#like no i’m not a communist but you know how i LEAN

[glynjohnsfurcoat]

last night my friend told me that he’s SCARED of reading “something like that” “That” being the communist manifesto….. he was like “i don’t wanna end up on a watchlist” which is like. babe you’re not gonna get put on a watchlist for reading theory but also it’s fucked UP that that’s even something he would even have to worry about even a little bit like. i’m going to revive joseph mccarthy just so i can put him straight back into the goddamn ground

[mrs-stans]

GQ Hype

How Sebastian Stan became Donald Trump in The Apprentice

With an uncanny performance as a young Donald Trump in The Apprentice and an even less recognisable turn in A Different Man, the shapeshifting actor is embracing his freaky side

By Ben Allen Photography by Daniel Jack Lyons

Coat by Loewe. Boots by Dolce & Gabbana.Necklace by Cartier.Daniel Jack Lyons

When Sebastian Stan was growing up in Romania in the 1980s, he began to learn English through passive immersion. His mother, a concert pianist, would regularly play English music and language lessons on the family record player while they were going about their day. “I’d be playing with toys and I’d hear, like, ‘frog’ and ‘dog’, or whatever,” Stan says. It meant that by the time the actor moved to Vienna at age eight, where he attended an American international school – and later, when he moved to New York at 12 – he had a decent jumping-off point. “I’m a big believer in putting yourself in a situation where, subconsciously, there’s work being done.”

In the past two years, Stan has put that method to use in a very different way. As he entered preproduction to play Donald Trump in Ali Abbasi’s The Apprentice – which charts the former President and current Republican candidate’s early rise through the New York property scene – he started spending his waking hours with tapes of the young Trump playing in his ears. He brushed his teeth with Trump, he went grocery shopping with Trump, he spoke to friends with one earphone in, Trump still nattering away in his ear. “I slept with him, by the way,” Stan says, well aware of how strange that sounds. “It just sort of ends up taking over your life.” He’s sitting somewhere in Los Angeles at lunchtime, speaking to me over Zoom, with the afternoon sun reflecting off his chlorine-blue eyes.

Jacket and shirt by Gabriela Hearst. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Ring by Cartier.

The Apprentice, which Stan first signed up for in 2022, explores the question, ‘How did Trump get like this?’ (The answer, it posits, has a lot to do with Roy Cohn, a lawyer and prosecutor who had risen to prominence in the 1950s as Senator Joseph McCarthy’s attack dog in the communist witch-hunts.) The film is the latest in a string of freaky, transformation-heavy roles that have run parallel alongside Stan’s very mainstream 13-year-and-counting stint as Captain America’s pal Bucky Barnes in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, which has made him a globally recognised action star. The Apprentice lands this month in the UK, two weeks after A Different Man, an A24 production in which Stan plays an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis, a genetic condition that has caused the growth of non-cancerous tumours on his face. They’re not your typical actor-in-between-superhero-outings roles – and the fact that Stan is spending so much time in the make-up chair outside of the blockbusters is indicative of a desire to get truly lost in his work.

I started to think a lot about the American dream. What is it? Is it a ghost you keep chasing?

Preparing to play Trump, he says, was like any other time he has portrayed a real-life person – take, say, Tonya Harding’s ex-husband, Jeff Gillooly, in I, Tonya, or Tommy Lee in Pam & Tommy. But this time around it came with an added layer of stress. “There’d be nights when my anxiety levels would be through the roof, because I’d be like, Why did I say yes to this?” he says with a laugh.

But Stan thrives when he leans into fear. He had been terrified of I, Tonya, and even more terrified of Pam & Tommy – which, in its exploration of the couple’s romance and sex tape, involved a scene where Lee converses with a silicone puppet of his penis. (The latter earned him Golden Globe and Emmy nominations.) Trump was a different beast. “I thought, I don’t know if this is doable. I don’t know if I have it in me,” he says. “But it’s not not gonna happen because I’m scared of it.”

Coat, shirt and tie by Ludovic de Saint Sernin. Trousers by Gabriela Hearst. Boots and gloves by Versace. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Daniel Jack Lyons

Jacket and shirt by Gabriela Hearst. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Daniel Jack Lyons

When his mother told him he was going to be leaving Vienna for the United States at 12 years old, Stan felt like the floor had fallen from beneath him. “It was like you were telling me that my life was over,” he says. His mother was a single parent and had met an American man and fallen in love; he wanted to bring them both to live with him in New York. Stan remembers crying in the shower in the days leading up to the move. After departing Romania a few years before, he had worked hard to forge new friendships. Now, he’d have to rebuild from the bottom up again. “That did feed me resilience, because it did allow me to get better at restarting and restarting,” he says. “It fed a lot of who I am.”

Upon arriving in America, he started working on his impersonation of an American teenager. “I was so traumatised by being different,” he says. He refused to speak Romanian, even at home. He didn’t tell anyone he was from a foreign country. “I wanted to change my name to Christopher,” he says. “I wanted to be as normal in America as anybody else.” Having already set the ball rolling with his passive English lessons as a child, he was able to adopt a seamless New York accent, leaving little to betray his otherness. He tried out every personality marker available to him at school, to figure out which one fitted: debate team, forensics, every sport he could muster, and drama, eventually gravitating towards the latter. “I became popular in high school through acting,” he says. “I went on dates. I found my path.”

Still, this otherness was a part of Stan, as much as he initially tried to suppress it. As he came to appreciate life in America – in a middle-class household, with a good education – he began to reappraise his background, and felt a sense of gratitude to his stepfather for bringing them over, and for the drive it seeded within him. “This idea that you’ve been so lucky to have been selected to get this opportunity,” he says. “I was able to seize it and work with it, but on the other hand it’s a never-ending burden because you go, ‘You better not blow it!’” He remembers taking a walk through the city on their arrival, gawping up at the skyscrapers, when his mother impressed upon him that very sentiment: “You see these buildings? This is where you have a chance to become something.” He thought about this conversation quite a lot while he was playing Trump, probably because it feels like a scene ripped right out of a more varnished biography of the former President. “I started to think a lot about the American dream, and sort of like, what is it?” he says. “Is it a ghost you keep chasing?”

That was a way of me understanding that you're just out there, like target practice.

When Stan was doing theatre in high school, he loved getting a chance to transform and become a different person entirely. “You’re 14, 15, and you’re playing parts where you have to be, like, 35 years older than you are, and you have to change your appearance, you have to change everything, and you have to walk a certain way,” he says. “That shit was fun.” He would find himself craving those meatier transformations later, after landing a run of roles in Hollywood playing traditionally hot villains and heroes in Gossip Girl and in the Captain America movies. “Watching Christian Bale do The Fighter and watching him do Batman and Vice and The Machinist… He was a guy that, to me, could have made very conventional choices because he’s very good at any of it. But then he’s trying these things.”

Opportunities like this aren’t necessarily afforded to nascent actors. In a weird way, you kind of have to wait for your face to become recognisable before you’re allowed to start messing with it. The first real taste Stan got of this was in 2017 – after he had been solidly established as a Marvel hero – in the Margot Robbie-led, Oscar-winning I, Tonya, which told the story of the assault on figure skater Nancy Kerrigan, orchestrated by her Olympic rival Tonya Harding’s camp. For Harding’s ex-husband – who sets the assault in motion – they were looking for someone very different to Stan. The real Gillooly is slight and short, with narrow features. Stan felt his teen-drama looks would work against him in the audition process. “I’m like, ‘I’m gonna walk into that room and they’re gonna see the taller guy, The CW [the young-people-melodrama US TV network that first aired Gossip Girl] guy.’ I felt like I was going to be immediately judged.”

Coat and pyjamas by Dolce & Gabbana. Daniel Jack Lyons

I, Tonya director Craig Gillespie saw in Stan a capacity to become Gillooly. “I was familiar with Captain America: Civil War and his work there, and I couldn’t quite picture it [at first],” Gillespie tells me. “But he actually turned up [to the audition] in the turtleneck and the moustache, almost in character. And the transformation, and his instincts tonally and comedically… He was actually improvising things in the scene that worked incredibly well.”

Gillespie was impressed not just by how Stan had remoulded himself in the shape of someone else, but by his ability to tap into the character’s humanity, too. “It has to be emotionally resonant,” he says. “You have to be able to connect to the characters… He completely commits, which is an incredibly scary proposition for an actor.” Still, Stan was filled with anxiety heading into I, Tonya. “The amount of fear I had was almost traumatising,” he says. But then he did it. “I worked so hard for that movie, and it worked.”

A DIFFERENT MAN takes things up another notch. The film was written and directed by Aaron Schimberg, a rising indie director whose work has explored how disability has impacted his life (Schimberg was born with a cleft lip and palate). In it, a prosthetics-heavy Stan plays Edward, an actor whose biggest break to date is a small role in a corporate training video about how to treat employees with facial differences in the workplace. Edward’s spirit has been crushed by the world around him, weathered by the relentless gawping of strangers and rejection. Then, he takes part in a clinical trial for a new drug that could remove the tumours from his face. It works. Edward fakes his death and adopts a new identity, looking just like regular old Sebastian Stan. But when Edward’s kind neighbour – played by The Worst Person in the World’s Renate Reinsve – stages a play about him, he finds himself in competition with Oswald (played by Adam Pearson, a British actor with neurofibromatosis) for the part. It is, to put it mildly, a confronting drama, excavating both society’s unwillingness to treat people with disabilities fairly and the fallacy of our terminal dissatisfaction with our looks.

Coat by McQueen. Shirt by Louis Vuitton. Trousers by Louis Vuitton. Tie by Dolce & Gabbana. Boots by Versace. Daniel Jack Lyons

Though the film treads across the noir and comic horror genres, and at points tips into the absurd, it feels most like a parable. “It’s another version of the American dream, right?” Stan says. “Don’t wish for the things you want; you don’t know what’s going to happen.”

During the shoot, Stan often had long stretches between having his facial prosthetics applied and his call time (the film’s make-up designer, Michael Marino, was simultaneously working on The Marvelous Mrs Maisel, and would sometimes have to squeeze Stan into make-up in the early hours before running to that job). So Stan would walk around New York, including parts of his own neighbourhood, wearing hyperrealistic prosthetics, getting just a little taste of what his life would be like if he had been dealt a different hand. At one point, he went to his local coffee shop, where a barista he has known for years was working the counter. “She was so busy handling stuff, and suddenly she turned and she didn’t expect to see me,” he says, “and I could see the shock going immediately into overcompensation.” Pearson told him that those are the reactions that he is most often confronted with as a person with a disability: shock verging on repulsion, and guilty, over-the-top kindness.

Schimberg helped Stan to draw a neat line between Edward’s life and his own experience of fame. The one thing they had in common is how they’re observed in public spaces. “He said, ‘You have to think about what it’s like to be recognised. And the sense that you’re fair game out there.’ That I could understand,” Stan says. “I’ll go to lunch with my mom and somebody will be filming me the entire time, pretending they’re not. Or I’ll see somebody look at me strangely and then they’ll whisper to their friends. Or I’ve had someone come and tap me and run away. The invasiveness of that… And I can’t do anything but just receive it.”

Stan is quick to clarify that his experience as a famous person is not really comparable, that it comes with all sorts of upsides. But this point of similarity helped him to fully embody the character. “That was a way of me understanding this thing – that you’re just out there, like target practice.”

Coat and pyjamas by Dolce & Gabbana. Daniel Jack Lyons

Production on The Apprentice was hazardously stop-start. Several times over, Stan began his Trump immersion routine – which also involved pounding Coca-Colas and peanut butter and jam sandwiches, among other things, to put on some very un-superhero bulk – only to find out that production had been suspended. At one point, the project came so close to overlapping with his next Marvel outing, next May’s Thunderbolts, that he had to start shredding instead – only for Thunderbolts to be postponed because of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes. Straight back to the PB&Js. All that work wasted. “I’m fuckin’ 41; I just worked pretty hard to get in shape here!” he says.

Stan’s Trump is admirably nuanced, particularly for a person who has been so widely imitated – on SNL, on late-night talk shows, every second of every day by comedians trying to make a name for themselves on TikTok – as to be reduced to a caricature in the public consciousness. Initially, it feels quite removed, but then you spot the shape his mouth curves into while enunciating words like “deal” and “loser”, a subtle pursing of the lips when he’s being spoken to, a hand gesture. As the movie progresses, the man with whom we’re all exhaustingly familiar comes closer and closer to the fore.

Suit and boots by Versace. Vest top by Schiesser. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Watch by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

The challenge, in Stan’s eyes, was to tread the very fine line between interpretation and imitation. “It’s a balance between having the familiarity without it becoming sort of a schtick,” he says. “There is a small window of time where you are going through the impersonation phase, because you’ve got to get through that in order to come out the other end,” he says. “There is a mechanical, technical piece to it, and that comes from actually studying a person.” According to Stan’s mother, he spent much of his childhood relentlessly impersonating people he came in to contact with. “I’ve always been good at watching people,” he says.

I'm going to commit the fuck out of it and surrender myself to the story.

Once he got comfortable enough, he would take the show on the road – trying versions of the character out in restaurants to see if anyone would pick up on it. “Because there’s a thing getting born,” he says, “and you want to test it out in the world, but you don’t want to overdo it too quickly – then it gets frozen.” No one seemed to notice in the moment, which was at least some indication that he hadn’t tipped over into parody, but some friends who have seen the movie realised retrospectively: “They’ve come up to me after and said, ‘Now I see this fuckin’ weird thing you were doing!’”

When we meet Trump in The Apprentice, he is a footsoldier in his father’s company and significantly less self-assured, though he’s got the trademark wispy hair and the ill-fitting suits. The wheels begin to turn when he meets Cohn – portrayed here in typically committed fashion by Succession’s Jeremy Strong, with whom Stan only had the chance to interact in character on set – who begins to sculpt Trump in his own image, laying out his rules for success, which will be very familiar to anyone who has paid attention to Trump’s political career: 1) attack, attack, attack; 2) admit nothing and deny everything; and 3) always claim victory and never admit defeat.

Coat, trousers and shoes by McQueen. Vest top by Ami. Sunglasses by Jacques Marie Mages. Pin by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

Stan seems reticent to get into the politics of The Apprentice, which depicts Trump as, among other things, a rapist, in a scene referencing allegations made in a deposition by his first wife Ivana during their divorce proceedings. (Trump has previously denied the rape allegation; Ivana later issued a statement clarifying that she had felt violated, but was not raped in a “literal or criminal sense”.) But the movie speaks for itself. And Trump’s camp is already speaking back: after the film premiered at Cannes in May, the presidential campaign’s chief spokesperson Steven Cheung called the movie “garbage”, “pure fiction” and “election interference by Hollywood elites”, while also threatening a lawsuit. In a press conference at the film festival, Abbasi suggested that an ideal release date would be in mid-September, to align with the second presidential debate (but the film, as it happens, is now due out on 11 October in the USA, and 18 October in the UK). It wouldn’t take Alan Turing to decipher the message being transmitted. But I try and press for a direct answer: does Stan feel an added sense of responsibility playing Trump in an election year? “You can’t not think about it,” he says. “But I had tremendous trust in Ali Abbasi and his vision for the movie. And it is an important story – I think the movie makes a great attempt at exploring: how did we get here? But I approached it with the same responsibility as I approached anything I ever got involved with, which is, I’m going to give this my all. I’m going to research the fuck out of it; I’m going to commit the fuck out of it and surrender myself to the story.”

Does he have any concerns about backlash from Trump or from MAGA supporters? “I mean, is there anything out there now that doesn’t get backlash? You can’t worry about what people think,” Stan says. “But I’m fully aware that I’m doing things that are not going to be for everybody.”

He’s not far off the mark. Even Marvel, the world’s highest-grossing movie franchise of all time, has faced quite a bit of criticism in recent years – in part for the way in which they’ve handled the transition to a new set of heroes and storylines since 2019’s Avengers: Endgame. Stan doesn’t have any time for it. “I’ve never been part of a company that puts so much heart and thought into anything,” he says. “I think if Marvel was gone, it’d be such a big hole to try and fill up. Don’t just go out there and shit on something without offering something better.”

Coat by Loewe. Boots by Dolce & Gabbana. Necklace by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

He’s certainly not done with the MCU yet. Thunderbolts, which he’ll headline alongside Florence Pugh, will arrive in May next year. And he’s already looking beyond that, to a potential reunion with Robert Downey Jr, who has been announced to return in the next Avengers movie – not as Iron Man, but as the villain Doctor Doom. “I hope I’m in a scene with him,” Stan says. “Is there any other guy that could pull that off? I don’t know, probably not. After Tropic Thunder, is there anything that guy can’t do?” he says, laughing. It is perhaps the movie that I least expect Stan – or anyone, to be honest – to reference in 2024, but I should know better. Downey Jr is a transformation master, too. Game recognises game.

Trump doesn’t exist in the Marvel universe – or at least not yet – but if you spot a hint of him in Thunderbolts, you’ll know why. “I went off to Marvel after [The Apprentice],” Stan says. “And we were doing scenes, and I would do something, a thing or two, and be like, ‘Fuck! This is still living somewhere.’”

Styled by Sean Knight Hair by Erica Adams Grooming by Kc Fee using iS Clinical at Redefine Representation Set Design by Daniel Horowitz Production by May Kielany

[cityjacket]

I’ve been getting a bunch of “communist” users recommended to me on my dashboard with posts that are all anti-democrats and anti-voting and they aren’t coming right out and saying “I’m voting for Trump” but they are nonstop complaining about how “both parties are the same level of bad” and “both parties will be the same level of damage” and it’s driving me INSANE.

I refuse to believe these are real people. These HAVE to be bot accounts. And like why this sudden rush of so many coming from out of nowhere?

and as a socialist (so communism’s less cool cousin) I thought people who liked communism were more left-leaning and would want to vote for whoever pushes the country culturally further left instead of very far right like it is now. Like do you expect the whole “help the working class, increase social benefits, tax the rich” communism to be born from Trump’s authoritarian dictatorship? Maybe you don’t know Kamala’s track record of helping the working class vs Trump’s track record of harming them? Namely being fucking sued by his previous employees for (allegedly) wage theft and abuses.

Oh, you’re actually all Trump-bought bots that are paid and/or programmed to spew bullshit rhetoric about hopelessness and “they’re all evil” so that the people who could possibly enact change for the better don’t exercise their right to vote and have a say in their country’s future? Wow, crazy.

[cowgurrrl]

How I Get Myself Killed

Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader

Author’s note: god I hate writing endings

Summary: When it rains, it pours [2.7k]

Warnings: canon typical stuff, idk man it’s midnight and I’m tired if you’ve read this far, you get it

Besides the Palace of Justice massacre and the burning of thousands of documents that would've helped to extradite Pablo Escobar to the United States throwing a wrench in things at the Agency, it's also given you a massive headache. You've been stuck in back-to-back meetings about communist activity all day and trying to talk Lou down from grabbing a machine gun and going off into the jungle himself. Noonan is still hesitant about letting you back into the field even though she's cleared you because of that kid Javi and Steve picked up, who is currently being interrogated by Colonel Carillo. On top of that, Southern Command has decided to pull the resources offered to the DEA and redirect them to fight against M-19 radicals. Javi is pissed, Steve is worried about Connie, and you're stuck at your desk, listening to wiretap information and making notes. It's a fucking nightmare.

You know Escobar made the connection with M-19, and you know if you had the clearance, you could have that information and witnesses ready to go by the end of the week. But the CIA wants to focus solely on the fact that the Palace of Justice was taken over by a communist group. To them, it means fuck all if Escobar had anything to do with it. A stint in a political office, hundreds if not thousands of sicarios at his disposal, millions of dollars, a kidnapped CIA agent, and an attempt at a government takeover, and still, the CIA won't consider Escobar a higher security threat than communists. You throw your headphones off, unable to listen to the staticky recordings anymore and bury your face in your hands.

It's been days now. You've spent practically every waking second in the office, and when you manage to make it home, you don't sleep. When you do, you're woken up by nightmares every few hours. The lack of sleep has made you jumpy and annoyed by every little request asked of you, especially if the person asking even utters the words M-19. You want this investigation to be over so you can move on. So you can get closer to Escobar. So you can sleep through the night for once.

"You alright there?" A sweet voice asks, and you pick up your head to see Colleen, Ambassador Noonan's secretary, standing there. She's always been nice to you, often sharing stories back and forth when she drops something at your desk or you catch each other near the coffee pot. With the right amount of pressure, she will spill her guts to you about the inner workings of the Embassy, which has worked out in your favor more than once. She's young, a little naive, and a horrible gossip, but you like her.

"Yeah. Sorry," you say, smoothing your shirt and smiling at her. "Things have been a little chaotic recently. I'm sure you know all about it."

"Oh, yeah. The Ambassador's been getting call after call every day since the siege. I think everyone's running around like a chicken with its head cut off," she leans in to whisper to you. "Well, everyone except DEA." You chuckle at that and hold your hand out for the file in her hand. She passes it over, but you're more interested in what she knows than Lou's scribbly handwriting.

"I mean, I'm sure you're right, but what makes you say that?”

"Besides the fact that they've been arguing with Colonel Wysession at every turn," she glances around. "Peña and Murphy have been off base at the same times on the same days this week. You know I don't like to gossip, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're out... getting intel." She raises her eyebrows at you to ensure you get her meaning, and you shake your head.

"I'm sure they're off on some wild goose chase just like the rest of us," you barely believe the words as they leave your mouth, but she seems convinced. "Thanks for the file, Colleen." She leaves an adorably mid-western "you betcha" thrown over her shoulder, and you're left alone with your clunky headphones.

Now that you're thinking about it, you can't remember the last time Javi or Steve passed you in the halls. Sure, the days have blended together, but normally, they make themselves known by appearing at your desk with some request or even just a cup of coffee. If it's not one of them, it's both. Noonan might've made them take a walk or even ordered them off base for arguing with Lou, but they would've told you before they left. Then again, they're agents just like you. You don't like people knowing every move you make, so you can have plausible deniability. Something pricks at the back of your skull, but your phone rings before you can let it develop. You answer the call with your last name and hear someone shuffling on the other line.

“¿Puedes venir aquí?” Javi asks in a hushed tone. Speak of the Devil. He sounds stressed, and you can feel the anxiety rolling off him through the phone. You look around to make sure nobody's paying attention to you and sigh, holding the phone closer to your ear.

"¿Ahora?" You ask, and he hums.

"Sí, ahora."

"Soy trabajando."

"Please," he says. “Sabes que no preguntaría si no fuera importante.” You take a deep breath and check the time on your watch. There are still a few more hours left in your work day, but you've clocked enough overtime this week that, realistically, nobody could argue with you for leaving a little early. You'd also love an explanation as to what he's been doing. If Colleen has noticed, the likelihood that somebody else has is high enough to make your palms sweat. And even if this is the kind of call you would expect from Javi, you know you can get it out of him one way or another.

“Será mejor que hagas que esto valga la pena.” You don't even wait for him to respond before hanging up and standing from your desk. You gather your things quickly before anyone can see you leaving. What's a few hours spent playing hooky from work when dealing with cartels and coups, right?

When you knock on Javi's door, you're half-expecting him to pull you into his apartment before you can even say a word and fuck you until you're both too spent to even think about the horrors of the day, let alone dwell on them. So, to say you're shocked when Steve opens the door and greets you is an understatement. "C'mon in," he drawls, opening the door wider for you to enter. You furrow your eyebrows but step over the threshold, searching for Javi, only a little frantic.

The walls, as usual, are decked in the stock art that comes with the apartment. When you asked him about it, he just shrugged and reminded you that you guys aren't supposed to be in Colombia for long. You get it. Why make something homey if it's not actually home? Still, you've put up pictures and decorations in your apartment to make the miles between you and your hometown seem smaller. As you make your way down the hallway, the main thing that tells you this is his apartment is the smell. It's a mix of tobacco, the leather of his couch, and the cologne he's prone to wearing when he knows he has to be in meetings and impress the higher-ups. One whiff of it, and you already feel your shoulders relaxing. At least until you find him.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." It escapes your lips before you can stop it. Seeing a DEA agent talking to an M-19 revolutionary will do that to you. You recognize her from the photos pinned to the corkboard in the office. She doesn't look as big and scary now as she does next to other guerillas with long criminal records. Here, on Javi's couch, she looks terrified. "This is the informant you've been talking about?"

"She needs help," he says, almost pleading, and you huff. "And you know more about M-19 than we do."

"Yeah, I also know how much they want for her fucking head, Javi. I can't believe you've known where she was this whole time and didn't say anything. They could try you for treason for this."

"I told you she'd be pissed," Steve says, and you glare at him over your shoulder.

"I don't know why you're acting so smug. Your hands are just as dirty as his," you feel like their mother with your scolding, but you don't know what else to do. You take a deep breath and cross your arms over your chest as you try to tamp your temper down. "How long has she been here?"

"Couple days," Javi says, bowing his head a little like a kid in trouble, and you feel your patience thin.

"Days?" You say. "Have you not been in the meetings where they're discussing tearing the communa apart to find her? And you've just been keeping her here, not even ten minutes down the road?"

"This is probably the last place they'd look." Javi defends, and you scoff.

"Probably," you repeat, more annoyed at Javi's shitty idea of sheltering her than anything else. You pace for a minute or two, your mind swirling, before he stands and walks over to you, his hands coming to your shoulders in a familiar gesture. The muscles in your jaw unclench just enough, and you pause your panic when he looks at you in the way he knows makes you fold. You sigh and glance at Elisa. She looks scared. You're sure the gun on your hip does nothing to make her feel better.

"Just… trust me," Javi says softly. You look between him and Elisa one more time before, against your better judgment, sitting down at one of the bar stools in Javi's kitchen.

"Start at the beginning."

Steve settles against the wall next to you, too anxious to sit, while Javi paces and talks. He explains it all. Elisa meeting Connie at the clinic, her involvement with M-19 and Escobar, and how she ended up in Javi's apartment. Steve chimes in every so often with his own side and ideas for what to do now that you're all involved, but none of them are positive.

"I've got somebody in Cumaral who's sympathetic. She'd be willing to hide her until she can testify. We just need to get her there soon." Javi says finally. You're about to open your mouth to offer to drive before remembering the hit still out on you and the fact that you'll probably be stuck in meetings about this exact topic for the foreseeable future. It seems to connect for Steve at the same time because he sighs heavily and rubs his temple.

"I can drive her early in the mornin' and be back by tomorrow night. Noonan wants me to stay with Gaviria while you go to Cartagena anyway." Steve says, looking at Javi, and your brows knit together in confusion.

"You're going to Cartagena?"

"We have intel that Gacha's there. I'm going in... an observational capacity," he says, and you squint at him. You're about to call him on what he's actually going to do in Cartagena until you remember Elisa's presence. The likelihood that she'll repeat any of this to anybody is slim, but you're not willing to take any chances. You give Javi a we'll-talk-about-this-later look and turn back to Steve.

"Hide her in the backseat and take Connie with you. Make it look like a day trip out of the city. They'll be less likely to pull you over if you make it seem like a date or something."

"Woah, woah. Connie isn't a part of this."

"She became a part of this the second she handed over a ticking time bomb," you say. Steve looks like he wants to argue, but you beat him to it. "Or we can just sit on our asses and hope Lou doesn't bust down that door and hang us all out to dry." Steve grinds his teeth and shakes his head as he thinks, and you know you've got him right where you want him. Even if you didn't, you know there was no way in Hell Connie was gonna let him do this alone. Not when she's been so involved up to this point. He curses under his breath and scrubs a hand down his face.

"She better give the best fuckin' testimony anyone's ever heard," he says, and you nod. Once you iron out a few more logistics together, Steve goes upstairs to explain the plan to Connie, only a little pissy that he's the one having to execute it. The second he's out the door, Javi turns to Elisa and clears his throat.

"You mind givin' us a minute?" He asks and she stands from her place on the couch. You feel bad discussing plans about her without asking her opinion or what she wants to do, but you figure it's only fair. If she wants immunity, this is the price she has to pay.

"Thank you for this." She says, her voice small. You chew on the inside of your cheek and nod.

"Like he said, you better make this worth it," you say. With that, she walks down the hallway, into Javi's office, and closes the door to give you some privacy. It's quiet for a few seconds, the two of you reveling in the unexpected peace in the eye of the hurricane, and his knee bumps yours. It's his MO: intentional gestures small enough to get played off as accidental. It's his way of trying to get back on your good side. You rub your eyes and resist the urge to drop your head against his chest. "When were you gonna tell me you're going to get Gacha?"

"I'm just going to see if he's actually there."

"Is Carillo going with you?" You ask, and he gets quiet again. It's all the answer you need. "If Noonan is sending men with you, he's there, which means you're walking into a war zone."

"He has his kid with him. He might go peacefully," he says, obviously trying to placate you. You give him a look. "I'm on orders to bring him in alive if possible." You open your mouth to say something, but you're cut off by the sound of your sat phone ringing. You sigh in exasperation, grab the phone with one hand, and snake the other around Javi's neck, keeping him close. He doesn't look displeased with the sudden affection and almost keens into you when you run your nails through his hair and answer the call.

"Are you off base?" Carillo says in lieu of a greeting, and you roll your eyes. There's no way you've been gone for over an hour and a half, and they already need you back?

"Getting lunch. What's up?"

"Castillo's ready to sing. Figured you should be here when he does." He says. You hesitate. Not even a full week in custody, and the kid is talking? What the fuck did Carillo do to him? Do you even want to know?

"I'll be back in thirty. Go easy on him until then." The words are barely out of your mouth before you hang up. Javi tucks your hair behind your ears, pulling your attention enough to get you to look at him.

"Go. Steve and I'll keep you updated. If anything goes south, you'll be the first to know." He says. It's meant to be comforting, but the icy fear ribboning around your spine doesn't let up. You nod anyway.

"You come back in one piece, do you hear me?" You ask, poking him in the chest to make your point, and he grabs your hand.

"Loud and clear," he says, squeezing you. You stay like that for another few seconds, knowing this is the closest you'll get to be until this whole thing blows over, and savor the feeling of his warm hand in yours. Hopefully, it’s not the last time. Don't be a fucking hero, you think. You count to three and stand, letting him go and gathering your things in one swoop. He walks you out like a gentleman and kisses you like someone looking for salvation in all the wrong places.

On the drive back to the Embassy, you try to remember what you thought your life would look like when you joined the CIA. They warned you it’d be lonely and you’d have to make hard decisions in the best interest of democracy or whatever other bullshit they fed you in the Academy. You don’t think you were prepared for just how lonely and helpless it can make you feel. You should be helping Javi and Steve but instead you’re being called back to witness whatever horrors were done in the pursuit of information.

“Everyone has to sacrifice things in this line of work,” one of your instructors told you at your graduation ceremony. You thought you were prepared. When Colonel Carillo leads you down the dark hallways and to the bloody nineteen-year-old mumbling prayers under his breath, asking for forgiveness, you know there’s nothing in the world that could’ve prepared you for this. And nothing in the world could’ve prepared you for what more you were about to give up.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @space-zaddy-din-djarin @rainy-darling @its-me-mila @mnn11ankamaaka (let me know if you don't wanna be tagged for this series!)

[prettyseaveins]

Lover Boy, Lover Girl - R.R.

Ryan Ross x female!reader one shot

SFW / No warnings 

word count: 748

Summary: a small snippet into a random morning with Ryan Ross

“Ryan, did you hear what the fuck is going on with the government?” you asked, your body leaning against an arm of their shared couch as you held a cup of coffee. A look of disbelief was on your face as your boyfriend sat down beside you, letting his eyes fall on the screen you stared at. “This literally means that the government is gonna start controlling our brains or some shit because they want to block the media we consume—which is complete and utter bullshit! What the fuck? Does this mean I am no longer going to be able to sing about socialism and shit?”

“I think you’ll be able to sing about your idealistic world of anti-capitalism and love for me no matter what the government says,” he smiled comfortingly at you and let a hand rub your thigh soothingly. “This probably won’t even pass. Do you even hear how dumb they sound? She asked him if some dumb meme caused kids to become communists. I think we’ll be fine.”

“I guess you’re right, but also, who said I sang about loving you? For all you know, I could be singing about my love for Pedro Pascal or another celebrity crush that is ranking high on the list. Who knows, it could even be one of your friends from a different band. What was that bassist that took over Jon’s spot? Austin, was it? Or maybe his name was Antonio?” You put a finger up to your chin, tapping it as you faked your pondering. “Oh, I remember! Dallon is his name! Isn’t he a part of some big and famous band now? Supposedly even better than that band you used to be in?” Before you could utter another word, Ryan grabbed the coffee out of your hands and pushed his free hand into your side, starting to tickle you.

“You better plead for mercy,” he said, continuing to tickle you as you giggled and thrashed around. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! You were right! All my songs are about you and not some stupidly gorgeous hunk!” Another fit of giggles and laughter left your lips as he continued to harass your side with wiggling fingers. “I said you were right! Please, have mercy on my soul!” After a couple more seconds of tickling, Ryan stopped and let you be free of the punishment.

“Thank you for admitting I was right,” he took a quick sip out of your mug, grimacing at the taste. “You put way too much creamer in here.”

“Yeah, well it wasn’t for you, it was for me,” you sat up and grabbed the mug from him before taking a sip of your own coffee. “I could make you a cup if you want. One that has less sugar for your poor old soul.”

“You can’t be mean to me anymore. I have fingers of steel that could tickle you for eons to come,” he wiggled his fingers to try and prove just how serious he was, but it only resulted in a cringe from you.

“Okay, lover boy. I’m gonna make you a cup of coffee so I can hopefully get that image out of my head,” you stood up and started walking to the kitchen, setting down your own mug to start making Ryan’s. “And can you please change the channel? I would love to stop thinking about how the world is coming to an end for one second.”

“As you wish,” he picked up the remote and flicked it to a different channel, letting a random episode of Friends play as you made him coffee. “Make sure to use the mushroom house mug.”

“You mean the only mug you ever use? Technically, it isn’t even your mug, I’m the one that bought it,” you countered, finishing making his coffee before walking back to the living room and passing the mug to him. “I made sure to keep it extra disgusting.”

“Just because I like my coffee actually tasting like coffee doesn’t mean it’s disgusting. Also, I will forever be denying the fact that this was ever your mug. They are forever mine,” you rolled your eyes at his statement and grabbed your own mug, it coincidentally originally owned by your boyfriend, before taking your own sip.

“Whatever you say, nerd,” you giggled and let yourself sink next to Ryan, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I love you too, lover girl,” he said softly, peacefully watching the television with you.

~

A/N: I just wanted to create more ryan ross content so i wrote this lol. i’m gonna write more so drop suggestions if u want to ! thank you :)

[thouartachoochootrain]

Apparently everyone ignored ALL political education they received in the USA for their ENTIRE LIVES so let’s break this way way way down. If you actually did not know any of this, I love and support you, and none of the meanness is directed at you. IF HOWEVER YOU ARE AWARE THEN LISTEN UP CHUCKLE FUCK

So the three branches of government right! How laws are passed and our government functions. IGNORE ALL THAT

We are gonna focus on the matter AT HAND. The Supreme Court and judges are APPOINTED, you have, Zero say in who gets to judge law. But you do get to choose who’s in the other three buildings.

THIS is what you can control. Now we are gonna breakdown Law and bills and shit down to two things. Small things, those are like regulations on how much chlorine can be in your water. Then there are Big Things, like national abortion bans. This is a ZERO nuance zone. So let’s say we want to pass a law saying that abortion is legal nationwide. That’s a Big Thing. We take it to the people who can make that happen. And here’s what we get.

Two of these agree yes let’s do that. One doesn’t because no one thought their vote counted so Republicans (who do think votes count) won the house.

REJECTED

Who even cares about local elections or the midterms I hate when dems send me texts so I’m not gonna even vote.

REJECTED

REJECTED

REJECTED

REJECTED!!!!!!!!

Abortion is not legal in any of these scenarios✨

PASSED

there is no way in this disaster of a country we are getting a republican controlled branch of the government to pass a law like this. Zero Chance. NONE. with the above scenario you can, pack the Supreme Court with justices, pass laws, repeal old laws, appoint progressive judges, allocate funds to government agencies like the IRS, EPA, Department of Labor, you can get spending bills through easier and those bills will be more left leaning than a republican one.

So no, Biden can’t actually wave his presidential wand and make all your leftist dreams come true. That would be BAD if we ever got a president who wanted anything other than the bestest most perfect thing (not a single president ever). So any time you hear Biden say “if re-elected I will do XY or Z” and you go PSPFPDPSJBSJSS WHY NOT NOOOOOW HUH HUH HUH WHY HASNT HE ALREADY DONE THAT HUUUUUUUH. It’s because NONE OF YOU FUCKING VOTED SO WE DONT HAVE MAJORITIES IN THE OTHER TWO FUCKING BUILDINGS. Is the system broken? Most certainly. Are YOU gonna start a revolution and bring about perfect anarcho-communist utopia. Well judging by the fact you can’t even put a check mark in a box every few years, I highly doubt you’ll be leading anyone other than astray. Many of the historically progressive periods in the US were a direct consequence of democrat majorities holding all three required offices. That’s why voting is so important. If you can get just enough to get a majority in all three then shit can start FLYING. Are the dems perfect, By No Stretch Of The Imagination. That’s not the point. They COULD pass good laws. Republicans are philosophically opposed to good things. It’s not about wether Dems will do good things and more about wether we want good things to be possible AT ALL.

[juicycoutureheaux]

Fixer upper: An AU Leon Kennedy x Reader fic Chapter 4

Well y’all, I finally did it. I wrote chapter 4 after being in a slump for two weeks. Thank you all for being patient. This specific chapter has explicit content so please use your discretion. Minors DNI. (Loss of virginity, assault, and explicit *consensual sexual content)

It was still a couple days before the engagement party and Mama was not happy with you.

After the talk with your dad she became upset that you would divulge information to him and not to her. You tried reasoning with her, claiming that she wouldn’t listen; but that just made her more upset, hence the cold shoulder treatment she was giving you right now.

You decided to get out of the farmhouse and get some fresh air.

You were on the road close to town when you heard the sound of tires on the dirt road. You smiled when you saw the familiar *Springfield County Sheriff on the side and Leon’s handsome face peering through the window.

“Hey, y/n. Do you have time to talk?” He said smiling.

You looked around to make sure there was no chance of anyone seeing her get into his car. When you deemed the coast clear you happily obliged and Leon put your bike in his trunk.

You hopped in the front seat and Leon drove to a shady place to get a reprieve from the heat.

Leon was the first to speak once he parked the car.

“I’ve found some interesting things about your fiancé and his father.” He said holding a Manila folder.

“What do you mean by interesting?” You said furrowing your brow.

He put the envelope in your hands and you opened it.

Inside were pictures of Senator Armstrong accepting money from unscrupulous looking people. There were also copies of different documents detailing where the money was coming from. Senator Armstrong was taking bribes from wealthy communists to change legislation.

“Oh my god, how is he getting away with this?” You said.

“He’s not.” Leon said plainly. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“How are you going to prosecute him in this town? There won’t be a jury to convict him!” You said throwing down the paperwork.

“This is now a federal case, Y/N. This is a matter of national security, but to try this case I’m going to need your help.” He said looking at you with an austere disposition.

You had never seen Leon so serious about anything before. You gulped and nodded.

“What do you need from me?”

“We need a confession and tangible proof.”

You instinctively fell back into the seat.

“You really think a powerful man like Senator Armstrong is going to confess to a person like me? I bet he has no respect for women, just like his son.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“You have the leverage to back him into a corner y/n, with all the shit Patrick has already put you through, not to mention these findings, I’m sure a lot of reporters would LOVE to get to know you.”

You genuinely thought about it. This was the perfect opportunity to get out of this sham marriage, and maybe you could get them to pay for school-no that would be too opportunistic.

The invasive thought made you feel dirty, you didn’t want to turn into somebody that blackmailed people for money.

“I’ll do it, but only because it’s the right thing to do.” You said avoiding eye contact.

Leon grabbed your hands. “This won’t be an easy thing to do, Y/N.” He said, leaning his head down to meet your eyes.

You looked into his eyes, they were warm and assuring.

“If I do this, is there a chance I could get hurt?”

Leon gripped your hands tighter. “I won’t let that happen.”

“What’s your plan, Leon?”

“The night of your engagement party, that’s our only chance. He’ll be surrounded, if you let it slip you know something you can get him alone. He wouldn’t want his associates to find out.”

The thought of being alone with Senator Armstrong was terrifying. He was a powerful man and she was terrified he would do anything to get rid of her; she was expendable to a man like him.

“Where will you be?”

“Close by, every second. I won’t let him hurt you anymore, Y/N.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and enveloped him in a kiss. You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer.

He returned your kiss enthusiastically. Even though the two of you hadn’t known each other long, there was no denying you had a strong magnetic attraction for each other.

Leon was the one to break the kiss. You couldn’t help but sigh, disappointed.

“I know sweetheart, but we can’t be caught necking in my patrol car.” He said, a smirk growing across his features.

You looked down embarrassed; you were turning into a fast girl.

“Don’t look like that, Y/N! I enjoyed it.”

“Do you think I’m easy?” You asked self-consciously.

“Easy? Of course not. Why would you say that?”

“I’m engaged and kissing another man. If anyone found out, both our reputations would be ruined!”

“Since when do you really care about reputations?” He quipped back mocking you slightly. “I surely don’t.”

You rolled your eyes. “That's easy for you to say, your only options for a future aren’t just to *get married and have a bunch of kids and pray your husband keeps the lights on.” You said theatrically.

“You don’t know what my husband is like!” He said facetiously.

You gave him a limp-wristed punch and he feigned injury. “OW!”

“Come on Kennedy, I’m being serious!”

“You know that’s not the only future you have; you can do so much better than this place, Y/N.”

You paused for a minute and fantasized about taking classes at a REAL University, not just some finishing school for ladies to find a husband.

You thought about all the long nights studying and working a waitressing job maybe; and coming home to a small apartment. It wouldn’t matter how hard the work was or how dingy the apartment you would be; it would be all yours and no one could change that.

“I would kill to get out of this town, so I guess the next best thing would be to throw Patrick and his father under the bus.” You said sarcastically.

“You wouldn’t be throwing them under the bus, you would be assisting in apprehending a criminal. Senator Armstrong is a criminal, Y/N.”

You couldn’t deny that Senator Armstrong was selling out not only the state of Georgia, but the United States as well.

He was selfish and a coward just like his own son.

“Do you think Patrick knows what his father is doing?” You said anxiously, bouncing your leg and straightening out the papers in the manilla envelope. The gears in your head were shifting at a lightning fast pace. Sure, Patrick was a jerk, but was he also as conniving as his father?

Leon tapped his chin thoughtlessly.

“Not only is he completely aware, it’s under suspicion he’s acting as an accessory as well.”

Your heart fell into your stomach, that was all you needed to hear.

“I’ll do it, I’ll ruin my reputation for the sake of national security.”

Leon beamed and kissed your cheek. “Spoken like a true patriot, Y/N.”

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

The rest of the week, you were brainstorming ways to shake up Patrick before you confronted him. You wanted him paranoid, in a vulnerable state.

You thought it would be the easiest way to get him to confess, if he felt like someone close to him was going to betray him; they would never suspect it was you.

You started to leave “breadcrumbs.”

You started sending cryptic messages in random places that he would find. You constructed the messages out of newspaper clippings and other materials.

You started to hate how much joy messing with him was, but lord he was an easy target

The night before the engagement party and your official debut as a “couple”, you decided to put him completely on edge by asking him at family dinner why he seemed so stressed.

He looked at you, with the blood drained from his face; the bags under his eyes were emphasized by the lack of color in his face.

“Nothing honey, I’m just so excited for our party that I haven’t been getting any sleep.”

God he was such a smooth liar, it must be second nature. If he wasn’t such a crook, he’d make the perfect politician.

You just smiled, it felt good to be in control.

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

The day was busy, you were in the salon for hours with Miss Suzanne and your mother. They were chirping away about wedding plans. You were as silent as a corpse, your mind racing of all the different possibilities of how the night was going to go. The first part of the night was going to entail dancing and socializing. When the guests would start to entertain themselves was when you were going to pull Patrick and his father aside to confront them.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when the beautician asked you how you wanted your hair done.

You opened your mouth to answer, but were interjected by Suzanne describing what she expected your hair to look like. You felt your cheeks go red; before your meetings with Leon, you wouldn’t have cared about others making decisions for you. Now, you were starting to get your confidence back, you were going to be in charge of your life from now on.

You looked at the hairstylist and smiled “Actually, I think I may want something a bit more modern. I want to look like Brigitte Bardot.”

You thought your mother was going to kill over in her seat, Suzanne smiled a strained smile.

“If that's what you want sweetie, it’s your party.” She forced the words out through gritted teeth.

“Thank you for understanding, it is what I want.”

Mother and Suzanne were silenced after that.

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

You were standing in a guest bedroom of the Armstrong Mansion staring at yourself in the mirror.

Your evening gown was a light pink, the tulle off the shoulder detail accentuated your attractive decollete area. It had a sweetheart neckline embellished with floral embroidery. It was the perfect dress for someone else.

After the beauty salon incident, you managed to slip into Senator Armstrong’s private study and found important documents regarding the exchanging of money for American Secrets. You had the papers neatly folded in you undergarments, it probably wasn’t the best place but it was the best you could do.

You were picking anxiously at your skin when you saw the doorknob slowly turn. You were shocked to see Leon standing there with his hair combed neatly back and wearing a black tuxedo; he looked like a different person.

He whistled low when he saw you.

“Y/n, you clean up nice. You look incredible.”

You beamed at him, he made all your anxieties go away. “I could say the same to you, Deputy Kennedy.”

He bowed shallowly, “Thank you ma'am.”

“How did you get in here? I don’t think the Armstrongs would be too happy to know that the deputy that arrested their son has made an appearance at the most major social event this season.”

“They’re so busy with other matters, they really have no clue who’s really working this party.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Who else is here, Leon?”

“No one you need to be worried about.”

You felt your heart fall into your tummy. This was really happening, they were going to arrest your fiance and it was going to be a huge mess.

“Are they here to arrest Patrick and his father? Does it have to be here, at such a public event?”

Leon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Y/N, it’s the only way. We need witnesses to his confession and the only way we can accomplish that, is if we’re there.”

“I’m scared Leon, what if we fail?”

“I promise you, we won’t.”

You turned away. The reality of how serious the situation was finally setting in and this was no longer just a final act of defiance; the night would end with someone going to prison.

You sighed, “Let’s just get this night over with.”

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

You had just finished your first dance with Patrick, the entire time he was shaking. He was no longer the overly confident ladies man; he was just a scared little boy.

You felt guilty over betraying him. He wouldn’t do well in prison; hell, he wouldn’t even do well in an apartment.

The crowd rumbled into applause over your overly rehearsed waltz and the band began to play an upbeat tune. Most of the guests made their way to the dance floor, while others spoke amongst themselves.

Patrick excused himself politely when the two of you noticed his father motioning for Patrick to follow him.

You made eye contact with Leon and he gave you the signal to follow them. You tried to slip away but just as you were about to leave the main hall, you were stopped by Suzanne.

“Y/N, let me borrow you for a minute.” She grabbed your arm and pulled you aside.

She yanked you closer and whispered harshly into your ear.

“Don’t EVER embarrass me like you did in that beauty salon ever again.” You were stunned. She had apparently been suppressing her feelings all day.

“I’ll attribute this to you being nervous for an event like this, since you and your white trash family aren’t used to these kinds of things; but YOU are marrying into this family and YOU will do as you're told. Do you understand?” She was fuming, her nostrils flaring, making her look like an angry lizard.

You were seething and did the most rational thing you could think of; you smiled at her.

“I do understand, Suzanne, I really do; but what you don’t understand is that my white trash family has morals, unlike yours.” Suzanne looked at her mouth agape. She was not expecting that kind of response, especially not from you.

You stepped closer to Suzanne, closing the distance between you in an intimidating manner. “What you also don’t understand, is that you will remember this night for the rest of your miserable white trash life.”

With that, you left Suzanne standing in shock as you went into the empty hallway of the grand house. You could hear your heart beating heavily in your ears as you made your way down the hallway.

Your peripheral vision was blacking out due to your blood pressure rising.

You heard two hushed voices arguing vehemently.

“What do you mean someone knows?” The heavy voice was one she recognized as Patrick’s father.

“I mean that I’ve been receiving disturbing letters everywhere I go! It’s like someone is following me, waiting for me to crack! I can’t take it anymore father.”

You heard Senator Armstrong scoff at his son. “So a couple of threats already have you over the edge? You’re weak minded son, I shouldn’t have gone so easy on you, we should have shipped you off to the military when you got that girl pregnant at UGA. Do you know how much it took to make sure she had that abortion? I had to pay off the doctor too!”

“You know I didn’t want that! I would have manned up!” Patrick pleaded with his father.

That must have been the incident the girls in the diner were talking about. She didn’t know it was that bad, she just assumed he was making a fool` of himself at a party or something.

“Would you really? Don’t be daft, son. Your mother and I have spent so much of our lives cleaning up your messes.”

You decided this was the best time to confront them when they were arguing amongst themselves. If they were mad at eachother, maybe she could get them to reveal more of the truth to her.

You hoped that Leon was closeby, he did in fact see you on your way out, there was no reason he wouldn’t look out for you.

You slowly opened the door to the Senator’s personal study, where Patrick and his father stood, looking petrified at you.

You cleared your throat before speaking. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

Senator was the first to compose himself to speak. “Good evening, Y/n. Shouldn’t you be outside enjoying your party? I apologize for taking my son away, we had business to discuss.”

You looked at Patrick who was avoiding your gaze by peering down at the floor.

“What an odd time to discuss business, Mr. Armstrong, it wouldn’t have anything to do with the strange letters Patrick has been receiving has it?” You questioned nonchalantly, but you felt the energy in the room change drastically.

Patrick looked wide-eyed at his father, but Mr. Armstrong maintained his composure.

“My dear, what did you say you came in here for, again?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“I know of your meetings with the Soviets, Armstrong.” You said shaking. You were changing, you were becoming brave, but nonetheless, you still felt like a scared little girl when confronting the two men.

“That is quite the accusation, y/n. I think you’ve been reading too many stories. All this excitement and attention must be getting to you.”

You clenched your fists.

“I’m thinking more clearly than ever, maybe you should cover up your tracks better. I found your financial documents out in the open.”

Patrick stepped angrily towards you. “You little whore! How could you? What do you want? Money?”

You glared at him, your blood felt like fire in your veins.

Patrick’s father started to laugh. “Patrick, you’re definitely your mother’s son. How could you think this was just about money? Obviously, if it was, she would keep her mouth shut.” He looked at you. “Y/N, you’re a reasonable girl. Those documents you have obtained could make our lives…inconvenient.”

You scoffed, “No kidding.”

“I think we both could help each other out. Did you know why we thought of you as a suitable bride for my foolish son?”

You just stared daggers into him. He stepped so close to you that you could smell whiskey on his breath.

“We own your fathers land. You see, your father had so many debts, some from gambling, some from drinking. You know who bailed him out? You’re a smart girl, you can put two and two together.”

“That’s wrong, daddy would never do anything like that.” You said shaking. This criminal was insinuating your father was a bad man and you didn’t take that lightly.

“Oh but you’re wrong young lady, I served with your father in the war, he was quite the rowdy soldier. There’s a lot about your father you don’t know,” he said, pulling out a whiskey decanter and pouring himself a glass. He gulped the double shot of whiskey down like water.

“I like you alot y/n, you’re a smart girl, very smart in fact. I knew eventually, you would figure out that my dear son here is the run of the mill imbecile and not worth marrying.” Patrick started to object to his father’s insults.

“Be quiet boy!” His father snapped at him and Patrick backed down.

“I promise you he’s worth it, if not for companionship, but for your family’s land and for your own future. Do you really want to struggle for the rest of your life? Marry a man for love for him to only disappoint you and leave you destitute? I promise that will not happen if you marry my son. I will make sure of it.”

You were starting to rethink all of your plans, if you didn’t marry Patrick where would your family live? Daddy was disabled from his time in the war and Hank had a new baby to worry about, if they took away the land they would be homeless. Everyone. On the other hand, you would be stuck in a loveless marriage always having to mind yourself, no true friends, just surrounded by illegal riches brought to her by others having to suffer; and that was not sustainable.

That's not the future you wanted, you had already started the wheels in motion and you weren’t about to halt it now.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” For the first time tonight Mr. Armstrong’s composure faltered a bit.

“You heard me, Armstrong. You know, that I know how you maintain your wealth. I’d rather be destitute than have a palace built upon your own moral failures.”

“You self-righteous bitch!” Senator Armstrong threw the heavy whiskey decanter off the side table as he lunged at you. He managed to pin you to the wall by your throat.

You were gasping for air, having the wind knocked out of you. His grip around your throat was tight, you were hyperventilating now.

“Father stop! She’s not worth it! Let her go!” Patrick pleaded with his father.

His father just ignored him and sneered at you. “I’m done with people like you threatening to take away everything I've earned!”

You were clawing at his hands with your nails, “You’ve earned nothing!” You gasped out.

Senator Armstrong threw you to the ground harshly. You tried to scramble away when he picked up a sharp, antique letter opener and stood over you.

“I’m not going to let some little white trash tramp ruin my life.”

You flinched as he was about to strike, when the heavy doors of the study bursted open. Agents flooded in to apprehend Patrick and his father.

“Malcom Armstong you are under arrest for treason and attempted murder, you have the right to remain silent…” The agent’s voices trailed off as you looked around the room in shock.

Leon ran to you and cradled you into his arms.

“Y/N I’m so sorry, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Are you okay? What did he do to you?” He said holding you gently as if you two were alone.

You were shaking and unable to get your balance or even talk. Another agent with brown cropped hair walked over to them.

“She’s in shock sir, we should get her checked out by paramedics.”

Leon looked at you sympathetically and looked back at the agent again. “You’re right, take her out of the back entrance. We don’t need more of a show than we already have.”

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

You were in the back of the ambulance with a blanket around your shoulders as another agent was taking your statement.

You witnessed a crowd surrounding the squad cars as they were taking Patrick and his father into US Marshall custody.

Suzanne looked disheveled as her once prim updo was now askew as she pleaded with the agents not to take her son and husband. The reporters that were supposed to report on the party were now snapping pictures of the scene, their fancy bulb cameras flashing as other members of high society laughed at her misfortune.

The only ones who seemed concerned were the members of your own family.

You shivered as the reminder of how fragile the life you would have had, was. People who were talking of this party as the social event of the season were now laughing in Suzanne’s face in one of the worst moments of her life.

She deserved it, but it still didn’t feel good to watch.

You were brought out of your thoughts when the agent left and a familiar handsome face came into sight.

“Leon!” You said excitedly.

He came over and sat next to you with a bottle of soda.

“This is for you, you earned this and a thousand more after tonight.” He popped off the cap and handed it to you.

“Thanks Leon.”

“Your statement as well as the other guests of the party that heard the commotion are going to be good enough to keep the Armstrong men away for a long time.” He said putting an arm around you.

“Let’s hope so.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m scared.”

“For what? Everything’s going to be okay, they’re not going to be able to hurt you anymore.” He said rubbing your back.

“Senator Armstrong said something disturbing about my father, he said he didn’t really own the land we live on.”

Leon turned to face you. “You can’t trust anything he says. He was trying to manipulate you. I promise I’ll look into it for you.”

You hugged his neck tightly. “Thank you Leon, for everything.”

He returned your hug.

“Anything for you, Y/n.”

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

Leon was right, The Armstrongs didn’t own your family’s land. In fact, after the arrests it was clear the Armstrong’s were in major debt themselves.

Suzanne, lonely and destitute, started selling the family’s possessions. She quickly moved out of town to be “with family in her time of need.”

Word got out that you had played an active role in the investigation and apprehension of Patrick and Malcolm. Reporters would flock to the farm and loiter around just to get a glimpse of the young lady who helped “save the state of Georgia.”

Eventually, the reporters’ harassment became so bad you had to have an onsite police officer, and Leon was happy to volunteer for the job.

Leon spent the next few days following the incident patrolling your family’s land. Your family started to warm up to Leon, even your mother.

One Sunday, your mother invited Leon to stay for dinner, which was a big deal; usually, only immediate family members were invited to dinner.

The night was enjoyable with daddy talking happily about his time in the service and Leon talking about working in the Nation’s capital.

The table grew quiet when Leon broke the news that he had to go back to accept a higher position with the FBI. He had earned his spot for his work on the Armstrong sting and would be moving back to Washington D.C.

You felt your heart drop at the news, but you were happy for him.

“Leon, it feels like we’re just getting to know you,” Mama said sadly. “Are you sure you’re heading back so soon?”

“Yes ma’am, unfortunately duty calls. I will miss your family’s hospitality.”

“It’s alright son, I remember those days,” Daddy said to Leon. “Feel free to keep in touch if you ever come back to Springfield county.”

“Of course, I plan to.”

That night, you were at your regular meeting spot, unsure if Leon would meet you there. You were about to go back to the house, when familiar headlights rolled up behind you.

Leon walked out of the car and jogged over to you.

“You’re late.” You said sardonically.

“I’m sorry sweet girl. Would you forgive me if I told you I have good news?”

Your heart fluttered and you were stunned. He was definitely leaving, what good news could he possibly have?

Leon pulled out an envelope and handed it to you. It was plain white but it was addressed to you.

“Well open it!” He said grinning excitedly.

You fumbled the envelope in your hands, ripping it open. The official “NASA” letterhead was printed on the top of the page. You thought you were going to pass out. They were offering you an internship at their headquarters in D.C.

“Leon, how did you manage this? I didn’t submit any of my work!”

Leon smiled mischievously. “I may have pulled a string or two, when I mentioned who you were and a certain former secretary of mine left samples of her work in the office.”

You were shocked. “I don’t know if I deserve this, I feel like I’ll just mess it up, surely there’s someone more deserving,” you stammered out.

He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close. “Baby, you deserve this more than anyone I know.”

You blushed, this was the first time Leon called you by a pet name.

“Thank you Leon, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say that you’ll come with me, I’ll promise to take care of you. I’ll prove to your parents I’ll keep you safe.”

“Is this your way of making things official, Leon?”

He smiled and cradled your face in his hand, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“Yes, if you’ll have me too.”

You leaned up and kissed him, enveloping him in a passionate kiss. Leon couldn’t hold himself back and deepened the kiss.

For the first time, you felt a fire in your belly, you couldn’t deny the attraction and wanted to take things further.

You let your fingers wander to his chest and Leon moaned into your mouth. He took this as an invitation to start kissing at the nape of your neck and you let out a whimper of pleasure.

Leon abruptly stopped.

“Maybe we should continue this back at my place, would you be okay with that?” He asked, his face flushed.

You nodded enthusiastically.

The ride felt like hours, the sexual tension building between you two. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, grazing his fingers along your bare thighs. You had never felt so attracted to anyone before, the fire in your belly was getting more intense and it was starting to become painful.

When you arrived at Leon’s small home, the two of you wasted no time continuing where you left off. After a couple of minutes of heavy petting and kissing you broke off.

“Leon, I want you.” You managed out in between kisses.

“Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

You kissed him roughly. “Didn’t you just hear me? I want you, I want you to be my first.”

It was his turn to blush. “If you’re sure.” He went to his bedside table and grabbed a small square foil packet.

Suddenly you felt nervous again. Leon must have sensed this because he kissed your forehead sweetly.

“We can stop anytime you want, I won’t be upset, okay?”

You just nodded.

He crawled on top of you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, bring him closer as he started to kiss the sensitive skin of your neck and your collarbones.

You shivered as you started to shrug off the top of your dress. Leon noticed and started to help you out of the flimsy fabric restraints.

You felt exposed as you instinctively covered yourself with your hands.

Leon smiled at you. “You’re too sweet, here I’ll make you feel less self conscious.” He started to unbutton his shirt and revealed his chiseled body. He looked like one of the Greek statues you saw at the art museum in Atlanta. He was perfect and you wanted to be completely enveloped in him.

You removed your hands from your breasts and shivered at the cold air hitting your skin.

The feeling was short lived as Leon brought his large warm hands to your breasts and began to massage them.

You moaned out, not expecting the sensation to arouse you as much as it did.

He kissed you again, “You like that baby?”

You just shook your head aggressively, you were suddenly too timid to speak.

“Don’t get shy on my now baby, we're just getting started.” He said as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling it softly.

You squeezed his bicep tightly, you wanted more. You instinctively opened your legs so he could move closer to you.

He started to Kiss down your abdomen lingering in the area where your lower belly meets your pelvis, scattering the sensation along the area.

You began to Intuitively arch your back to bring your most sensitive parts to him. His teasing was causing your core to ache.

“Leon please,” you pleaded, you were unsure of what you wanted, all you knew was that whatever it was, Leon would know.

“Be patient baby, I have to make sure you’re ready for me first.”

He brought his fingers to gently remove the thin fabric of your panties off your thighs.

You were left completely exposed to him, just how you imagined.

“You are so beautiful, I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

You leaned up to kiss him. “Same to you.”

He wasted no time finding your sensitive clit, the sensation of someone else stimulating your most sensitive and intimate area was intense. You leaned back and tried to relax, to experience the pleasure fully.

“That’s my good girl, let me take care of you.” Leon said kissing your inner thigh. You were closing in on your first orgasm and your lower body twitched as the waves of pleasure hit you.

You moaned Leon’s name as you felt your body spasm uncontrollably.

“That’s it, I want you nice and ready for me baby.” He said putting a thick digit into you.

You were so right around his finger. You had never tried to feel yourself down there. You heard the girls at school talking about it, but you were always too embarrassed to even try.

“Baby, you’re so tight. You might not be able to take me.”

“Leon, please, I want you in me.” You moaned. You didn’t care if it hurt at first, you just wanted to be close to him and for him to feel the same pleasure you were experiencing. It was only fair.

“If you say so, but I need you to come one more time for me and we’ll try.”

“Yes sir.”

He smile at you and pet your hair. “Be careful baby, I like the sound of that a little too much.”

He inserted two fingers inside of you, stretching your tight opening, while stimulating your clit. You moaned in pain and pleasure as you tried to adjust to his size.

He whispered sweet nothings to you and it took a little bit longer, but you came again, this time around his fingers.

He pulled his fingers out of you revealing your slick around him.

“I think you’re ready for the real thing baby.”

He grabbed the little square packet from earlier and opened it up. He undid his pants revealing his entire naked body to you.

You couldn’t help but blush, never seeing a man fully naked in the flesh. Leon seemed to be perfect in every way.

He leaned down and kissed up your neck to your cheeks sweetly. He gently laid you down on the pillows, and entertained himself into you.

He leaned his face close to you that your noses almost touched. “Are you ready?”

“Yes I am, I don’t want anyone else but you.”

“If you insist, baby. Just tell me if you need to stop.”

Leon sat back up and aligned his tip with your tight entrance. He slowly pushed himself in. Your face contorted in slight discomfort and anxiety.

“Do you want me to go slower? Or would you want me to just rip the bandaid off?”

“I think I just want to get the hard part over with.” You answered honestly.

“If you insist, babe.” He said and thrusted half of his length into you.

You squealed, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of something that deep inside of you, your vagina stretched to accommodate his size. You were grabbing at his forearms, tense.

“Let me know when you’re ready for me to keep going sweetheart, you’re doing great.” He said assuringly, littering you with gentle kisses.

“I’m ready, I can handle it.” You said, half believing yourself.

“I know you can, baby girl.”

He began to thrust slowly into you. The burning sensation slowly turned into pure pleasure, the new sensation of having someone inside of you was exciting.

It was so erotic, you didn’t care. You couldn’t have picked a better partner for your first time. You were experiencing so much pleasure you hadn’t realized when Leon’s thrusts became shallow.

“Mmm, baby I’m gonna cum,” he panted out.

“I want you inside me when you cum.” You pleaded, you knew he was wearing a condom and you didn’t want the moment to end so abruptly.

He said nothing as he lifted your legs behind your knees and began to thrust into you, this time rougher. You loved it, he was hitting your innermost parts and wasn’t holding back.

He had given so much of himself to you, the feeling of your body giving him pleasure felt gratifying, the thought of it alone pushed you to your third orgasm.

Your body twitched around him, causing him to climax, his member thrusting into your now overstimulated body.

He remained inside of you for a short time before pulling out and discarding the used condom.

The two of you laid in silence embracing before you broke the silence.

“That was amazing.”

He leaned over to you. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Liked it? I loved it. No wonder Patrick was a tail chaser.”

Leon laughed out loud.

“I’m glad we don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Me too,” you said thoughtlessly.

“What’s on your mind baby?” Leon said, pulling you to look into your eyes.

“Do you think we have a chance of making it? You’re not going to get bored of me that we’ve slept together?” You asked innocently.

He embraced you. “Y/N, I love you. I wouldn’t just abandon you after everything I put you through.”

“You really mean that? You love me Leon?”

He kissed you passionately. “I do, I just hope

you feel the same.” He looked at you with pleading eyes.

“Of course, I love you too, and I won’t ever stop.”

The two of you held each other until you fell asleep in each other's arms.

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 55 - outdoors fashion in 1924

This post goes largely to Rose, but we’ll start off with a look at a few *le gasp* middle-class women.

Starting with the one whose romantic farewell was “I wish you’d never even met your wife whom you loved so much; I can’t believe you expect me to treat your family with basic manners.” Fellowes’ writing has really gone down the drain. But let’s look at the new color palette of the worst communist character ever written. She goes from pastels last season to jewel tones in this, and from owning multiple coats but limited hats to always the same coat but with a new hat every time we see her. The coat is a nice shade of blue, and I love the scarf she wears in the second picture. Funnily, she has a new little pin on her lapel each time.

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

Over to Diana Clark. She’s only around for one scene and a half, but the dress she wears is quite pretty, the blue and white matching nicely, the flower print giving this a little whimsy. Why is this quiet, kind woman who wears flowered fabrics the mistress of a rough, loud dipshit like Lord Sinderby? I hope she gets out of that situation. Or shacks up with Lady Sinderby instead. But look at the point where her white sleeves cut off over the blue cuffs: The cut edge is lining up with the print. This is so adorable.

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

Up the food chain, over to Rose. Look, she has a lovely coat almost the exact same shade as one of Edith’s. And this one has a sweet, sweet design that’s got me captured: Both the lower part of the coat itself and of the sleeves is all box pleats. This is honestly so nice. Also, the dress she wears under the coat in the second picture, the sky blue one with the flower garland? That’s Edith’s later on in the season. I don’t know why Rose wears it here.

Does Rose always move like she’s on a cat walk? Girl, you’re just going down the street; stop posing. Very nice outfit though! The skirt and jacket have a nice color contrast, and the jacket itself has as much tailoring as the 1920s would allow, the shoulder section sitting all nice and snug. It also comes with a matching scarf and a hat that, while black, does at least have a flower on it.

A rust-colored velvet coat, I think this is what Rose wears when she meets Atticus for the first time. The coat is not much beyond lapels, but Rose has paired it with the most adorable hat with flowers in various shades from peach to coral to chestnut. And, well, she’s Rose, so how could he not be smitten?

Sometimes, I’m sitting here burrowing through my vocabulary to name a color. Is this light brown? Leaning towards coral? Puce? What an ugly name for a nice shade. Rose wears this to a riding tournament if I remember correctly, and among all the other spectators mainly wearing shades of brown and grey, she looks the pinkest. The hats are a tie for me; I like she color and the brim of the second better, but the first has this adorable red-leaves-on-a-cream-ribbon decoration.

Hat is back, coat is exchanged for something… beiger? It’s fine, I guess. It has this scalloped collar design which is neat, and Rose wears it over a very colorful dress that I’ll have a chance to discuss on its own later. Also, Rose’s netting gloves are blue. Can’t say I’ve seen that before. Most I know are either black, white, or beige.

Rose, why on earth are you making a duck face? Were pouty lips even in the 1920s beauty standard? Okay; whatever, let’s talk about Rose’s honeymoon travel outfit. The hat is cute, the coat is simply-cut but has a lovely blue shade and a mass of white curlicues I love. And the dress. I want this dress. The crocheted neckline? The fringe on the back and the hem? The light, summery linen? This dress is a thing of beauty.

[starlight-edith]

So, I just got blocked by a Star Trek blog of all things for respectfully letting them know that reblogging images/posts like this is often perceived as antisemitic:

They blocked me. For warning them.

Replace Israel with any other country. To play on this person’s viewpoint, let’s say it says “Go ahead. Death to Palestine!” Everyone would be up in arms about it.

They would say “how could you wish death on a minority, even if you dislike their government? The people have ultimately done nothing wrong!”

But because it’s Israel, because we’re Jews, all we get is “you’re apartheid! You’re murderers! You’re fascists!”

I did some investigating, and this person in all likelihood is a tankie.

Tankie: Someone who supports Marxist-Lennonist regimes such as the USSR and China and believe that those kinds of communism are the best kind and should be replicated. AKA fascists but make it left leaning.

I’ve quite literally never met a tankie that wasn’t also an antisemite, so this tracks.

I’m not against Palestine and I certainly don’t support the government of Israel, but it’s all we have. For many years Palestine was considered a part of Jordan. The people of Palestine were the people of Jordan, and Vice versa. Israelis don’t have a “backup.” My uncle would be dead without Israel. He had to flee genocide number I’ve lost count in the 80s. So many would be dead without Israel. During the Holocaust America turned away Jewish refugees!! They didn’t care about our genocide until the Japanese targeted them.

My personal opinion is that we should have a two state solution, OR Jordan should repatriate the Palestinians and figure out a solution from there — but because I believe Israel is important to me not LITERALLY DYING I’m a bad person who gets blocked for kindly asking people not to *checks notes* wish death on me.

I asked them not to wish death on me and somehow I am the bad guy in this situation.

If your communist utopia believes in irradicating entire groups of people simply because you don’t like them, that’s FASCISM!

Politics isn’t a spectrum, it’s a circle. Go too far left and you end up being a far right extremist dressed up pretty.

We do not deserve to die — no one does. Not Israelis, not Palestinians, nor Americans, nor the English, nor ANYONE AT ALL.

Am yisrael chai!

[weirdestbooks]

Becoming a Satellite (Wattpad | Ao3)

For @one-new-letter

Magyarország would never admit this to anyone. Never. No matter how hard someone pried at his life, he would not admit that he was scared. Magyarország knew that the USSR had been up to something involving his government, and he knew that something terrible might happen. However, none of the USSR’s attempts to make Magyarország communist worked, so Magyarország just laughed him off.

But then, the USSR stopped hiding his intentions.

And now Magyarország knew he was in deep trouble. Lucky for him, he wasn’t ending up like the Baltics. Instead, he was just getting a government change. It wasn’t good, as Magyarország’s people didn’t want said government, but it would work out. It wouldn’t be that hard to get rid of an unwanted government, so Magyarország would just have to deal with this bullshit for now.

So now here Magyarország was, in his office, trying to keep his cool.

“Я знаю, что ты там.” (I know you are there.) Magyarország suddenly heard through his office door. He quickly grabbed a pair of scissors off his desk, holding them as you would a knife. Magyarország knew that voice. Why was the USSR here?

“Fuck off!” Magyarország yelled back. There was silence for a moment.

"Что?” (What?) Magyarország heard the USSR say. Magyarország scowled in annoyance. It figures the bastard didn’t even bother to learn his language before messing with him and his government.

Magyarország marched angrily to the door and yanked it open, scissors still held tightly in his hand.

“Я сказал отвали. Оставь меня в покое.” (I said fuck off. Leave me the hell alone) Magyarország said. The USSR shook his head.

“Боюсь, я не могу.  Я здесь по важным деловым вопросам.” (I’m afraid I can't. I'm here on important business matters.) the USSR said, reaching out a hand for Magyarország’s face. He was tempted to stab the USSR but decided to try diplomacy before assault.

So Magyarország took a step back and shook his head.

“Во-первых, мне все равно.  Во-вторых, кем, черт возьми, ты себя возомнил, пытающимся прикоснуться ко мне без разрешения?” (One, I don't care. Two, who the hell do you think you are, trying to touch me without permission?) Magyarország accused angrily. 

Then, before Magyarország could react, the USSR surged forward, his tall body clearing the space between them in seconds. One of his massive hands clasped Magyarország’s arm, holding the scissors, while the other came to gently rest on his cheek.

“Hey! What the fuck do you think you—” Magyarország was suddenly cut off by an odd feeling in his head.

It felt like the feeling of cool water running down Magyarország’s head, but instead, it was in his brain, making his head feel…fuzzy. A feeling Ве́нгрия couldn’t begin to describe. But it made him calm, and Ве́нгрия relaxed some, leaning into the hand on his cheek as the scissors fell out of his hand.

“There we go, my son. Is that better?” Ве́нгрия heard the USSR say. Magyarország jerked away.

"Fiú? nem vagyok a te..." (Son? I’m not your–) Magyarország cut himself off as the USSR raised a hand, causing the unnatural calm to return. Ве́нгрия didn’t like this. His language felt foreign on his tongue, and some part of him was…was…

Ве́нгрия’s head was hurting along the same area where the cool feeling was. Magyarország tried to fight back against the feeling, toes curling as he did so. He knew it was doing something to him, but everything happening in his head made it hard to focus.

“Stubborn, are we? No matter. The pain will end soon enough. Just relax, Hungary,” The USSR said. Magyarország didn’t want to relax because something felt very wrong about it. Yet his body became more limp, and his knees gave out.

Ве́нгрия collapsed, and the USSR caught him. Magyarország tried to pull himself out of the USSR’s grip, but the grip was too tight. His hand was running through Magyarország’s hair. Magyarország felt disgusted and scared, but it was getting harder and harder to fight against anything.

 His eyes slid shut, and the massive hands holding him still seemed to tighten their grip, causing small amounts of pain to run through his arms. But that seemed to matter little, and everything continued to fade away as the cold overtook his mind.

Then—

Ве́нгрия blinked his eyes open, yawning as he did so. Ве́нгрия didn’t recognize the bedroom he was in. His head was aching, and his thoughts felt drifty. Logically, he knew he should be panicking, but he just couldn’t bring himself to feel that way.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a familiar figure walked in. Ве́нгрия’s eyes widened as he recognized the tall red figure of the USSR.

“USS—” Ве́нгрия began but was cut off by the USSR raising his hand, which somehow seemed to take away Ве́нгрия’s ability to speak. But then, the pain in Ве́нгрия’s head grew. 

Why wasn’t Ве́нгрия calling the USSR his father? The USSR was his father, having adopted Ве́нгрия to help him modernize his country. That’s why Ве́нгрия became communist.

But somet—

The cold and pain returned, and the thought faded. Ве́нгрия groaned, hand going to his forehead to rub at it.

“Don’t worry, Hungary, the headaches will go away soon. They are just a side effect of your modernizing and being freed from the undeveloped capitalists. Some people are upset about it and causing you some pain. That’s why you passed out earlier, don’t you remember?” Отец said. Ве́нгрия shook his head, trying to piece together the fuzzy half-remembered details.

What had happened?

Ве́нгрия opened his mouth to voice the question but was cut off again by his father.

“Don’t think too much. It’ll worsen the headache. But if you want something to do, how about thanking me for freeing you?” Отец asked, a smile on his face. Ве́нгрия nodded numbly at that. 

“Thank you for freeing me Отец,” Ве́нгрия said. Отец’s hand ran through Ве́нгрия’s hair as a wider smile grew on his face.

“It was my pleasure, Hungary.”

[botaniqueer]

My ethos regarding leadership, authority, and vanguard positions as someone who is an entire Communist who has been leaning ML* is that, I am not against leadership positions but the intensity at which a person in power should be criticized should scale with how many people's lives they have the ability to affect and what degree, and accountability and criticism should heavily emphasize how people's lives are affected.

*for anarchists friends, don’t worry, I try not to be the annoying kind and I’m happy to work with other tendencies. My conditions for working with other orgs and leftists are things like needing to support decolonization, not leaving behind or throwing under the bus people with Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities (I/DDs), not tolerating [trans]misogyny, etc. Also if people use a vanguard party it should not be settler-led.

The criticisms also shouldn't be softened by phrases like "oh, well they're only human" or "they're trying their best!" Even when honest mistakes happen, people's lives are still affected and they everything needs to be done to repair and mitigate damage, and that often doesn't get done. Ignoring the lives affected just opens the door for that harm to be considered acceptable and normalized. Not only does the action need to be apologized for, but the person in power needs to fight back against their own apologists who try and soften blows for them, which is something I never see done when celebrities mess up.

In the context of this post, I am also counting celebrities as "authority"; they have the ability to influence things on a system-level scale that normal humans do not possess. If I take an action, the effects of it will start petering out after a few degrees of separation, but a someone with a large online platform can make those effects echo around for a long time, and that never gets engaged with. It’s also why the meanest possible homeless person will never cause as much harm as a millionaire or billionaire passively does because of the exponential difference in scale. We get more mad at the former and blame them because of social stigma against homeless folks* + the person being a concrete figure vs. a more abstract systemic harm we can’t see in front of us. (Not to mention that meanest said person still deserves a home regardless!)

Authority is like a gun or a very sharp kitchen knife; you need to treat it with care and respect or it will end up hurting someone. Public figures don't comprehend that they are the sociological equivalent of people in mechanized powersuits and they are bumping into unarmored humans. If people are hurt, they need to feel in full for everyone who has been hurt, with no shortcuts or emotional/spiritual bypassing.

A big problem happens when a person gains power equivalent to the president of the United States, who has the ability to affect millions or even a billion lives using a couple of penstrokes or on-air interviews; such a person can't be fully held accountable because they can't comprehend all the lives that are affected or damaged by their actions. It would boil their minds to comprehend all that death and harm. (They know their actions and position cause harm but don’t care and never try anyways.) Despite this, people still jump to their defense, despite the fact that their position is indefensible. This is not even taking into account the inherent unethicality of being the leader of a settler colonial state. Billionaires act on a similar social scale, affecting exponentially more people than I am able to.

Even if you don't mean to break someone's arm, that arm is still going to need to be bandaged. In the US, we do the equivalent of leaving the person with the broken arm on the side of the street while yelling that we're being too harsh on the person who broke the arm for even suggesting the bandages.

This stream of consciousness is mostly in response to American's stereotypical perceptions of what a Communist is vs. their own behaviors regarding authority and power. Their idea of authority abuse is in the form of dictatorial systems, causing them to not take into account our own society. A dictator is not needed here because we as a society enable such abuses and perpetual the societal harms on our own while never reflecting on it because we’re a “free country”. (As settlers we in turn have our own power dynamics over Black and Indigenous people acting as a ruling caste over them. Our relative wellbeing compared to “those other countries” comes at the cost of other people and we are upper caste equivalent that we point out in other “despotic” countries.)

[orossii]

i saw some popular maga communist twitter user say that evolution is fake and chimpanzees are degenerate humans that chose to become animals, and like. obviously that’s not a real opinion someone who’s actually read marxist literature would have, and that’s when i fully recognized just how much of a divisive op this bullshit is lol. i’ll be honest, i’m not one that’s afraid of conservatives. i think you should be able to listen to every perspective and use it to sharpen your own understanding, even when you largely disagree or find an opinion actively repulsive. i think a marxist should be able to accept that the working class tends to be more traditionally minded, and we’ll have to make some room for those people rather than label them fascists for valuing religion or the family and pushing them to the right as a result. i believe in the power of broad coalitions. but if you allow yourself to become a red flavored hyper-partisan reactionary, you’ll be laughed off the scene and dismissed like the q shaman was after January 6th. normal people tend to get the ick from people who dramatically polarize on either side of the culture war’s political spectrum

even most normie men in the US would be like ..? at someone telling them women aren’t fit for public office or aren’t capable of being academics, technicians, or administrators, lol. most people support the right to an abortion to some extent, and even the conservative-leaning people I know don’t really mind gay people at this point even if they’re not exactly waving pride flags on their front lawns. a marxist’s job is to synthesize tradition and progress in a healthy, life affirming, and productive way that contributes to the overall stability of the society and appeals to the people broadly

[kob131]

I have had a bad few days so excuse if I’m not going to be polite.

https://dextixer.tumblr.com/post/708715973123932160/crimsonxe-love-how-for-all-the-talk-of-how-bad

Love how for all the talk of how bad the RWBY community is, every reactor I’ve watched in the recent gen that actually pay attention to the story and catch details as well as aren’t right-wing douchebros; mention how nice and welcoming the community is to them.

You will classify anyone who has a problem with the show as right wing, which is just about the only thing @dextixer got right. Even if they are openly left wing, like myself. Fuck, even if they openly hate most RWBY criticism but just have certain issues.

Almost like people respond well to actual fans vs. hatewatchting douchebros that ignore, bitch about, fail to grasp, and shit on the show that get rejected and/or called out on their b.s. (which the irony is that “calling out” can be seen as a form of critique).

I’d listen but I have serious doubts that you are capable of telling a hatewatcher and just a guy.

But not like the critics are any better. Case and point.

Its just so easy for RWBY fans to just dismiss criticism as just “right-wing”. When in reality, most RWBY fans are milquetoast liberals with barely any political knowledge.

Most of the prominent critics of RWBY are people from LGBT+ circles, people of colour and people who lean very heavily towards socialism/communism.

You know, I love that Dex inserted that ‘milquetoast liberals’ bit even though that has no real connection to the statement. Like, you can say all of the above and still consider yourself not a progressive.  This only really works if you operate under the idea that ‘liberal’ is right wing and this is an accusation of hypocrisy. Which is stupid to think ‘liberal = right wing’ but then you see the whole ‘most prominent RWBY critics (implying himself too) are socialists and communists’ and it all clicks.

Anyhow, I would like to point out that quite a few prominent RWBY fans are also LGBT and/or minorities so Dex’s categorization doesn’t work here. Of course he’ll ignore this because he needs to think he’s the underdog, even though he’s a fucking mod of the critic’s subreddit. 

But you just dismiss all of them because its inconvenient to you.Which very nicely mirrors RoosterTeeth itself. It pretends to be politically left. But will throw any minority under the bus once it becomes convenient.

Oh no, Dex. RT is left wing. Nothing they’ve done contradicts this because the left wing isn’t some bastion of virtue. Being left wing too much can and will cause issues, like being so morally assured that you will commit heinous acts while believing them to be just. Or just plain believing that you are above issues. I have seen the critics do this myself since the days of Volume 4.

BTW, I’m one of those ‘milquetoast liberals’ and I turned against RT when it became clear that the accusations of poor working conditions was not in fact yet another lie that the critics jumped on. What’s your excuse here?

What you are talking about is an echo-chamber. You respond well only to the people that agree with you and see the show as you do. That is your failing, not anyone elses.

Says the man who preaches openness and diverse discussion while being in charge of an echo chamber.

[netscapenavigator-official]

I’m just at a point where I don’t consider “internet leftists” to be left-leaning anymore. If you’re unwilling to organize and compromise with other left-leaning individuals to achieve a common goal, then you’re not on the left side of the political spectrum, and I’m no longer interested in pretending like you are.

You all spit out the same reasons like buzzwords and then leave it up to everyone else to give you a myriad of logical, well-explained ways that you’re wrong, and then you still don’t change your mind. That is what the alt-right does every single fucking day. It takes a minute to spread misinformation that will take a lifetime to prove wrong. The right uses this to their advantage, and sorry, but I find it extremely suspicious that you do too.

Your politics are just as individualistic and anti-community as the right. (Which is fucking rich for people who claim to be COMMUNists.) Well, I don’t give a shit about your excuses or reasons. Making brash, uneducated decisions on your own is not how things get done, and it’s certainly not the idea behind giving the power to the people. I know a lot of people pretend to know this, but then turn around and fail to realize that political nihilism is the epitome of the lonerism mentality that fuels the division of the people in which the alt-right thrives on. Nothing says “I care about my community!” like a mentally and life choices that say “let it burn.” /s

Not to mention how the “waiting for the world to end and laughing at the suffering of my fellow left-leaners who are slightly less left than I am because they aren’t exactly like me” mentality is identical to the mentality of evangelicals that graciously await the end of the world because they think they’ll go to heaven and every black, gay, trans, etc. person will go to hell. The people who refuse to recycle or prioritize climate action because they think this life is disposable in favor of an eternal one afterwards. That’s you. Whether you like it or fucking not. Your idea of what happens after this life may different, but your actions in this life could’ve fucking fooled me.

[fierceawakening]

It depends on what liberalism means exactly. I don’t know how old you are or whether you’re in the US, but I’m in my 40s and USian, and for most of my life “liberal” was how you said leftist in any sense, which is part of why o ask what people mean by it. Popular T shirt during the W years was DAMN right I’m a LIBERAL.

(“I’m a liberal” might have meant “I’m not a communist.” I can’t tell from your replies here whether you are one, but if you are and are disliking that I’m not, that’s a bit less baffling but we’re probably at an impasse. I know people whose close family members were slaughtered by Mao, so “we can try this again and it’ll work” wouldn’t likely sway me without a lot of clear argument for how we keep it from degenerating into that.)

So yeah that word doesn’t have negative connotations for me. I’m pretty sure the word people use now for what we meant then is “progressive,” but I could not quite be one of those depending on where the cutoff is which is why I keep… asking… where the cutoff is?

There’s also “liberalism” in a different sense which refers I *think* to Enlightenment thought in general. It’s been many long years since i studied enlightenment thinkers, and back when I did I was an older teenager and hadn’t done much questioning of a lot of things. But the primary thing that struck me when I read people like Kant, Locke, etc. was that they had a vision of everyone being fundamentally equal in worth, and things like race or religion as incidental, kind of like the cherries on a sundae.

This is both good and bad, or at least that’s where I eventually landed with all that.

The good part is that sometimes aggregating everyone helps get rid of bias in the way things are run. Think about women gaining the vote, or poll taxes being struck down so black people could vote. We’re all fundamentally the same. We all fundamentally should get the same say.

(Donald Trump in the US is currently threatening this. Many if not most people consider that a five alarm fire. If he gets to dismantle or corrode this, people will suffer greatly. A lot of people, in my not so humble opinion, will die.)

The bad part is that sometimes there’s a broad history of discrimination and repression. When that’s the case, sometimes recalibrating the measurements to zero everything out doesn’t do enough. Societal histories reverberate, and undoing the damage is hard, long term, and careful work.

Acknowledgement of this is often the difference between “liberals” in the sense of “progressives” and “conservatives,” who tend to think traditions are important and worth preserving even if they create inequalities (and, as they get more openly fascist, may value these traditions precisely BECAUSE they create inequalities.)

So if the question is “do I think that lasting inequality needs to be addressed in social policy,” yes? But I’d think most left leaning people believe that?

Most feminists I’ve met do too I think. I guess we could say there are a few people out there who are a blend of conservatism (or libertarianism?) and feminism, like Wendy McElroy, but I’d be inclined to just say libertarians at that point.

So once again: which definition of liberalism are we using here? *Who* are we insulting?

But yeah if you’re asking in the US politics sense I’d call myself progressive, though the old term was “liberal��� and that feels less weird.

Mostly in agreement with Bernie and AOC?

…So now I’ve made a long effortpost explaining my politics in detail. Are you willing to do the same, or are you just going to keep insulting me while not opening your own beliefs to scrutiny as well?

[Tiktok user Clairrorism]

[noelleusesthisasaficdump]

My Old Kentucky Home

Steve, Robin, Dustin, Max, and Kaya pulled into the driveway and Kaya bolted from the car, her backpack bouncing behind her full of Eddie’s things. Everyone behind her had a bag of groceries walking into the boat house. Kaya yanked the door open and announced herself.

“Ed” She called “It’s Kay”

Eddie bolted up from his hiding spot and yanked her into his arms. The two held one another through their hardest times before this, this time was just the same.

“I brought you clothes, pj’s, and things for your hair, everyone else got clothes, Wayne knows you didn’t do it to Chrissy-”

“Andrea Kaya, take a breath” No one called her Andrea, not since their dad was finally put in jail.

But it worked, she took a breath.

“Good or bad news first?”

As the news was shared Eddie gorged himself on food. The news was awful in her mind.

She sat on the floor and leaned her head against Dustin’s leg as everyone shared their experiences with the DND named monsters and Russians.

“I’m sorry but Mike’s girlfriend is supergirl, Steve and Robin were interrogated by communists, and Chrissy Cunningham was murdered by Vecna?” Kaya cued back into the conversation. Confused and scared.

“Kaya I want you to go home and stay out of this. You and Wayne need to go down to Kentucky and stay with aunt Rosie and get the hell away from Hawkins” Eddie’s eyes were wide with panic hearing everything that had happened in the past few years. He stood quickly and went into the kitchen, pulling a beer out of the fridge and cracking it open. “I don't want you to argue with me. I know you don’t like Rosie or her husband but you need to get out of Hawkins. I love you and Wayne too much to get caught up in this because of me.”

Kaya’s eyes begun to fill with tears, ready to argue with her brother about how they’ve always faced things together and that she was going to stay and help. She was quickly silenced by Eddie by squeezing her tight between his arms and holding his face to her hair.

“Steve, I want you to take her back to Waynes and tell him to get out of Hawkins. I am not letting you go down with me kiddo” Eddie let his sister go and pulled Dustin into him “I want you to make sure she leaves. Watch her get into Wayne's truck and watch them until they’re out of Hawkins.” Eddie’s head dropped and he sighed deeply before hugging her again quickly and pushing her and Dustin to the door.

The entire ride back to Forest Hills was silent, excluding quiet sniffles from Kaya as they pulled onto the main road. She watched silently from the porch as Steve and Wayne spoke. She could tell from the distance that her uncle agreed that they would leave tonight.

Tears fell even harder at that.