse, the tantalizing sting draws an audible moan from you. You have to renew your hand's strength on your mouth to keep any others in.

"That's not for you to worry about, sweetheart," he chides, "You worry about yourself. Daddy'll handle everything else."

His hips continue smacking into your ass as he fucks into you. He kneads the flesh, letting his eyes flutter shut to lose himself in the feeling of you for a few moments. You're tight and soft. Warm and wet. Taking each inch of him like it's all you ever wanted to do. He could feel the beginning of the end simmering in his belly, and it only makes him thrust harder.

Your head drops forward, the allure of the mirror no longer enough to keep you upright. Your hand falls from your face with the movement and comes down to further support your weight against the counter. Drool drips from your lips along with the soft noises spilling out unrestrained now.

"Daddy..." you mumble, "Think I'm gonna cum again."

Leon grins at the words and ups his efforts to get you there faster.

"Think? If you don't know then maybe I'm not going hard enough," he teases breathily.

"I- no.... I know it. I just... I just wanna cum," you pout. Defense or reason was too difficult to conjure in this state of mind. You wanted what you wanted and that was the priority right now.

"Go ahead then, babydoll. Daddy's right behind you," he says with a quick pinch to your ass.

For the third time tonight, your eyes close, your body goes taut, and your cunt gushes with ecstasy. You squeeze around his cock and let out a long, euphoric whine. He truly is right behind you, and his pleasure heightens with each second of that high pitched noise. It's no time till the pulsing down below intensifies and he's pushing himself all the way into your wanting pussy. He lets himself cum inside you this time. The both of you deserve it.

Rope after rope spurts into you. It satisfies him deeper than expected, sating him in a way shooting onto your skin never did. He pants behind your ear. Nothing else matters but the feeling of you connected with him in this moment.

After he's had his fill, he slowly pulls out. He takes his time not to make too much of a mess. You stand up straight and stretch out your limbs. He watches you to make sure you don't lose your footing. Then he tucks himself back into his pants. You pull your panties up and fix your dress. The both of you turn to the other, doing a quick once over to make sure nothing was too obvious.

Before heading back out, he pulls you against him again and kisses your nose.

"My perfect girl. Let's go back out there and finish dinner. I'll even let you eat in peace since you were so good for me," he teases.

"Lucky me," you reply with a lazy smile.

He brushes his nose against yours before giving you a quick swat on the ass and following you back out there. Despite the both of you feeling satisfied, he knew the night was only just beginning.

[angelyuji]

yandere rick sanchez headcanons

(obviously very ooc… like im taking his worst characteristics and turning the dial to 100)

cw // spoilers for literally the entire show, noncon, stalking, kidnapping, torture, being kept like a pet, drugging

18+

RAUEIA:ADOBAIDHJO?S{DH*}

canonically big dick like i need him BAD

guys im so in love with this old fucker

season 1+2 rick would definitely just keep you around for sex

the only reason he hasn’t gotten rid of you is cuz you’re a “good fuck”

literally treats you like an object or a cute little pet

“e-eat.” rick places a plate on a table he brought for you. he moves away to type on some computer. all you remember is a green portal in your room and a man you had never met dragging you out of bed. the room you were in was filled with computers and equipment. he didn’t bother to tie you up.

you don’t move, hearing your silence, rick turns to look at you. he burps, “i-i-i bring you some food out of the goodness of my h-heart and you’re not going to eat it?” you don’t answer. “s-s-stupid fucking b-bitch.” he moves over to grab you by the hair and pulls you closer to the table. “eat the fucking food.” you scream, your scalp searing in pain, as he shoves your face onto the table.

s1+2 rick kinda feels like the type to peer-pressure you into a drinking or doing drugs because he can

like he’d definitely force you to some alien drugs just cuz he can or cuz you’re not as resistant when you’re high off your balls

but season 3 and onward??? oh he’s so obsessed with you

let me explain this personality change

by season 3, rick is starting to care for his family so if you meet him after the whole federation prisoner arc of his, he’s more of like a clingy wet cat vibe… like imagine wisp the cat…. guys i lowkey cooked with that comparison

he’s allowed himself to care for his family (even sometimes jerry)

so when he meets you, this sweet, kind, beautiful person. he wants to protect you. he wants to keep you safe from all the shit that happens to the people in his life

constantly checks on you, calling and texting you daily. he always tries to play it off as a butt-dial

‘sdas’ you’re at work when your phone buzzes as rick’s text comes through. you look at the gibberish, roll your eyes, and continue working. 15 minutes later, a green portal flashes open next to you. everyone jumps in surprise, looking at the portal as rick walks through. “why didn’t you text me back?” rick grabs your arm, looking pissed. you look around, embarrassed.

you lower your voice to a hush, “you texted me gibberish? what exactly was i supposed to text back?” his grip on your bicep tightens and you wince.

“i-it was an accident, but y-you didn’t text back and i was worried.” rick starts to pull you into the portal, but you stand your ground.

“rick, i’m working. you have to go.” rick’s face darkens at your words, but he lets go when your coworker comes up to you.

“is everything alright?” she looks concerned and alarmed at rick’s appearance, and he rolls his eyes.

“(y/n) here, didn’t answer my text so i got worried.” rick pulls you into a tight hug and whispers into your ear, “next time, text me back.”

builds you a bunch of stuff to keep you safe like a chip that insta-kills anyone that it detects to be bothering you

that first week of meeting you, he had broken into your house at night and planted a tracker in your skin when you were sleeping, so he knows where you are at all times

during the whole killing rick-prime arc, he was so scared that you would get hurt or prime would come after you

he didn’t want to lose you like how he lost diane and beth :(

“baby, come on, it’s for your safety.” rick pleads as you slam your hands against the force field.

“SO YOU TRAP ME IN A CAGE????” you scream as rick presses a hand against the wall.

“it-it’s just for your protection, baby, i can’t lose you too.”

“FUCK YOU, RICK. I SWEAR WHEN YOU LET ME OUT OF HERE, WE’RE DONE.” you wouldn’t stop screaming at him. morty watches, uncomfortably.

“are-are you sure this is okay, rick?” rick’s face is unreadable as he registers your words.

“it-it’s fine, morty. i just won’t ever let them out.”

rick also seems like the type to have a breeding kink, but like with the no kids yk (this mf does NOT want more kids) (especially after the whole ghia incident)

like he doesn’t use condoms and he doesn’t pull out, because he likes marking you as his from the inside.

he would definitely have a marking kink like hickeys, love bites, collars, anything that shows the world that you’re taken by him

rick’s hands caress you as you struggle in your bonds.

“i’m sorry, baby, so so-sorry.” he buries his head in your shoulder, sucking at your nape. his hands start to pull at your pants and you struggle harder. he pulls away from your neck to leave wet kisses down your chest, “i know, i know, i’m sorry, sweetie. you just looks so cute, so sw-sweet. it’s really not my fault.”

[uhhhj13iguess]

rick sanchez x reader blurb (gn)

okay i fear i've rewatched rick and morty like five times now and I've gotten a little too into rick sanchez fics. sue me.

this isn't written out in a full-on story format, it's too humbling to write a fully-fledged story with proper grammar and plot development about fucking rick and morty, okay, so you get bullet point blurbs

summary: you're a family friend and space beth brings you home for the holidays. you've heard across the multiverse about the asshole known as rick sanchez, but for some reason he's... different with you?

wc: ~1.6k

✮ you're beth's best friend from high school, a version of them anyway, and one day while out exploring, space beth stumbles upon you, and the two of you grab a drink or fourteen

✮ you and space beth go on a bunch of adventures and you end up learning a lot from her, both about the universe and tech. you partner up for a lot of missions against the federation (definitely has a bit of a rick and birdperson sort of vibe to it)

✮ anyways, she brings you home for the holidays to stay with the smiths, and everyone falls in love with you, especially domestic beth (obviously). the kids love you, and you guys spend the whole day hanging out, playing games, and sharing stories

✮ you've heard a lot about rick from beth, and honestly from a lot of people around the universe, but you get an earful once you're in the smith house. you gather upon his 'i'm god' mentality and notice it in the few times you see him around the house during the day. conclusion: rick is an asshole, just stay clear of his path. but something about him piqued your interest. after all, someone who referred to themselves as the 'smartest man in the multiverse' had to be quite the character

✮ eventually, the night turns to early morning and you're all pretty drunk, so everyone starts to part ways to bed. you start to curl up on the couch when beth speaks your name, pulling you out of your haze. she offers you rick's room with a shrug, "it isn't much more comfortable than the couch, but at least you'll have a door. plus, he'll be in the garage all night anyway"

✮ you slur out a thousand thank yous, stumbling down the hallway towards the door she was leading you to. the room wasn't much bigger than a closet and tucked against the wall seemed to be nothing more than a military cot. you smirked as you took in your surroundings, quite the palace for the smartest man alive

✮ basically, you pass out pretty instantly. while all this is going on, rick is tinkering away in the garage, trying to busy his mind. he furrows his brows as his rough hands work anxiously with the metal in front of him, and memories of earlier in the day flash through his drunken thoughts. he took another swig of his flask as he recalled when he first saw you, playing downbeat with the family. your laugh had been the most innocent sound he had heard in decades, and something about you made his chest feel weird. he immediately pulled morty away without an acknowledgment towards you, hearing beth sound a 'that's dad' as he portaled out of the room

✮ anyways, rick gets an alert that someone's entered his room and he flips to his surveillance to see beth offering you his bed, a smile plastered on your face. his lips almost curl in the same fashion. almost. instead, he lets out a belch and swigs his flask again, turning back to his work. he notes how you quickly fall asleep and he lets you be for a while, continuing whatever the hell he's up to

✮ he eventually needs to get a tool from his room and he grumbles as he makes his way into the house, not understanding why he was feeling so hesitant about waking you. he didn't let anyone in his room, let alone strangers. he hadn't even talked to you yet, what about you had him so pussywhipped?

✮ so he opens the door, seeing you asleep soundly on his bed. again, part of him almost wants to smile. what the fuck

✮ he turns the light on and stares at you. he hates people in his personal space. he should be angry. but instead, he's... curious? to have you in here? he lets out a belch, "w-what are you d -bleeuuughgghhh- doing in here," you startle upwards. your eyes go wide at the sight of him and you start to trip over your words, definitely still tipsy

✮ "oh my god, i'm so sorry! i just, beth let me crash in here and said you'd be in the garage, and i know you have a thing about your personal space but she said you'd be in the garage all night so i just didn't think about it. I'm sorry, let me grab my shit and I'll go back to the couch, i'm-" "no, its fi -bleuuehghghh- ine."

✮ a beat of silence passes and you're so confused. "i just n-needed a tool, I'll be in and, in and out", and then he's gone. and he... turned the light off and shut the door on his way out? this didn't seem like the rick that had been described to you

✮ but you brush it off and go back to bed. and the next day, you carry on with your activities until you're met with the sound of rick storming into the house and yelling with a bad taste in his mouth. "what the fuck morty? wh-wh-what are you doing in my room? what the -bleuugghghh- actual fuck do you think you're doing?" "oh jeez rick, I was, i-i-i was just trying to g-grab that thing y-you were asking for. i thought I saw it in-" "ge- get the fuck out, morty. you know how i -bleeuugughh- feel about people in my s-shit"

✮ and suddenly, you can't brush it off as easily. why didn't he yell at you like that?

✮ time goes on and everyone is definitely starting to pick up on how rick is acting towards you. and just like rick, they're all confused as fuck. no one's ever seen him be so weird or so... passive with someone. nothing specific happens for a couple days, but anytime you cross paths, the vibes are WILD and everyone knows it

✮ on christmas eve, beth makes a huge dinner for everyone and you're helping set the table, and eventually she just looks at you with such a sigh and goes "okay, i have a favor to ask. i need you to go ask rick to come out for dinner," and you go to protest and be like ?? why me?? but she cuts you off and goes "listen, I don't know what the fuck his deal is right now, but I think you're most likely to survive asking him to participate in a family activity"

✮ so you make your way to the door leading out to the garage and knock hesitantly, letting out a soft, "uh, rick?"

✮ there's a beat of silence as you hear mechanics stop whirring, and you go to walk away before you're burned at the stake for interrupting him when you hear him quietly: "garage, disen- bleughgh- disengage 'family time' protocol." you step back as you hear a lot of shit being deactivated, like, an impressive amount considering a simple deadbolt would've sufficed, and eventually you hear said deadbolt being unlatched followed with a faint "come in"

✮ you walk in slowly with a light "hey", earning a grunt in response as he continues to fidget with whatever gadget he is working on this time. you walk over to his workbench and begin to let him know about dinner and how beth really wants him out there. "I think I can guess the answer already, sorry to bug you too much rick, beth just would've killed me if I didn't ask," you let out with a soft chuckle

✮ a moment passes and he's so lost in thought, and not that you could read him before, but right now you definitely can't. so you offer him a smile and go to push yourself off of where you'd leaned up against the counter before you hear him speak, "c-could you hand me that -blleugeghhgh- screwdriver over there?"

✮ "oh my god yeah, o-of course, yeah," you grab the one rick's pointing at and turn to hand it to him, and as he reaches for it from you, your fingers graze each other for what feels like a lifetime. butterflies absolutely flood your stomach and overpower your senses. you let go quickly, trying to get ahold of yourself because this is fucking rick sanchez, he isn't going to give the time of day to whatever little crush you're developing

✮ the second your hands touched, rick also got a rush of butterflies. he of course wouldn't ever refer to them as that, but his heart sped up and his mouth went dry in an instant. he hadn't felt this feeling in... jesus, like 40 years? fuck. he needed to get a grip on himself. seriously, what is his problem? you've been around him for all of three days and he's acting like a teenager experiencing his first hard-on. jesus, rick, get your act together. what the fuck is your problem?

✮ you pull back and he averts his gaze from you, turning back to his work. he clears his throat and mutters a soft 'thank you'. you're immediately bashful, smiling at him and turning to head out of the garage. just before you're fully out, you hear him speak up, "I'll b-be out in a minute"

✮ and you smile. beth was right. for some godforsaken reason, you got him to join christmas eve dinner. you exit the garage, almost running into morty and summer who's jaws are nearly on the fucking ground. you hadn't closed the door behind you as you went in, and they watched the entire scene unfold before them. morty's eyebrows contort into confusion, "what the fuck?"

i fear i have so many more thoughts and ideas so lmk if you want more because I am a deviant and a freak, thanks

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOUR

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.8+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

4:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

BIRDIE created a groupchat. 

BIRDIE added DINGUS, NANCE, JOHNNY, & ARGYLE 😎

DINGUS: why the fuck is my name dingus

BIRDIE: so… are we going to talk about how in love they look in that photo?

NANCE: Eddie looks like he’s going to commit a federal crime, Robin.

DINGUS: how do i change my name

ARGYLE 😎: a sign of true love my friends

BIRDIE: @NANCE SEE? he gets it. 

JOHNNY: Is this chat really necessary? 

DINGUS: guys seriously. how the fuck do i change my name?

—

HOUR FOUR - 7:00 PM

Let the record show that you don’t normally care about Lord of the Rings. You’d seen the movies out of obligation to your friends, nothing more, nothing less. You usually held complete indifference towards the trilogy. As a matter of fact, you’d nearly given Robin an aneurysm the day you’d informed them all you preferred the Hobbit trilogy over the original movies. 

Eddie, it seems, holds a similar sentiment to Robin. 

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” he sighs dramatically, sinking into the couch and looking far more comfortable than he had previously. A bottle of cheap beer dangles carelessly in his hand. He’d decided to grab both of you one the moment this argument had begun, “You casually bring up Gandalf, and then you proceed to have the worst opinions on the greatest franchise of all time. A crime against humanity.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely through genuine laughter. 

You were laughing. You were sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch, in his apartment, laughing with him rather than at him. It was a fluke in the system, a blip in the Universe. You tell yourself it’s just the effects of the beer. 

“What’s next? You tell me you prefer Star Wars over Star Trek? Or, let me guess, you’ve never read the books?” 

He looks nice like this, at ease. This hour might be setting the track record for the longest the two of you had gone without insulting one another, and you begin to wonder why you’d never been able to hold such a civil conversation with him before tonight. The two of you might not be agreeing or seeing completely eye to eye, but there was enough agreement to keep the entire debate chugging along. 

He notices your silence as you take a sip of the beer you’ve nearly polished off, smirking around the rim of it, a bit of beer lingering at the corner of your mouth. “Oh my God. You’ve never read the books.” 

“I never said that!”

“You never said you did!”

Your mouth is open, fighting back at the curl of the corners, unable to defend yourself because he was right. “I- Who even reads anymore?” 

“Excuse me?” his voice pitches as he sits up straight suddenly, “Oh, no. There’s no way you just said that. There’s no way you don’t read.” 

You shrug, and his beer is quickly set to the side. 

“C’mon, everyone reads. You’ve got to have a guilty pleasure book.” 

“Nope,” you tuck your bottle between your thighs, and catch the way his eyes had followed the bottle before snapping back to yours, “I just prefer the movies, I guess.” 

“No one prefers the movies. You’re a goddamn liar,” he shakes his head and some of the frizzy curls fall against his collar bones rather than continuing to tickle his shoulders, “You have to read something. Romance novels, boring essays, the news. Hell, even magazines or that written porn shi-” he cuts off when you smile at the mention of magazines. “Why are you smiling like that? Stop it. It’s creepy. Do you read those porno books?”

“God, no,” you laugh. A lie - you’d certainly read excerpts from Fifty Shades of Grey he was referencing to understand what the hype was to no prevail, “Just ironic you bring up magazines. You probably consider yourself a real connoisseur, don’t you?” 

He flushes crimson. His cheeks that had tinged pink from the warmth of the beer are now flaming red. “I have no idea what you mean.”

He clearly did. 

“Right,” you drawl, “So which article in that Playboy caught your eye? The one about the psychological deep dive into what makes sex so great, or the interview with that one porn star? No, wait, I got it! It was totally the one that gave fifteen ways to drive a girl crazy-”

“It’s not a fucking Seventeen magazine,” he snaps, but the malice in his voice is dull, “There’s no lists on how to get the girl, it’s a porn ‘zine, Jesus H. Christ.” 

“I know that, do you?” you press, reveling in the brush crawling its way down the side of his neck. 

He runs a hand over his face, groaning, “I’m not even going to entertain you with an answer. Fuck off.” 

“Do you just ignore all the photos of the beautiful women?” you don’t hold back your teasing, subconsciously leaning his way as your voice lilts with sarcasm, “Ignoring all those bushes? Or maybe you just prefer the Brazilian cut?” 

“I liked it better when we were talking about your illiteracy,” he deadpans, staring straight ahead at his entertainment center. 

“I never said I couldn’t read, just that I choose not to most of the time,” you finally pull back a bit, scared to push it all too far. You pull your legs up beneath you on the couch and move the beer that has gone warm to the table on the opposite end as his, “Sue me for trying to make friendly conversation.” 

You await his expected response about how this was not friendly conversation. You start to do mental gymnastics of a way to bring up the specific model he had marked the pages of, of the eerie resemblance she bears to you and a way to push his buttons regarding it. This conversation was following your script, not his.

Or at least, it was. 

“Fine. I prefer the bush, I always find the lack of hair kind of weird,” he says, throwing you off your game effectively. He stares at you with now expecting eyes, “What about you?”

You’re grateful you’d stopped nursing the beer, or you surely would have choked, “What?” 

“What’s your preference?” he clarifies, not backing down, “On yourself, on partners. Whatever.” 

“I- I don’t- I never-” you stumble over your words, at a complete loss for an answer. It only makes him smirk as he’s now the one leaning in closer, close enough to catch the smell of his cologne concentrated on him. 

You hadn’t realized you’d adjusted the boyish smell of the apartment until this very moment. 

“See? Not so fun when you’re the one getting asked the personal questions.” 

He’s right – you shouldn’t dish out what you can’t handle him throwing back into your face. 

“Fine,” you mimic him, squaring your shoulders, “Bush.”

“On yourself or others?” 

“Myself,” there was no use in being shy now, “But also on, uh, partners. Kind of unfair to expect something from someone I wouldn’t give in return.” 

He nods in surprising consideration at the notion. His face twists as if he’s taking words you’d thrown out there so carelessly to heart, as if there’s some hidden message that even you hadn’t realized was laced in the notion. For a moment, you start to believe he’s committing the words to memory before he answers you. 

“That’s fair,” is all he says. 

A moment of intense thought for that?

“What? That’s all you’ve got to say?” you scoff, and busy yourself with the beer again out of nerves. It’s warm and bitter on your tongue, but it’s better than looking him in the eyes. Warm, honey eyes you’d never really cared to notice before.

“Yeah,” he lifts his shoulders into an offhand shrug, “I mean, what else is there to say? Like you said, you can’t expect something from someone you can’t return.” 

Another silence drags out, and this time, it’s stifling. You never thought you’d live to see the day where Eddie being quiet would bother you, but it does. The lack of words in the air is leaving too much room for thought from both of you. It’s giving you too much time to think on those warm, honey eyes and those damn dimples. Trivial things about Eddie that you don’t care to remember past tonight. 

“My friend collects vintage Playboys,” you blurt out, internally cursing yourself immediately. What a stupid conversation segway. 

Should have teased him about the dog-eared pages, you regretfully think as you dare to look his way. 

His face is surprisingly smooth, eyebrows quirking up into the frayed edges of his bangs, “Oh really?”

You nod, “Yeah. Hell of a lot more bushes in the seventies.” 

A lot less of that model you like, you silently add, once more not voicing that concern out loud.

The dimples return. Those fucking dimples. “Hm, guess I should check them out, then.” 

“She collects them for aesthetic purposes,” you continue to ramble, filling the air, unsure of why you’re even defending yourself. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to dissect the small piece of your life you’ve offered, “It’s… It’s really cool, actually.”  

“It sounds cool,” he agrees gently. 

The other shoe is left dangling in the air, if it even continues to exist. 

You think about his earlier question, of whether you really wanted to keep up a miserable act for the entire twenty four hours. If the last hour hadn’t already solidified your answer, you knew now for a matter of fact that he had a point, even if he did proceed to insult you after the question. You didn’t want to spend this time miserable. The passing of time came easier when it was like this, all rounded-edged banter and friendly words exchanged. When Eddie Munson wasn’t being an asshole and making personal digs at you, he was actually a nice person to have around. 

You’d never tell him that, of course.

“It’s why I collect all that,” he motions his hand towards the shelving of figurines and trinkets, “I just think it’s cool, you know? I… Uh, I sort of lied earlier. Most of that shit isn’t that expensive. But it’s not about how much it’s worth money-wise, it’s just worth a lot to… to me.” 

A glimpse of crimson, a flash of vulnerability that proves that Eddie has a heart just as you do. It beats erratically, and it can bleed just the same. 

“That makes sense,” you offer in response. You may not get it, but you wouldn’t push his buttons on the topic. They may be nothing but clutter from your perspective, but the same could be said about the vintage Playboys your friend collects. The same could be said about plenty of things that are sentimental to you. “Doesn’t it get creepy, though? Like, you bring home a girl-”

“Or a guy,” he interjects, making you smile. 

“You bring home a girl, or a guy, and you’ve just got Gandalf staring you down while you make a move. Or… Or, Darth Vader?” you squint to pinpoint another figurine, “Is that Darth Vader? Didn’t you say Star Trek is better than Star Wars?” 

“Never said that,” he points at you with a tilt of his head, “I just don’t prefer Star Wars over Star Trek.”

“Have you seen Star Wars? It’s way more entertaining.” 

“Have you seen Star Trek?” he counters, but it’s clearly rhetorical as he continues on, “I like both. Having a preference for one doesn’t mean I’m completely against the other. Besides, the light saber effects are fucking incredible.” 

“So you prefer the prequels?” you ask eagerly. 

“I guess. I mean, the original trilogy is still badass and a classic,” he stands abruptly, and you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, but he just walks over to the Darth Vader figurine to pick it up and bring it back over with him as he flings down onto the couch, now several spaces closer to you rather than opposing ends, “It’s kind of hard to beat the ‘Luke, I am your father’ reveal,” his voice dips down to a deep tone, a fairly spot on impersonation, “But it was also nice seeing his origin story.” 

“Plus Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen are gorgeous,” you add, almost daring to lean over and bump shoulders with him. But you don’t. You keep what little space remains between the two of you. 

“Of course,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “The eye candy is what gets you.” 

“And the cool effects!”

“Right. Next you’re going to say you definitely watched for the plot, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And the plot’s name just happens to be Ewan.” 

You bite down the grin that starts to ache your cheeks, because you’re not supposed to smile around Eddie this much. “Now you’re getting it.” 

The hand holding the Darth Vader figurine suddenly thrusts out in your direction, and you find yourself jumping a bit. When you don’t take it, he waves it around a bit, raising an eyebrow, “It doesn’t bite, you know.” 

“You said to not touch your shit.”

It’s a pathetic lie, you both know it. But he doesn’t know how scared you are to brush fingertips with him, how the way his arm being so close has electricity buzzing from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head. One small shift, one outreached hand, and your skin would brush his. 

It would surely be nuclear. An explosion with no survivors, least of all you. 

“Oh, c’mon. You’ve disregarded that rule the entire time, why start being a goody two shoes now?” he teases. 

Which is fine, except Eddie teases a certain way – with his entire body. His knee knocks into yours, he leans into your space, a boyish grin spreads over his lips. You’ve seen him dance around this kind of lighthearted conversation with everyone else in your friend group except you. It’s uncharted territory, and your heart nearly breaks out of your chest from its rapid racing.

You’re just lucky that there’s two layers of jeans between your knees. The nuclear explosion will have to wait for another day.

Instead of an answer, you reach out and grab the figurine nimbly by the small leg. Your fingertips narrowly evade Eddie’s and you’re eternally grateful and his arm retracts. You poke and prod, gently wiggling the red, flexible stick that serves as his lightsaber and pinch at the edges of his cape. 

In your silence, Eddie speaks, “It’s not a crazy collectible or anything, like I said. It probably would have been more valuable to keep it in its packaging, but one time Wheeler brought his little sister over while they were in town, and she wanted to see him out of the box, so I took him out. You know Wheeler, right?” 

You shake your head, inspecting the figurine even closer now. It still looks brand new; you’d never be able to tell that a child, presumably, had played with the ‘toy’. 

“Oh,” Eddie looks taken back, faltering slightly, “Sorry, I- I just sort of assumed that…. You, uh…. You had met Steve’s children.” 

“Oh!” your head shoots up from where your nose had been nearly pressed into the figure, taking in the detailing of the chest piece, “You mean Mike? I’ve heard about him, yeah. Just in passing, though.”

There’s more for Eddie to say, it’s clear in the way his mouth falls open with the corners quirked, but then you’re interrupted by a phone ringing. 

Your phone. 

Steve’s contact photo occupies the screen for the second time tonight, a ridiculous photo of him scowling at the camera in a yellow jumper while holding a can of pringles in front of him, one of his hands bringing a single chip to his pouting lips. 

“Let me answer it,” Eddie insists, holding out his hand as you stare down at the phone, still chiming annoyingly. 

“Were they supposed to call this often?” you ask, knowing well enough that Eddie didn’t have the answer. 

His hand waves in impatience, and you don’t put up a fight as you let him take the phone and swipe the answering bar, focusing instead on the Darth Vader discarded into your lap as he puts the call on speaker. 

“Hello?” Eddie answers in a chirpy tone. 

“How many times do we have to te- hold on. Munson?” Steve starts off aggressive, but his tone melts into confusion, “Why the hell are you answering her phone?” 

“Because I’ve murdered her,” he flatly replies, but his face doesn’t match his tone at all. 

He fucking winks at you. Your grip on Darth Vader tightens until you’re afraid you're about to snap it. 

“Not funny.”

“Not a joke.”

“Where is she, Eddie?” Steve sighs like an irritated parent, in no mood for games, “Please tell me you didn’t manage to make her lock herself in a room again.” 

“I told you. She’s gone. Sacrificed to the Dark Lord or whatever. Just got to go dump her body in the lake-”

You shouldn’t joke along with him, but you still whisper the correction of, “The canals.” 

“Sorry, I mean the canals.”

Another deep sigh. You can picture the way Steve was currently pinching the bridge of his nose at the two of you. 

“I heard her, you idiot. Now that we know you’re both clearly alive and well…. Where the hell is our photo proof?” 

You both share a look, and you quickly mouth, already?  

Eddie shrugs and mouths back, I guess. 

“We lost track of time,” you finally say out loud, still locked in eye contact with Eddie. His brown eyes are surprisingly captivating, several autumn shades all woven together. Burnt orange leaves, red apples, brown sweaters. You never thought you’d be able to see a season in someone’s irises, yet here you were, picturing it clear as day. “Let us hang up and we’ll send the photo.” 

Steve starts to speak, but Eddie’s thumb is quick to end the call. The moment your lock screen stares back at both of you, you look at the time. 

7:41. Shit. 

“Oops,” Eddie whispers as he hands the phone back over, “They really gave us quite the grace period that time.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, quickly opening your damn camera app. “So, how do we want to do this one?” 

Eddie thinks for a moment before he launches himself back to his side of the couch, and motions for you to toss him your phone. 

And once again, you put your faith in him, not even hesitating this time. 

It happens naturally; you both mirror each other, drawing up your knees, your sock-clad toes bumping firmly against one another. Your back is supported by the worn arm behind you, similar to how Eddie’s is, as you face him. 

He quickly angles the camera towards you, sticking a hand out into the frame while raising his middle finger. You don’t know what to do, so one hand holds up the Darth Vader as the other mimics flipping him off. 

A soft click from your phone. The photo’s taken, and you’re not even sure if you were smiling. 

“Trade,” he leans forward, one hand holding out your phone, the other reaching out for Darth Vader. 

You oblige, and go through the same process for his photo. His white socks contrast your black ones, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards no matter how hard of a line he presses them into. You can’t look at him directly, and settle for watching him through the screen as you hit the small grey button to snap the photo. 

Just as quickly as he had shoved away from you, he’s back at your side, watching you send off the photos to the group chat with a thumbs up emoji. You take a deep breath, scanning over the pair of photos until it’s confirmed that they’re delivered, and lock your phone. Your brows are furrowed in your reflection staring back at you through the black screen. 

“Do you really want to keep up the miserable act the entire twenty four hours?” Eddie’s voice echoes in your mind. 

No, you don’t. No matter how wrong this levity with Eddie feels, no matter how uncomfortable it is each time you remember that he’s meant to be the enemy and not someone to share laughter and smiles with, you don’t want to waste these remaining twenty hours being miserable. 

“What’s up?” Eddie’s actual voice echoes in real time as you continue to stare at your reflection.

“Just thinking,” you grunt. The thought of admitting your decision to Eddie is much more intimidating than simply acknowledging it to yourself. 

“Dangerous.” 

Instead of quipping something rude back, you decide to be vulnerable with Eddie. You decide to crack yourself open just a small bit, just as he had done microscopically when he spoke of his collection of items. It’s a dangerous gamble, and you don’t give yourself the chance to overthink it. 

“You were right, earlier,” you force the words out, fighting the way they try to cling onto your tongue and remain safely in your throat. 

“About… what?” He looks distrusting, and for good reason. He said plenty of things earlier - you could be preparing to remind him of any number of rude things he’d spewed. 

“About keeping up the miserable act,” you explain, turning your head to him and abandoning the phone, “You were right. I don’t want to be miserable this entire time. It… It goes by faster when we’re not about to strangle each other, believe it or not.” 

You swear you see his shoulders sag in relief. “Well, yeah, I could have told you that. I did tell you that, actually.” 

“Shut up,” you force a scowl, “My point is… I don’t know, maybe, we could try to- try to just- we could be-”

“Civil?” he finishes the sentence you stumble over. 

You nod, “Yeah. We could be civil.”

The word feels foreign on your tongue. Civility was not something you’d ever considered with Eddie, but the last hour had proven it to be possible. 

“Okay,” he nods along with you. He turns his entire body to face you, knees once again bumping as he sticks out a hand for you to shake, “Deal. We will try to be civil the rest of the time.” 

“Civil,” you repeat yourself again, more sure this time, still staring at his offered hand.

An olive branch. The opportunity to work together to survive the next twenty hours. The opportunity for his bare skin against yours. 

You think again of nuclear explosions and pulsing electricity, of open chests and matching scarlets, of smashing glasses against walls and ruined parties, of wounds healing over in scar tissues as they glow a gentle pink.

Civil. You wonder if that’s one of the words they’ll include on your gravestone as you reach out your hand and let Eddie’s palm meet yours. 

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[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully and mulder moments from s1

the evergreen classic mulder reaction to a terrified scully knocking at his door in the very first episode- how he checks over her, holds her close, and brings her into his room

(and then ANOTHER instance of examining each other for aliens in episode 8 which was wild. if i had a nickel for each time they had to look at each other's bodies for evidence of aliens, i'd only have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but its weird that it happened twice)

him playing with scully's necklace in episode 3, while admitting he feels "territorial"

the first time he calls scully "dana", right after her father dies- which surprises her so much she mumbles her name back to herself- and he follows up by grabbing her face and gently running his finger over her cheek

(and the first time she tries to call him "fox", after he had been awake for 3 straight days on a stakeout, and she begs him to go home- he laughs and says he even made his parents call him mulder)

((still, she brought him a sandwich and a drink- “if there’s an iced tea in that bag, could be love” “must be fate- root beer”))

scully in Doctor Mode™ after mulder got stuck in the fire in episode 12, trying to give him water as he lays in bed, while he gets all emo and pushes her hand away

when scully gets kidnapped in episode 15 and mulder calls her "dana" again over the phone, her first name slipping out in his fear, then he tells the kidnapper "listen to me, you lay one hand on scully, and so help me god..."

(and THEN he tells everyone going on her rescue mission that this is a very important mission to him, so please everybody do their best)

the endless banter: "i still don't get it. what does this have to do with us?" "robbing a jewelry store is a federal crime" (flatly) "thank you."

when he is at an autopsy with scully in episode 18 and makes it very clear he does Not Want To Be There (but she still is sad he won't join her on her next one in episode 22!)

"happy birthday scully!" (pause of confusion) "you're two months early!"

when she finally listened to the psychic to get evidence for a case in episode 13, trying to make mulder proud- "i'd thought you'd be pleased i'd opened myself to extreme possibilities"- only for him to yell at her for putting herself in danger

(later in the same episode she screamed at the criminal, saying that if he did anything to mulder, she'd kill him herself)

((AND their conversation at the end of that episode when mulder is laying in a hospital bed: "why can't you believe?" "i'm afraid"))

the very empire strikes back coded fighting in the arctic compound in episode 8

"you think it's remotely plausible that someone might think you're hot?" (stunned silence. scholars are still trying to figure out what was going on here)

oh, this one made me weepy: "i have never met anyone so passionate and dedicated to a belief as you. it's so intense, sometimes it's blinding. but there are others who are watching you, who know what i know, and whereas i can respect and admire your passion, they will use it against you. mulder, the truth is out there, but so are lies" aka the episode 17 monologue… what if i melted into a puddle? how would you react to this news? how about mulder the protector turning into mulder the protected?

(also, episode 17 had a moment where he grabbed her shoulder and leaned in and i had to restrain myself)

them having hand signals to indicate watch what you say, we’re being listened to

in episode 18, the preacher’s kid tries to taunt mulder with information about his sister and scully tries to shut him down Immediately

they’re looking for each other in the dark in episode 19 while a wild beast is on the loose and mulder finally kicks open the door and finds scully while she whispers “it’s okay, it’s me, it’s okay”

episode 20, when he shows her a bunch of lumberjacks, which he describes as “rugged manly men in the full bloom of their manhood” and he says she should look for anything unusual or a boyfriend among them... and she laughs

scully losing her mind when the evil cocoon bugs get on her, screaming at mulder to get them off of her, while he holds her still and explains it’s okay as long as they're in the light

(and then they sit on the bed, side by side, talking through the night)

when mulder’s friend dies and she kneels and says to him, “you’ve been through a lot… more than I think you realize” and encourages him to take some time for himself

any episode where they both wear big coats (for the snow in episode 8, or the rain in 20) is an instant classic to me

“mulder, you’re rushing me out of the room… is there a girl coming over?” from episode 11... yeah I laughed. and then laughed even more when he was just hanging out with deep throat in the next scene!

episode 23’s “how was the wedding? Did you catch the bouquet?” “maaaaybe 😊”

and who can forget the finale! she apologizes for doubting his alien leads; “I should know by now to trust your instincts” “why? no one else does” (both smile and i, once again, collapse)

there's so much to unpack here and i could spend a lifetime doing it, but before i watch s2 for the first time i needed to make note of the things that especially made me happy or brought great angst to the forefront; i am studying their dynamic and putting it in a bottle <3

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: A Feysand Modern AU

She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a federal prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?

Chapter Two

Masterlist Link

Thanks for your patience, everyone. Here's chapter two! Things are going to start happening very soon. I'm very excited. Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Just a heads up, there were a few who requested to be tagged whose profiles wouldn't let me link them!

PS: Here's the link to the masterlist of one of my other full-length Feysand fics: What to Expect When You're (Not) Expecting

Happy Reading :)

-----

Feyre turned to locate the source of the voice and came face to face with the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

He was tall, taller than Jax, his all-black suit impeccably tailored to the contours of a lean but muscular body. His dark hair matched his suit, and eyes a peculiar shade of blue—almost violet—locked onto Feyre for a moment before the man turned his attention to Jax.

“You’ve been monopolizing Ms. Archeron’s time, Smith,” the man said, arms crossing over his chest, muscles shifting beneath the fabric.

“Rhysand,” Jax sneered. “We were just having a friendly conversation.”

The man—Rhysand—raised one dark eyebrow, moving closer. As he stepped into the alcove, the space grew smaller. Like Rhysand's very presence couldn’t possibly be contained by the shadowy corner of the event center.

“Be that as it may,” Rhysand said, stepping up to Feyre’s side and staring down at Jax. “I believe my father is looking for you.”

The blood drained from Jax’s face, his head whipping toward the center part of the room.

“It seemed urgent,” Rhysand drawled, adjusting one of his cuff links. “And we all know how much my father despises being kept waiting.”

Jax turned back around to glare at Rhysand, his eyes flicking back down to Feyre as he inched backward toward the event center. “Until we meet again, Feyre.”

Feyre barely had time to flash him a close-lipped smile before Jax whirled around and bolted out of the alcove.

Feyre swallowed, turning toward her savior, once again struck by his beauty as he gazed at her, his violet blue eyes searching hers.

“I owe you one,” Feyre breathed, leaning back against the wall behind her, partially due to relief at escaping Jax and partially because she needed to put some space between her and the beautiful man standing mere inches away.

Rhysand lifted a shoulder, taking a step back, as if he could sense her need for space. “Jax Smith is . . . Well, let’s just say I eagerly await the day he gives me a reason to report him to the Office of Discipline for an ethical violation.”

“You should’ve given him a few more minutes. He might have gotten there,” Feyre said. Rhysand blinked, and then Feyre clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Oh, my gods. I—I should not have said that.” She muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. Gods, she was stupid. And unprofessional.

But a soft chuckling had Feyre freezing where she stood against the wall, eyes fluttering open.

Rhysand was even more attractive when laughing. His blue eyes twinkled, and he extended a hand in her direction.

“Rhysand Night,” he said, hand warm against Feyre’s as she took it. “United States Attorney for the Eastern District of Erilea.”

“Feyre Archeron,” Feyre said. “I’m a 3L at Prythian Law, but I’ll be starting at Hybern & Night next year.”

Rhysand's brows lifted. "Impressive."

Feyre shrugged. “You said your last name is Night,” she ventured, arms folding across her chest. “But you don't work for Hybern & Night?”

Rhysand ran a hand through his silky hair, fingers slipping through the inky black strands. Feyre's eyes tracked the motion so closely that she almost missed what he said next.

“The ‘Night’ in Hybern & Night is my father, and I suppose my grandfather before him,” he admitted, and Feyre could have sworn his jaw tightened at the words. “But no, I don’t work for his firm. I’m much better suited for federal prosecution.”

Something in his voice told Feyre that wasn’t the sole reason Rhysand had chosen not to follow his family’s legacy. But she didn’t press the issue.

“How long have you worked as a prosecutor?” Feyre asked.

“About five years,” Rhysand said. “I graduated from Prythian Law in 2018 and worked as a state prosecutor for a year before I landed this job.”

Silence fell, and Feyre drained the last bit of wine from her glass. “Well, thanks for your help,” she said, skirting around Rhysand and aiming for bar. Even as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, as if she couldn't resist a final look.

“Please, let me get you another glass of wine,” he said, following behind her. He kept a respectful distance between them as he fell into step at her side.

Feyre shrugged, even as an odd relief swept through her at his continuing presence. “I’m headed that direction anyways.”

But getting across the room proved more cumbersome than Feyre anticipated—it seemed as though everyone knew Rhysand and his reputation. People were either falling over themselves to shake his hand, eager to congratulate him on a recent case he had just won, or they were glaring at him as he passed, muttering to their companions as soon as Rhysand was out of earshot.

But even the ones who didn’t outright glare, even the ones who seemed desperate to speak with him, seemed to approach him with a certain . . . hesitation. Like interacting with Rhysand was a necessary evil, something they were reluctant to do but did anyway. Perhaps because of his father? Or his reputation?

Feyre made a mental note to do some serious LinkedIn stalking later.

While Feyre desperately wanted another glass of wine, walking across the room with Rhysand gave her plenty of opportunity to network, exactly as she had set out to do in the first place. Rhysand was incredibly polite, introducing her to whatever lawyers crossed his path and drawing Feyre into each of the conversations they pulled him into. And even if the person he introduced her to shook her hand and turned back to Rhysand, intent on engaging him in conversation, Rhysand went out of his way to ask Feyre what she thought about the legal issue or topic they were discussing. Feyre felt herself growing more and more impressed, especially when Rhysand turned all the “congratulations” he received away from himself, emphasizing that he couldn’t do anything without his department and the many interns it employed.

So not only was he incredibly polite, but he was gracious and humble as well.

At last, they made it to the bar, and Rhysand procured two more glasses of wine, slipping a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar as he did so.

“Sorry,” he said, as he and Feyre drifted over to the front of the event center, finding a table to stand at as they sipped their wine.

At some point, Feyre couldn't identify when, an unspoken agreement to stick together had formed between them. She had accepted the glass of wine from Rhysand and followed him to this table without question. Like it was them against the room full of ambitious lawyers, desperate to network their way to the top.

“For what?” Feyre asked.

“Dragging you through all that,” he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “I’m sure that was more networking than you bargained for.”

Feyre shook her head, hair shifting over her shoulders. “It was entertaining.”

“Oh?” Rhysand raised an eyebrow.

“I enjoyed watching you scare the shit out of everyone,” Feyre said, shocked at her own daring even as the words floated into the air between them.

Rhysand barked a laugh, drawing several gazes, the eyes of those nearest to them widening as the United States Attorney chuckled so freely. “You know what? I enjoyed doing it.”

Rhysand smiled at her, and dammit if Feyre didn’t almost swoon at the sight. She opened her mouth to ask him more about his job, perhaps to start figuring out why he was a prosecutor instead of working at his father’s firm, when her phone vibrated in the pocket of her suit. Sighing, she pulled it out, glancing at image glaring up at her.

TAMLIN SPRING flashed across the cracked screen of her iPhone, a picture of him from one of their initial dates on full display. They’d gone on a hike at the Illyrian mountain range about an hour outside of town, and Feyre had snapped this photo when they’d reached the top of their hiking trail, Tamlin smiling in front of a gorgeous overlook, the mountains tall and green behind him, a sparkling river trailing across the bottom.

Feyre hit the power button, setting the phone face down on the table. “Sorry about that,” she said, shooting Rhysand an apologetic smile. “Where were we?”

But Rhysand had gone still as death, his gaze fixed on her overturned phone.

“Rhysand?” Feyre asked.

He still didn’t answer, his violet blue eyes so wide she could see the whites all the way around his irises. “Is something wrong?”

Rhysand blinked, his shoulders loosening, eyes softening so quickly Feyre almost thought she had imagined his strange behavior. “Who was that?” He asked, sipping casually from his wine, gaze slipping coolly over the room in front of them. As though nothing had happened.

“Um… My boyfriend,” Feyre said, figuring it was a harmless enough question. “He must have forgotten I had this event tonight.”

Typical Tamlin. She had told him she would be busy until at least eight, and he had clearly forgotten, or just didn’t care. Of course, if Feyre called him when he was busy at work, she would hear about it for the next two days, be forced to listen to him complain about her “distracting him” while he was doing business.

“I see,” was all Rhysand said.

Feyre asked Rhysand a few more innocuous questions about his job, how he enjoyed Prythian Law, and whether he had any advice for her. Rhysand was just asking her if she’d had the same Criminal Law professor as he did when he was at Prythian when her phone buzzed again.

And then again.

Feyre picked up her phone, sighing as Tamlin’s image blazed on the screen once more. She shot Rhysand an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to take this. It could be an emergency.”

She didn’t wait for Rhysand to respond, instead stepping a few feet away and picking up as quickly as possible. If he called too many times and she didn’t answer, it was just another reason for him to start a fight.

“Feyre. Where the hell are you?”

Feyre frowned. “I’m at that networking event. Remember?”

A long-suffering sigh. “I had a really bad day at work. Can I pick you up now? Take you home? You’re downtown, aren’t you? Probably just a couple blocks away.”

Tamlin almost sounded frantic, more worry than anger seeping into his voice as his words tripped out one after the other.

“Are you all right? What happened?” Feyre asked, pressing her hand against her free ear to drown out the noise of the event. To her left, Rhysand was tracking her every movement, wine glass forgotten on the table in front of him.

“I’m fine. Just need my girl.”

Feyre bit her lip. If she said no… She would never hear the end of it. And she’d met and spoken to plenty of people tonight, hadn’t she? And Rhysand was an excellent new connection to have. Plus, it had been a long day. A nice, long shower sounded divine…

“Alright,” she relented, telling him the name of the event center she was at. She knew it was only a five minute drive from the apartment she shared with Tamlin, so when she hung up, she hurried back over to Rhysand.

“Is everything alright?” Rhysand asked, his deep voice level, almost calculatingly so.

Feyre shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “It’ll be fine. My boyfriend is on his way home, and offered to pick me up so I don’t have to walk in the dark to get there. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

If only that had been the real reason Tamlin wanted her to come home. Because it was dark, and getting later, and she would have had to walk home alone in her heels and suit through the city streets if he hadn't called. But the lie slipped easily across her tongue—it was simple enough, really. It wasn't the first time she'd lied about the way her boyfriend treated her, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

Rhysand nodded. “That’s very kind of him.”

Feyre sighed. “Thank you again, for helping me out back there. And introducing me to all those people. It made the night worth it.”

Rhysand nodded, his expression earnest, although bereft of any of the easy smiles he had flashed at her earlier in the evening. “It was my pleasure, Feyre. Perhaps I’ll run into you at another one of these events.”

“Perhaps,” Feyre said, then stiffened as Tamlin’s truck pulled up in front of the building. “That’s him,” she said, shouldering her purse and backpack. “Thanks again, really. Good luck with everything!”

Feyre allowed herself to look back at the event center only once. Not as she strode back through the entrance, nor as she clicked across the sidewalk to the passenger side of Tamlin’s car. Not even when she opened the door and clambered into the enormous truck.

No, she waited until she was safely behind the tinted windows before her eyes found Rhysand.

He was still standing at the table they shared, wineglass half-empty in front of him, his eyes fixed on Tamlin’s truck with hawklike focus, tracking it until Tamlin turned the corner, leaving the event center, and Rhysand, far behind.

------

Tamlin drove like a maniac through the heart of downtown. Feyre doubted he lifted his foot off the gas until he pulled into the parking garage beneath their building. He was out of the car and halfway to the elevator banks by the time Feyre caught up with him, lugging her bags along with her, trying not to exacerbate the blisters on her heels as she struggled to keep up.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded when they finally made it up to their apartment.

Feyre kicked off her heels, dumping all her bags on the ground. Home.

Now if only she could sleep. But instead, she had forty pages of reading to do for her Environmental Law class, and she had a feeling the next hour would be occupied with comforting Tamlin.

“Just a long, horrible day at work,” Tamlin sighed, striding towards her, his hands wrapping around her waist as he tugged her against him.

Feyre bit her lip as she felt him against her—he was already ready for her. She twined her arms over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his lips.

She knew he loved her, in his own way.

Hadn’t she been the one he called tonight? Wasn't she the one he relied on when things got tough? The one he trusted when times grew more and more trying?

“How are you now?” She breathed as his lips moved against hers, his hands sliding down to her upper thighs. In one swift movement, he had lifted her off the ground and into his arms, pressing her against the wall.

“Better with every passing second,” he growled, lips covering hers once again.

Feyre hummed against him, her lips parting to allow his tongue to sweep in, tracing the seam of her lips before her own tongue tangled with his. Her breaths grew short, and she adjusted herself against him and the wall, Tamlin hissing as she brushed against his hard length. Feyre gasped as he ground against her in return, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of his back.

It had been a very, very long day, Feyre told herself, as Tamlin carried her through the house and laid her down gently on the bed, with a tenderness he only ever showed when he was touching her. He knew exactly when to be gentle with her, and when to give her everything she wanted. It was a sharp contrast to the dynamic they shared at all other times in their relationship.

But here, in their darkened bedroom, the lights of the city shining in through the wall of windows to Feyre’s left . . . Here, Tamlin knew just where to touch her, how to hold her.

And she was putty in his hands.

---------

Feyre broke her vow.

One week after she met Rhysand, she was still doing the same exact thing.

Waking up, going to school, coming home, going to Crossfit, and spending all of her free time with Tamlin and Lucien, who had been present more frequently than usual the past week. And while having Lucien around usually made things more interesting, and it was lovely to have a buffer between her and Tamlin, Feyre couldn’t help but feel relieved when she waved the pair out the door on Friday morning. They had a last-minute business trip somewhere out west, and would be gone until the early hours of Monday morning.

Feyre was looking forward to spending the entire weekend by herself. She already had everything planned out:

Study for most of the day Friday, then go for a walk in the enormous city park before it got too dark. On her way home, she was going to splurge and order takeout, and then spend the rest of her night on the couch, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a book in the other. An actual novel this time, not one of her textbooks.

So after spending a day in the library, Feyre walked the ten minutes from the Law School over to Sangravah Park, her headphones blasting the Pride and Prejudice (1995) soundtrack at top volume.

The park was lovely this time of year—in late September, the summer heat had finally leached away, but the crispness of autumn hadn’t fully set in. Feyre was perfectly comfortable in a pair of leggings and a long sleeve t-shirt, her golden-brown hair tied back in a high ponytail. She set off on her usual route through Sangravah—a three-mile path that took her through her favorite parts of the park. Past the enormous pond, still covered in lilypads, through an enormous copse of willow trees, and past several of the enormous architectural structures that called the park home: the Prythian Art Museum, a sculpture garden, and an enormous temple-like building that sat in the center of another pond, no way to reach it unless you wanted to swim.

For the first time in a while, Feyre felt like she could relax. She didn’t have to be anywhere, to do anything, at any time. Tamlin was hundreds of miles away and she was at her leisure.

Lost in thought, Feyre was about halfway through her route when a man jogging in the opposite direction clipped her shoulder with his.

Feyre almost went flying, the force of the blow sending her stumbling a few steps off the path.

“My apologies, ma’am,” the man said, striding closer to her. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Feyre cleared her throat, finding her feet and holding back a glare. Best not to anger the strange man in the middle of the park with no one else around. “No worries,” she said, and made to resume her walk.

“Miss?” The man’s voice filtered through her headphones. Feyre turned, settling them around her shoulders.

“Yes?” She asked, hand on hip.

“I’m Special Agent Cassian Claret.” He reached a hand into his pocket, and Feyre stepped back, wondering if she would finally have a reason to use the pepper spray she kept with her on walks precisely for moments like these.

But the man merely pulled out a small leather wallet-thing, flipping it open. “I’m with the FBI. Do you have a few moments to speak with me?”

His introduction finally registered. Special Agent Cassian Claret.

Feyre stared at him, her jaw slackening.

Cassian cleared his throat after several long moments. “Ms. Archeron?”

“How do you know my name?” Feyre asked, backing up further, her hand gripping the pepper spray on her keychain, the bottle suddenly feeling pathetically small as she faced down Cassian, who was simply enormous.

His dark hair fell to just below his ruggedly chiseled chin, a five o’clock shadow already prominent on the lower half of his face. The sweats he wore did nothing to conceal his muscular frame—he was taller and broader than even Tamlin. His hazel eyes tracked her every movement with a laserlike focus.

Feyre’s pepper spray didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re not in trouble,” Cassian said. “I can assure you. I just need to speak with you for a few minutes.”

Feyre stared at him.

“Here. These are my credentials.” He tossed the wallet-like thing at her, and she managed to catch it in her sweaty hands, peering down at the credentials inside. It looked real . . .

“Do you have a business card?” Feyre asked, partially because the man didn’t feel dangerous in the way others she had encountered in the park did, and partially because she had a feeling that if she tried to run, he would have no problem chasing her down and catching her.

Cassian nodded, pulling out a business card and handing it over. Feyre examined it, then pulled out her phone.

Cassian waited, hands clasped behind his back. No one had passed them on the path for a very long time. Was it his doing?

Feyre did a quick Google search for the local FBI office, then called the 24 hour line. Cassian’s forehead creased as she held the phone up to her ear.

Minutes passed. She was placed on hold. Then—

“Prythian County FBI. How can I assist you?”

“Hi,” Feyre said, voice shaking slightly. “I need to verify the identity of an agent.”

She provided Cassian’s name. The woman asked her to ask him for some sort of identification number, which Cassian relayed without protest when Feyre asked. Feyre repeated the number back to the woman, who told her that yes, Feyre was currently speaking with Special Agent Cassian Claret, who was on assignment.

“Thank you,” Feyre said, shutting off her phone.

“Satisfied?” Cassian asked, not a trace of irritation present in his voice.

Feyre swallowed. “Yes. Um. What is this about? What could you possibly want from me?”

“Well, Ms. Archeron. We need your help with a rather sensitive matter. It’s best not discussed here,” Cassian said. “Perhaps we could walk back toward my car?”

“I’m not getting in your car.”

Cassian held up his hands. “That may be your choice. I completely understand your caution. But I think if you see who’s accompanying me, you might feel differently.”

Feyre blinked up at him, returning his wallet and card and falling into step beside him as he turned, leading Feyre back the way she had come.

“Who’s accompanying you?”

As they crested the small hill Feyre had just trekked down, a black car came into view, parked on the street alongside the park. Cassian didn’t answer Feyre’s question as they drew close to the car.

Close enough that when the back window rolled down, Feyre recognized a familiar pair of violet-blue eyes.

“Rhysand,” she breathed.

---------------

Taglist:

@rhysiedarling @shedoessoshedoes @popjunkie42 @adreamof-spring @that-little-red-head @witch-and-her-witcher @cinnamonmelody @muaddib-iswriting @queenofdivas

[violetmuses]

Pride - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Title: Pride - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: Armando sees you for the first time in years while running with Mike and Marcus.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @probablyintensemuses @hyper-trash-panda 🏷

======

2024

The world stops.

When Armando Aretas perched this overlooking seat found in that vibrant Miami nightclub, his expression froze. Nothing pulled intrigue more.

For whatever reason, you've mingled with Tabitha's wild crew. Neon lights painted every single corner of the large venue right now.

“Yo!” Detective Mike Lowrey, Armando's biological father, nudges Aretas while looking up. “What's wrong with you, man?”

“Hold up. Don't touch me.” Armando defended himself near Lowrey without thinking twice.

“Either fix your attitude or tell me what the hell’s going on.” Mike warned.

“Goddamn!” Other guests who joined the section cringed.

In that same moment, you finally emerge from your spot and walk straight toward Armando, picking up attention while everyone notices.

“Yeah, go girl!” Tabitha cheered even more and took over music playing.

“What the fuck?” Marcus Burnett yelled out loud this time around. “Armando's a pimp, Mike!”

For the first time in years, you stepped closer and motioned your fingers, watching the very moment when Armando glanced down and smiled against your lips. Spotlights beamed directly overhead.

“Hi.” Time pulled you away from him, but chemistry never fell out of place.

Unexpectedly wearing this Bud Light shirt, Armando chose one trucker hat that veiled his brown eyes. Dirty jeans covered both legs and boots stepped along.

“Hey. You look good.” Offering that slightly accented English, Armando flirted with compliments.

Thank you, but what's going on? I've heard some things.” You stepped back.

In truth, back when you first joined the Aretas Cartel, your only reason to break up centered around Isabel, Armando's deceitful mother.

“I'm out. C'mere.” Armando gestured his own finger and you sat on his lap.

“Long story short, Tabitha doesn't run the show here. I do.” You assert power while facing Armando.

“Thought so.” Aretas nearly chuckled while holding your waist, but Mike reached his breaking point.

“Uh-uh. Let's go! We've got shit to do, motherfucker.” Lowrey barked.

Even Marcus lifted both hands to surrender this debate. Jokes would land more trouble.

Grabbing Armando's hand, you don't even say goodbye before running from this nightclub together.

“Hey!” Upon realization, Mike and Marcus scrambled to trail late-night footsteps, completely ignoring Tabitha.

______

This large-scale bounty erupted around South Beach to catch the fugitives, but you stand near each line of darkness just to protect Armando.

“Ready?” Aretas glanced toward you while finally holding one stray firearm.

“Bring the rain, baby.” You offered this vow and emerged from the alley, sparking hell to anyone who waited in that shadowing crossfire now.

“Shit!” Once Mike and Marcus hustled back to Armando, carnage ruined the neon streets.

“C'mon!” You called both detectives after jumping another car. Armando told you that this stolen pickup truck gave out the chase not long ago.

Given no other option, Mike and Marcus followed your lead, trailing Aretas once more.

*****

Leaving downtown Miami, you brought everyone home with you. This beachfront property stands tall while moonlight casted around the space.

“Are you serious?” Marcus Burnett entered the foyer and revealed awe.

“I have guest rooms around the house. Let me know if you need anything else before we start working.” You address everyone.

“Thanks.” Grateful to survive, Mike stopped holding grudges with you and Armando.

Various federal agencies whisper that Conrad Howard muddled with the cartel for years, but Mike and Marcus would prove Cap’s innocence.

With Mike and Marcus gone, you finally stepped toward Armando and kissed his cheek.

“Don't touch me yet.” You run your fingers along his beard, genuinely speaking up.

“Fair enough.” Armando nodded and stepped away, but he lifted your weight and carried you to the shower regardless.

“Ah - wait, Arman!” Your joyous laughter almost echoed in this hallway. “Oh my goodness!”

_____

“Ooh!” Later that night, Marcus catches you leaving the shower with Armando. “I knew it.”

“Leave them alone, Marcus.” Mike rolled both eyes while standing near virtual screens in your office.

Armando could identify whoever framed Captain Howard years ago.

“Bingo! It's James McGrath: Former Army Ranger turned DEA agent. Tortured before joining the cartel himself.” You finally reveal the monster.

“That's it, ya'll. We'll lock down McGarth tomorrow.” Despite exhaustion, Mike needed to focus.

“Mike, are you kidding me?” Marcus started drama again and pointed to you. “We found our boogeyman, but you'll ignore how Armando probably fucked this woman in the shower?!”

“Shut up.” Mike grits his teeth near Marcus, annoyed once more.

You only set your face down and muffled into this desk.

When you leave through embarrassment, Armando follows your path, though gently closes the bedroom behind him.

______

“Leave by morning. I won't deal with that bullshit anymore.” You put your foot down, fed up with Marcus and Mike.

“I'm not losing you again.” Armando wants so much more, genuinely trying.

“Might be too late if they don't leave my own house.” You turned away from Armando, hiding tears.

“Lo siento, cariño.” Holding your waist from behind now, Armando offered his native language of Spanish and apologized.

Forgiving the moment, you kissed him good night and dreamed of everyone's safety.

*****

By morning, all three men vanished from your home, but Armando left this note on the kitchen table:

No matter what happens next, I will love you for the rest of my life. - A. ❤️

[verycleverboy]

Almost thirty-four years after Donald Trump took out a full-page ad in New York newspapers calling for the return of the death penalty in the wake of the case of a group of young African-American men branded the “Central Park Five”, and a few days after Trump was charged with thirty-four felony counts, one of the now-Exonerated Five took out a full-page ad of his own. The full text follows:

BRING BACK JUSTICE & FAIRNESS. BUILD A BRIGHTER FUTURE FOR HARLEM!

On May 1, 1989, almost thirty-four years ago, Donald J. Trump spent $85,000 to take out full-page ads in The New York Times, New York Daily News, New York Post and New York Newsday, calling for the execution of the Central Park Five — an act he has never apologized for, even after someone else confessed to and was convicted of the crime, the convictions of all five of us were overturned, and we were renamed the Exonerated Five.

Instead, Mr. Trump has often doubled-down. A few weeks after taking out the ad, he went on CNN and stated: "I hate these people and let's all hate these people because maybe hate is that we need if we're gonna get something done."

Even after our exoneration and acknowledgment by the government that we had been wrongfully convicted, Mr. Trump continued to incite animus against me, my peers and our families. In 2013 — over a decade after our exoneration — Trump called the Ken and Sarah Burns Central Park Five documentary "a one-sided piece of garbage," and when asked how he felt now that we were shown to be innocent, responded: "Innocent of what?"

In 2014, the City of New York finally reached a settlement with the members of the Exonerated Five, awarding at compensation to help us rebuild our lives after so many years were taken from us. But even that acknowledgement from the city wasn't enough for Trump to see five young Black and Latino men as anything other than criminals, saying "settling doesn't mean innocence."

Note, after several decades and an unfortunate and disastrous presidency, we all know exactly who Donald J. Trump is — a man who seeks to deny justice and fairness for others, while claiming only innocence for himself.

Being wrongfully convicted as a teenager was an experience that changed my life drastically. Yet I am honored when people express how deeply they connect with my story.

It matters because, while my experience may have been extreme, I have lived through a form of trauma that many of us experience in some way every day throughout our country. My past is an example of systemic oppression imposed by the injustice system.

But the problems our community faced when my name was splashed across the newspapers a generation ago — inadequate housing, underfunded schools, public safety concerns, and a lack of good jobs — became worse during Donald Trump's time in office.

I am trying to change that, by working with so many other dedicated community members to build a better future for everyone, both here in Harlem and across the country.

Here is my message to you, Mr. Trump: In response to the multiple federal and state criminal investigations that you are facing, you responded by warning of "potential death and destruction," and by posting a photograph of yourself with a baseball bat, next to a photo of Manhattan DA Alvin Bragg. These actions, just like your actions leading up to the January 6 insurrection at the U .S. Capitol, are an attack on our safety.

Thirty-four years ago, your full-page ad stated, in all caps: "CIVIL LIBERTIES END WHEN AN ATTACK ON OUR SAFETY BEGINS."

You were wrong then, and you are wrong now. The civil liberties of all Americans are grounded in the U.S. Constitution, and many of us fight every day to uphold those rights, even in the face of those like you who seek to obliterate them.

Now that you have been indicted and are facing criminal charges, I do not resort to hatred, bias or racism — as you once did.

Even though thirty-four years ago you effectively called for my death and the death of four other innocent children, I wish you no harm.

Rather, I at putting my faith in the judicial system to seek out the truth. I hope that you exercise your civil liberties to the fullest, and that you get what the Exonerated 5 did not get — a presumption of innocence, and a fair trial.

And if the charges are proven and you are found guilty, I hope that you endure whatever penalties are imposed with the same strength and dignity that the Exonerated Five showed as we served our punishment for a crime we did not commit.

--Yusef A. Salaam

[anonymous-dentist]

I want more people to talk about how Roier and Jaiden are not besties anymore. If they ever truly were. Everyone’s like “oh familoier, Jaiden Roier and cellbit are such an iconic trio. You got a man his husband and his partner!” But like Roier and Jaiden do not have that connection anymore. I’m unsure if they would even think about sharing to each other about their deepest secrets like they did back then. Plus the whole lack of trust between Jaiden and cellbit that goes both ways. I think the fandom wants him to care so much about her Bc of Roier but like. She’s not even that high on his list anymore and I think cellbit can tell.

To be clear. I would love them to all get along. I would love family dinners. And visits to Bobby’s grave together. And Jaiden helping Melissa with her makeup. I would’ve loved for cellbit to offer her a room in the castle like he did to mouse but like. Even mouse was a stranger when cellbit offered it to her. Their connection is more estranged than a strangers.

I can’t even think of anything that would bring Roier and jaidens friendship back to the bond it was.

And it's absolutely heartbreaking because Jaiden was Roier's best friend for so fucking long. But then Bobby died, and she didn't see room for herself in Roier's life anymore.

She's always had problem with her self-esteem and self-worth. She never really seemed to include herself in Roier's life. She was Bobby's mother, and she legitimately didn't see a purpose for herself after Bobby died. She looked at Roier and saw all those friends of his, friends he quite literally didn't consider his friends outside of Cellbit, and she went. Well. He doesn't need me anymore.

He was the first person she showed Bobby Fields to, and he followed her around all that night trying to protect her from Cucurucho.

But after the wedding, they really haven't talked much. She thinks he's happy now that he has Cellbit, so she's been hanging out with other people. He doesn't need her anymore.

But he and Cellbit were the first to finally notice her missing, and Roier's immediate response was "We need to save her".

But, weirdly enough, the last time they really have had any sort of conversation was at the election dinner in I think August. This was after he spent the debates cheering her on as she moderated, but it was before she really properly started getting manipulated by the Federation via the :) Units (aka the Cucuruchos.)

They saw the Code Bobby and Jaiden stayed by him while Roier immediately realized it wasn't his son and left to get his items from his corpse from earlier. They haven't talked about it since.

They haven't really spoken at all since then. It's gotten to the point where, when thinking of people Roier knew he could count on, it was "Me and Cellbit against the world" where, even just a few months ago before the elections, Roier would've counted her as one of the people he 100% had in his corner.

He says hi when she logs in, and she says hi back, but I don't know if she's seen every building in Bobby's City, or if she's visited Bobby's grave, and I don't think Roier has seen Jaiden's new house or even her new wings.

And it's sad because they were so close when Bobby was alive. Jaiden is currently the only person on that island who knows about his betrayal. They shared a house. I think they even shared a bed on the first floor. She's one of the few people to know about his basement storage system. He was the first person to get to see Bobby Fields, and he remains as one of only four or so people she's ever actually invited to see it.

But the thing is... Jaiden hasn't really ever believed herself worthy of being his best friend the way he considered her his best friend. First, she felt bad about using all his extra gear and living in his house and eating his food. Then, she saw all these people showing up to "save Bobby" and she thought they were there for him and not for her despite them being there for the both of them. She saw Cellbit and thought, well, Roier doesn't need me anymore. And now that he's married to Cellbit and she's being manipulated by the Cucuruchos (and she knows that she's being manipulated, thank you), she probably thinks and knows that she can't trust him with the fact that she's friends with the Cucuruchos because he'll just tell Cellbit about it. She can't trust him anymore, and it's been so long since he's seen her that he might not trust her, either.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Tempus Fugit (4x17)

The Headless Woman’s Pub was crowded wall-to-wall with red-faced employees of the Federal Government who had traveled the measly few blocks after work— despite the fact that it was a Sunday. As far as Val could tell, these people never took a day off.

Before getting this gig, he always imagined the feds drank like they were in one of those film noirs, pulling a handle of whiskey out of their desk and mulling over it after a hard case. He thought being an FBI Agent must’ve been so cool and mysterious.

“Oh shit!” a voice slurred from the other side of the room.

Val glanced over and saw that kid from the Violent Crimes Unit wiping spilled beer off of his date’s lap.

After getting this gig, he realized everything he used to think about the feds was bullshit. 

These were some of the most depressed fuckers he’d ever met. The ones that got the job for the glory would inevitably crash and burn, and the good ones would be haunted by the evils they saw. He couldn’t blame any of them for needing to indulge at the end of the day, but, Christ— J. Edgar himself would blush at the things these people said when they were drunk. He was starting to wonder if there was a single desk in that building that hadn’t been defiled. Though that was nothing compared to the guy who drank himself under the table because the ‘alien-guy’ stole his job. Val still didn’t know what the hell that meant, but he could still hear the way that guy kept muttering “fucking grey.”

“Excuse me.”

Glancing up, he saw a tall guy easing himself in between two people sitting at the bar. “Do you have a tab started?” Val asked.

“No, uh, I actually had a favor to ask,” the man clarified while his hands fidgeted against the bar’s wooden ledge.

Glancing around and seeing everyone’s drinks were full, Val stopped what he was doing and replied, “Shoot.”

Lanky started fumbling around with the pocket of his suit coat, and he began to worry the guy was gonna pull out his badge. They were too damn short-staffed to spare anyone for a twenty-minute interrogation about some drunk guy making a fool of himself after having one too many.

But agitation quickly made way for confusion when he was presented with one of those pink Hostess monstrosities. Ho Ho? Zapper? Chocodile Kazbars? Whatever the hell it was called, it should be illegal to put coconut in anything that was supposed to be called a dessert.

“I’m on a diet,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his comment, the man tried to fluff the pink ball back into shape after presumably squashing in his pocket. “The woman I came in with— it’s her birthday, and she loves these things. I was wondering if there was any way you could ask someone in the back to put it on a plate and bring it out to her?”

Now that was a new one, especially for a shithole like this place. “Ya mean like Chili’s?”

“Well, hey, I certainly won’t say no if you have any sombreros hidden away in the kitchen,” he chuckled, looking over his shoulder as if to make sure his date wasn’t getting suspicious. Then, as if nervous Val would say no, he added, “They don’t have to sing Happy Birthday or anything. I know you guys are busy and—”

Interrupting the man’s rambling, he grabbed the pink cream ball. “What’s her name?”

“Scully.”

Val’s eyebrows rose at that. “She related to Vin? I was more of a Jerry Doggett fan myself.”

The guy exhaled a laugh, but then he shook his head. “No, and sorry, actually.” He spared another glance over his shoulder, and this time Val looked with him. It must’ve been the redhead who was glancing around, presumably searching for her boyfriend. He watched the shy smile that spread across her lips as her eyes met the man’s, and damn if she wasn’t one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her man must’ve known that too based on the nervous smirk that was on his face when he turned back around. “Dana. Her name is Dana,” he clarified, straightening out his tie.

It was common for Val to see men bring women from the office out for a drink in the hopes they’d get some. This might’ve been the first time he’d seen a fella do something thoughtful for his lady. Even if it was a 99¢ piece of garbage. “I’ll pass this to your waiter. I’m sure he can fix it up for Dana.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Dana’s boyfriend replied. Val watched as he slid a five into the tip jar and started to make his way back to the table.

“Hey buddy,” Val called out, causing the man to turn around. “Ya told her you were going to come up and get drinks, didn’t ya?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed with an embarrassed wince, rushing back to the bar. Across the room, behind the man’s back, the woman’s brows furrowed and her lips quirked into an amused smirk as she watched him fumble to retrieve his wallet. “Thanks. Uh, one water and one vodka tonic, please. It’ll go under the name Mulder.”

After he sent Mulder on his way, he watched him take long strides back to the woman who was digging into their shared appetizer. He must’ve said something funny because the redhead started laughing and shaking her head. Val was impressed with how suave the guy was being after how nervous he had just been.

“D-did that man say his name was Mulder?”

Val turned and saw a meek, blonde woman sitting at the bar, not far from where the man in question had just been.

Val shrugged while trying to flag down a waiter, “Yeah. Know him?”

She glanced at the couple over her shoulder before turning back to face him, nervously playing with the cuff of her sleeve. “He’s a friend of the family.”

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@gaycrouton

Happy Birthday Dana Scully!

[cometconmain]

Read all the way to the bottom. Be forewarned that it's probably exactly as bad as you're expecting, possibly more.

Unsurprisingly, climate action, foreign aid, immigrant and refugee rights, as well as literally any human rights which fall under diversity and equity efforts have now been officially reversed, some all the way back to the Civil Rights era.

Congratulations all you single issue voters. You sure showed those pesky Democrats. Hopefully you'll recognise that you helped this happen and learn from it.

Don't give up. Don't kill yourselves. Do not comply in advance. Fight with everything you have. Vote properly at all levels of government and local elections to get people in with even a scrap of chance of fighting for you next time that chance rolls around. And outside of those times, work with your communities to fight these people every step of the way. Work to educate people who fall for Republican lies because they don't know any better. Work to educate yourselves. Find people who can have conversations with bigots and bring them over to our side. You don't have to show them compassion while they kick you in the face if you can't, but for gods sake make the decision to step away and ask people who can take it or don't get hit with it to step in and have those undeserved but necessary compassionate conversations.

I probably didn't (by the standards of those my rhetoric was hurting) deserve to be talked to kindly when people who deradicalised me throughout my life pulled me aside to teach me. But here I am now, changed and better and trying to continue improving. It's possible. You just have to be strategic about it and find people who can do that for you (if you'll get kicked in the face too much/outright be in danger trying to talk to people who have been radicalised to the point of wanting your rights stripped away.)

We have to stop taking a one-size-fits-all-and-if-you're-not-educated-and-perfect-fuck-you approach. It's giving the bigots more power and more bodies. Bring them over to us or they'll keep backing the fascists all the way to the point where they die next but by the time they realise it'll be too late for everyone.

Please. If you count yourself as an activist I am BEGGING you to value your emotions and your pain without letting them sabotage more delicate operations toward surgically removing bigotry. Writing everyone off (for anything short of actually killing people; if they've moved to killing people as individuals obviously stay the fuck away from them; they're too dangerous) is getting us nowhere except radicalising people (and us) further.

I'm not asking you to be absolute pacifists or to turn the other cheek or to forgive people who have consistently caused you harm. I'm asking you to recognise reality is fucked and unfair and people are complicated and the only way to reach them is to send people in they won't attack, let those people do the work, and then don't undermine it in a quest to make others suffer. It's not fair. They shouldn't get off Scott free for what they did.

But you need to think longterm and about everyone as a whole who are losing their rights because activists were so busy being enraged at all the injustice that they forgot to actually fight it.

I'm sorry, but unless you're ready to sacrifice massive swathes of the population in a likely doomed violent revolution against one of the most powerful militaries in the world, the only way you can affect change is by chipping away at your system from the inside. By actually addressing what causes bigotry. No, it's not 'evil.' It's ignorance. It really is. And yes it's fucked up and unfair that you should have to do all the work they demand you do while they do nothing, but it's the only way to teach them.

If people can reach the poster child of the KKK, you can reach your shitty neighbour who thinks we shouldn't kill the gays but imprisoning them for acting on those foul urges is for the good of society. Or the other neighbour who thinks gays are fine but trans people are mentally ill and should be institutionalised and 'corrected' for their own good. Or the dog groomer who has a disabled son and is totally down with disabled rights and thinks trans people are mostly ok but thinks climate change is a hoax and trans people shouldn't compete in the Olympics and segregating the races would be fairer actually because black people 'have a scientific advantage.'

You can reach those people or at least put effort into finding someone who can without being kicked in the face if you understandably don't want to expose yourself to those 'opinions.' And that's how we undermine fascism and make a better world. It's not about letting them do whatever they want while handling them with kid gloves. It's about wading through the muck and wearing them down with reality and compassion until they learn enough to start seeing others as human and then keep building on top of that until they grow up and develop the decency their lack of education and constant exposure to bigoted views has prevented them developing.

This isn't giving in. It's strategy. It's acknowledging they're fucked up and then actually deconstructing what made them that way and rebuilding them into a better person who does care that their 'opinions' may not actually be opinions but bigotry wrapped in excuses. That requires education, not cancel culture as we've turned it into. A scalpel, not a sledgehammer. No one like that has ever learned from being yelled at. They learn from receiving compassion they probably don't deserve but do require in order to learn. It sucks and it's unfair but it's reality.

We have to bring as many people with us as possible at our class level to fight those at the top who are watching and laughing as we kill each other. That's the only way we're ever going to beat this.

[loganwalkerz]

Rorke x Ajax fanfic?? Really? Yes.

Tws: Mentions of death, angst obviously, after life stuff too <3 If I miss anything, I apologise and feel the need to correct me in the comments!

Rorke and Ajax, before Elias dropped Rorke, used to have a secret thing going on behind the scenes of work. Due to their ranks, they knew they couldn't bring it up to the other Ghosts or anywhere near work. And both of them were fine with that. They tried to keep professional.

But the first time anything slipped about their secret romance was when Elias had to let go of Rorke. Ajax was too busy trying to keep his own ass alive he didn't see rorke barely hanging out with Elias until last second.

His first reaction was to rush and help, but as always, Merrick got in the way and stopped Ajax from the most likely stupid decision.

Ajax felt his stomach twist and turn on itself as he saw Elias let go of his partner. His eyes were so wide that a dinner plate looked tiny. One of his hands even held out as if reaching out for his beloved partner. Merrick, though, was snapping at Ajax as he helped Elias up from the edge. Yapping about how Ajax decision almost got everyone killed whilst simultaneously praising Elias for letting go. It's not like Merrick didn't care. it's more he didn't want everyone to meet the same fate that Rorke possibly could, already making the decision that Rorke had to be let go since he was the extra weight. Merrick, unlike Ajax and Elias, was more mentally equipped for that stupid train track scenario.

Ajax didn't know exactly what happened to Rorke over the time the federation had him, but he did know it wasn't anything good. He'd heard many stories from his team about what the federation does, mostly stuff from Keegans' late night stories that Ajax and Rorke used to roll their eyes at together and poke fun of Keegan for. Underestimating and undermining the Federation like ignorant fools who didn't know better.

Yet, in the end, the two both paid the price for their jokes and taunts. Especially after Rorke is taken into the pit snatched up from the water that should've drowned him.

That's where Rorke truly learns how cruel and brutal the federation could be, silently cursing those times he ignored keegans stupid story nights.

But one person remained clueless, that being Ajax.

And when Ajax meets Rorke again by getting held hostage by the man he once called his love, he doesn't really know what to expect. He tried to think of all sorts of scenarios and ways this could play out, tried thinking of every possible question and lies that the federation made Rorke believe.

Yet he certainly didn't expect to be accused of shooting Rorke. It's not something Ajax could do even in his worst nightmares. That was something Ajax always made clear to Rorke. That if one day one turns against the other, Ajax would never fight back or hurt his Gabriel

Yet Rorke was different, and there he was accusing Ajax of such things terrible shitty things, as Ajax was bound to a chair smelling of dirt and the stench of his own blood filling his senses thanks to the beatings and interrogation tactics the other feds had tried before Rorke. His eyes were watery not because of the pain but because of how hurt Rorke sounded by the lies the federation filled him with as he began to just..yell at Ajax. And Ajax could only yell and argue back with no way to properly defend himself in this situation

"Gabriel please..we both know I would never do such a thing! You know me! Why would I even think of such a thing!?" Ajax tried to reason with his now brainwashed and somewhat still hot ex partner. It had been a while since Ajax saw Rorke last, and he only had grown a little and gained more scarring, something Ajax was kind of.

But it was like talking to a brick wall as Rorke gave a bitter scoff circling the chair that he had restrained Ajax to upon capturing him

"I used to wonder the same thing..then I remembered you and Keegan had those secret mini fuckin meetings!" He laughs, but it's not an amused one. It sounds almost sad.

"Where you'd sit in the Sargent barracks whispering, you claimed he was just telling more of those silly stories..yet Elias, oh fucking Elias!-"

Rorke would pace around Ajax like a predator to prey. "Elias always used to joke about you and Keegan, about you two planning some sort.. betrayal against me! Was it ever really a joke, Alex? Was it?" He sneered, leaning down to his ex boyfriends face which was covered by that stupid painted mask.

Rorke rips the black fabric off of Ajax's face, staring down at the scarred and deformed skin around the left side of his ex partners face. The same scars he used to cradle within his hands and sprinkle gentle kisses, too, as the two laid together late at night as the team slept.

As Rorke leans down to Ajax, it brings some old hasty memories back.

It was an intimidation tactic that Rorke taught Ajax their first week of working together. Where Gabriel had started to catch some sort of feelings for the younger male watching him awkwardly stand by Keegan as the other recruits messed around on the training track.

The bitter sweet memories didn't last long, though, as Ajax spoke through clenched teeth

"It was nothing like that, Gabriel! You're smart enough to know that! Me and Keegan wouldn't plot against you! Keegan looked up to you for God's sake!"

Yet it was like Rorke never listened as two of Rorkes men began dragging him back into a large container. Just as Ajax meant nothin to Rorke. As if they weren't once partners who loved each other, cared for each other, and fought for and with each other.

But Ajax could tell by the look in Rorkes eyes that those memories had been altered in some way. Altered to be against Ajax and the rest of the squad

So when Ajax was taken to "destination Charlie," as he remembered Rorke calling it, he knew he wouldn't live long. That Rorke, the man he wanted to marry and grow old: with, wanted him dead. Ajax could tell no matter what he did or said Rorke wouldn't change his mind

Like as if the federation had changed Rorkes DNA and warped all his memories into lies. Lies that covered the love Ajax and Rorke used to share. The same love Ajax used to dream of repairing, and the exact same love he felt dying in Keegans arms.

Ajax felt guilty as he died, thinking of Keegan the way he used to think of Rorke. Staring at him with such love and adoration whilst trying to explain Rorkes plans.

But the guilt didn't last long as death welcomed him with open arms, sending him to his personal heaven created specially for him and him alone.

It wasn't dark and cold or a firey lake like Ajax expected. It was a meadow, specifically the same meadow Ajax used to take Rorke too on picnic dates.

It was warm and sunny, with a light breeze filled of the flowers Ajax used to give Rorke for every anniversary or valentines, mixed with the flowers Ajax sent Keegan for his first birthday away from the team in 6 years. The meadow had a flower, each representing each member of the team Ajax once called his family.

In Ajax mind,It's Ajax perfect place to rest, a never-ending peace where he can only hope that one day the rest of the Ghosts get. Filled of the good times and the perfect memories for him to lay on the soft grass and relax too

And strangely enough part of him wishing the same peace for Rorke, knowing everything Rorke's doing now, isn't what his old commander would've wanted. He knows its the federations fault, and that in another life, Ajax and Rorke would have their dream wedding. They'd live old, and they'd die together.

And maybe, just maybe after Rorke passes away maybe they'll be reunited in the same meadow Ajax is in now, that they'll be able to rest together. Just like they both had dreamed of and wanted all those years ago.

[thatblackravenclaw]

Pen Pals

a/n: you guys know how Andrew Garfield’s parents are British but he was born in L.A. but he still has a British accent that’s not extremely British with a little bit of an American twinge? that’s what the reader sounds like. also, i go by the grades of everyone in the books so Cho and the reader are a year older than the golden trio and a year younger than the twins. 

Blog Details | Let’s take a trip

Fred Weasley x Black!fem!reader (Ravenclaw)

warning(s): british slander bc im a raging american (RED WHITE AND BLUE MF THESE COLORS DON’T RUN BITCH lmfao please believe me when i say im joking), cursing, mention of drugs and alcohol use, tooth rotting fluff

word count: 3.3k

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“Are you writing to that British boy again?” I hear from over my shoulder.

“Yes, and have you heard of personal space?” We erupt in giggles as I push her away.

I close my notebook and move from my desk to my bed. The foot of my mattress is barricaded with boxes. I look around and see my childhood home become empty and filled with boxes and buckets. The walls that were once painted with polaroids of my friends and family from over the years is now back to its basic color of brown that was painted when I was born. My desk is no longer covered with knick-knacks and clutter. The room is just empty. I’m happy that my mom got promoted so my dad gets to go back to his hometown, but it’s going to be hard leaving a place I’ve spent ¾ of my life in.

My mom is a Magizoologist. She came to the United States 20 years ago for a business trip. My dad is a Dragonologist. Their paths crossed when she came to help take a look at a sick Dragon. He showed him how their sanction work and over time I guess they became close because 3 years later I was born.

We used to go back and forth between Illinois and England for about 4 and ½ years before mom decided to just move here. I guess the distance was just a little too much for them, so she decided to move here and now we’re moving back.

I lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s scattered with glow in the dark stars that I begged for when I was 7 and ten years later, here they still stick. I’ve been asking dad for four years to take them down. He always said he’d get around to it.

The air feels dry, and my throat is scratchy. I’m trying my best to hold my tears at bay. I love England. It’s a second home to me. Whenever I’m out for summer break I go to my grandparents’ house in Norwich. This is different though. I’m going to be living there now. The British accent I had when I was younger has faded overtime to an American-British hybrid. I’ll surely be made fun of for it.

Maya lays down next to me. We’ve been best friends since the 3rd grade. Just the two of us against the world. Now I have to go through the rest of university without her.

“Maybe it won’t be bad. The worst part is going to be eating their food.” Her jab pulls a smile to the corner of my lips.

“I’ve heard the food at Hogwarts is actually pretty good.”

“Not possibly better than Ilvermony.”

“Never!” I dramatize the word with a gasp. Really selling it as if saying Hogwarts food is better than Ilvermony is a federal offense.

The dust settles and a silence washes over us. It’s a comfortable silence. Soaking in our last moments together. I know it’s not forever. I get to come back here on holiday, and she can use the floo network to visit me, but it won’t be the same. This is the person who has a key to my house because she’s considered family. The same person who that brings me an extra banana nut muffin every day before school just because she knows it’ll bring a smile to my face. I won’t get that anymore.

“What time are you guys leaving tomorrow?” Her head turns towards me, but I keep my eyes trained on the popcorn ceiling in fear that the tears I’ve been holding back will give me away.

“Early. I think 6. We’re meeting the realtor with the keys at 7, so we need to make sure that all of our stuff gets transported this in one fell swoop since we’re apperating there and apparently mom came up with a spell to have our stuff apperate to the new house.”

“Hm. Have you told British boy that you’re got accepted into Hogwarts?”

“Fred doesn’t even know what I look like. Let alone that I got accepted to the same school as him.”

“HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE?” I slap my hand over her mouth and shush her.

“Bitch, shut the fuck up. My parents are right down the hall and don’t know I have a pen pal. They said it was dangerous because people pretend to be someone they’re not, but what the hell?”

She pushes my hand off of her mouth and sits up. Her back meets my headboard and she straight ahead at the door.

“Do you know what he looks like?”

I nod my head yes before rolling off of the bed. I feel to the last page of my journal and find and find a polaroid of him and his brother George from when they went to something called The Quidditch World Cup. I do a quick look over before making my way back to the bed and offering my hand to Maya. She looks at the picture and you can almost see her eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“He has a twin brother?”

“No it’s just someone he met at school.” I resist the temptation to roll my eyes at her comment, but the attitude goes completely over her head.

“Is he single?”

“Maya!” I exclaim with my jaw dropped. “What? You can have a twin and I can’t?”

“Oh hush. You said yourself that you don’t even date white boys.”

“That was before I saw this one. Besides, he’s a ginger so he’s exempt from that statement.”

“I’m really going to miss you Maya.” We make eye contact for the first time in a while and her eyes soften.

“I’m gonna miss you too Angel.”

She looks down at her watch and tells me that it’s fifteen minutes to ten meaning it’s almost curfew. We share one last tearful goodbye as she walks out of my bedroom door for the last time.

.          .          .

Sure enough, at 5:45 my dad woke me up and told me it was time to get ready to leave. I had taken one last look around my room and made my way downstairs to meet my mother so we could all leave. Right as the clock struck 6, my parents let me grab the powder and be the first to see our new home.

I stood in the foyer and tried to convince myself that it isn’t the best house I’ve ever seen. It’s got a cottage core vibe going on, on the outside. It’s cozy, but big enough for all of us. I wanted so badly not to like it. We went to the backyard and there’s a small river filled with a family of ducks. To the right there’s something that looks like a shack, but bigger. My parents then explained to me it’s my own apartment. That’s when the smile broke across my face. I was finally getting my own space.

The house tour didn’t last long due to the tight schedule we are on. I ended up just waving my wand and letting the magic unpack my stuff as we were right back in the fireplace. Why? Because tomorrow is the first day of school and I have not done any school shopping. The stuff on the list differs a little bit from the shopping list we had for Ilvermony so dad thought it best to wait until we got here. We had to go to Diagon Alley anyway for everyone to open up a bank account.

Now, I’m standing in Madam Malkin’s getting measured for everything. Once I’ve been basically poked and prodded all over my body with clothes pins, I stare out the window and watch everything and everyone pass by. As if someone had played a slow potion button, I see a whole family of red heads walk down the cobblestone and sure enough one of them is Fred. I snap my head down and try to cover my face with my hair. I don’t know why I did that. Once again, he has no idea what I look like.

“All done. You can step down now.” I look over to Madam Malkin and grab my uniform and robe out of her hands. I thank her and rush out the door. Thankfully my parents are done with their list too so we decide to go home.

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The next 18 hours go by quick. I didn’t get a chance to really enjoy my apartment or decorate it due to packing up my trunk since we once again left early in the morning for transportation.

The train ride was painfully boring. No one told me how long it is from England to Scotland. I sat with some mundane people whose names I don’t remember. They were also half asleep and exchanged pleasantries only out of politeness. We bought some stuff off of the trolley and then went back to our own worlds.

At one point it became a little suffocating and I needed to pee so I got up and started walking through the cars when I heard a “Have you heard from her yet, Fred,”. I had stopped before becoming visible to their compartment. He told them no and that he was a little worried. That’s when I remembered that Maya distracted me so I never got to finish the letter.

At the moment, I’m standing at the front of the line of 1st years because I’m new as well but I’m older so I get to get sorted first. My hood is up and I’m looking at the ground, suddenly interested in my shoes. Professor McGonagall informs everyone that I’m a new student from the American wizarding school and I feel my face heat up, knowing the amount of comments I’m about to get from everyone.

She calls my name and I carefully walk up the stairs. At this point my hood is still up so no one has gotten a clear view of my face. I want to do a big reveal of sorts. I sit down and let the hood slide from off of my head. There’s gasps from all across the hall. Some whistles from a few guys. Whispers from a few girls. A handful of people conveyed nonchalant expressions which I greatly appreciate over being fawned over. My eyes gravitate toward the Gryffindor table and I catch Fred already looking at me. His friends are nudging him with an elbow while also looking at me. I guess that answers the question of if he told his friends about me or not. I can’t decipher how he feels, but the adoration on his face calms my nerves enough.

I break our eye contact to look back down at the floor as not to fall off of the stool. I make haste to the Ravenclaw table. I greet everybody and they instantly start asking questions. I laugh as I can’t understand them all at once, but it’s funny hearing them squabble like seagulls. A hand is placed over mine and I look in the direction of where it came from. A beautiful Asian girl gives me a small smile.

“Hi y/n, my name is Cho.” I return the smile and tell her that it’s nice to meet her. A silence washes over the table. I become befuddled and look around to distinguish if I did or said something wrong.

“I thought you were American?” Someone says from the other side of the table. I don’t catch sight of who said it, but respond, nonetheless.

“I am. Well, I’m half. My mom is American and my dad is British. I was born in Manchester but was raised in America.”

An understanding nod is shared amongst the table in hearing vicinity and the conversation ceases as someone else is sorted into Ravenclaw.

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After dinner the prefects give the first years a quick tour of the castle and show them to their houses. Cho snuck me with the other 5th years. I’m thankful as I far from want to be touring the castle with a bunch of children. Besides, I have a map of the school and I’ve created a spell that can bewitch the map to help me find my classes.

We make our way up the many staircases and are faced with a large door with an Eagle head as the knocker.

“The only way to enter the common room is by answering a riddle. If you get it wrong, then you have to stand here until someone else comes and says the correct answer or until someone from the inside opens the door.” She says to me. I nod my head in understanding.

“Wanna try it?” Another Ravenclaw asks me. A male. I believe his name is Talbott. I nod my head again and step closer to the door.

“When young, I am sweet in the sun. When middle-aged, I make you gay. When old, I am valued more than ever. What am I?” The voice bellows as the Eagle moves its beak. It shakes my core a little bit.

I look around at the other Ravenclaws. Some with quizzical brows. Some with a knowing look. Others just looking and awaiting my answer. The answer would have caught me up if it weren’t for the last clue; “When old, I am more valued than ever.”

“Wine.” There’s a click sound as if unlocking a lock, and the door slowly opens. Smalls cheers are shared as we walk in.

I’m stuck at the entrance of the threshold inside by the sight in front of me. It’s probably the most gorgeous room I’ve ever seen. The ceiling is coved and gives the illusion of a clear night sky. Stars litter the ceiling and give off the effect of actual twinkling. A blue velvet couch sits in front of a fire, with matching chairs on either side. What really catches my attention is the enormous statue of Rowena Ravenclaw in front of a bookcase. We never had anything like this at Ilvermony. Our emblem was a serpent and we would just have those displayed in various parts of the common room. I watch as everyone goes to various parts of the room while some go behind the bookcase. Cho grabs my hand and also brings me behind the staircase. She shows me that behind this staircase is where the dorms and bathrooms are. I follow her up the staircase and to a dorm. The rooms inferior to the common room but not any less gorgeous. The beds align with the wall as each dorm is in the shape of a tower.

“I see you got the middle bed. Seems fitting as you’re new.” No malice in her tone, though I can see in some way it might have seemed like it.

I sit on the bed and exhale. Truly exhale. This whole journey has been happening too fast. Now that I’m sorted into a house, everything else seems easy. I went over my schedule with Cho and we have all the same classes except Defense Against The Dark Arts. I guess I’ll survive one class without her.

“Well come on lazy bones.” A different girls says to me. Anastasia I believe.

“What?” I sit back up and ask with pure curiosity.

“It’s time to get ready for the party.”

“What party?”

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The beginning of the year party. The party where everybody gets blacked out and regrets it in the morning since we start classes at 8 am.

I believe I heard someone earlier yell about flower. A Hufflepuff I believe. I had put on the sluttiest thing I owned and made my way down to the party with everyone else. None of us wear heels, as not to be caught by the caretaker.

The party is in full swing when we open the door the ballroom. The lights are dimmed, but the strobes of light are pungent. We barely make it to the drink table without bumping into everyone on the way. At the drink table is a tall red head with another tall read head which I can only assume is me about to be dealing with the consequences of my own actions.

“Excuse us,” Cho exclaims at the two while trying to push our way to the punch bowl. They look our way and go to move but freeze when they set their eyes on me.

“Y/n?” Fred asks/yells.

“In the flesh,” I yell back.

His smile reaches his eyes as he pulls me in a hug. My face in brought into an awkward place where it’s not quite his chest but not quite his stomach either. I wrap my arms around his middle and hug him back. He smells like cinnamon. I welcome in the scent as we hug for a few more seconds. I can only imagine what Cho is thinking right now.

We pull back at the same time and he begins to speak again. I can’t really hear him over the noise of the ballroom. I look in the direction of the entrance of the room and point to it. He nods his head and we walk towards it, hand in hand.

The door closes behind us but we still stood with our hands intwined.

“Pen pals for 4 years and you didn’t tell me you were transferring.” He exclaims while keeping his voice down.

“I wanted to surprise you.” I say sheepishly.

“Considered me surprised.” He smiled no longer reaches his cheeks but its more somber.

We hear footsteps coming from the far end of the corridor. He pulls me and we start running. I don’t know where we’re going but I trust him. A giggle threatens to out my mouth as we are going up the maze of stairs.

After what feel like forever, we make it to the floor that the Ravenclaw tower is on. I see that Gryffindor is also on this floor. In the middle of both is a spiral staircase. Great. More stairs. He leads us up to a room that looks like a classroom with multiple astronomy tools and an openness to the outside.

“Welcome to the Astronomy classroom.” I unknowingly let go of his hand as I look around in amazement. There’s a celestial sphere with all the constellations on it. A fancy telescope by the balcony. It’s quite literally the Ravenclaw common room in classroom form.

“Gods, this place is gorgeous.” I walk onto the balcony and stare up at the sky. All the stars twinkle and the moon is full.

“As are you.” I turn my body around and face him. He walks up next to me without breaking eye contact.

“Not a disappointment, am I?”

“Only a little. I expect more of an American accent.” I laugh at this before looking down at my shoes.

“You and everyone else. It’s there a little bit with certain words and phrases.”

.          .

I sit on the ledge and we talk for a bit. Not much to tell considering I know almost everything about him and vice versa. We talk about school and the people here which eventually leads to the topic of dating.

“Anyone here you fancy yet?”

“You could say that.” I look into his eyes and see if he’s able to read in between the lines.

He leans in and I hear my breath hitch. My fingers grip the railing. His eyes jump to my lips and back to my eyes.

“Who is it?” We both know.

“He’s in Gryffindor. Tall red head with freckles. His brothers are also in Gryffindor.” We inch closer.

“I might know him. What’s his name?” 3 inches apart.

“Ron.” He rolls his eyes at the answer with a chuckle.

“Shut up,” and then he kissed me.

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Fred Masterlist | United Kingdom

[biryukzlodei-artblog]

Today I was at a vet clinic. On the line together with me was an old mute man with a 5-6 months black kitty. That kitty cried in his cat carrier for the entire hour till got to see the vet. I don’t know what health problem this little cat had but the old man decided to put him to sleep. After 30 minutes doctor brought out a small black bag. I thought the little guy was tired, scared and wanted to run around and not sit in his carrier the last hour of his life. This was really fucking sad.

And the hysterical Democrats, ready to commit suicide because their candidate lost a pointless election are just fucking drama queens who understand no shit about real politics. And these people believe they deserved the right to rule while they can’t hold a simple defeat. “Everything must be how I want or it’s the end of the world and I wish the opposite side to die!” is a position of infantile whimsical child. True, it’s a lot of such kind of people from any political side and ideologies.

I saw a lot of them for my life. All these 50-60 year old ex-soviet men who couldn’t accept the fall of the USSR and still dreaming to return it back, hating on literally anything what modern Russian Federation state does and blocking everyone arguing with them in the internet, sitting in their echo chambers and jerking off to each other about how smart, great and understanding they are.

Funny but Russian liberals are not different from them also. Only their golden dream is to sell Russia to the West again, ruling here under US patronage and carry out mass repressions against those who would dare to be against them. Unironically they call it "the beautiful Russia of the future". Sick hypocritical bastards.

And both of those groups are sincerely wondering why majority of society refuses to support them. For themselves they explain it accusing the Russian common people of stupidity, barbarism, brainwashing and submits to the regime. So no different behavior from westerner dems who blames all who are not supporting them to be Nazis, phobes, racists etc.

And you know, for a long time in the Russian society lived a myth that its Russian democrats are “not real one, losers and morons” and on the West lives “real democrats” who are “really cares about their people”. Kek. Well, turned out that they are all the same.

Your liberalism brand is not selling. Out of US/UK/EU nobody give a fuck about gay rights, pronounce, 72 genders and other attributes of woke culture. Nobody considering it to be any “freedom” but rather what is already used as tool for oppression and coercion. Here on tumblr echo chamber you can deny it how much you want but the world (real one and not just western civilization) are so fed up with your woke bullshit that they are moving towards the East (Russia/China). And unlike you, Westerner politics are feeling how dominating chairs are already shaken under their old butts.

Trump is just a rebranding approved by deep state. Russia has already become a new and attractive stronghold of conservative values. Why immigrate in the West, where you will be forced to kneel before a black man and swear loyalty to LGBT, and where your child can undergo gender reassignment surgery without your consent when you can immigrate to Russia and just work there without all the above? This is already happening. People who want to create are coming to Russia, those who want to live on benefits are going to the West. Do I need to explain the dangers that this brings? Current situation is bad for Russia because for a while the West will again become a more attractive place for immigration, and once again undecided countries will begin to waver in their choice of sides.

Anyway, nothing will change. Trump and his team will make a façade but behind it all will remain the same in the Western society. Dems left over themselves lots of shit and bad decisions, they will blame all the consequences on the Republican Party and return triumphantly at the next election, when the common people will begin to obediently hate the Reds, as always.

Here is a bit of the realpolitik for you. And ideologies are for the dummies to manipulate them better.