#but no one moved to correct them because legally

[bnhaobservation]

It might totally be I'm failing to understand you and for this I apologize. English isn't my mother tongue and sometimes I just fail to understand something because it doesn't litterally translate well. My bad.

I think when I talk of the conclusion I mean the end of the story while you might mean the moral/message of the story? Please, correct me if I'm wrong.

Now, one of the parts I don't like about BNHA ending which might also be related to what you're saying is that Horikoshi seems to believe that since people were now inspired by Midoriya to extend a helping hand (and Uraraka 'fixed' the Quirk counseling program), this basically caused (almost) everyone to become nice and so the conditions for the birth of the League, Villains in general and whater else is wrong in the world, while not completely disappearing dropped drastically.

I don't want to defend this part because for me it feels a lot more unbelievable than the existance of Quirks but, according to Horikoshi, this is what we get thanks to Midoriya punshing Tomura to death, a magically better world were Villains are disappearing and Heroes have free time to devote to help with Quirk counseling which, supposedly, should help decrease the chance of Villains to have birth even more.

It's also so poorly explained it seems to come out of nowhere. Just showing us that an old woman who didn't help Tomura now, inspired by Midoriya, helped Terumoto Kōki so that he didn't become a Villain so now Heroes will have time to kill because the Villain rate will drop as everyone else will become a Hero to someone else, is such a poor leap the story falls face flat on the ground.

I mean, it's surely nice everyone will be willing to help someone in need, and this would indeed cause a drop in the creation of those Villains who had birth because mistreated by society but... I just can't believe in this sudden spread of niceness as if it were an epidemic merely caused by Midoriya doing his best to murder Tomura.

I might be missing some cultural context but not only I don't find what Midoriya did a good reason to inspire niceness, but it feels like people have a hive mind or are too easily influenced.

The saving of Terumoto seems coincidental, not the representation of something that is happening on a grand scale so that we won't have anymore kids like Tomura.

So well, according to Horikoshi no, the conditions that led to the rise of the League of Villains don't exist anymore and Tomura is all happy now because a Hero for the Villains isn't needed anymore...

... but the way this gets constructed is simply horrible as far as I'm involved.

To me, more than Horikoshi offering a solution to the societal problems he showed, it feels like he's using a magic wand to magically make them disappear (it's not even the first time he does so, Enji's wish for atonement was also poorly constructed, but it's still more believable than the niceness virus hitting the world thanks to an inpiring murder).

I wouldn't really use as an example what the legal system would do with Enji for what he does to his kids because from what I could find:

in Japan parents were banned from physically punishing children following several fatal cases of abuse dealt out in the name of discipline solely in 2019, so way after BNHA started, meaning that when Horikoshi planned Shouto's past, hitting him wasn't a crime.

Despite parents being banned from physically punishing children in 2019… by the time BNHA ended there were no penalties for offenders and the biggest action that could be taken was to move the children away from the abuser... which happened solely if the children were assumed to be in a life threatening situation.

Abusive training is still not a crime, it's just 'not encouraged anymore' and what Shouto goes through can very well fall into the definition.

Leaving your children unattended is still legal so what happened to Touya can't be used against Enji. It didn't matter Touya was 4 when he started burning himself, his parents weren't obliged to look after him and a 2023 attempt at banning parents and others from leaving children of third-year elementary school age and below alone unsupervised was met with harsh criticism nationwide.

No one is obliged to report abuse.

Proving abuse is hellish hard in all the world but especially so in Japan.

I've read plenty of webs spending many pretty words on what's abuse in Japan which is great... too bad that the words spent at defining it weren't used to address what to do against it beyond giving a talk to the abuser and taking away his kids if they risk to die.

Said this, I'm not Japanese so I might have missed something even if I spent a lot of time searching because WHY making something illegal if there's no punishment for who does it but really, I couldn't find anything worth of note. I guess since in Japan social stigma is a big deal, they might have thought this would be a fitting punishment for an abuser, along with the loss of his victim.

It's worth to note I think BNHA also criticizes Enji’s behavior, Enji himself admits he was wrong in doing what he did, we've various instances of the story saying abusing children is bad, so of course far from me saying someone can't criticize it. I criticize it myself.

I just don't expect Horikoshi to slam Enji in jail when that's not what his country would do.

As for preventing abuse... I'm not Japanese, but maybe Japanese people is really that sensible to the education and awareness campaigns that are being done in Japan so that Enji just represents a guy who did what he did BEFORE the ban on corporal punishment and the prevention campaigns that now are implemented and that will stop any other Japanese father from becoming an abuser so Horikoshi didn't felt like implementing anything else to stop abuse beyond his 'now everyone is willing to help others thanks to being inspired by Midoriya' plan. -_-

I don't really know.

I don't want to defend the ending of the story because for me it's really poor in way too many ways, and while I didn't expected Horikoshi to change his country's laws to send Hawks and Enji in jail as many expected and demanded... well, the messages BNHA ended up proposing felt wrong to me.

I'm just STRONGLY against the whole 'killing=saving' message so killing is overall okay and way more than the Hawks kills Jin scene, I have plenty of complains for how the Heroes deliberately tried to kill Tomura while he was in the tube and, when they assumed he was dead, didn't try to give him first aid or something. They really, as a whole, went for the kill of a man who was completely helpless.

It's not just Hawks, it's the Heroes, and the story not only doesn't view it as bad, but even insists that's how Midoriya, the teen who's also the main character and the role model for the reader, has to see things until Midoriya finally kills the AFO possessed Tomura and becomes the greatest Hero.

I've been watching manga/anime by plenty of time, I've seen teen main characters kill in their own stories and agree with the killing but, as far as I'm involved, BNHA handled the whole thing badly which is a pity sonsidering the story seemed to promise much more.

From what Horikoshi said though, it seems that promise just wasn't meant to be there. Pity.

okay but even if we cop out* by accepting the argument that BNHA reflects different cultural values and that certain critiques of it are therefore not valuable/inappropriate, BNHA still completely fails from a writing standpoint as well. the things that get handwaved as cultural relativism in the ending were presented as unambiguously bad things at earlier points in the story (Endeavor’s abuse of his family, Hawks’s extrajudicial murder of Twice.) looking at their minimal at best impact on the ending, these things may as well have not happened at all. from a writing/craft standpoint, what was the point of raising those issues earlier in the story and making a big deal out of them at the time? was it to fill space? what was the point of those fairly significant storylines if they didn’t affect the outcome even slightly? why make a big gesture of waving chekhov’s gun around only to put it back?

BNHA can be a cultural artifact, sure. And it can be a shining example of bad writing at the same time.

*I personally see this as a cop-out. That is a personal viewpoint. I am not criticizing people who accept this viewpoint, just stating my own opinion.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

1-800-CALL ME, FAKE FIANCÉ

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (part of my fake!fiancee series, but can be read as a standalone) summary: the fbi agent you met at the bar helped you out of a jam so you decide to pay him a visit at work. warnings | a/n: unhinged reader, rossi being a lil instigator, reader has no shame in her game at ALL & makes the first move, the usual banter & chem, channelling all the rom-com feels word count: 3.3k

✧ masterlist

It had been a week since your little fake fiancé fiasco, and while it had been enough to satisfy your mob group of fake friends and stop them from asking questions, it wasn’t enough to satisfy your questions.

Because now, you were curious – dangerously so.

You couldn’t concentrate on much else. It was ridiculous. Absurd. Completely unnecessary. And yet…

You had googled him.

You had googled Aaron Hotchner.

And oh boy did you find things.

FBI Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. Head of some ultra-serious-sounding department in behavioural analysis. There were articles. Court cases. Mentions of serial killers – plural. You even found a grainy news clip of him giving a statement outside a police station, looking all important and broody.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there were forums. Entire internet threads dedicated to the man. Debates on how often he smiled. Speculation on his past. A truly unhinged corner of the internet where a small but passionate group of people seemed convinced he had once been a male model.

You may or may not have spent a questionable amount of time scrolling through that last one.

But none of this answered the real question: why did an FBI Unit Chief go along with your ridiculous fake fiancé charade without hesitation? That was not normal federal agent behaviour. You were pretty sure actual government employees had policies against indulging unhinged strangers.

Which led you here. More specifically in the FBI headquarters parking lot.

Okay, you were actually insane. But you had good intentions. Intentions of thanking him properly for the night of madness he had endured.

So, you had baked him cookies. Because, according to your mother, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – which was a wildly inappropriate saying to be applying to an FBI agent, but here you were.

You took a deep breath, staring up at the intimidating glass doors, clutching your box of cookies like it was a ticking time bomb. This was fine. Completely normal. People brought cookies to law enforcement all the time… right?

Swallowing your nerves, you marched inside, heels clicking against the polished floor as you approached the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind the counter barely glanced up as she typed away at her computer.

“Hi! Uh, could you do me a favour and give these to an Aaron Hotchner?” you asked, setting the box down with a nervous smile. “He’s, um, Unit Chief of something very official and serious, which I’m sure you already know, but I just wanted to thank him because he helped me out of a situation – not like a legal situation, nothing weird, I’m not a criminal or anything – oh my God, that sounded suspicious –”

The receptionist finally looked up, blinking slowly. “Ma’am?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving a hand. “I mean, technically, everyone is a criminal in some way, right? Like, who hasn’t jaywalked or taken a pen from a bank? Oh my God, I’m not confessing to anything, I just –”

“Ma’am,” the receptionist interrupted, her voice flat. “Are you delivering something, or…?”

“Wow, you guys are really strict on the whole professionalism thing, huh?” You huffed, then quickly corrected yourself. “Not that I’m not professional. I can be professional. I wore a blazer once.” You paused, glancing at her name badge. “Clarissa! I am delivering cookies. They are divine, you can have one if you’d like?”

Clarissa squinted at you, clearly debating whether or not to press a panic button – one that, realistically, would probably result in you being swarmed by tactical agents in full riot gear.

Was that even the FBI? Or was that, like… SWAT? Was SWAT part of the FBI? Were you about to go down for cookie-related crimes?

“Are you cleared to be here?” she asked.

“Depends on your definition of cleared –”

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s take a breath before you actually incriminate yourself.”

You spun around to find none other than David – if you recalled correctly – standing behind you, looking just as entertained as he did back at the jazz bar, his eyes bouncing between the cookies and you. “Well, well. If it isn’t Hotch’s fiancée.”

“Not his fiancée anymore!”

“Sure. And I’m not Italian.”

You shook your head, exhaling dramatically. “I just made him some cookies as a thank you. Do you mind passing them on to him, please? And then I can get out of yours and Clarissa’s hair. You have fabulous hair, both of you, by the way.”

Clarissa stared at you like you were personally responsible for every inconvenience that had ever befallen her. Rossi, on the other hand, grinned like you had just made his entire day.

“You know what? No,” he said, shaking his head. “You should give them to him yourself.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary –”

“I insist.”

Clarissa folded her arms. “She’s not authorised to be here.”

Rossi rolled his eyes. “Clarissa, I’ve worked in this building longer than some agents have been alive. If I say she’s authorised, she’s authorised.”

Clarissa let out a long-suffering sigh but didn’t argue further.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go surprise Hotch.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Oh. Yay.”

Rossi led you through security and about four different hallways before you found yourself in an elevator. You barely had time to process what was happening before you were stepping into a bullpen that made your brain go fuzzy. There were far too many people in suits, all looking intimidatingly competent.

A woman with blonde hair and a bright cardigan – finally someone who understood the power of colour – shot you an intrigued glance over the top of her glasses.

“I really don’t think this is necessary, David,” you whispered. “You guys look like busy, busy people, and I just wanted to bring some cookies. I don’t think Hotch will appreciate being called out of his very legitimate FBI career just for me.”

“Oh, I know he won’t.”

“Okay, now you’re making me panic, and I have a habit of jumping to conclusions when I’m under a lot of stress. Please, really, it’s no big deal –”

“Yeah, Hotch mentioned something along those lines,” Rossi hummed as the two of you came to a halt in front of a door, to which he knocked before stepping inside.

You followed hesitantly, barely making it over the threshold before you locked eyes with Hotch, who was standing behind his desk, looking very confused.

Rossi gestured at you grandly. “Look who I found wandering the FBI headquarters.”

“Okay, that makes me sound like a stalker and – wow, okay, I guess maybe I am a stalker, but the good kind, I promise! I come in peace. And with cookies… as a thank you.”

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” Rossi grinned, giving you a nudge as he sauntered out, shutting the door behind him with far too much enthusiasm.

Hotch, still staring at you like you had just crash-landed into his office from another dimension, slowly folded his arms. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not until you try one of these,” you said, flipping open the lid of the cookie box, only for your smile to falter the second you actually registered what was inside.

Heart-shaped cookies. Pink frosting. Extra sprinkles.

Oh no.

You stared at them. Then at Hotch. Then back at them.

He was still staring too, looking at the cookies like they were an active FBI case file he wasn’t quite sure how to classify.

You let out half a laugh. “Oh. Oh, boy.”

Hotch raised a brow, arms still crossed, looking every bit the intimidating federal agent he was.

“Okay, I know what this looks like,” you groaned, snapping the box shut like that would somehow undo the visual catastrophe. “I got slightly carried away – as I tend to – and my mind just kind of… took its own course when I was making them. I wasn’t thinking about you – well, I was thinking about you, but not like that, I swear. I just – ugh – I put a little bit myself into them.”

Hotch tilted his head. “Yourself?”

You nodded, slowly reopening the box as if the cookies might suddenly jump out and throw up edible glitter all over his office. “You know… they’re kind of chaotic but well-intentioned, possibly too much but ultimately harmless –”

“How did you find me here?”

“Oh. That.”

He just stared at you.

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the cookie box. “Well, it’s not that hard, you know? I have a great memory, and I did get a pretty solid look at your badge – after I thought you were going to murder me, of course – so I just… searched you up.”

His brows lifted.

You panicked. “But only to figure out where you work so I could bring you cookies! That’s it! I had every intention of leaving them with Clarissa but your friend David saw me and said I should bring them up myself. And well… now I’m here.”

Hotch’s hand pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.”

You rocked on your heels, watching him carefully. “Sooo… does this mean I’m officially on an FBI watchlist, or is that, like, a separate process?”

Hotch exhaled, lowering his hand. “You’re not on a watchlist.”

“Oh.”

His brows furrowed. “Would you like to be?”

“I feel like I shouldn’t answer that without a lawyer present,” you mumbled, setting the cookies down on his desk.

“So, let me get this straight. You looked me up, managed to talk your way into a federal building without authorisation all just to bring me heart-shaped cookies?”

You lifted a finger. “Okay, first of all, let’s not make this sound like an obsession – I googled you. That’s a normal thing people do! It’s called being informed. And second, the hearts were an accident. I only had one cookie cutter. You think I wanted to show up here looking like some lovesick lunatic?”

Hotch glanced at the cookies, then back at you. “…Yes.”

“Okay, well, this has been fun,” you said, dusting your hands before adjusting your jacket. “Enjoy the cookies, and thanks again for the other night,” you continued, already backing toward the door. “I have not had my name mentioned once in the Veronica Posse group chat since, and for the first time in years, I have actually known peace.”

“Wait,” he called just as you reached for the door handle. You spun around to face him. “Why did you really come here?”

You paused before speaking.

“I need a fiancé again,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Yup. Need one again, preferably the same one, but this time it’s my parents hounding me, and they’ve already arranged a dinner and everything.”

Hotch opened his mouth, then closed it. A second passed. Then another. Finally – “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you beamed, completely unbothered by the scowl on his face. Hotch looked like he was about to reply, but his phone began ringing. He glanced down at it on the desk.

“Alright, really leaving now. I’ll let you get back to all this serious business,” you said, but then a realization dawned, making you pause.

Hotch looked back up, brows raising slightly. “What is it?”

You shifted, glancing toward the door, then back at him. “So, funny thing… I don’t actually know how to get out of here.”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a button to silence his phone before slipping it into his suit jacket. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, no need,” you replied quickly, waving him off. “I’ll just ask David – he loves helping me.”

Hotch gave you a flat look. “Absolutely not.”

You blinked innocently. “Why? He was so excited to see me earlier. You should have heard him, all like Oh, if it isn’t Hotch’s fiancée! He really sells it.”

“That’s exactly why,” Hotch muttered, already moving toward the door.

You followed Hotch out of his office, barely managing to keep up with his long strides. “Wow, you walk fast,” you huffed, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. “Is this an FBI thing? Do you all just power walk everywhere?”

He slowed his pace ever so slightly so you could catch up. As you glanced around, you noticed several pairs of eyes discreetly watching the two of you – one of them being David who had zero shame in making his interest known. You offered him a small wave to which he responded with a not-so-subtle wink. When your eyes landed on Hotch he was watching the exchange.

“Keep walking.”

“I am,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh. “I just happen to also be social.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

You gasped, doing a light two step jog to catch up. “Gosh, what happened to ‘Marry me, sweetheart?’”

“You called it nonsense, remember?”

“I did,” you admitted. “But that was after you said something that was incredibly true about me.”

Hotch threw you a curious glance. “And what was that?”

“That I’m too good to consider that group of women my friends, especially ones I feel the need to impress.”

Hotch didn’t say anything right away, just reached for the door, pushing it open and holding it for you. As you stepped past him, you caught the smallest trace of something in his expression, something very close to approval.

Stepping into the hallway, you glanced around, already feeling disoriented. “This place is like a maze,” you muttered, spinning in a small circle before looking back at him. “How do you manage to not get lost here?”

“Spatial awareness.”

Before you could question him further, you felt his hands on your arms, gently guiding you to the left just as you were about to head right.

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

His lips twitched. “You were about to walk into a closet.”

You glanced back at the door you had almost pushed open. “That’s not a closet. That’s –” You squinted at the sign. “Okay, that’s definitely a closet.” You sighed dramatically, walking ahead this time – making sure to pretend like you totally knew where you were going. “See? This is why I need a fake fiancé. Navigation assistance.”

His voice followed you, dry as ever. “That’s what Google Maps is for.”

You turned, walking backwards now, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, Google Maps doesn’t have your spatial awareness, does it?”

“You’d rather rely on me for directions?”

You stopped walking, tilting your head. “Huh. Good point. Maybe I should just take my chances with the closet.”

Hotch sighed, stepping past you. “Come on. I’ll make sure you get out of here without accidentally locking yourself in a supply room.”

You grinned, following him. “See? Fake fiancé duties are still active.”

This time, you definitely didn’t miss the half-smile he tried to hide.

After what felt like literal hours of navigating the endless, identical floors and hallways of the FBI, the two of you finally stepped outside. Freedom at last, you thought, basking in the sight of the actual sun – something you’d only glimpsed through windows you were convinced had some kind of tint designed to make the inside of the building feel even duller.

“Do you know where you parked?”

You scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Uh, duh. What do you take me for?”

Hotch just looked at you.

You blinked.

Then, very slowly, you turned your head, scanning the parking lot.

Oh, no.

Where did you park?

You wracked your brain, desperately trying to retrace your steps, but the problem was… you hadn’t exactly been focused when you arrived. You had just parked somewhere and hoped for the best. But now, with Hotch watching you like a disapproving parent, the pressure was on.

You pointed vaguely toward a random row of cars. “It’s… that way.”

Hotch didn’t even bother looking. “No, it’s not.”

You spun back to him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re guessing.”

“I am not.”

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not!”

Hotch arched a single, knowing brow.

You huffed. “Fine. I may be stalling. But in my defence, I had a lot on my mind when I got here!”

Hotch inhaled, glancing at his watch. “Just describe what your car looks like and what you remember seeing when you got here.”

You frowned, thinking. “Okay, so, my car is… car-shaped.”

His stare was unmoving.

You cleared your throat. “It’s, uh… blue. Or, like, bluish. Depends on the lighting.”

“Anything else?”

You squinted at the parking lot, hoping for divine intervention. “I think I was near… a pole?”

“There are multiple poles.”

“A very specific pole.”

“Right.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Ugh, this is so unfair. I have many talents, okay? Parking lot navigation is just not one of them.”

“Shocking,” he muttered before moving toward one section of the parking lot. “Let’s start from here.”

You followed, chewing the inside of your cheek.

A few minutes later – after much grumbling, a completely unnecessary debate about why all parking lots look the same, and one slightly humiliating moment where you tried to unlock someone else’s car – Hotch finally spotted your actual vehicle.

“Would you look at that! There she is, in all her glory!” you sang and this time, when you hit the unlock button, the lights actually flashed. Progress.

You pulled open the driver’s side door and tossed your purse inside before turning back to Hotch. “Thank you… again.” You let out a laugh. “It feels like that’s all I ever say to you.”

Hotch gave a small shrug, hands finding his pockets. “You do seem to require a lot of rescuing.”

“Alright, alright.” You pointed a manicured finger at him. “Despite what you might think, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just happen to have a mild navigational deficiency and… questionable taste in men. And friends, apparently – according to my ex fake fiancé.”

“Sounds like you’re finally learning.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding into your seat. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Reading people.” You gestured vaguely in his direction. “It’s very annoying.”

He smiled at you, one hand slipping from his pocket to rest against the edge of your car door. “I’ll try to be worse at my job next time.”

You leaned forward, placing your arms on the steering wheel with a playful spark in your eye. “Listen, Hotch, Hotchner, Aaron – I have a slight confession to make before I go.”

“That sentence doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“This one’s harmless. Promise.”

Hotch stood there, shaking his head like he could not believe he was still standing there entertaining this conversation.

You tapped a finger against the wheel. “So, if mid-cookie bite you accidentally choke on a piece of paper, do not be alarmed – well, actually do be alarmed. I don’t want you to die before you’ve asked me out on a date.” You flashed him a pointed look. “But it’s my number – since apparently, having my address isn’t enough.”

“You hid your number in food?”

“Listen, it was either that or carve it into your desk with a knife, and I figured that would raise some concerns with your co-workers.”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like why me?

“But, you do have my number now, so really, the ball is in your court, Hotchner.”

“Is it?”

You nodded, sitting up straighter. “Mhm. And just so we’re clear – I expect a dramatic, over-the-top use of it. Maybe a cryptic, we need to talk text. Or a mysterious meet me at midnight type of situation.”

Hotch’s lips twitched. “You’d rather I text you about urgent matters than, say… just a normal conversation?”

“Aaron Hotchner, are you saying you want to have a normal conversation with me?”

He sighed, stepping back from your car. “Drive home, before I change my mind about letting you leave.”

You smirked, finally turning on the ignition. “Oh, so you let me leave now? That is so controlling of you.”

Hotch shook his head as he shut your door—just in time for you to lift a hand, making a finger phone gesture and mouthing Call me.

tags - @fandomscombine @dohmeti

divider by cafekitsune

[batboyblog]

I'm seeing a worrying amount of idiots on tumblr dot com push that "Kamala hates trans women" and I am losing my mind at how they are pushing it, constantly, saying she is a proven transmisogynist, despite it being a complete lie and her actively working behind the scenes to help trans women in prison. Is there like, sources that could help debunk this shit because I'm at my wits end as these people scream and cry and vomit trying to get biden to drop out but then are like "eghhhh still don't wanna vote for a transphobic cop..." when she's NEITHER-

Isn't the internet wonderful? first rule NEVER examine your priors! ALWAYS! hang onto whatever the first hot take you had on a subject to THE DEATH!

"Kamala is Transphobic!" over here in reality

past that trans and LGBT rights groups have been quick to endorse her like

Advocates for Trans Equality

Human Rights Campaign

just today 1,100 LGBT celebrities, lawmakers and leaders endorsed her

“The intersection on the issue of reproductive care and trans care, and the ability of families to be able to have care for their children and their families, is really, again, an intersection around attacks that are on an identity,” -Vice-President Harris, 2023

any ways the root of the idea she's transphobic comes from one case in 2015. Two inmates in the California State Prison system sued to get GRS, which as inmates would have been covered by the Prison system. It's worth noting here, both women got what they wanted, one was paroled and got the surgery covered by California Medicare while the other serving a life sentence was ultimately covered by the prison system.

Two things are important to bear in mind here, 1. Part of the job of California Attorneys General is to defend the state when it is sued, thats the job, 2. It seems early on in the case Harris was not personally aware of it, about 1,000 lawyers work in the Cali AG's office and so the AG cannot be personally aware of every case, and check this quote from the Lambda Legal lawyer handling the case:

“The California AG’s office shifted its handling of these cases significantly after now-Sen. Harris took over,” Renn said. “Initially there was language in briefing for the state that glaringly misunderstood the medical necessity of transition-related medical care and was patently offensive. But then, there was a dramatic change, which seems to have gone along with important policy shifts.”

Link

in 2019 Harris talked about the case and working after it was settled to change the policy of the California State Prison system

"When that case came up, I had clients, and one of them was the California Department of Corrections. It was their policy. When I learned about what they were doing, behind the scenes, I got them to change the policy," Harris said.

"I commit to you that always in these systems there are going to be these things that these agencies do. And I will commit myself, as I always have, to dealing with it," Harris said.

Any ways Harris can consistently spoken out for and supported Trans people, banned the hateful Trans panic defense when she was AG, in the Senate supported the Equality Act, during her 2020 campaign for President she drew attention to the hate crimes against black trans women while holding herself accountable for the 2015 case. As Vice-President she drew fire voicing support for Dylan Mulvaney during the hellish Bud Light backlash. Her Husband Doug was tapped to host the first ever White House Trans Day of Remembrance

basically you're looking at a great ally who clearly supports trans rights, who was involved in a case, which involved two people who got the surgeries they were looking for paid for by the State of California, close to 10 years ago now, there's evidence that both she moved the case in a better direction when she took over it and also that she changed the polices of the state to before more gender affirming.

[ashwhowrites]

(if your not comfortable writing this it’s totally fine)

would you write reader having a crush on her teacher (eddie) and reader used to be mr. eddie’s favorite student and she would answer questions in class and do well on assignments (basically like a teachers pet) reader and mr. eddie/mr.munson would be a little flirty with eachother but after school break chrissy joins his class and he was flattered by her and chrissy and mr. munson gets closer and closer and they flirt with eachother a lot and chrissy replaces reader as the new teachers pet and so reader feels jealous,mad and sad so reader stops participating in classes stops doing assignments until mr.munson notices and tries to talk with reader asking what’s happening and she has to confess her little crush on mr. munson and he confesses to her back. THANK YOU.🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! I love a teacher trope. Thank you for requesting ❤️

⚠️age gap- reader is legal

Mr. Munson

High school sucked for many reasons and Y/N hated pretty much everything about it. She was a good student, but she still hated all the work. Except for one class and that class only, history. She didn't love the class because of the material, oh no, she loved the class because of who taught it.

Mr. Munson. He was young, fresh bait to the teaching world and the most attractive guy she had ever seen. Y/N could daydream about him for hours and hours. His sexy curly hair that touched his shoulders, his beautiful smile of perfect white teeth, his pink lips, his deep brown eyes and the tattoos she could see when he rolled up his sleeves. Everything about him memorized her.

So she might have been a teacher's pet to get him to notice her and she might have dressed up for him from time to time.

"Looking at the test scores, only one person has managed to over 100% with the extra credit question. Congratulations Y/N," he said as he placed the paper down in front of her.

She loved how he said her name. The class all groaned as he passed back their papers. She didn't even look at the test, her eyes watching him walk around the classroom. She bit her lip as she checked out his jeans and button up. He could wear anything and look sexy in it.

As he made it back to the front of the class, he allowed people to team up and do test corrections. Since she was the only one who didn't need to do it, she occupied herself by working on other homework. She was good at history, but her math was far behind.

Eddie watched his students as they moved around the room. Half probably not doing test corrections but there was twenty minutes until the bell and he didn't care. He tried to make it seem like he was looking at all his students, but his eyes kept looking back at one in particular. Y/N was his best student. She did all the work, scored well, did extra credit and answered every question he asked. Usually when students did this, he couldn't stand them. But she was different. She made him feel inappropriate things and it was impossible to ignore.

He noticed her face was scrunching together in frustration as she erased something on her paper. As the rest of the class seemed fine on their own, he called her name.

She looked up instantly, curiosity on her face.

"Come here with your work," he said. She grabbed the paper and walked towards his desk. She stood in the front, blocking his view from the class and the class's view of him.

"Yes, Mr. Munson?" She asked, purring his last name. He felt himself smiling at the sound.

"Do you need help? You seem frustrated," he asked, leaning forward on his desk. She set the paper down in front of him, blushing when his hand reached forward to slightly drag his finger on the top of hers.

"Um yeah," she admitted, "It's math."

Eddie let his finger linger on her hand as he used his other hand to grab the paper. She didn't want to move, loving the feeling of his skin on hers.

He began to explain the math problem, she leaned forward as she looked down at the paper. He explained it well, she nodded along as parts of it started to make sense. She didn't notice that she was leaning very close, close enough that Eddie got a sniff of her perfume.

He looked up to her, guilty of wanting to look at her again. Her eyebrows scrunched as she started to figure it out. He studied her face, his stomach fluttering when she looked up.

"What?" She asked, in a trance as she stared into his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he said without a second thought. Immediately biting his lip as the comment went in the air and he couldn't take it back.

Her face flushed as she mumbled out a small thank you, her body burning. "You're not bad yourself, Mr. Munson."

His lip curved upwards as he half smiled. His finger began to move across her hand again, both staring at each other as they tried to communicate with their eyes.

The loudness of the classroom faded out. He knew this moment was inappropriate. She was a student and he would be fired instantly if this went anywhere. He coughed as he looked down at the paper.

~

The next day Y/N headed to school early, hoping she could have extra time with Mr. Munson before the class came in.

The halls were practically empty as she walked towards his class, creeping her head in. She smiled that he was alone, his back to her as he wrote on the whiteboard.

She fixed her hair and smoothed out her clothes, walking in. She bit her lip as she checked him out, his hair tied up today, a short sleeve showing all his arm tattoos and another pair of black jeans.

It wasn't fair that some people were born looking that good. And to become a teacher? Criminal.

Eddie felt the presence of someone else in his room, peaking over his shoulder. A smile appeared as he noticed who it was.

"Good morning, Y/N," he greeted. He closed the marker and turned his attention fully to her.

"Morning, Mr. Munson," she walked over, having the courage to stand a little too close. But he didn't make a movement. "I was wondering if you could check my math before I turn it in?"

"For sure, take a seat," he said. She sat at a random desk, pulling out the paper. She figured he'd stand across from her, but her heart raced when he stood behind her. She bit her lip as he leaned down, his shirt hitting hers.

His left hand rested on the desk as he leaned over her shoulder. She felt the room get hot as he looked down. Neither were truly looking at the paper. She stared down as she tried to settle her nerves, and he was too busy eyeing her.

"Did I do it right?" She whispered, turning her head to look at him. She gasped as his face was right there. Inches away, close enough if she moved forward just slightly her lips could meet his. He seemed to have thought the same, his eyes flashing down to her lips. Staring for a second too long before he looked back to her eyes.

A piece of her hair began to fall forward, she went to push it back but he was faster. His gentle touch caressed her cheek as he pushed her hair behind her ear. They both breathed in each other's breath, their hearts racing.

But as always, the little reminder in the back of Eddie's head reminded him that she was forbidden. He turned his attention to the paper, giving her a chance to release the breath she didn't know she was holding.

~

It was the final day before spring break and Y/N was bummed about not seeing him for a week. She wished she could ask him out or see him outside of class, but she knew that wasn't allowed. It pained her that she finally found a guy she had feelings for and it was someone she couldn't even be with.

But with the few moments they had, and the few times he touched her, she was thinking the feelings might have been mutual. Or she was delusional. She walked the familiar path to his classroom, excitement bubbling in her stomach.

He sat at his desk, and seemed to be grading papers. She softly knocked on the open door, alerting her presence.

He greeted her with a smile, nodding for her to enter. The final bell already rang, half the school was gone as they ran for spring break.

"Can we talk for a second?" She asked

"Of course, everything alright?" He asked. He watched as she closed the door, truly leaving them alone.

She walked over with a smile and slammed down her recent math test. "The highest score I've ever gotten and I want to thank you for it." She beamed with joy that it was hard for Eddie not to smile back.

"All your brain, sweetheart," he joked as he stood up and softly tapped her head. She melted into a puddle from the nickname. "But it's my pleasure to help."

She noticed a few of his buttons were undone. His chest hair peaked through and she couldn't help but reach forward. Her eyes moved to his as her finger softly touched his bare chest, moving it down until she hit his shirt. "Forgot a few buttons there," she mumbled.

He chuckled as he looked down, her finger still on his skin. "I guess I did. I helped you, think you can help me?"

Y/N gulped down all the heat she felt for him. She tried to keep her thoughts appropriate as she removed her finger. He watched her every move as she walked around the desk.

"My pleasure," she whispered as she reached forward and began to button up his shirt. Her fingers shook as he stared down at her, the tension was hot and heavy. Their bodies were getting closer as she hooked the button through the holes. She finished the last button, not wanting to move away. He softly grabbed her hand, removing it from his chest as he brought it up to his lips.

She softly moaned as he kissed her hand, his other hand pushing her up against him. She collided into his body, breathing hard as she waited for his next move. He softly dropped her hand, moving to cup her jaw.

This was it, she thought. He had to be into her, he was leaning in and he was going to kiss her. Seconds away from their lips touching and there was a knock at the door.

She quickly jumped back, the door opening.

"Oh sorry! I didn't know you were with a student," Y/N turned to see the principal standing there with a smile. Y/N quickly grabbed her math test, giving him a scared look.

"No worries, we were just finishing up. I'll see you after break?" He said, giving her a small smile. Y/N nodded, quickly moving out of the classroom.

~

Y/N couldn't wait for spring break to be over. She realized her pathetic school girl crush was taking over her life. She wondered how he spent his break, was he alone or with a girlfriend? She wished she knew his personal life and could see him outside of school.

Y/N couldn't help but run to his class the second the break was over. She walked early, expecting to see him at this desk or writing on the whiteboard. But he wasn't...and he wasn't alone.

A girl stood across from him as he leaned against his desk with his arms crossed. A beautiful charming smile on his face as he listened to the girl talk. She looked young, a student as she wore a backpack. And she was flawless.

Y/N tried not to worry about it as she walked in, giving him a warm smile. His greeting smile was quick, then his attention was back on the blonde. Y/N sat in her seat, unsure of what to do. She didn't plan for him to have company. She opened a random book, her ears listening in on their conversation.

~

Class starter and Y/N couldn't help but notice his eyes kept looking at the new girl. She was reading too far into it, but she could feel jealousy burning inside of her. Her name was Chrissy and she seemed to have noticed Mr. Munson was an attractive man. Y/N felt her stomach turn as they eye flirted throughout the whole period.

Chrissy's hand was always a second faster, answering everything before Y/N had the chance. She tried not to look annoyed as Mr. Munson beamed when he called her name.

After everything she had to sit through, she didn't feel like staying to talk to him. Quickly packing up and walking out as the bell rang.

She felt stupid for being so worked up over it. But she had the rest of the day to get over it.

When the end of the day rolled around, her feet moved in his direction. She peeked in, frowning to see him and Chrissy talking again. His eyes caught hers, but she walked away as fast as she could.

~

Y/N was pretty positive Chrissy had a crush or was generally a suck up. Because she didn't let Mr. Munson's attention wander off. . Every day was the same thing. They walked before class, she sucked up during class, she was there after class, and there at the end of the day.

Y/N felt incredibly stupid for thinking for a split second he was interested in her. He barely knew she existed anymore. And she wouldn't be shocked if all the moves he pulled on her, he was doing to Chrissy. He might have been a little older, but he was still a boy at the end of the day.

~

Weeks passed and Eddie could feel the distance between him and Y/N. He knew he shouldn't feel affected by it, or bothered. He could care, but he knew he cared too much.

He wasn't just worried as a teacher watching a star student begin to slip. He was worried about the feelings he had for her and how he felt like she was slipping away.

Her test scores began to dip, assignments were not turned in and she barely looked at him during class. He worried something was happening in her personal life and he wished he was part of that life so he could help.

He debated for days if it was appropriate to ask her about it. If he didn't have romantic feelings towards her, he knew he could be professional. But he felt too connected to her to hear whatever was bothering her and not handle it for her.

Once her grade began dropping, he decided enough was enough. The second she walked in, he paused Chrissy in the middle of her sentence, following Y/N to her desk.

She ignored him as she sat down, barely looking up at him. He placed a hand on her desk, making her look up. She tried to remain unbothered as she melted looking in his eyes. She couldn't be played.

"Yes?" She asked, still polite but short with him.

"We need to talk after school," he said. He didn't let her answer as he headed back over to his desk.

Her stomach turned in knots as she watched the clock tick. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't trust herself not to immediately fall into him all over again.

As the bell rang, she walked over to his class. She walked in and watched as everyone left the room, including Chrissy. He walked over to her desk and took a seat. He closed the door and walked over to her.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly, sitting at his desk. She was relieved for the space between them.

"I'm fine," she shrugged. "Is that all?"

He rubbed his chin as he tried to get used to her short and sharp replies. She was so cold with him.

"I'm worried about you. You've been behind on assignments, you aren't involved with class, and your test scores are something I've never seen before. So let me ask you again, no bullshit. Are you okay?"

She sighed loudly as she rolled her eyes. "Yes! I'm fine. And don't act like you even care. I'll do better." She stood up as she grabbed her stuff. Eddie was quick to stand up and block her.

"I do care," he said as he softly touched her arm, his hand sliding down until his hand touched hers. He softly grasped it, eyes looking into hers. "Tell me what's wrong and maybe I can help."

Y/N looked everywhere but his face. Already becoming weak as she kept her hand in his. Eddie caught on that she wasn't going to look at him so he made her. He cupped her jaw with his free hand and brought her face to his.

She looked down at his lips, craving him so badly.

"I like you," she whispered. She closed her eyes as she wished she could disappear. "I have a crush on you and I'm upset you don't feel the same way."

"What makes you think I don't feel the same way?"

She opened her eyes to see if he was serious. And he seemed to be as his face was straight. His thumb began to rub her cheek.

"Chrissy," she said strongly. His face didn't move as she said the name. Like the name was irrelevant to him.

"That explains why you stopped coming around," he lightly smiled, like he felt bad for her.

"Yeah well it didn't seem like you had much time to share," she said bitterly. He couldn't help but smile as he softly chuckled.

"You're cute when you're jealous," he flirted. His thumb still rubbed her cheek as he started to lean in.

"I'm not jealous," she said quickly. Trying to stand tall but she was melting as his hand let go of hers to rest on her hip.

"You're very jealous," he whispered, leaning down as he pressed his lips against hers. She didn't bother to fight that part. Immediately pressing her lips against his as she threw her arms around his neck.

He deepened the kiss as her hands moved into his hair. His tongue swiped across her bottom lip, she opened her mouth and whined as his tongue touched hers. The kiss was better than she dreamed it would be. And she couldn't believe it was happening.

She wasn't delusional. He fucking liked her. His tongue was in her mouth and she loved every second of it.

He pulled back, panting as he tried to push out the dirty thoughts. "Sorry, if I don't stop now, I won't be able to."

She purred at his words, breathing against him as their bodies were pushed against each other. Her hands softly played with his hair as she tried to memorize his face.

"Can I get your number?" He smiled, she laughed as she nodded.

"Oh, definitely," she said as she pressed her lips against his again.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬 || 𝐄𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐜 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ while working on the makeup effects for a production, you end up falling for el naco de Enzo Vogrincic (no te creas papi tkm). But you start avoiding him because it’s not correct to fall in love with that type of man.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ AGE GAP (legal), angst, fluff, spanglish fic, cringe, reader is in denial and speaks spanish, idk misunderstandings?, happy ending (irl Enzo nunca nos va a pelar)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ I hate Spanglish but how can I keep both mi gente latino and my RAHHH🦅🇺🇸 people happy? With a Spanglish fic

♪ ♫ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝟒 𝐄𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐜 ✰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱

@kissmemucho on X

—————————————————————————

One day, you started hating going to work. It was half work, half practice for college. Still, you started hating it. From moving some months to Spain to work on the makeup team for a movie, to spending hours with each actor to do and make a record of their makeup.

That wasn’t the issue though. It was just that… there was a guy.

You had developed a crush for that man called Enzo. It was so cringe to admit. And it tore you apart because he was significantly older than you. He would never turn to look down at you. That was the most honest thing about the whole issue. And that you were even depriving yourself from befriending him.

But god, How couldn’t you?… there you got his pretty nose and deep eyes. His soft hair and perfect smile. The way he was so kind to everyone and to you. Soon you learned he was single too. It was so damn much that it made you so mad. He was perfect. Gorgeous in every sense.

And that’s exactly why you now hate going to work.

Sometimes the aura around the team seemed to be heavy due to the context of the movie. You had seen how every actor started to lose weight and prepare for the role. Which was a little tough and very demanding. The seriousness surrounding the production was only filed with respect. That didn’t stop anyone to have good moments and be happy. Everyone in the cast believed you were a burst of sunshine at least. Who seemed to make the hours spent seated on a chair with makeup and prosthetics being placed a little more fair.

“¡HEY!…GUAPA, VENÍ PA’ ACÁ!” You heard as soon as you entered the workplace. Once you spotted the little circle of men, you rolled your eyes and chuckled.

“¿Y ahora qué se te ofrece Juani?”

“Que confirmes si venís a cenar con todos” you looked at the others. Matías and the others were exchanging looks, with none other than Enzo. You don’t even look at the man, you can only focus on the boy with annoying but pretty blue eyes.

“Cómo jodes, chico. Ya veré si voy o no, tengo mucho que hacer” that was true, you had a lot to do. But mostly, it was because you believed you had nothing amazing to share with them.

“Podemos esperarte.” Enzo said, which immediately made your stomach flutter and your chest to get congested. He was wearing some t-shirt and those damn Adidas joggers he liked to repeat on a daily basis.

The fact that he suggested waiting for you to go out and have dinner should’ve made you blush, but it only made you nervous, increasing your eagerness to run away from the little circle of men.

“No pasa nada, váyanse ustedes. Que se la pasen bien…” and poor Enzo, he watched how you disappeared through the hallways with your big bag full of makeup and brushes.

“Ya va a caer…”

“Pero si ni me gusta” everyone started laughing. Enzo knew you were younger. He also knew you were from a little too far away from Uruguay, that you were bilingual, that you were passionate about writing and other arts, that your eyes were lighter than expected in the sun, that your hands were very soft and that you were so extroverted with everyone except with him.

“Sos idiota, si no te gustara no te hubieras quedado como mogólico viéndola irse”

“Pero es una niña…” he tried to reason.

“La veinteañera universitaria que trabaja aquí en producción y anda sola por la vida” everyone laughed again. You were certainly an adult. Yeah you still acquired trinkets that could pass for toys, you listened to silly music and watched Winx Club or Bratz movies. But you were a woman after all.

Which led to Enzo wondering if he could ever have a chance with you. You had seen a lot of people, with all the many times you had travelled to Los Angeles, the heart of Hollywood and everything, sometimes he doubted you could be interested in him.

But no… he definitely hadn’t caught an eye on you.

…

It was a Friday. A week from the day you rejected dinner with your workmates. Nothing serious happened after that. Juani made fun and exposed you with random tweets like a bully. He was laughing his ass off of you, so shameless and stupid. However, you on the other hand… were dying out of embarrassment. Especially after seeing how many people started following him. He received an army of girls starving for shitpost around the internet.

“Si no estuvieras por grabar una escena tan desgarradora y seria, te ahorcaba en este preciso momento, Juani '' you wanted to kill him. He had posted online two videos of you, while you were off guard. Two audios of you cursing in Spanish and saying how much you hated capitalism that were becoming viral. And he even made his own stickers of you to pass around the group chat of the cast.

“Eso te pasá por ¡RIDÍCULA!” The tone he used, extremely mocking you was enough to make you laugh along with him and caught the attention of everyone surrounding you two.

“Pues nunca te conseguiré el follow de los ex-One Direction” he stopped laughing, knowing you had made him remember his humbling twitter posts.

“¡Qué boluda… y pesada!”

“Okay, pinche ardido” one of the design team members from the movie appeared and handed you a little paper. It was the list of your schedule. Juani snatched it and opened it before you could even blink.

“UYYY… te tocá todo el día con Enzo” he started teasing you like a child. You rolled your eyes in annoyance.

“Pero la boluda y pesada soy yo”

“Pues si” you finally read the paper and yes… 3 hours with Enzo.

“Well… it could be something bad and it isn’t so…” you admitted sighing, accepting that you would spend three hours swallowing your pride and holding your pierced feelings.

“Dejáte querer…” you frowned confused at the boy beside you.

“What?” You asked laughing, but he only shrugged.

“Nothing, dear” once again, you rolled your eyes.

“De verdad eres medio insoportable” he batted his eyelashes, acting innocent. Deep down, both of you were actually friends.

“Te quiero” he responded, making you laugh once again.

“Si, yo también. Mi pendejito favorito”

“No, ese debe ser Enzo” this time, you blushed.

“Cómo chingas con meterlo en nuestras conversaciones. ¿Te gusta o qué?” He laughed, helping you out with your heavy bag full of brushes and capes and everything.

“No. ¿Y a vos? ¿Gustás de Enzo?” You remained quiet, pretending you hadn’t heard him.

You opened the door of the little room, surprised to see Enzo already there. So you grabbed the bag from Juani and started closing the door.

“Adiós, naco perdedor” and just like that, you closed the door on his face, giggling.

You sighed, closing your eyes, before staring at the plain door for some seconds.

“Hola…” you heard his deep and sweet voice. It was just… that you had to be a big girl and leave aside your foolishness for that grown ass man. He was just a crush… a simple mortal at the end as dramatic as it sounded.

“Hi…” you replied awkwardly. You had seen the following section of his instagram, the most pretty girls, very different from you. Which made you feel… like it was an auto-sabotage. But before you could start feeling depressed again, you decided to keep working, the only reason why you were in that room in the first place.

He would think you kinda disliked him. Every time you entered to work on his makeup, he would be smiling and trying to talk to you. And while you were polite and smiley too, you remained very quiet, always avoiding his eyes.

“¿Cómo estás?” He would ask, looking at you through the mirror in the room.

“Pues muy bien, gracias.” You would reply, turning to open the boxes with prosthetics and other special effects makeup. And he sighed, already feeling a little disappointed.

“¿Me permites tus manos?” You ask him as usual. He shows you the palm of his hands with another smile, which you reply quickly. Your heart started pounding as soon as you walked into the room.

“Perdón si estoy fría.” You admit with a blush, knowing the tips of your fingers were freezing.

“No pasá nada, linda” he had to be joking. He couldn’t call you “linda” just like that? However, you do your best to ignore it.

So you start making little lines of the paint samples you had taken. Until you noticed which one was identical to his skin color.

“Okay, I got it.” You speak to yourself, out loud though. Sometimes Enzo questioned if you weren’t fluid in Spanish, but he had heard you talk and talk with other people in Spanish. Your accent was so clean, so different to the rest of the crew.

“¿Te molesta si pongo música?” You ask him, grabbing your phone.

“No, para nada.”

“Nomás no me vayas a juzgar” you chuckle without looking at him, scrolling through your playlist.

It was the first time you attempted to joke with him. And he wouldn’t risk the opportunity.

“Jamás podría…” you only thank him before starting to play some music.

He was used to your touch now. You had small and soft hands compared to him. Every time you had to pick the right tone that matched his skin, brush his hair and work inches away from his face. It was insufferable for you. And to him… it only built more intrigue.

He listens to how you barely mumble some songs.

“¿Quién es ella?” He asks at the song playing.

“Nelly Furtado” you reply, concentrating on his hands, starting to draw the fake wounds. Promiscuous was a great song to feel empowered while trying to beat the feelings for the man who was extremely close to you and you had feelings for:

Some minutes passed and then Madonna came with Dress You Up and Enzo barely got it right. You sing very low and he tries to hear you with precision. Soon Madonna was over.

“¿Y esta?” You ask him when Gorgeous started.

That damn song was like a curse and blessing at that very moment.

You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much

(I hate you so much)

You've ruined my life, by not being mine

You're so gorgeous

I can’t say anything to your face

'Cause look at your face

And I'm so furious

At you for making me feel this way

That was you. That was how much you hated your feelings for him. Because he would never be yours.

And somehow, Enzo got the message. He wasn’t sure but he felt how you changed the way of singing and avoided his eyes.

“¿Y esa quién es?” He asked once again.

“Esa es Taylor Swift”

“No la conozco” you giggle, ignoring the song a little bit.

“¡Enzo, por Dios!. ¿En qué mundo vives?” You found it very hard to believe he didn’t know half of your musical taste.

“Pues en Uruguay…” for the first time, he makes you laugh and talks to you so fucking much that you have to stop spreading the fake dirt on his face.

You're gorgeous

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have

You are so gorgeous, it makes me so mad

You’re so gorgeous

“¿Por qué nunca andás con nosotros?” He asks suddenly, and it takes you aback. That you end up looking straight at his face.

“Tú tampoco sales mucho que yo sepa, prefieres quedarte en el cerro tomando fotos. No judgement though…” he laughs, feeling a little too comfortable under your touch on his cheeks and chin.

“He salido varias veces con ellos. ¿Y vos? Cero…”

“Estoy ocupada.” You simply reply.

“No es cierto. Por ahí me dijeron que te la pasás viendo películas y escribiendo fanfiction” you blush, but you keep working.

Actually, last Saturday was the first weekend you cried because of him. You couldn’t even stay at the local bar. You left your friends there to go home. New addition to your routine. Avoiding you problems…

“Maybe… ¿pero a ti qué si no voy?” You ask giggling, hoping he would drop the issue. You pause the music and slip your phone inside your bag before returning to him. Scared of his possible answer.

“Pues… porque te quiero ver” your hands start shaking.

“¿A mí?”

“Si. A ti, linda” he says mimicking your accent and sensing how taken aback you are. And he realized, that he had adapted some of your slang words from all the time he spent with you.

“¿Por qué yo, Enzo?” He smiles, and you want to kill him. He made the gesture like you had been so oblivious for ages.

“Porque…” slowly, he grabbed your wrist, preventing you from keeping working on his face. He touches you with such gentleness that it makes you finally start shaking.

The way he looks at you. It must’ve been a dream, two pairs of eyes deeply connected. He was silently revealing he liked you. Once you get it, you shake your head, his eyes giving you some confirmation.

“No..” You brush away from him.

“Si… tal vez es raro o no me creas… pero, vos me gustas. Por eso quiero verte y busco tus bonitos ojos cada vez que trabajás conmigo…” you sigh, dropping the brush and paint a little too violent.

“¿Y por qué yo entre tantas chicas que están a tus pies?” You are fighting against the tears already forming on your eyes. He remains quiet, and to you… that’s an answer.

He doesn’t like the way you are being too negative. But you don’t like having that conversation at all. You are shocked, and you don’t feel in love at that moment. You feel panic and stress. But you might need to reveal the encounter you saw last weekend to get it over with.

“Fui al bar el sábado pasado y te vi con la chica rubia esa. Si te gusta alguien no dejas a la chica rubia hacer ni un movimiento. No te encuentras en redes a las chicas a las que les das reacciones” maybe you had no right to be so angered. But it had been two months, and everything had worsened. At that point, your eyes were already red and crystallized.

“Nada de eso significó algo”

“Si fue algo. Fue tu manera de seguir teniendo opciones en lo que buscabas la manera de acercarte a mí. Por si no te resultaba la cosa conmigo…” again, he remains quiet.

“Mira Enzo, he estado aquí desde hace dos meses y nunca te acercaste. No te salió el amor por mí hoy y lo sabes…” you spit with anger, grabbing your paint and makeup, hurrying to get out of there.

“Tú a mí me has gustado desde la primera semana cuando te conocí. Pero tú no me quieres, y por eso te evado. Aparte del dilema de nuestra diferencia de edad, que podría ser un problema” you explain putting your coat on and grabbing the bag, ignoring the way he is trying to talk.

“Y eres una persona hermosa, Enzo. Sé que eres el amigo y novio casi perfecto. Pero mi intuición me dice que me puedes hacer daño. Quizá te estoy juzgando pero no me quiero arriesgar, perdón” he steps between you and the door. The proximity worsens everything, he wants to end it all for once with a kiss to make you feel the way he does and swear it’s true that he likes you.

It was already difficult for him. He had felt slightly depressed while filming, he felt weird, in company but alone at the same time. And he believed you were what he needed to lighten his weird mood swings.

But you believed he was lying. He honestly felt hurt that you were mistaking him for some womaniser and asshole.

“No te vayas, por favor” he pleaded, shocked to see your teary eyes. So he started questioning what you said about being hurt.

“Ya acabamos, no te preocupes.” You manage to slip beside him, opening the door and leaving him alone.

The dramatic moment culminated in Enzo feeling more depressed and giving a sadder performance for the movie. For you, it gave you a reason to cry in the shower and stare at the balcony of your place for hours, contemplating the sky and feeling so damn weird.

…

You have flashbacks of seeing him laughing and letting the blonde girl at the bar whisper in his ear. His honest smile and how he admitted he liked you a day ago.

You wished for weeks, now months that he confessed his feelings for you. But the moment he does, it feels wrong. Like it wasn’t meant to happen. Because he’s older, he’s got more experience, he had a very long-term girlfriend once, he is too much unlike you.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to happen and this is how it was supposed to end.

With you bursting out in tears and anger. Him believing you were crazy, but you had a point.

He never made a move. Just trying to talk, but he never invited you to do anything with him, or just to stay with him during the free days. It seemed unreal that suddenly he liked you.

And maybe you’re just scared of falling in love, because he could unintentionally but potentially break your heart.

Nonetheless, on the second day you want to distract yourself, it’s Saturday again and you go out alone to jog, then to buy some new clothes and you are about to prepare your dinner when the pain in the ass of Juani asks you to go out for some tapas.

You agree because you really need to distract yourself from thinking about the whole cringy issue with Enzo.

Probably everyone in the production already knew. But you would shut your mouth just to let the rumours die.

You start your walk towards the restaurant when he sends you the location. It’s a few blocks away, and you frown when you see what type of restaurant it is.

“Amiguito, pero creí que querías tapas. Este es un restaurante vegano” you send him a voice message. And he replies immediately.

“Ay pues para ser fitness un día nada más, chica. ¿Ya vas para allá?” You roll your eyes, not that you didn’t like vegan food but you wanted tapas.

“Si, morro meco. Ya estoy a un par de cuadras” you send back, putting on your EarPods and setting a route.

You realise how much you like wearing sneakers, long dresses and coats with matching purses. Perfect for the weather and your silly thoughts of walking on the streets along some cool music playing in the background.

Until you arrive at the restaurant and you don’t spot Juani. But maybe he was on his way. So you order first, grilled tofu with vegetables and tangy sauce.

It’s a cute place, and by the time you find a table, it’s already dark. The restaurant has candles everywhere and quality music playing.

When you start closing your purse, you look up and you freeze. Because you see Enzo entering the place, with a tiny bouquet of flowers on his right hand and a water bottle on the other.

He was wearing jeans, a random sweater shirt and dark sunglasses.

Oh, fuck him. You want run away but first you had to admit he looked gorgeous.

Quickly you change from your seat, giving your back to him, hopefully becoming invisible until he he leaves.

Your fingers rush to find the contact of Juani and send him a violent voice message.

“Oye, ¿por qué carajo no has llegado? ¿Y por qué Enzo Vogrincic está viendo el menú ahora mismo?” You send and he starts writing.

“Es que él es vegano…” he writes in text, which boils your blood.

“¿Y eso a mí qué chingados me importa, Juani? Ven ya y sácame a escondidas o te juro que me voy a colgar del primer poste de luz que vea” you silently scream, lowering your voice.

“No puedo” that’s it, you’re going to die in a vegan restaurant while Enzo Vogrincic orders food.

You are about to stand up when he literally appears on your table.

“Ey…” Qué maldito, y todavía te sonríe y todo.

“¿Y el Juani ya viene o no?” You ask, trying to sound confident.

“De hecho no va a venir” right, pinche Juani idiota, qué gran amigo.

“Oh okay. Ya me voy, nomás venía por mi comida para llevar” You mumble sighing, standing up from the table, then Enzo grabs your forearm and makes you sit again.

“No, vos te quedas. Aquí, te traje estas” he hands you the flowers, yellow tulips.

A tiny smile wants to lurk in your face.

“Yo nunca le he dicho a Juani… ni a Matías ni a nadie cuáles son mis flores favoritas” you frown confused, grabbing them.

They’re beautiful.

“Tuve que buscar por mi cuenta” he admits, and you frown deeper. Until you open your eyes in shock.

“¿Me zorreraste mi Instagram?” Enzo starts laughing, and you blush. He takes a seat and drops the receipt of his order on the table. You read it, chickpea pasta with arrabiata sauce and zucchini.

You read his order just to avoid looking at his eyes.

“Dejáme explicar todo…” slowly, you look at him. You are still on time to ask for the food to be to go, you can leave and just let this strange issue wash away.

But a waitress appears with your tofu and the pasta. You awkwardly smile and say thank you as well as Enzo.

“Está bien…” he smiles, thinking your eyeliner was so perfect. Your dress was cute and the coat made you look elegant and fine.

“Vos sabes quién te engañó. Le pedí a Juani que te hiciera venir a un lugar para poder verte. Porque conseguí tu número y nunca contestaste ni estabas cuando fui a buscarte” you roll your eyes. Unbelievable how childish was the whole situation.

“Yo quería tapas”

“Dale, ahorita te llevo por tapas” Enzo says with a smile. You simply mock him with a gesture and proceed to eat.

“Lamento no haber dado señales desde el inicio. Creí que con hacer plática cuando me maquillabas era suficiente.” He confesses.

“Con todos sos un amor. Y conmigo… siempre seria y pues… llegué a pesar que no te agradaba” you shrug, eyebrows rising and avoiding his eyes once again.

“Todo lo contrario…” you admit.

“Ya veo. Entonces hace unas semanas, los chicos empezaron a sacar el tema. Que debía invitarte a salir o hacerte venir con nosotros a comer para ahí verte”

“Y ayer me atreví. Pero temo que tu reacción no fue la que buscaba” he says with many pauses, not wanting to disturb you.

“Tú declaración tampoco fue lo que esperaba.” He nods, calming you.

“Ya lo sé, hubiera sido mejor esperar a estar en un lugar… como este”

“Quizá” you reason with him.

“Incluso desde antes de admitir que vos me gustas, no me he visto con nadie. Así que solo eres tú… nadie más” you nod, looking back at the tulips and feeling butterflies at the way he spoke with your accent just to highlight how he wanted you.

“Están preciosas, gracias” you say lifting the bouquet. Enzo smiles. So you know it’s time, you sigh.

“Yo también lo siento por juzgarte sin saber. No tenía derecho de ponerme a reclamar nada. Es solo que me da miedo dejar que esto, pues fluya…” you say, not wanting to repeat once again that your intuition said he would break your heart.

“No te voy a lastimar, nunca. Dejáme quererte. Por favor….” he pleads, accepting he was nervous and desperate. He really longed for someone in the upside down moments of his days.

“Yo solo quiero sentir confianza y seguridad. ¿Me puedes dar eso?”

“Te voy a dar todo, pero más lo que vos quieras. Y si confianza y seguridad es lo que querés…. Así será, linda” you smile, finding his hand on top of the table, intertwining your fingers with him.

“Entonces todo bien, lindo” he smiles more, ending in a sweet laugh.

He helps you pick the rest of the food, both of you also order ice cream cones. Him with chocolate and you with pistachios. And soon both of you are walking together in the streets. Spring is near and it’s your favourite season. You feel happy feeling his warm touch outside of the job. And now being inches away from him feels like a new home.

“¿Si vamos a ir por las tapas?” He starts laughing again, and when he leans, you can feel what’s coming.

“Te puedo besar?” he asks and you nod, so he ends up grabbing your cheeks and smashing his lips with yours. In what possible dream you could’ve seen Enzo Vogrincic was asking permission to kiss you?

“Te quiero” he spills, and you only smile on his lips, deepening the kiss. Feeling the silly butterflies in your stomach and intense tears of happiness. You almost drop your cone due to that.

“Yo también te quiero” you reply, swiftly bumping your forehead with him. He then takes your hand and suddenly you don’t feel wrong about it.

Now it feels safe, warm and true. Like destiny changed its mind and finally it was meant to be.

____________________

update junio 2024: JAJSJDJJDDJ QUÉ MAMADAS ESCRIBÍA EN ENERO. LOL, QUÉ MAL, ENZO AÚN TE QUIERO MUCHÍSIMOOOO🩷

[mapofsouthdakota]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb I

(Law student POV pt. 1)

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 1500ish words of my barista Caleb AU doodle that’s been sitting in the drafts forever. @drowsyapple asked so nicely for a continuation, so here it is—with added law student chaos. Non MC! Reader law student. Expect flirting, hot af barista Caleb, and banter with the barista newbie. You’re in this caffeine-fueled mess together.

Parts: part 2 (law student), part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

Objection | Pt. 1 (pilot, law student)

You’re back.

You could lie. Say it’s because the café is closest to your lecture hall. Say the lighting is good for studying. Say the coffee is better here.

You could say any of those things.

But none of them would explain the lip gloss.

Caleb’s already behind the counter, sleeves rolled, forearms on full display like a public health hazard. He’s laughing at something the newbie said, head tilted back, grin sharp and lazy. The newbie glances up and sees you first. Their eyes narrow, just a little.

You give them a smile—the kind you usually save for opposing counsel in mock trials.

They give you one right back. Touché.

Caleb turns then, and his gaze lands on you like it always does—too direct, too calm, like it’s normal to make eye contact with someone and feel it somewhere under your ribs.

“Morning,” he says, all slow warmth and low charm. He leans his weight onto one hip, arms crossed—forearms flexed just slightly—and smiles like he knows he’s pretty.

Which, okay. Maybe he does.

Then: “Golden Girl, right?”

Golden.

Girl.

You open your mouth to correct him. You really do. But he’s already moving, scribbling it onto the cup in his quick, looping scrawl. And the thing is?

You kind of like it.

“Same drink?” he asks, glancing up through his lashes.

You nod. Mutely. Like an idiot.

The newbie is watching the whole thing with barely concealed amusement. You think they might be filing this under Exhibit A: How to Watch a Law Student Mentally Detonate Over a Latte.

Caleb makes your drink himself this time. No tutorials today. Just him, hands confident and sure, moving with that unbothered rhythm that makes everything look effortless. It should not be that compelling to watch someone tamp espresso. And yet.

He does that thing where he wipes his hands on a towel, then tucks it into the waistband of his apron.

You remember reading a case last semester where someone was arrested for intent to cause a disturbance. You’re starting to think that could apply here.

The cup hits the counter with a soft thud. He slides it toward you, fingers brushing the lid, like he’s tucking it in for a nap.

“Here you go,” he says. “Try not to fall in love.”

Your heart trips over itself.

You laugh, but it’s too breathy, too real. “You always this confident?”

He shrugs, smile tilting. “I just know my coffee’s good.”

You take the drink. Your hand brushes his. Barely. Enough.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to sound unaffected. Cool. Collected. The kind of girl who doesn’t lie awake wondering what a man’s voice would sound like against her throat.

As you turn to go, the newbie calls after you.

“See you later, Golden Girl.”

Their tone is knowing. Teasing.

And you don’t correct them either.

——————————————————————————

You’re surrounded by casebooks. Real law, real deadlines, real reasons to not be obsessing over a barista with a smile like a summer storm. You’re supposed to be outlining tort reform, but instead, you’re drafting legal arguments in your head.

Argument A: Caleb probably flirts with everyone.

Argument B: You’re not actually interested. You’re just… amused. Fascinated. Lightly affected.

Argument C: You are in control.

You write the words Golden Girl in the margin of your notes and immediately scratch them out like a crime scene.

By the time your second highlighter dries out and your coffee goes cold, you’ve convinced yourself the obsession is manageable. Contained. You just need one more look. A reminder that it’s not that deep.

So, naturally, you go back.

——————————————————————————

Caleb’s not there.

No crooked grin. No rolled sleeves. No towel tucked at his waist like a weapon. Just soft lighting and the newbie behind the counter, trying to act like they haven’t just caught you scanning the entire café in 0.6 seconds.

“You just missed him,” they say, not even trying to hide the smile.

You try not to look disappointed. Fail. “Damn. Thought maybe I’d… grab another coffee.”

“You just got one this morning.”

“And you remembered that?” You raise an eyebrow.

They shrug. “I’m observant. It’s a survival tactic around him. I’m making you tea.”

That earns a smile. You step up, lean on the counter, and grab a glass of water from the little tap tower like you own the place. “Okay. Spill. What’s his deal?”

The newbie flushes. “He’s… nice.”

You wait.

They sigh. “And smart. Studying aviation.”

That catches you off guard. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Like, actual planes. Cockpit stuff. Not just ‘I like clouds.’”

You process that for a beat. Aviation. Of course. The steady hands. The calm under pressure. The low, precise way he talks. The whole I will literally rise above you all energy.

Disgusting.

“Figures,” you mutter. “Bet he flies with that same stupid smirk.”

The newbie chuckles. “Probably. And you’re not the only one with that theory, by the way.”

You shoot them a look.

They hold up their hands, sheepish. “I’m just saying… he’s the kind of guy who flirts without knowing he’s doing it. Or maybe he does know. But doesn’t care.”

“I can’t afford to spiral,” you say flatly. “I’m going to be a lawyer. I don’t have time for emotionally unavailable air pilots with coffee-scented wrists.”

The newbie raises an eyebrow. “…That’s oddly specific.”

They nudge the takeaway cup toward you with a slightly awkward motion—like they’re not used to the gesture yet. You accept it with steady hands, calm as ever, like this is just part of the ritual now.

“Just a hypothesis,” you say coolly, then pause. “Okay, maybe it’s a well-supported thesis. But I’m distinguishing the case.”

“The what?”

“In law, it means the precedent doesn’t apply. So yes, he’s hot. Yes, I am apparently immune to better judgment. But I’m not going to be that girl who tanks her grades over a guy who’s literally training to fly away.”

The newbie grins. “Bold of you to assume you’re not already that girl.”

You sip your drink, feeling mildly attacked.

“…Objection,” you say.

They nod. “Sustained.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile. For a moment, the café feels warmer than usual—less like a trap, more like a study break. Maybe this was worth it. Even without Caleb.

You glance down at your cup. Not your usual—green tea this time. A quiet suggestion you didn’t argue with. It’s gone lukewarm while you were busy running legal arguments about a barista through your head.

“I should go,” you murmur, adjusting your bag. “Actual law to study. Not just the hot-barista kind.”

The newbie nods, wiping down the counter. “Good luck distinguishing the case.”

“Thanks. I’ll win on appeal.”

You laugh under your breath and push open the door—right as someone else pulls it from the other side.

You don’t see him until it’s too late.

There’s a tangle of motion, a sharp inhale, and then your green tea jolts sideways—right out of your hand—and then, somehow… doesn’t fall.

Because Caleb is right there.

He moves like a reflex—fast, clean, and absurdly smooth—one hand catching the cup mid-air, the other steadying your wrist. And just like that, the tea is back in your hands, lid intact, barely a drop spilled.

He grins. “Whoa. Careful, Golden Girl.”

Your heart is gone. It left your body. You’re not even mad about it.

“Are you—” Your voice catches. “Are you training to be a pilot or a superhero?”

He shrugs. “I’m well trained.” A pause. His grin deepens. “So… how’d you know I was studying aviation?”

You freeze.

He caught that.

You flick a quick glance toward the newbie behind the counter.

They are suddenly very busy. Wiping down the espresso machine like it holds state secrets. Not looking at you. Not acknowledging anything.

“Lucky guess,” you lie.

His eyes stay on you for a moment too long, like he’s filing that answer away. He lets go, but the contact clings, like your body hasn’t caught up

“Well,” he says, stepping aside to let you pass, “Guess I’ll have to be more careful what I say around lucky girls.”

But this time, you don’t just stand there.

You look him right in the eye, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Maybe you should just be careful around me.”

That gets him.

For a second, something flashes across his face—amused, intrigued, the tiniest bit caught off guard. But then he recovers, of course he does, smile curling wider like you just played your first real move on the board.

He leans in just a little, voice low.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’m always careful. Especially with turbulence.”

And then—the audacity—he winks, pivots, and walks away, disappearing behind the counter like he didn’t just drop a full-body shiver down your spine.

You’re left standing in the doorway, blinking, your tea miraculously upright and your sanity… less so.

——————————————————————————

Part 2

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: I said I’d post old drafts. You thought I was joking. That’s on you. Yeah sooo… I kinda love writing the law student. It’s lowkey personal (mystery author strikes again), so I won’t overshare. The obsession element is very fun to play with. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[mellosdrawings]

What's that? I finally took the time to make an actual character sheet for my Yuusona?

Yuu

17 years old, 1st year

They/them, probably on the aro/ace spectrum though they never really thought about it (they do get weird when people show interest in them)

Half Japanese half french

Probably has some flavor of AuDHD

Back home: Before they were kidnapped forcefully moved to Twisted Wonderland, they were the main caretaker of four younger siblings while their parents were busy working. One of their main worry now is whether their siblings are doing alright without them. Their deepest wish is to at least be able to phone call their family to reassure them that they are ok.

Personality: They usually prefer to stand to the side and observe rather than talk and engage with others. They tend to be very prudent with their actions, up until their patience runs out. They're actually pretty perceptive and great at reading others, they just keep everything to themself without realizing.

They make up their absence of magic with their fists and wits. People tend to underestimate them due to their size and quiet demeanor, but they can be vicious and ruthless when push comes to shove. They are not very expressive physically.

At school: Yuu has a terrible focus so they struggle a lot, even when the subject interests them. They are very fond of History of Magic but also hates it because learning a whole world's history in a few months only is a nightmare and a half. They also hate flying with a passion since they are scared of heights. If they could choose a club, Yuu would go for photography and/or filming.

At Ramshackle: Yuu cleans the dorm as a past time, it keeps their body moving while they're thinking about what problem they currently have. They hate cooking though, so when the cafeteria isn't accessible they try to cram themselves in whichever dorm will have them to enjoy someone else's cooking. They aren't very time savvy so they and Grim keep leaving late in the mornings.

Relationships (with Housewardens/OB)

Yuu has a soft spot for Riddle. Unless it's some rule they find completely nonsensical they tend to do whatever Riddle asks. Whenever Yuu comes to class with a clean uniform, it's because Riddle was around to correct their appearance.

Yuu and Leona's relationship is peak siblinghood. Once Yuu figures out that Leona won't act on (half of) his threats, it's over for him. He's one of the first Yuu comes to when they have a problem.

Yuu and Azul regularly try to outsmart each other. At first their interest with Azul is very transactional since he can help with everything Crowley can't be bothered to do (ie give Yuu an actual legal presence in this world) but since they have somewhat similar mindsets they end up getting along very well.

Yuu values Kalim's presence a lot. He's one of the rare pure hearted people at school so Yuu doesn't have to be hyper vigilant around him. It's a breath of fresh air. He is a bit too active for Yuu though, so they tire very fast around him.

"It takes one liar to know another" would be Jamil and Yuu's relationship starter. They had weird vibes from each other from the very start but Jamil did end up underestimating Yuu. Yuu is obsessed with Jamil's hair and regularly takes pictures of him.

Yuu is kinda scared of Vil (in a good way). If they were a tad more outgoing they'd be asking Vil to pose for their camera 24/7. Instead they quietly worship him.

If Yuu could, they'd adopt Idia (and Ortho). Yuu tends to miss their siblings all the time so they get a bit emotional around them both.

Yuu loves to observe Malleus. He's some kind of very strange entity that they can't get enough of and they don't understand half of what he talks about which tickles their curiosity a lot.

Yuu treats Grim like their own cat and plushie. They hold him in their arm as much as possible (until Grim gets tired of it and wanders off somewhere else) because it reassures them. They do fight a lot, a bit like siblings, but they also look out for the other all the time. Yuu sometimes agree to cook for Grim despite hating it.

Relationships (the less fun kind):

Since they're in a world they don't know with students who try to kill them every couple months, Yuu is very defensive in how they approach relationships. Everything starts as transactional and about how "useful" someone can be to keep around. They try to keep even the people they don't really get along with close for this reason.

They are actually very emotional (despite not showing it) so their heart takes precedence over their brain eventually. Despite not being particularly proactive they do go out of their way to help the ones they're close to.

[uschi-the-listener]

If you care, share

It sounds wild. Maybe even crazy. But every step is already in motion. I’d be happy to be wrong. But if this is correct… you’ll be ready.

On April 20, 2025, the United States may initiate its final steps into authoritarian rule.

That’s the day Donald Trump’s advisory committee is expected to release its findings on whether he should invoke the Insurrection Act — a move that would allow him to deploy the military domestically and allow Trump to impose martial law. (San Francisco Chronicle). Given Hegseth is the main “advisor”, the conclusion is foregone.

And as his two months in office has already shown, he won’t stop at just a legal opinion.

Expect an executive order that same day or the next, officially declaring the Insurrection Act, restricting freedoms in the name of restoring control of the border and in blue-state cities, and setting the larger plan in motion.

Of course, this won’t be framed as an attack on democracy. It will be packaged as a necessary response to crisis — as authoritarian takeovers always are.

But once it happens, there’s no going back.

This will be the point of no return.

This Is How Democracy Ends: Here’s their Playbook

It won’t all happen in one night.

Instead, the process will unfold in stages, each step making resistance harder.

Free elections, a free press, and the right to protest will disappear one piece at a time, until there’s nothing left to save.

My entire goal here is to make people aware, so you can recognize it, and maybe help stop it. It’s all I, personally, can do.

Here’s how it will happen, step by step, after Trump invokes the Insurrection Act with an Executive Order:

1. “Resist!” Demonstrations Grow — Just As Planned

Left-leaning and even more centrist people will be alarmed. Peaceful protests will be organized nationwide, as they already have been being organized now, with growing numbers of people joining protests each week.

The calls to “Resist!” will grow louder, and large-scale demonstrations will begin forming in major cities.

This is exactly what Trump wants. He didn’t invoke the Insurrection Act sooner because he needed his opposition to gather first — so he could use them as a tool for his next step.

He also waited 90 days, instead of invoking it on Day 1 as Project 2025 recommended, so he would have his people in place, and remove those who would oppose them in the government, military, courts, and civil positions.

His cabal is waiting for a strong reaction — they want massive unrest. They need a justification to kick off the next steps in their plan.

2. The False Flag Crisis: Turning Protest into “Terror”

The protests will turn violent quickly. Maybe in a day, maybe during the next big protest the following weekend.

They will turn violent not because of the protesters, but because they will have been infiltrated by agents provocateurs, from militia groups like The Proud Boys, whose goal is to escalate as quickly as possible and give Trump and his cabal an excuse to trigger the next stage.

Expect “terrorist” bombings, targeted assassinations, or high-profile acts of violence, either staged or exploited, to justify the crackdown.

There may even be an extremely high profile assassination of a leading right-wing leader that changes everything in a moment… and the “woke radicals” will be blamed, and the country will rally around more extreme measures to bring back order and control.

The media will be flooded with images of chaos, pushing the public into a state of fear. Calls for “order” will follow.

3. Trump Declares Expanded Martial Law — And Calls for Militia to assist the police and Military

Trump has already invoked the Insurrection Act — so now he now declares even more extensive and repressive martial law, and orders troops into major US cities where most oppose him, branding protesters and opponents as “seditionists,” “traitors,” and the “woke mob”.

He will call on “good Americans” to grab their guns, like the patriots of 1776, and join the militias forming to “restore order” and “take back control” from the leftist threat. Using militias also gets him around resistance from military leaders who might oppose his orders.

The militias already exist — the Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, Three Percenters, and others — and they are not some distant fringe. They were at January 6. The most extreme and radicalized are all released from prison now. They are ready to roll, and to answer Trump’s call, which they were waiting for four years ago.

The miliita members are your neighbors. The difference between them and you? These neighbors own and have been training with AR-15s. You and your friends? Not so much.

This will be framed as “helping the police” and “keeping order.” Law enforcement will quietly welcome them — or, in some cases, will deputize them, with Trump’s support.

4. Mass Arrests of Opposition Leaders

Journalists, Democratic officials, and activists will be arrested under charges of sedition, terrorism, or “inciting violence.”

Expect Mark Milley, Liz Cheyney, and Adam Kinzinger to be arrested quickly and with great press coverage. How long the show trials take is probably a good measure of how much control Trump has established over the courts.

Key Democratic governors and attorneys general will be removed first, ensuring no state-level resistance.

Law enforcement and military ranks will be purged, with loyalty tests ensuring only Trump-aligned officers remain.

5. Military & National Guard Take Over Major Cities

Expect deployments in Washington, D.C., New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and other blue-state strongholds.

Curfews and lockdowns will be imposed, justified as measures to “restore peace.”

Checkpoints and military policing will become the new normal. Expect them in particular along major highways going to Canada or Mexico, and in red states — to identify and detain seditionists, traitors, and people of questionable loyalty.

Trump’s building of detainment centers in Guantanamo, and expansion of the 106 other ICE detention centers, was not actually intended for illegal migrants. And just a few days ago, Blackwater founder and Billionaire Erik Prince offered to help Trump “privatize deportation camps” as has been being done with prisons per Trump’s Day 1 Executive Order. So now Trump has an extrajudicial place to store the disloyal and those who resist, in for-profit camps guarded by militias and loyal military. Until he decides what to do with them.

6. Press Censorship & Total Media Control

Independent news outlets will face shutdowns or takeovers. Those that resist will see their journalists arrested or harassed.

Mainstream media will be forced into compliance. Blackmail, corporate pressure, and legal threats will ensure they toe the line.

Social media platforms like X (Twitter) will amplify the official narrative, drowning out opposition.

Other social media and lines of communication will be turned off. The Internet will be monitored, people identified from this monitoring for arrest, using Palantir technology. Peter Thiel, who I’ve written about before, is co-founder of Palantir. We will fully enter thesurveillance state.

7. Borders Close & Dissidents Are Trapped Inside

Passports will be revoked for critics and opponents. If you’re on a list, you’re not leaving.

No-fly lists will expand to include activists and journalists.

ICE and DHS will be weaponized — not just against immigrants, but against political enemies.

8. Elections Are “Postponed” Indefinitely

The 2026 midterms will be suspended under the excuse of national security concerns.

Red-state legislatures will eliminate Democratic-leaning districts, ensuring permanent Republican control.

By 2028, Trump (or his handpicked successor) will run unopposed. Elections will be a formality, probalby still held. But rigged.

Project 2025 and the Insurrection Act: This Was Always the Plan

This isn’t speculation.

The Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 lays out a detailed strategy for permanent right-wing control.

It openly advocates using the Insurrection Act to crush opposition and dismantle the administrative state.

Trump isn’t improvising — he’s following a script.

We Can’t Wait — The Time to Act Is Now

We can’t sit back and wait for Trump to fire the starting gun — because once he does, it will already be too late.

We need to prepare now.

We need to plan now.

We need to dismantle his plans before they begin.

We have one month.

That’s it.

The Only Way to Stop this Coup is by Exposing It

The only way I can think of to stop this conspiracy, which is in final planning stages, is through exposure.

If people see the playbook in advance, they will be less likely be manipulated when it happens.

They might question the narrative. “Wait. This is what they said would happen. I thought it was crazy. But maybe…”

We need to spread this narrative far and wide so that when the moment comes, no one can claim ignorance.

Maybe we will be proven wrong.

Maybe we will look silly.

Or maybe… we will have derailed the plan, by telling people what to look for, to recognize the playbook steps as (if) they happen.

Here’s what we must do before April 20:

Empower the press, law enforcement, military, and elected officials to recognize the game that’s being played. They need to understand what’s happening before they are pressured to go along with it.

Share this post, or write your own. Do your own research. Don’t take my word for it. Talk with your friends and family about this crazy conspiracy theory that can’t rally happen… can it? So if and when the steps actually happen, people recognize it for what it is.

Prepare the public so they don’t take the bait. Trump and his cabal want protests to explode into chaos. They want violence in the streets to justify their crackdown. We must be ready to outmaneuver them — to refuse to be used as pawns in their game.

Stand up to the militias — and stop friends and family from joining them. The Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, and other armed groups will be mobilized as Trump’s shock troops. They will be framed as “restoring order” and “helping the police.” We need to be ready to counter this, to make sure our neighbors, friends, and family don’t get sucked in.

Inoculate our fellow citizens against the propaganda. Most Americans are good people — but good people can be misled. They can be scared into compliance. Our job is to make sure they see what’s happening before it’s too late.

The only way to stop this plot is to expose it, reject it, and make it unmistakably clear to every American what is happening. We must stop these malign forces from enacting their will on our country, the world, and each of us and our families.

What if we Don’t Stop It?

If it is not stopped, and Trump enacts the Insurrection Act, at that point we probably only have 48 to 72 hours to try to stop everything from happening after the Executive Order.

Once martial law is imposed, there will be a tiny window — no more than three days — before resistance becomes nearly impossible.

Stopping it before it happens is the best option.

But what if we don’t?

In my next post, I’ll outline peaceful, strategic ways to resist — while we still can. And what our reduced options are if it still happens.

If we don’t act before April 20, then by April 23, it will already be too late.

[libraford]

Here's what's going on in Ohio right now. Heavy stuff ahead.

First, I want to apologize for the misinformation in my original post. I am still learning about legislative processes. To correct: the changes to ODH and OMHAS in regards to gender therapy are not a bill, they are changes in regulations.

This is important because citizens CAN affect rule changes. There is an open commentary period where your submissions get counted and can affect how they write new regulations.

Disclaimer: I am not a lawyer, legal advocate, or medical professional. I'm just a dude who had to have it all explained to me.

The first one is Ohio Mental Health and Addiction Services. The rules proposed would make the already prohibitive process of gender transition even harder. In order to diagnose and treat gender dysphoria, a hospital needs to have a board certified psychologist per patient, a board certified endocrinologist familiar with the age group being diagnosed per patient, and a medical ethicist overseeing the hospital's plan for transition. 'Board certified' does not guarantee that the specialist is trans-friendly. It must include a detransition plan. Hospitals would have to report compliance annually. The professionals must have a contractual relationship with the patient, but do not need to offer in-person care. (In this instance, I'll get to that in the next rule change.)

This rule also deems it impermissible to prescribe gender transition care (this includes hormones, puberty blockers, or drugs) for anyone under the age of 21 without the approval of the professionals mentioned and 6 months of therapy.

There is an exception for intersex people, who may have their sex assigned to them without their consent.

The open comment period for this ends January 19 at 5pm.

Send an email to MH-SOT-rules@mha.ohio.gov with the subject title: "Comments on Gender Transition Care Rules."

The second one is Ohio Department of Health and it repeats a lot of the same as the first one. However, the focus is more on the regulation of doctors and paperwork. Anyone seeking transition will be put into a registry with their name redacted, but demographics like age, agab, specific diagnosis (difficult to achieve with the new regulations mentioned above), and any medications (not just related to gender transition, but any medications at all). Any cessation of care must be reported within 30 days.

This is a lot of paperwork and can overburden hospitals.

That 30 days cessation is important because if a person transfers doctors or if a clinic closes and the paperwork isn't filed, it may count as a 'detransition' when tallying demographics, even if that is not the case.

But what's curious is that the ODH regulations DO require in-person care. The rules are contradictory and vague.

The comment period for this ends Feb 5th.

Send a comment through the ODH website

Here are some important things that were mentioned at the meeting:

This is a good time to be personal with your statements. If this would disrupt your life in any way, please say so. "I fear that" "I believe this" "I worry that"- these are great ways to start your comment. An example one person gave is "I worry that this change in regulations would force me and my daughter to move out of state.'

With that being said, anything that you send to these sites will be public record, so be cautious about what you reveal about yourself in your comment.

If you are in need of help, please reach out to one of these resources:

Trans Ohio Emergency Fund Resource Page

Kaleidoscope Youth Center

If you are in need of legal advice on how to navigate all this, please call

888-LGBT-LAW

This is not everything. There is unfortunately more because Ohio decided to break a record this month with anti-trans motions. But today I'm focusing on things that we can take action on.

[bonbonly]

Retired scriptwriter!Nico would definitely always give the reader a script for a movie as a favor…unless he finds out that movie was being produced by Lewis…then you’re in trouble.

i lowkeyyy had way too much fun writing this

bon's thoughts (18+)

"mr. rosberggggg" you cry out in a sing-song voice, twirling your hair. you stomp your foot a couple times on his front porch, before harshly kicking at his door. with a huff, you bunch up the ends of your dress, adjusting your fur coat as you move to the side of the house. as expected, the window's open and you sigh, crawling in like a rat scouring for food.

nico exits his bathroom, a towel around his shoulders as he dries his hair and at the sight of you seated so haughtily on his couch, he groans out loud and rolls his eyes, "ms. (l/n), this does count as breaking into my house, you are aware of that right?"

"doesn't matter, mr. rosberg! i've come to ask about the script you were working on? remember, i said i can bring you back to the oscars!" you gaze over at the shelf right above his TV, all his awards on display. a hint of cobwebs was present, and you clear your throat to bring his attention back onto you, "mr. rosberg, i trust you have it finished, correct?"

he lets out a low chuckle, rubbing his jaw as he walks over to the dining table where all his papers lay askew. he shifts through some, crinkling the edges as he tosses them around and brings back a large binder, "for you, ms. (l/n). hopefully, this'll put you in contention for the oscars this year... and maybe if it's successful i'll come back to the industry again, does that sound-"

but his words mean nothing to you once you grab hold of the script, you're flipping through with vigor, excitement bubbling inside you as you squeal out loud, "oh, lewis will never refuse me with this!"

nico's lips form into a thin line, his hand still in the air from when he was gesturing his words and he tilts his head, "i... i beg your pardon? l-lewis? what does he have to do with this?"

"oh my dear, mr. rosberg!" you coo, pinching his cheek which makes him snap his neck away from you in disgust, his eyes hooded with rage at the way you're babying him, "producer lewis told me that if i had a good script, he'll let me sign onto his production house! of course, i'll have to work with legalities to get out of carlos' contract but i can handle it! now you being the sweet gem you are have just given me the opportunity to finally impress him!"

nico's jaw goes taut at your words, and he yanks the binder from your hands and tosses it to the wall, thereby knocking over one of his oscars. you shriek as it crashes onto the ground, crumbling into a million pieces. your worries about the material award is put on hold when he digs his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back to get a clear look of him, "how fucking dare you...gör," he emphasizes the last word with a harsh shake of your head, which causes you to yelp in surprise. your eyes go wide, staring at him with that oblivious look you always gave him when you crossed a line.

"w-what'd i do wrong?" you ask, and he laughs right at your face, his hand traveling down to grab your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks,

"too many things you've done wrong. and i've been quiet about all of them, but this? going to the man that nearly ruined my career? with my script? that i generously spent weeks working on for you?" he tosses you onto his couch, his knee pushing your legs apart for him to settle between them, "just the nerve, the fucking audacity of you to come here begging like a cheap whore for me to write you a script, and i do it every time because i keep thinking you're a star, and then you remind me time and time again that whores like you will never learn!"

he hikes your dress up, noticing your thin lace underwear and he glares at you, "im not surprised, just disappointed really," and he hooks a finger into the waistband and pulls it back, letting the fabric slap onto your mound with a firm snap! that has you whimpering. "no, no noises from you, you keep your mouth shut. i don't want to hear any of your bullshit."

he grabs your panties and slides them down your legs, all the time berating you as he stuffs the underwear into your mouth. the fur coat slips down from your shoulders and he rips your dress off, using the fabric to tie your hands behind your back as he flips you onto your stomach.

"every fucking time... when will I ever learn?" he mutters, trailing his finger down your back, "this is how you get roles right? how you get awards? your cunt's just too good to pass up on, that's why they keep making you win hoping you'll spread your legs again next year, hm?"

his touch is torturous, his movements slow and it's hours before he finally slides his cock into your weeping pussy, finally giving you the pleasure you were craving for. he ignores your strangled moans as he buries himself to the hilt, sliding out until his tip kisses your folds before slamming right back into you. a few more harsh thrusts that sends you to heaven before he grabs a hold of your hips and sets a relentless pace. he leans down to pin his weight on top of you, loving the way your moans flood his empty house. he snakes his hand around to circle your clit, your moans now screams that momentarily distract nico from the fact that lewis was calling you. you pathetically try to wriggle away but nico holds you down, letting his cock root into the gummy walls of your creamy cunt and he grabs the phone,

"had an appointment didn't you? you were gonna tell him about my script?" he scoffs. he smacks your ass hard, and you jolt forwards as your face burrows into your coat, tears streaming down from your face, "should let him know you won't make it right?"

nico answers the call, tossing it right in front of your face and he finally yanks the panties from your mouth, yanking your head back as his fingers find your hair. he picks up your pace, "i want to hear you scream, slut, be as loud as you can be."

that's more than enough for you to be babbling, sobbing and screaming at how good you feel, how you'll never make a mistake like this again! "mr. rosberg, oh rosberg!" you punctuate with each moan, and nico laughs behind you. there's silence from lewis's side, exactly what nico wanted. his thrusts become erratic, and when he's close to cumming, he pulls you up flush against his chest as he rubs your clit hard, determined to make you milk his cock. your guttural scream floods lewis's ears through the phone, combined with nico laughing out loud at the mess you've made,

"you slut! look at you!" he chuckles, "i have to get my couch cleaned now! there's some on the table... be a good little girl and lick it off for me, hm?" he lets you go, untying your wrists and kissing your forehead gently before grabbing the phone right above your head.

"you stay away from her, hamilton," nico growls into the phone, "i better not see that contract signed by her." and then he hangs up, tossing the phone back onto the couch before heading back to his pile of scripts waiting for him at the dining table.

[fantasywater]

These are the reasons Stolas Horseman still gets dragged for his infidelity even though the circus was supposed to FIX THAT.

This is for Stolas's Western Entergy interpretation and for the fans who agree with it:

Stolas is an adulterer.

No one gets to change the definition of a word just because they don't like it being said about their favorite character.

He's a domestic abuse survivor and an adulterer. Both are true. 

The reason Stolas still gets criticism is because of the execution of how it was written and the Octavia factor.

We were introduced to Stolas and Stella's dynamic with her being pissed that her husband of at least seventeen years cheated on her.

That anger is empathy-inducing to a lot of people because being cheated on, or knowing someone who has, is a relatable experience. It also looks extra disgusting on the one who stepped out when a family is involved.

Even her throwing things at him could be excused because of the context in which it was happening.  

There's a reason why temporary insanity is welcome in legal circles because it gives leeway to the perpetrator in that it asks the question would they have done this awful thing if it wasn't for an extreme mental break forcing them to? 

Stolas's infidelity was that mental break.

Trying to kill him can also fall comfortably under temporary insanity. 

Plus having our protagonists kill innocents as a job also takes the bite out of it. 

It also doesn't help that both Stolas and Stella's voice actors gave their own explanations that pretty much stated what I said above.

Even our first episode was about a cheated-on woman going to extremes, but she was shown in a sympathetic light despite it. 

Yet the very next episode shows the same issue, but because Stolas is a main character we are supposed to fall in line that the adulterer is whose side we should be on. 

Octavia having a mental breakdown(twice now) because of Stolas's infidelity is also not endearing him to the audience.

What he is doing to his child is the biggest reason why his remorseless, continuous, infidelity is not a take-back-my-power move.

The inciting incident for both Stella's recurrent violent anger and death "threats", as well as Octavia's mental breaks, is Stolas's cheating. Therefore what is happening to him now is a consequence of his own actions.

The writing in the problem. We were introduced to a wife and daughter showing anger in different ways because a spouse and father betrayed their family, and yet Viv still expects us to feel sympathetic to Stolas.

In reality, Stolas is the antagonist of Stella, Octavia, and Blitz.

That role was especially blatant in Loolooland.

As for Stella; Viv tried to course correct by being heavy-handed in showing her as a cartoonish monster in The Circus. 

However, because of the initial execution of writing her as a scorned wife due to her remorseless, continuous cheating husband for a whole season, she has forever poisoned the well for Stolas and she has no one to blame for that but herself.

She is the one who wrote one of her supposedly sympathetic main characters partaking in Sexual Extortion(Blitz), Adultery(Stella), and Child Neglect(Octavia), but then seems to have an issue when a nice chunk of the fandom still thinks only his victims deserve sympathy.

Nevertheless, since the Circus is in the canon now does Stolas owe Stella loyalty and remorse? No. 

However, Stolas is not just a husband. Octavia exists.

Therefore Octavia will always be the reason why his (continuous) infidelity was a selfish and vile act. 

That's also why what's going to happen to him in the leaks is on him.

His karma warranty is up.

The problem is that the karma Viv gives is an illusion because she still wants you to feel sorry for Stolas. That's why there's always a sturdy flavor of demonization in the narrative toward anyone he's harmed to facilitate that.

However, considering the nature of his crimes his comeuppance is deserved, but she still writes like it's not and expects the audience to fall in line.

She also did the same thing with Blitz's issues with him.

So it's a pattern, and it exists because a fujoshi is writing this story. 

It's a failure in the execution when the author's intent and the audience's takeaway is this broken.

[mudelebentru]

I liked this article, although I don't agree with "patriarchy good" and the casual misogyny. But I agree with the author and "his" solution -already shared it on this blog.

If you go by how we use the word colloquially which is all that matters, basically 99% of men are pedophiles. It is true that if you're going by the dictionary definition “a psychiatric disorder in which an adult has sexual fantasies about or engages in sexual acts with a prepubescent child” only about 1 to 4 percent of men experience pedophilic attraction. However, 9 times out of 10 when someone's calling a person a pedophile online that's not what they mean.

So what about their revealed preferences? Instead of asking men, what if you showed them a series of images of naked underaged girls and naked adult women and then measured their reactions (don't ask me how this study was legal)? Well, then the percentage of men who are attracted to sub-18-year-old girls is by no means a minority.

In the first study, there was very little difference between the amount of arousal men experience from seeing nude 12 to 16-year-old girls and nude 17 to 37-year-old women. In the second study, men expressed a preference for adolescent girls ages 11 to 15. So from these two studies, the results indicate that men are either more attracted to adolescent girls than adult women or almost as attracted to adolescent girls as they are to adult women. Either way, it's not looking good bros.

They legitimately have convinced themselves they could never find a teenage girl attractive because such attraction is legally, morally, and socially prohibited. None of this changes the fact that if you show them images of 15-year-old girls in bikinis their penis becomes erect.

Oh, one last thing before I move on. If you are a woman reading this, I want to give you a very helpful piece of advice. If you have a guy friend who regularly says things like "I'm 27, I could never find a girl who's 19 attractive that's freaking weird and gross" that's the type of guy who is knowingly lying and he is a dangerous sociopath. Run.

(this part lmao)

In reality, if you remove all extrinsic social factors and place men back in the state of nature for a couple of generations they become way more violent and rapey.

In pre-civilization times something like 1/4 of all males died due to having their skull caved in with a rock by another dude. About 1/10 of the Skulls from prehistoric women have also been found with rock-shaped holes in their heads. Given that most female homicide victims throughout recorded history have been killed by men I think it's reasonable to assume that was probably the case back then too. I can't find good stats on prehistoric rape because unlike getting hit with a rock it often doesn't result in skeletal trauma that anthropologists can later identify. That said, the idea of sexual consent being important is a relatively modern phenomenon. Let's be real if a fella is willing to bash your head in with a rock I don't think rape is far-fetched.

Our patriarchal society makes men behave far better than they otherwise would. That said, the previous studies showing the ages of girls men find attractive demonstrates the limits of socialization. We can change men's actions and stated preferences but their underlying drives, urges, and desires will always remain the same. To summarize, the essentialist radfem who believes that all men are born violent rapist pedophiles is a lot closer to being correct than her moderate counterpart, since she doesn't try to shift the blame from men onto some nebulous social structure.

The author responded to a thoughtful comment saying:

"Thank you for reading my piece. I'm glad you had a chance to read it as you were one of the authors who inspired me to write it. I'm going to compartmentalize your response that way it'll be easier for me to respond to each point.

> and possible start advocating for major male-specific eugenics

This is unironically my ultimate solution to the issue. In the past eugenics was actually performed somewhat unintentionally in Western Europe with around 1% of the most violent elements of the male population( rapists murderers etc) being executed each generation before they could create offspring for about a thousand years. I think Ryan Faulk ( the alternative hypothesis) did a study on this. It had a massive effect on the Western European gene pool both raising its IQ and domesticating it somewhat. In pre Medieval Times northern European men had rates of homicide exceeding some African societies. I think more feminists should take a serious look at Eugenics as a solution to the issues they have with men since “ teaching men not to rape” is probably not going to eradicate the issue entirely. Plus many of the four foremothers of the feminist and Reproductive Rights movement like Margaret Sanger were ardent eugenicists."

Men are telling you again who they are, how they think, and what the solution is.

[sudsnribbons]

Porch-swing angel. | B.A

DBF!Beau Arlen x F!Reader

MDNI

Warnings: SMUTT, age gap (reader is legal to drink, beau is early 40s), use of petnames (sweetheart, darlin', ect.), loss of a parent, beau being a sweetheart, oral (f rec.), exhibition, dub-con if you squint (both are under the influence), drinking, ooc beau? cum eating? i think thats it! lmk!!

Wordcount: 2,432

A/N: Beau Arlen has consumed me. I've seen like 1 episode of big sky so don't come for me. This is a result of insomnia and access to my notes app. Very loosely inspired by 'Porch Swing Angel' by Muscadine Bloodline! Hope you enjoy!!

Part one | Final

First it was the fridge light. easy fix, right?

A few youtube videos later and that was back in business.

But then.

Almost like the universe had it out for you–

The shower.

That god awful noise as it would drip just loud enough to keep you up.

You put it off for a week, figuring it would subside.

You never were that lucky.

--

Your fathers best friend,

Beau Arlen.

Sheriff Arlen and your father go way back, they met in highschool. Your father went to college and got married shortly after. Beau? Well despite his unruly teen years, became a man of the law.

You had moved into your dad's place right after he passed. Along with the deed to his beautiful home, was a note from your father.

"If you need anything, Arlen is right next door. He'll take care of you sweetheart."

- Love, dad

Your heart ached as you read the note, secured by a magnet on your fridge.

You really had tried not to call him. It had been over 6 months since your father had passed. You had lost a father, yes. But Beau? He had lost his best friend. You didn't want to bother him if at all possible.

Yet here you are, house phone in hand, dialing that all too familiar number on the wheel.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three-

"Hello?" Beau's voice filled your ears.

Silence.

Is it too late to hang up?

"Hello? Anyone there?" he asks, southern drawl making your face heat up.

"Beau.. uhm Mr. Arlen-Sheriff Arlen-" you stumble over your words, regretting the call all together.

"You alright sweetheart?" he asks, voice sounding worried.

"Yeah—uhm my dad left your number?" you mutter nervously over the line.

"Right, what can I do for you sugar?" god that voice.

"My shower broke and I tried to fix it and I've watched what felt like 100 youtube videos and I-" his voice halted your babbling.

"I'll be there soon sweetheart. I get off at 5." he smiles through his words, happy to help.

"5 it is sheriff." you anxiously play with the phone cord, wrapping the coil of wire around your fingers.

"Beau. Call me Beau." he corrected.

"Right—Beau." you nodded in understanding and hung up. Placing the old phone back on the dock.

--

To pass the time, you decided to make the recipe you'd put off for so long. Brown butter chocolate chip cookies, couldn't be too hard right? You've made cookies countless times.

Easy peasy–

Is what you thought you'd say, but after burning the butter 3 times you almost gave up.

The 4th time must be the charm because they turned out perfect. Flaky salt sprinkled over the cookie tray, to compliment the sweet.

Almost comical how perfect your timing was, as soon as you plated the cookies there was a knock at the door.

Wiping your hands on the patchwork apron, you rush to open the door.

There he was. Even more handsome than he used to be if that was even possible.

You hadn't seen Beau since your parents split up, ending up with your mother in Tennessee.

You'd almost forgotten just how handsome he was.

Grey streaks peppered in his beard, the start of the sunset reflecting the light just right enough to see them.

"Sheriff–Beau, come in." you corrected yourself, moving to the side so the man could come in.

"Smells good in here, what d'you make?" he questioned, walking straight into the kitchen just as he'd done many times before.

Smiling down at the plate of cookies, and sink full of dishes from your little endeavor.

"You can have as many as you'd like, I just need my shower fixed." you gestured to the plate, pulling the apron over your head and hanging it on a hook by the oven.

"Payin' me in cookies?" he joked, picking one up and taking a bite.

"If you'd let me." you smiled as you watched his eyes light up at the taste. "New recipe, you like 'em?" you ask, leaning your back against the oven.

Nodding, he groans "Lord yeah–best cookies i've ever had." you smiled at the praise. "Does your wife ever make you any cookies?" you questioned.

You had to–I mean look at him. You were desperate to know, any woman would be a fool not to pounce on the opportunity.

"Not married sugar." he laughed, finishing the cookie.

Awkward.

Wiping his hands over his denim-clad thighs he huffed out, "So what's wrong with this shower you were talkin' about?" he questioned, starting up the steps and down the hall. You followed like a lost puppy, he knew this house a hell of a lot better than you did.

Following him into the bathroom, "'S leakin' all over my floor." turning the dial on the out-dated shower, you quickly turn it off and watch water leak from the side.

He watches and nods, "Jus' needs some caulk." he waves it off like it's a simple fix.

Your voice gets caught in your throat as you cough. "I'm sorry, what?" your face is beat red.

"Ca-ulk sweetheart. The seal. S'gone bad." he pronounced the word slowly, quickly retrieving your mind from the gutter.

"Oh right–right of course." you replied, brushing your hair behind your ear.

"M'off tomorrow, I'll swing by Lowe's and get some. Fix ya right up." he smiled, exiting the bathroom and heading downstairs.

Meeting the man in the kitchen, you bent down in the cabinet to get some tupperware. Pulling the blue bowl from the shelf, you pack some cookies away before sealing the lid.

Sliding the tupperware towards Beau, "Can't eat a dozen cookies by myself. You wanna take these home and help me out a little?" Smiling warmly at the man to persuade him, as if it took much.

"Thanks sweetheart. I’ll be over 'bout 2 tomorrow. Does that work for ya?" he asked, wrapping his fingers around the bowl, making it look smaller than it was in his hand.

"2 works for me!" you said as you walked him to the door.

--

Your alarm tried to wake you up, 4 times. Damn you and heavy sleep. What finally got you was knocking at the door. Shooting up from bed, you glance up at the clock at 2:15pm.

Fuck.

Springing out of bed like some cartoon character you stumble around your room trying to get changed out of your pajamas, "'M comin'! One second!" you yell, shuffling through your closet to find a hoodie to just throw over the tank-top you'd slept in.

You decided on a dark blue hoodie, embroidered with 'Big Sky High, Class of '01'. leaving on the shorts you had on, socked feet pattered down the steps and to the front door.

"Mornin' to you too." he smiled, taking in your disheveled appearance.

"Didn't mean to sleep that long." you rubbed your hand over your face, stepping to the side to let the man in.

"S'alright. haven't seen that thing in a while." he laughed, pointing to your hoodie.

Looking down, you replied. "Oh yeah–it was dad's. Did you have one?" you asked.

Walking up the steps, you followed behind him. Setting the Lowe's bag on the floor before he answered you. "That one is mine darlin'. Your dad graduated in 2000." he smiled looking down at you.

Blush crept up on your skin, "Oh I didn't know." he shook his head, "You're alright, looks better on you anyways." Beau muttered, pulling stuff out of the bag.

Filling the gun, to re-seal everything he started, "You plannin' on stayin' for good?" you nodded, leaning on the bathroom sink watching him work. "Yeah I think you're stuck with me Arlen." he shakes his head laughing, continuing to work with your company. "S'good. Gets lonely around here with your dad gone." his mood dropped–so did yours, at the mention of your father.

"Well y'got me now, and I bake killer cookies." you smile down at him crouched in the floor, trying to lighten the mood.

"Damn right." he smiled and stood up, "N'more leaky shower." wiping the excess off the gun onto his jeans. "My savior." you reply and he laughs. Both of you heading back downstairs.

"What do I owe you Beau?" you ask the man, starting to grab your wallet from the counter. Beau was quick to shake his head, "M’not takin' your money darlin'." he insisted, "How am I supposed to repay you?" you questioned. "Jus' keep savin' me some of those cookies, yeah?" he ran a hand over his beard. "Of course." you smiled at the man.

"Did you say you were off today?" you asked, leaning against the counter. "I am, why d'ya ask?" he questioned. "Well i was gonna make some dinner, I didn't know if you wanted to stay for a plate?" you offered and he was quick to accept. "I haven't had a home cooked meal in too long, I'd be a fool not to." he replied.

---

It was around 7:26pm when you finished up with dinner. You made a simple baked chicken with a few sides, and the help of Beau.

The two of you sat on your porch, sipping on a beer beside beau in the swing. "Are you even old enough to drink?" he asked teasingly as he popped the can tab. "Thought you said you were off today sheriff." you joked back.

It felt so easy—domestic almost, the way you two fit perfectly in the porch-swing. The breeze blowing your hair ever so slightly. Sun casting on your face, lighting up your eyes. The same ones you could have sworn just watched beau stare at you. Looking over at the man you couldn't help but smile.

"What's in that pretty little head of yours?" he asked, brushing your hair behind your ear. "Nothin." taking a sip of your beer–liquid courage, "Thank you for fixin' my shower Beau." he nodded, bringing the can from his hand to his lips. "S'no problem. Told your old man I'd take care of ya." you nodded, grateful to have someone to fall back on when you needed it.

Your arm brushed his as you leaned forward, setting the can on the table in-front of the swing. Cicadas filled the air with their voices, sun behind the mountains and trees. The porch light lit up the two of you. Warm amber-like light casted over Beau's face, all you could do was stare at him. Like he could disappear at any moment. Like you had to memorize every freckle and wrinkle on his face. "Got a starin' problem sweetheart." he chuckled lowly, taking another drink from the chilled can. Trying to ignore what you were doing to him.

This was wrong.

You're his late best friend's daughter.

Knowing your dad he'd rise from the grave and beat his ass for even thinking about you like that.

But God were you beautiful.

Seeing you in that hoodie was what really dealt him in.

His hoodie.

And now? You sat beside him, bare thigh brushing against his denim-clad one.

He felt the heat radiating off you, and it was driving him insane.

You sat, nursing a beer beside him. So unbothered and casual, yet so perfect at the same time.

He had to get out of here. do something.

Beau's resolve was crumbling more and more each time your eyelashes fluttered.

He leaned forward, setting down his empty can. A heavy hand fell on your thigh as he started to get up. "I better go home, it's gettin' late." he tried, to convince himself more than you.

Not wanting the night to end, you were quick to protest, "Wait–don't go yet." he stood in-front of you, waiting for you to say something.

You searched for a minute, trying to find something–anything to say. When you came up empty handed, you did the only other thing you could think of.

Leaning up on your tip-toes you pressed your lips to Beau's, eyes fluttering as you quickly pulled away.

Eyes wide in shock, you covered your mouth "Beau I’m so sorry I don't-" you started to apologize but he simply shook his head, leaning down to meet your lips with his again. "Tell me to stop and I will." he muttered, forehead against yours. Looking up into his eyes, "Don't–need you Beau." he smiled, hoisting you up in his arms.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, legs finding his waist. He walked you back until your back hit the siding of the house. Kissing down your neck, the friction from his beard sending chills down your back. "M'gonna take care of you sugar." Beau muttered against your neck. Sliding down the thin sleep shorts you had on from earlier, the fabric pooling around your knees. The cool breeze of summer air hit your core.

Pulling the shorts fully off, throwing them somewhere on the porch-swing beside you. Beau traced your slit, "No panties darlin'?" he asked, "Almost like y'wanted this." he teased you, and it was working. Sliding one finger inside. "I–fuck I did." you mutter with a gasp at the intrusion. Beau smirks, satisfied with his effect on you. "Soakin' wet for me angel." pushing another finger in, he starts to curl his fingers upward. As he kept brushing against that spongy-spot, you felt the band in your stomach wind tighter and tighter. "C'mon sweetheart let go for me." his words filled your ears and he kissed your lips, taking every moan that escaped your mouth into his. "Oh Beau!" you cried out as the elastic snapped, and white heat flushed over your body.

Brushing the hair out of your face, beau carried you over to the porch-swing. Setting you down, he found your shorts that were discarded earlier. Bringing his fingers to his mouth he groans at the taste, "Sweeter than those cookies y'made me." you cover your face, and beau guides your shorts back up your legs.

Sitting beside you, he traces your thigh. The loud ringtone on his phone broke the silence between you two. Looking down at the number he sighed, "I gotta answer this." you nodded. He was the sheriff.

You watched as his demeanor changed as he listened, "Okay–I'll be there in twenty." your heart dropped, you didn't want him to leave. Especially not after that.

The call ended and he looked at you with those green eyes, "I'm sorry darlin' they need me at the station." he leaned forward to kiss your lips, and you nodded in understanding.

"This isn't over angel." he shot you a smirk as he got in his truck, turning the ignition and pulling out of the gravel driveway the two of you shared.

[werew0lfhours]

So, a certain someone has decided to rebrand, but before that, she was working on a script for a new video.

(Before I get to far into this, I don't want this to become a blog about her this is my safe side of the internet, I just feel insulted by this.)

Now, here's what she said;

(For those that can't read the fuck ass text; I apologize for everything I've said about Natalie Wynn, Jessica Routhier, Nate Stevenson, Patricia Taxxon, Jessie Earl, Rebecca Sugar, and Abigail Thorne. And if I said something unkind to you and I forgot your name, pop it into the comments and you'll get one personally.)

.... Interesting right?

She apologizes to creators who probably have forgotten about her existence, if they ever knew about her in the first place. And she ends it in a way that says she wants to be reminded of who else she may have hurt. Don't worry hun, I got you.

Crimson Ender; Trans man you have dehumanized and called a pedophile for having a differing opinion and poking fun at you. He's also native, and trying to keep his culture alive. Unlike you.

Sai Scribbles; A lesbian you have dehumanized and happly let be doxxed until it looked bad on you. All for correcting you on a show made for children, and being a bit catty about it. Not to mention, false flagging her content.

Anthony Gragmulia; A bisexual man you have dehumanized, denied his experience with surviving abuse, have been homophobic to, and claimed to have been fired for being a misogynist, which could have gotten him blacklisted from his industry, if it wasn't total horseshit. He also got false flagged by you. All for correcting you on Pokémon lore, a game made for children.

Blake; A person you sexually harassed and tried to get them to admit they were attracted to you, which is still, sexual harassment.

Britt; A woman you sexually harrassed when you were presenting as a cis man. She's a lesbian. You had Tara try and talk her into sleeping with you. That is harassment.

Josh; A man who you were friends with, alleged he faked being in the American Armed Forces, said he was a pedophile (when you had previously tried to get him to date a much younger woman who was a minor at the time), and continue to bring up even though he has moved on.

InkRose; A woman you tried to pressure into dating an older man when she wasn't even legal, and then had your fans draw art of her sona with women, even though she is straight and uncomfortable with that artwork.

KP; A friend you threw away when she wanted some answers. A friend you have doxxed. A friend who wanted to believe you. But you ran like a coward.

Lizzy; You're ex who you dehumanized and have continually said horrible things about unprompted when she hasn't done a goddamn thing. She never said anything about you until you started talking shit. You dragged her name so far through the mud, she doesn't feel safe on Tumblr anymore. You threatened to release the nudes she thought you had deleted. You stole one of her beloved oc's, which is so fucking awful to do. Not to mention: You stole her goddamn last name.

Ginger; A minor you didn't discourage to not draw NSFW of your avatar, when they were very open about being a minor. You then proceeded to have some kind of a relationship with them when they were hardly legal.

Carousel; Another person you had a romantic relationship with that you treated badly after they broke up with you. You also stole an oc from them.

Ren; Another fan you seemed to have a strange relationship with. They're married, and live in Russia. I'm assuming their spouse wouldn't be happy if they knew the full truth, no?

Opal; A fan of yours who you drew a version of your puppet in their style that you got so enraged at because she gave you some weight and curves. She isn't on the internet anymore... Weird, huh?

Lolo; A friend turned fan who you have snapped at as if she is an unruly dog and never seemed to apologize for your outburst after the fact.

Levi; A minor fan who alleges they had a weird interaction/relationship with. Who has screenshots they are too scared to share. Strange.

Mikaila; Your wife. Your wife, who was a fan. Your wife, who has had a very hard life, and sees you as her ray of sunshine. Your wife, who you expect to draw, you whatever art you want without payment. Your wife, who you have trained like a fucking dog. Your wife, who would make noises you didn't like so you cried, instead of talking to her like an adult. Your wife, who you horny posted about when her cat died, and she needed your comfort. Your wife, who you snapped at when her chair creaked, the same fucking day she found out her mother had been stealing from her. Your wife, who left the call after that. Your wife, who you didn't notice she left until a few minutes later, because you were flirting with another woman. Your wife, you chastised for letting dinner burn because you were playing a video game and couldn't get off your ass to check on it yourself. Your wife, who you have dehumanized, and very recently, made it seem like you only value her because she has "holes you can penetrate". Your wife, who doesn't live with you.

Courtney; You know what you did. I don't need to say it.

And to top it off; the countless people you told to kill themselves in very uncreative ways.

But you apologize to people with more power. The one that stands out who doesn't fit in is Patricia Taxxon. You know, a trans woman who has e-flashed her fan base, some of them being minors, has allegedly masturbated in a discord call with minors as well, and posts on her public Tumblr about wanting to fuck her biological father. Actually "fuck" is the incorrect verbage; she wants to be re-victimized by him for her sexual pleasure. She also talks about having pedophilic thoughts in a way she doesn't seem too bothered about. And, don't get me started on Buyer's Market.

And while I'm thinking about it; Why don't you apologize for associating with someone who might actually be a white supremacist. You know who. Your brother.

Cameron. Cameron, who molested your sister and shared a room with you. Cameron, who had other children in your neighborhood, alleged he did the same to him that he did to Courtney. Cameron, who was dishonorably discharged for assaulting several fellow officers. That's public info, you know. Cameron, who deadnames, misgenders, and refuses to acknowledge your identity and your wife's identity. Cameron, who you, for years, said was a piece of shit until recently. Cameron, who is a Trump cocksucker and has made fun of children dying in mass shootings. Cameron, who is the exact person you say we should bash his brains in with a rock, but he's your dearest relative? Your beloved brother?

So, nice try at an apology. But, it isn't true, is it? But nevermind that, we both know that apologizes mean nothing if you don't fucking change your behavior. And you never change. Do you? So, take your apology, because it's worthless here.

Ps. If you were planning your rebrand, why did you still sign your most recent script with your old name, "Casey"? It seems a bit fishy to me, but how would I know? I'm a jackass on the internet :)

(Final line reads; I'm Lily, thanks for watching.)

[iwriteaboutfeminism]

((Article from Aletheisthenes on Medium))

Part 1: On April 20th, 2025, the United States may Cross the Point of No Return.

It sounds wild. Maybe even crazy. But every step is already in motion. I’d be happy to be wrong. But if this is correct… you’ll be ready.

On April 20, 2025, the United States may initiate its final steps into authoritarian rule.

That’s the day Donald Trump’s advisory committee is expected to release its findings on whether he should invoke the Insurrection Act — a move that would allow him to deploy the military domestically and allow Trump to impose martial law. (San Francisco Chronicle). Given Hegseth and Noem are the main “advisors”, the conclusion is foregone.

And as his two months in office has already shown, he won’t stop at just a legal opinion.

Expect an executive order even that same day or the next, officially declaring the Insurrection Act, restricting freedoms in the name of restoring control of the border and perhaps in blue-state cities, and setting the larger plan in motion.

Of course, this won’t be framed as an attack on democracy. It will be packaged as a necessary response to crisis — as authoritarian takeovers always are.

But once it happens, there’s no going back.

This will be the point of no return.

The roadmap for overthrowing a democratic government isn’t new or theoretical — it’s a well-worn playbook, tested and repeated across history by those who crave power more than liberty. After rejecting it initially, being incredulous, I have realized there is too much evidence suggesting this may be what’s happening now to remain silent.

Telling other people what may be happening, so they can recognize it and maybe together we can stop it, is my entire purpose here.

This is Part 1 of what has turned into a series: Their Coup Playbook: How They Quietly Kill the Constitution in the Coming Weeks and Months

This Is How Democracy Ends: Here’s their Playbook

It won’t all happen in one night.

Instead, the process will unfold in stages, each step making resistance harder.

Free elections, a free press, and the right to protest will disappear one piece at a time, until there’s nothing left to save.

My entire goal here is to make people aware, so you can recognize it, if it really is what’s happening, and maybe together we can help stop it. It’s all I, personally, can do.

Here’s how it will happen, step by step, after Trump invokes the Insurrection Act with an Executive Order:

1. “Resist!” Demonstrations Grow — Just As Planned

Left-leaning and even more centrist people will be alarmed. Peaceful protests will be organized nationwide, as they already have been being organized now, with growing numbers of people joining protests each week.

The calls to “Resist!” will grow louder, and large-scale demonstrations will begin forming in major cities.

This is exactly what Trump wants. He didn’t invoke the Insurrection Act sooner because he needed his opposition to gather first — so he could use them as a tool for his next step.

He also waited 90 days, instead of invoking it on Day 1 as Project 2025 recommended, so he would have his people in place, and remove those who would oppose them in the government, military, courts, and civil positions.

His cabal is waiting for a strong reaction — they want massive unrest. They need a justification to kick off the next steps in their plan.

their plan.

2. The False Flag Crisis: Turning Protest into “Terror”

The protests will turn violent quickly. Maybe in a day, maybe during the next big protest the following weekend.

They will turn violent not because of the protesters, but because they will have been infiltrated by agents provocateurs, from militia groups like The Proud Boys, whose goal is to escalate as quickly as possible and give Trump and his cabal an excuse to trigger the next stage.

Expect “terrorist” bombings, targeted assassinations, or high-profile acts of violence, either staged or exploited, to justify the crackdown.

There may even be an extremely high profile assassination of a leading right-wing leader that changes everything in a moment… and the “woke radicals” will be blamed, and the country will rally around more extreme measures to bring back order and control.

The media will be flooded with images of chaos, pushing the public into a state of fear. Calls for “order” will follow.

3. Trump Declares Expanded Martial Law — And Calls for Militia to assist the police and Military

Trump has already invoked the Insurrection Act — so now he now declares even more extensive and repressive martial law, and orders troops into major US cities where most oppose him, branding protesters and opponents as “seditionists,” “traitors,” and the “woke mob”.

He will call on “good Americans” to grab their guns, like the patriots of 1776, and join the militias forming to “restore order” and “take back control” from the leftist threat. Using militias also gets him around resistance from military leaders who might oppose his orders.

The militias already exist — the Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, Three Percenters, and others — and they are not some distant fringe. They were at January 6. The most extreme and radicalized are all released from prison now. They are ready to roll, and to answer Trump’s call, which they were waiting for four years ago.

The militia members are your neighbors. The difference between them and you? These neighbors own and have been training with AR-15s. You and your friends? Not so much.

This will be framed as “helping the police” and “keeping order.” Law enforcement will quietly welcome them — or, in some cases, will deputize them, with Trump’s support.

4. Mass Arrests of Opposition Leaders

Journalists, Democratic officials, and activists will be arrested under charges of sedition, terrorism, or “inciting violence.”

Expect Mark Milley, Liz Cheney, and Adam Kinzinger to be arrested quickly and with great press coverage. How long the show trials take is probably a good measure of how much control Trump has established over the courts.

Key Democratic governors and attorneys general will be removed first, ensuring no state-level resistance.

Law enforcement and military ranks will be purged, with loyalty tests ensuring only Trump-aligned officers remain.

5. Military & National Guard Take Over Major Cities

Expect deployments in Washington, D.C., New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and other blue-state strongholds.

Curfews and lockdowns will be imposed, justified as measures to “restore peace.”

Checkpoints and military policing will become the new normal. Expect them in particular along major highways going to Canada or Mexico, and in red states — to identify and detain seditionists, traitors, and people of questionable loyalty.

Trump’s building of detainment centers in Guantanamo, and expansion of the 106 other ICE detention centers, was not actually intended for illegal migrants. And just a few days ago, Blackwater founder and Billionaire Erik Prince offered to help Trump “privatize deportation camps” as has been being done with prisons per Trump’s Day 1 Executive Order. So now Trump has an extrajudicial place to store the disloyal and those who resist, in for-profit camps guarded by militias and loyal military. Until he decides what to do with them.

6. Press Censorship & Total Media Control

Independent news outlets will face shutdowns or takeovers. Those that resist will see their journalists arrested or harassed.

Mainstream media will be forced into compliance. Blackmail, corporate pressure, and legal threats will ensure they toe the line.

Social media platforms like X (Twitter) will amplify the official narrative, drowning out opposition.

Other social media and lines of communication will be turned off. The Internet will be monitored, people identified from this monitoring for arrest, using Palantir technology. Peter Thiel, who I’ve written about before, is co-founder of Palantir. We will fully enter the surveillance state.

7. Borders Close & Dissidents Are Trapped Inside

Passports will be revoked for critics and opponents. If you’re on a list, you’re not leaving. Especially if you’re of Draft age.

No-fly lists will expand to include activists and journalists.

ICE and DHS will be weaponized — not just against immigrants, but against political enemies.

8. Elections Are “Postponed” Indefinitely

The 2026 midterms will be suspended under the excuse of national security concerns.

Red-state legislatures will eliminate Democratic-leaning districts, ensuring permanent Republican control.

By 2028, Trump (or his handpicked successor) will run unopposed. Elections will be a formality, probably still held. But rigged.

Project 2025 and the Insurrection Act: This Was Always the Plan

This isn’t speculation.

The Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 lays out a detailed strategy for permanent right-wing control.

It openly advocates using the Insurrection Act to crush opposition and dismantle the administrative state.

Trump isn’t improvising — he’s following a script.

We Can’t Wait — The Time to Act Is Now

We can’t sit back and wait for Trump to fire the starting gun — because once he does, it will already be too late.

We need to prepare now.

We need to plan now.

We need to dismantle his plans before they begin.

We have one month.

That’s it.

The Only Way to Stop this Coup is by Exposing It

The only way I can think of to stop this conspiracy, which is in final planning stages, is through exposure.

If people see the playbook in advance, they will be less likely be manipulated when it happens.

They might question the narrative. “Wait. This is what they said would happen. I thought it was crazy. But maybe…”

We need to spread this narrative far and wide so that when the moment comes, no one can claim ignorance.

Maybe we will be proven wrong.

Maybe we will look silly.

Or maybe… we will have derailed the plan, by telling people what to look for, to recognize the playbook steps as (if) they happen.

Here’s what we must do before April 20:

Empower the press, law enforcement, military, and elected officials to recognize the game that’s being played. They need to understand what’s happening before they are pressured to go along with it.

Share this post, or write your own. Do your own research. Don’t take my word for it. Talk with your friends and family about this crazy conspiracy theory that can’t rally happen… can it? So if and when the steps actually happen, people recognize it for what it is.

Prepare the public so they don’t take the bait. Trump and his cabal want protests to explode into chaos. They want violence in the streets to justify their crackdown. We must be ready to outmaneuver them — to refuse to be used as pawns in their game.

Stand up to the militias — and stop friends and family from joining them. The Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, and other armed groups will be mobilized as Trump’s shock troops. They will be framed as “restoring order” and “helping the police.” We need to be ready to counter this, to make sure our neighbors, friends, and family don’t get sucked in.

Inoculate our fellow citizens against the propaganda. Most Americans are good people — but good people can be misled. They can be scared into compliance. Our job is to make sure they see what’s happening before it’s too late.

The only way to stop this plot is to expose it, reject it, and make it unmistakably clear to every American what is happening. We must stop these malign forces from enacting their will on our country, the world, and each of us and our families.

What if we Don’t Stop It?

If it is not stopped, and Trump enacts the Insurrection Act, at that point we probably only have 48 to 72 hours to try to stop everything from happening after the Executive Order.

Once martial law is imposed, there will be a tiny window — no more than three days — before resistance becomes nearly impossible.

Stopping it before it happens is the best option.

But what if we don’t?

In my next post, I’ll outline peaceful, strategic ways to resist — while we still can. And what our reduced options are if it still happens.

If we don’t act before April 20, then by April 23, it will already be too late.

The next post lays out a concrete action plan — exactly what you can do to try to stop this. See Part 2: If the Shit Actually Hits the Fan.

[jessiso]

"Conflict of Interest"

A Criminal Minds fanfic | Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader | Part II

You, a sharp-tongued defense attorney clash with Spencer Reid over a high-profile case—but the real conflict starts when tension turns personal.

cw: moral ambiguity, power dynamic, romantic and professional conflict, implied romantic tension

w/c 2,578

(CLICK HERE FOR PART I)

...

The bell over the café door chimed softly as you stepped inside, escaping the mid-morning chaos of the courthouse.

You barely noticed the warmth of the place or the hum of quiet conversation—your mind was still tangled in legal strategy and cross-examination notes.

You just needed caffeine. A moment to breathe.

The line was short, mercifully.

As you waited, you reached into your briefcase, fishing out a worn legal pad—your shorthand scribbles still damp from the drizzle outside.

“You always order a flat white with an extra shot?”

You didn’t need to look up.

That voice had a cadence you could already recognize in a crowd.

Precise.

Thoughtful.

Just slightly amused.

You glanced up anyway.

Spencer Reid stood a few feet away, coffee in hand, curls slightly damp from the rain, a dark gray scarf looped messily around his neck.

He wasn’t in his usual suit jacket—just a button-down rolled at the sleeves and a tie that looked like it had lost a battle with a coat rack.

You lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t know the FBI kept tabs on coffee orders.”

“I don’t,” he said, taking a sip from his cup.

“But I’ve seen you order the same thing three days in a row. And I notice patterns.”

“Of course you do,” you murmured, not bothering to hide your smirk.

There was a beat of silence as the barista called out the next name.

You stepped forward, paid, and moved to the side, expecting him to leave.

He didn’t.

Instead, he shifted a little closer, eyes flicking to your notepad.

“Cross-examining a witness?”

You turned the pad slightly away from view. “Something like that.”

“I always wondered how defense attorneys build their strategy. You have to poke holes in airtight cases, right?”

“Not always,” you said, accepting your coffee from the counter.

“Sometimes we just have to show that the case isn’t airtight. Reasonable doubt, Dr. Reid. That’s the name of the game.”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “And is there reasonable doubt in this one?”

You tilted your head. “Are you asking as a profiler or as someone who keeps showing up where I am?”

Reid didn’t flinch, but his mouth quirked like he was trying not to smile.

“Coincidence. I swear.”

You gave him a dry look. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who believes in coincidences.”

“I don’t,” he said, and then added, softer, “But I’m not complaining either.”

That earned a pause. A real one.

Because beneath his quiet tone was something else—something warm, unspoken, maybe even a little vulnerable.

And you weren’t sure if it was the long hours or the emotional toll of the trial, but for a moment, you didn’t want to fight.

You motioned subtly to the corner table near the window. “You sitting?”

He blinked in surprise. “Are you inviting me?”

“I’m saying if you’re going to interrogate me every time I get coffee, you might as well buy me a scone.”

That made him laugh. Really laugh. The kind that crinkled his eyes and softened his whole face.

He followed you to the table.

You slid into the chair with practiced ease, placing your briefcase beside you.

Spencer sat across from you, notebook already half out of his coat pocket, though he tucked it away again—clearly debating whether this counted as business or not.

You sipped your coffee. “So. Is this the part where you ask me what my childhood trauma is? Try to unpack why I chose to defend accused criminals instead of prosecute them?”

He shook his head. “I’m not profiling you.”

“Liar,” you said, not unkindly.

“I’m curious,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“And what about you, Dr. Reid?” you asked, chin resting lightly on your hand. “Why the FBI? Why profiling? Did you wake up one day and decide you wanted to stare into the void for a living?”

He tapped the side of his cup. “I wanted to understand why people hurt each other. And maybe help stop it from happening.”

For a moment, his tone was distant—like he was looking through the window but seeing something much farther away than the courthouse across the street.

You studied him. “That’s a heavy burden to carry.”

“It’s lighter when someone believes they can make a difference.”

You leaned back in your seat, more affected than you wanted to admit. The intellectual banter was one thing—but this? This honesty? That was dangerous.

So you pivoted. “Is that your way of telling me you think I’m defending the wrong man?”

Spencer hesitated. “I think you’re doing your job. And I think you’re very good at it.”

You watched him carefully. “But?”

“But I don’t think your client’s being honest with you. And I think you already know that.”

There it was.

The tightrope.

You exhaled slowly, fingers wrapped around your paper cup. “I don’t need you to protect me from bad decisions.”

“I’m not trying to,” he said quietly. “I just think you deserve the whole truth.”

For a long second, you said nothing.

Then, softly: “Truth is a luxury in court. We work with facts. Evidence. Holes in stories. But truth?” You shook your head. “Truth gets buried under motive and headlines and crossfire.”

Spencer nodded. “So you keep your armor up.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He smiled faintly. “I think I already do.”

You looked at him, really looked. And maybe it was the soft lighting of the café or the way the world felt a little quieter here, but suddenly, the space between you didn’t feel so adversarial.

It just felt close.

Too close.

You stood, gathering your things.

“This doesn’t happen again,” you said, not quite meeting his eyes. “Coffee. Conversations like this. It muddies the water.”

He rose, too. “I don’t think the water was ever clear.”

You stared at him, surprised by the quiet gravity in his voice.

Then, softer: “It’s not personal, Spencer. It can’t be.”

He nodded once. “I know.”

But as you turned to leave, you felt it again—that tension pulling between you like static before a storm.

And deep down, you knew neither of you was walking away clean.

Not from this case.

Not from each other.

The door swung open with a low creak as you stepped back into the rain-glossed sidewalk, caffeine in hand and conscience smoldering.

You didn’t make it two steps before a sharp voice cut through the fog of your thoughts.

“Well, well. Look who’s fraternizing with the Bureau.”

You turned, shoulders stiffening instinctively at the sound of her voice.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Valerie Knox stood at the edge of the café entrance, trench coat cinched tight, her gaze cool and calculating beneath the rim of her umbrella.

A wry smile ghosted her lips, the kind that never quite reached her eyes.

You matched her expression with one of your own—neutral, polite, with just the right amount of professional distance. “Morning, Valerie.”

“Morning,” she echoed, too pleasantly. Her eyes flicked past you just in time to catch Spencer Reid pushing through the door behind you, scarf still slightly askew, his expression unreadable.

Valerie's brow arched. “Interesting place for a sidebar.”

You didn’t look at Spencer. You didn’t have to. You could feel the heat of the moment still clinging to your skin like a second coat. Instead, you straightened your shoulders and met Valerie’s stare head-on.

“I wasn’t aware the prosecution had jurisdiction over my caffeine intake.”

“You’re right,” she said, voice cool. “But I am curious why my expert witness is grabbing coffee with opposing counsel. Mid-trial. During recess.”

Spencer, to his credit, didn’t flinch. But he also didn’t speak. Smart man.

You offered a smooth shrug, sipping from your cup. “The café was public last time I checked. I don’t interrogate everyone I share a line with.”

“Really?” Valerie tilted her head. “Because from where I stood, that looked a lot like a private conversation.”

You stepped a little closer, your voice dropping just enough to signal warning. “Careful, Counselor. You start accusing people of impropriety without evidence, and you’ll end up violating your own ethics code.”

Valerie smiled tightly. “I’m just pointing out the optics.”

“And I’m pointing out that optics aren’t facts,” you replied, calm and lethal. “You want to file a motion about my coffee break, be my guest. But I’d suggest spending that time shoring up your case instead. Because right now? You’ve got a handful of inconsistent witness statements, and a whole lot of circumstantial narrative. You don’t need to be worrying about who I’m talking to. You need to be worrying about what your star witness forgot to tell you.”

That landed. A flicker of doubt moved behind her eyes.

But she covered it well.

“I hope you’re not pressuring him,” she said quietly. “Or trying to get around discovery rules.”

You gave her a look that bordered on insulted. “Spencer Reid isn’t exactly the type to be pressured, Valerie. And I don’t break the law. Even when I bend it.”

You turned, stepping off the curb toward the crosswalk as the light changed, not bothering to look back. But you heard Spencer’s footsteps behind you, steady as ever. And you knew she was watching.

When you reached the corner, you paused just enough to let the tension settle between you both like mist.

“You didn’t have to follow me out,” you murmured, still not meeting his eyes.

“I know,” he said. “But I didn’t like the way she was looking at you.”

That stopped you. Just for a breath.

Then you shook your head, jaw tight. “That’s not your job.”

“No,” he said gently. “But maybe I wish it was.”

Your throat tightened, and for once, you had no clever reply.

Only the whisper of traffic and the echo of things you shouldn’t want.

The crosswalk light blinked to red. The moment passed.

“I’ll see you in court, Dr. Reid.”

You didn’t wait for his response.

But as you walked away, you could feel Valerie’s eyes on your back and Spencer’s gaze lingering far longer than it should.

Whatever you’d just stepped into—it wasn’t just coffee anymore.

It was a collision course. And the fallout was coming.

The courthouse loomed ahead, all glass and gray stone, rising like a monument to rules that didn’t care about nuance.

You tossed the last of your coffee into a nearby trash bin, the heat still lingering in your palm long after the cup was gone.

Inside, the air was colder. Sterile. The kind of chill that seeped into your bones no matter how many times you passed through the security checkpoint.

You flashed your bar card at the officer without breaking stride, heels echoing on the polished floor as you moved toward Courtroom 5B.

Behind you, you could hear the faint shuffle of Spencer’s shoes, slower, less certain.

When you reached the door, you paused—hand on the heavy brass handle—and took a slow breath.

Focus.

You could not afford to be thinking about warm café lighting or the softness in Spencer Reid’s voice. Not when a man’s future—possibly his life—was hanging in the balance.

You stepped inside.

The courtroom buzzed with the low murmur of post-recess repositioning. Jurors filed back into their box, jackets rustling and papers shifting.

The judge’s clerk was already in place, typing something at a clipped pace. Your co-counsel nodded at you from the defense table, a question in his eyes you didn’t acknowledge.

You slid into your chair and pulled your legal pad onto your lap. The scribbled notes from earlier stared up at you like a dare.

Across the aisle, Valerie Knox took her position at the prosecution’s table. She looked cool and composed—but the way her gaze flicked to Spencer as he entered behind you didn’t go unnoticed.

He didn’t look at her. Or at you.

He took his place on the witness bench, hands folded neatly in his lap, profile sharp against the paneled backdrop of the stand.

His posture was the kind of still that wasn’t just calm—it was controlled. Deliberate.

The judge entered moments later, robes sweeping, gavel tapping once for order.

“Let’s proceed,” came the clipped instruction. “Dr. Reid, you’re still under oath.”

Valerie rose smoothly, the picture of prosecutorial poise. “Dr. Reid, before the recess we were discussing your behavioral analysis of the defendant. You mentioned his body language during the interrogation was inconsistent with signs of genuine remorse. Can you elaborate?”

Spencer nodded once. “Yes. In the recorded interview, the defendant used distancing language when discussing the victim—‘that woman’ instead of her name—and avoided direct eye contact when referencing the night in question. These are behavioral markers that, while not definitive, often align with deceptive behavior.”

You didn’t shift in your seat. But you watched him.

He wasn’t looking at you. But you knew he knew you were watching.

“And what about the timeline?” Valerie continued. “Does the behavioral profile you constructed align with the prosecution’s proposed sequence of events?”

“It does,” he said carefully. “There are consistencies in the pattern of escalation observed in similar cases. The emotional trigger point matches the timing of the alleged confrontation.”

Valerie stepped back. “No further questions.”

The judge looked to you. “Defense? Your witness.”

You stood slowly, the fabric of your suit whispering as you approached the stand.

Spencer’s eyes finally met yours.

The courtroom fell away for half a second. Just long enough for your heart to remember what it was doing an hour ago.

You stepped into position.

“Dr. Reid,” you began, voice steady, “you stated that the defendant’s language in the interview suggested deception. Would you agree that such language can also result from trauma or fear?”

He blinked. “Yes. Context matters.”

“Would you also agree that your profile was built primarily from post-arrest materials?"

He nodded again. “Correct.”

“Which means your conclusions are built on observation and general profiling models, not personal interaction.”

“Yes.”

“And in those models, would you say there is room for error?”

He paused. “There is always room for error.”

That hung in the air for a beat too long.

You let it.

You paced slowly. “Is it possible, then, that what you perceived as deception could also be confusion? Stress? Panic?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s possible.”

You turned back to face him fully, voice low. “Would you say, Dr. Reid, that the truth can sometimes be obscured by what we expect to see?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away.

When he did, his voice was quieter.

“Yes.”

No one moved. Not the jury. Not Valerie.

Not even the court reporter.

You held his gaze for a fraction longer, then returned to your table.

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

The judge nodded, scribbling something on a notepad. “You may step down, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer left the stand with that same deliberate calm—but this time, you saw something different in the set of his jaw.

Not guilt.

Regret.

He returned to the gallery, slipping into a seat near the back, just as the judge launched into instructions for the next witness.

But you didn’t hear much of it.

Because Spencer Reid had just admitted something on that stand. Not just about the case—but about you. About the way expectations could cloud truth. About how neither of you were walking into this clean anymore.

And sitting at the defense table, heart pounding quietly beneath your pressed suit, you realized something unsettling.

He hadn’t just given you a way in.

He’d given you a warning.

And maybe… a choice.