#no I did not buy the communist manifesto

[daughter-of-sapph0]

went to the book store today

[things-methinks]

Talking to [leftist/socialist/progressive/whatever] white people as a brown girl is always an experience

[foundationaldecay]

what are the ethics of buying a hardcover copy of the communist manifesto from books-a-million for seven dollars

[lovecom]

bought the government of no one by ruth kinna and the communist manifest (for $10!!) today :))

[whatthefishh]

Oxford Comma

Rydal Keener x f!Reader

Summary: You got into Harvard, based on your own merit. Rydal was a legacy kid and pissed you off every chance he could get. AKA the 90s University AU I spent two full days working on.

Words: 7k+

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v, cream pie, Rydal is a cunt lmfao, a lot of run on sentences and overly describing situations because you just had to be there

Series Masterlist

———-

It all starts during homecoming. 

Well, sort of. 

That’s when you met him.

\\\

“I didn’t even want to go to school here, you know. Fucking bullshit,” you heard someone say. 

You bristled at the thought that someone would want to turn down the posh ivy university that you somehow managed to get a scholarship to. You had busted your ass for your grades and extracurriculars, balancing being on the school paper and being top of your class just for the chance to apply to Harvard. And here this prep kid was, complaining that this wasn’t his top choice. The privilege was pouring out of him like a faucet.

“Didn’t your dad bribe you though? He bought you a new car. Like, the exact car you’ve been whining about,” the taller boy said.

“It wasn’t a bribe–”

“And! Didn’t you get a custom licence plate? Something that had to do with Greek mythology or some shit–”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” the snooty boy sniffed. “He chose the plate. Wanted everyone to know who it actually belonged to.”

“Well– yeah. Still, we’re legacies. May as well use it to our advantage.”

You were listening so closely that when someone behind you in the crowd of students bumped you too hard, your drink spilled on the taller boy’s shoes. Not a lot, but enough to embarrass you in front of the clearly well-off duo. They both turned around to look at you at the same time, the shared weight of their accusatory gaze shrinking you even further, if that was even possible.

Chester, the taller boy whose name you had come to learn after hearing the snooty boy refer to him as such, threw a fit about the now dried cranberry stain on his crisp white Sperry’s, which he had apparently just purchased. 

The other boy, the one who didn’t want to go to school here, was watching you amusedly the whole time, his lids low as he slowly took in your appearance while you were stuttering out an apology to Chester. You didn’t notice how he was watching you until he interrupted you and said that it was fine. That he’d buy his friend another pair, to which you did a double take, catching his winning smile. That ten kilowatt smile probably got him out of a lot of situations, and he was aiming it at you now. For what, you didn’t know. He was genuinely very handsome. In a classic, old money kind of way. Sweaters around his shoulders, Ray-Ban wearing, summer in the Hampton's kind of way. To be honest, it just made you dislike him more. The uncomfortable feeling spreading over your body in goosebumps under his stare, most likely manifesting into a cringe-worthy blush across your cheeks. 

You needed to get away. Hopefully, this was a one-off and you’d never have to see or speak to them ever again. After an uncomfortable ten or so seconds of silence, you turned on your heel and walked into the crowd, not bothering to catch the other boy’s name.

///

The distinct smell of his expensive cologne hit your nose before you saw him again. 

Looking up from the list detailing the books you needed for your semester, you stopped short as someone cut in front of you in the aisle of the campus bookstore. The back of his head rang familiar but you couldn’t place him, until he grabbed something off the shelf – the last copy of The Communist Manifesto in his hands – and turned to give you a smug smirk when your eyes connected. You couldn’t help but flick your eyes back and forth between his eyes and the title in his hand, the same book you needed for your Perspectives of Politics course. And he’d just taken the last copy available.

“I…I was going to buy that,” your voice came out weaker than intended.

“Were you?” he was still smiling at you, infuriatingly. 

“Yeah, right before you jumped in front of me. It’s the last one in stock.”

“Hmm. Didn’t see you reaching for it. Guess you’ll just have to order it online then.”

You grit your teeth together, trying to go for polite but by the way his eyes lit up at your jaw clicking, you were having a hard time keeping it together.

“Come on, they’re like double the price online, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt daddy’s wallet. Let me have this one!”

You grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth. They were ugly and not the way you wanted to carry yourself at a prestigious school such as Harvard, especially not to someone whose parent was a faculty member. 

He arches a brow and takes a deep breath in before tilting his head back and staring down his nose at you. He wasn’t much taller than you, not really, but he held himself with such distinction that you couldn’t help but feel three feet shorter. 

“Listen, I don’t know what backwater town you came from, but we don’t use those words around here unless you’re moaning about it.”

God, you hated him. You wanted the floor to swallow you up so you could disappear from this awkward fucking moment. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, your tongue once again got you in trouble, “Motherfucker,” you whispered incredulously. 

“No, my name is Rydal. But you were close.” 

He shook his head, the smug look back on his face as he walked away from you, leaving you to gape at the empty aisle trying to rewind time. 

\\\

You only realize he’s in your class when midterms come around, seeing him show up to write an exam for a course he’s never attended in person.

You avoid him, casting your eyes downward until you pass by him, too ashamed of your last conversation all those weeks ago to even look him in the eye. 

He finishes the exam quicker than someone should be able to for someone who hasn’t attended a single lecture. It’s almost questionable. Until you see several other students get up around the same time as him, leaving a good two thirds of the lecture hall still full. You’re still around the halfway point of the exam, and trying your best to remember what it was you read about capitalism and Marx, and but the moment from the bookstore comes to mind, your thoughts unintentionally drifting to Rydal again. His deep set eyes watching you from atop his aristocratic nose, lips parting curiously, temptingly–

You’re writing an exam, for fuck’s sake. Shaking your head and blinking rapidly to get rid of the thoughts (read: thots) you were having, you shifted your attention back to the papers in front of you. 

You double checked everything before handing it in, well before the last third of students finished. A small part of you bitterly wondered how he had managed to finish so quickly, but you again didn’t let yourself brood for too long.

///

You didn’t see him but you saw Chester in the library once, kicking the printer in an attempt to make it work after jamming for the umpteenth time. 

You made eye contact after he had just done so, your body freezing at the exact moment your eyes met inadvertently and making your library trip last half as long as you initially intended. If you were being honest with yourself, which honestly you were, way too often and mostly to your detriment, you high-tailed it out of there out of fear of running into Rydal. If Chester was around, you could safely bet that he was probably nearby, the two frenemies often spending their free time together. 

Planning on finishing your paper in your dorm, you made your way back, secretly hoping your roommate wasn’t there. You had no problems with her, she was actually really nice to you and often wordlessly gave you snacks if she saw you skipping meals. The thing was…

Your roommate started smoking weed and thought she was being slick about it. She wasn’t.

The smell of it followed her in the dorm, leaving its teeth marks in the sweaters she left around, in the bathroom where she would spend an hour in the shower washing it out of her hair, and in her bed sheets when she’d come back from god knows where smoking up. 

There was one night when she came back with some gummies for you to share, since she noticed you being on edge and wanted to help, bless her. You kindly refused, since you were in the middle of crying about your grades, but appreciated the thought nonetheless. 

Your midterm came back with a lower grade than you expected. Your project partner didn’t finish their part of the assignment, forcing you to do most of it yourself. You were going to get a lower grade than you wanted, than you needed to keep your scholarship. You had to get at least a 90% on the final to keep your average where it needed to be. How the fuck were you supposed to accomplish that? What with the stress of managing your finances and trying to blend in to this stupid crowd, most of the kids around you not having to even think about any of the shit that was on your mind. 

You couldn’t fail, you weren’t allowed the same slip ups half of the students around you were allowed. Not only could you barely afford your meals on campus, but you were skipping dinner some days, desperate to make it to the end. It’s not like you could ask anyone at home for help, that was a write-off. You were here off your own merit and volition. You and you alone. You thought about all your peers who had help getting here, jealousy rising like bile in your throat. You needed this more than them. And yet you felt hopeless when you thought back to the pre-requisite course you were failing.

Okay, fine. Not failing, just falling below the mark you needed.

Which you tried explaining to your roommate. Her casual suggestion made you stop crying immediately, turning to her in confusion.

“Why don’t you just buy an answer key?”

What. The. Fuck.

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, like the answer key to the final. I’m sure someone has it.”

“Like… you mean like someone’s selling the answers to the exams we’ve been writing? Like… a student? Isn’t that against school rules?”

She laughed and looked at you like you’d grown two heads.

“Of course it’s against school rules, that’s why you have to be careful who you ask. Honestly, how have you been getting by this whole time? Don’t tell me you’ve actually been doing every single reading?” she asked you as if the mere thought of it was ridiculous.

You just stared at her in stunned silence, a little bashfully when you had no reason to be. 

“Oh honey, go ask Rydal, I’m sure he has it.”

Now you were going to scream.

“W-what?” you were struggling to wrap your head around it. The same Rydal whose father was a professor at the school, the same Rydal who left the exam early for a class he never fucking showed up for – that scumbag was cheating and still had the audacity to steal the last copy of the book you needed right out of your stingy hands. 

The sound of your roommate talking faded into noise as you were thinking about all the times you felt less than, and all the times you stayed up late in the library studying, trying to prove yourself to your professors and peers when all this time half the student body was probably buying their way through school and doing the bare minimum.

You realize she’s been droning on about how cute he was today, and how kindly he offered to roll her weed for her when she bought the dime off him and it occurred to you that she was still talking about Rydal. Her weed dealer, Rydal. 

A thought occurred to you. 

“Where’s his dorm?” you adopted a fake tone of cheerful curiosity. 

She adapted to your change in diction better than you could’ve hoped for really, giving you the information you were looking for and feeling altruistic about herself in the process.

He opened his door with an air of boredom, masking his surprise at finding you there – your eyes probably red from crying, hands wringing in front of you – and leaning against it with his arms crossed, looking you up and down before asking, “can I help you?” with a twist of his lips.

Taking a deep breath and trying not to literally twiddle your thumbs, you start explaining how you need at least a 90 on the exam to keep your GPA, trying to skirt around the topic of maintaining your scholarship. For whatever reason, you felt the need to hide your financial status in front of him, and you were already here groveling for his help. You didn’t need to hand over your dignity on a silver platter for him. 

Halfway through your monologue, he opens the door more fully for you, signaling for you to enter with a slight tilt of his head. Looking around his dorm, you take in the frames and posters lining his walls; the stack of books next to his extremely comfortable looking bed; his mostly cleared desk; an acoustic guitar half hidden behind it; and a hefty looking filing cabinet with a lock. It was much loftier than yours looked, even with the lived in state. His worn but expensive denim jacket hung off the chair at his desk, and you briefly wondered what the hell his deal was. Why was this rich kid with daddy issues acting out in a clear violation of several campus rules and regulations, pulling out a spliff from behind his ear to rest between his lips and light it up lazily in front of you? 

“D’you wanna hit?” he asks, blowing the smoke out as he watches you gingerly look around for somewhere to sit. You shake your head ‘no’, tugging at the hem of your Harvard t-shirt. 

“Take a seat, I have to find the copy,” he says gesturing to his unmade bed. 

So you do, you sit in the same place his body had been prior to you knocking on his door and you can tell by the traces of cologne you pick up as soon as you sit down.

You try not to stare as he’s bent over the heavy duty cabinet, rifling through the folders - criminally organised, this one – until he finds the one he’s looking for and turns around to catch you staring at his bum, your eyes widening as they meet his a second too late. 

"Y'know, you look good like that,” he says, leaning his hip against the cabinet and looking at you down his nose again, his lids laying low over his brown eyes. 

"Like what?" you ask, despite you already having a feeling where he was going with this. 

Rydal smiles, like you played into his hand exactly like he wanted you to.

"Sitting on my bed."

"Just give me the photocopies, Rydal."

"Alright, alright,” you stood up to grab them from his outstretched hand, more than ready to leave his cave of horrors. 

Except he doesn't let go when you grab them. 

"How much?"

He still hasn’t let go; you’re at an impasse with how to proceed. Looking up at him with a slight panicked look, he concedes, finally releasing the paper from his grip.

"For you? Nothing, for now.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Means you owe me one,” he said with an unethical twist of his pink lips. 

"I don't know how I feel about that."

"I have a feeling you'll like the way it feels,” he was ushering you out now, his hand on the small of your back raising goosebumps in its wake. Once in the hallway again, you turned around poised to dish it back but he didn’t give you the chance. Rydal winked at you before swinging his door shut in your face, leaving you half confused and half flustered at his blatant flirting and somewhat generosity. 

///

The next time you see Rydal is at a frat party that your roommate somehow convinced you to go to. She had insisted you needed a night out, a normal university experience she had called it, ever since she found out about your long study hours. Apparently, she had thought you were seeing someone and that’s why you were out late, not because you’d been holed up in the library this whole time. So she took it upon herself to throw some of her clothes at you, more expensive than anything you owned, albeit shorter and tighter. 

“This isn’t my size,” you tried to tell her from inside the bathroom you shared. 

“Yes, it is, stop being dumb and let me see,” she was being nice, you reminded yourself.

Groaning, you opened the door to reveal the kitschy micro pleated skirt she had lent you with the thigh high socks, to go with it. You felt ridiculous, but by the way her eyes lit up at the sight of you, you were made to believe that it was a good look, despite the irony of the academia look gone wrong, all things considered. 

Before she could drag you out any further, you managed to swipe your oversized denim jacket to throw on top for the chill November air, letting her drone on about how she wants to find you a guy tonight. 

The party was being held in a dated building on campus, hosting one of the many fraternities that Harvard has to offer, and of course, one of the many yearly gatherings where students come together to make terrible, horrible decisions together. The structure itself is historically beautiful from the outside, if one were to ignore the trashed students huddled together in swaying groups as the speakers from within the house blared out Hypnotize. There were shouts coming from inside the house, a constant stream of students going to and fro, and someone was most definitely throwing up in the hedge. 

Linking her arm through yours so she wouldn’t lose you to the throngs of people, your roommate pulled you through, ending up at the drinks table.

“Pick your poison,” she urged you, before turning and saying hello to a bunch of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone for a minute before he descended upon you.

“Step on me, would ya?” his soft voice was closer to your ear than you expected anyone to be. 

Your head whipped around and even his eyes widened at seeing your face, not having known it was you from behind. 

“Are you lost or something?” you scoffed at him. 

“Oh my god, Rydal! So good to see you,” your roommate swooped in at just the right time, stepping between you two to hug him, a hug that he returned though he kept his eyes on you the whole time. “You two know each other, right?”

He cleared his throat before smiling and nodding at her, answering all her socialite questions before seeing someone he knew across the room and taking his leave. You knew this outfit was a bad idea. 

“Babe, I’m gonna go dance with Sebastian over there, is that okay? He keeps smiling at me and– don’t look at me like that, I’ll be back soon, I promise, okay?” 

You felt bad, not wanting to keep her from having fun so you assured her you’d be fine, busying yourself with your drink and finding something to snack on. Which led you to search for the food table, it was bound to be here somewhere. Near the drinks is where they usually set it up, right? It should be here – 

He was already staring when your gaze landed on him, looking at you through his lashes from across the room, his index finger resting on his tongue as he licked off whatever food was leftover on it. You felt your cheeks heat as he didn’t look away, the pink of his mouth wrapping around his finger now and making a show out of cleaning it while he looked you up and down. 

Oh, fuck him, you needed some space. The back door was nowhere to be seen so you pivoted and took the stairs two steps at a time in your rush to find the bathroom. After brushing past some older, more inebriated students draped over each other in the hallway, you found an unoccupied bedroom, rather nondescript and clean to belong to this house, at least. Stripping yourself of your jean jacket, you tossed it somewhere near the door. Taking a few breaths to steady your racing heart, you tried to shake the tantalizing image of him and his perfect mouth out of your head, the way his lips wrapped around his finger and leaving behind a trail of spit–

The door swung open and you were about to apologize, presumably to the resident of whoever’s room you were occupying but the words died on your lips when you noticed it was him, closing the door behind him. 

You don’t have the energy to deal with whatever brand of crazy has him acting up tonight, his eyes drinking you in now that he has you cornered like a predator. Taking the moment to study the boy before you, to really study him, you notice he’s not really that tall and not really that imposing. The watch on his wrist looks old and worn, not like his flashy counterparts you thought he was similar to. His polo shirt, though obviously expensive judging by the material and the way it draped over his shoulders, was minimalistic in design. No logo, if any, was immediately visible, and you realized you wouldn’t have known about his ridiculous opinion of the institution if you weren’t eavesdropping that first day, and honestly? He’s probably someone you could have befriended upon first glance (or fallen for, but that’s neither here nor there).

You’re eyeing him with blatant distrust. He’s an asshole at times but his lips part as if he were about to speak and then thought better of it, cocking his head while searching for the right words and you’re waiting with baited breath, crossing your arms across your abdomen and inadvertently pushing your breasts up just enough, because why the fuck did he follow you up here?

He has the audacity to look a bit ashamed actually before deciding to press his fingers to his lips and not speak.

“You’re not going to say anything?” you manage.

He shakes his head and you can see the smile he's trying to hide behind his hand, “well I was going to, but I didn’t want to come off like a dick.” 

You narrow your eyes and sigh, “what? Just say it.”

“I wanted to cash in that favour, what with you looking like… well, like that.�� His hand finally leaves his mouth to vaguely wave in the directions of your legs. 

///

So, you meant to put up more of a fight. 

Really.

You didn’t mean to give in to his stupid advances so easily, so wantonly, and you don’t even remember who moved first but you remember it being a damn good kiss. Rydal basically devoured your mouth, tongues fighting for dominance soon after your lips met with one hand cupping the back of your neck and the other pulling your body closer by your hip. You pushed his jacket off him while his hands reached under the hem of your top, fingers pressing into your skin. You finally had the opportunity to rake your fingers through his dark locks, causing him to moan into your mouth and bite your bottom lip in retaliation and you swore you could feel the vibrations in your fucking tonsils, your hips rocking into his and you could feel him–

Time seemed to blur, and suddenly you found yourself on your knees, his hands hurriedly unbuckling his belt while you looked up at him from below, his cheeks dusted pink. Massaging the head of his cock through his stupid corduroy pants, he whined under his breath, pushing your hand away to pull himself out of his briefs.

He’s so fucking thick. After unceremoniously pulling out his cock, he didn’t want to force you to do anything, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides while you just blinked stupidly at it, watching the tip as it leaked out a drop of precum.

Rydal was watching you watch his cock, before you finally gripped the base and leaned forward to kitten lick the tip, and his hesitation flew out the window. His hand buried itself in your hair, not pushing but holding so gently, it was almost tender and it occurred to you that you wanted to wreck him.

Opening your mouth to let more of him in, you breathe in deeply through your nose until you feel him graze the back of your throat, hearing him stutter a breath when you do. Moving your mouth over him until the hilt, you repeated your movement, fingers tightly gripping his base and ignoring the way his thumb rubbed your cheek on every pass. You chanced a look up at him and saw his wild eyes watching you, groaning when your eyes met. His hips unintentionally thrust forward, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to swallow around the tip, both of you moaning at the same time. 

An ache is building in your jaw but you were determined to make him lose his shit, he drove you crazy and despite you being on your knees for him, you felt in control of the moment, taking pleasure from it. There was a throbbing between your thighs that you tried your hardest to ignore for the time being. 

He was whining now, and you continued to bob your head over his cock, obsessed with driving him further to the edge. Rydal made the prettiest noises, even his exhales were music to your ears and you were glad that you were completely sober enough to remember this, to remember how his head dropped back when you swirled your tongue around his fat tip, the sensitive spot underneath the head and you think he might come. You can't help but wonder if he'll taste any different having fed from a silver spoon all his life

Hes whining a lot now, please– so good j-just like that, God yes – you’re sure hes about to blow his load and you’re preparing yourself to take it as he starts bucking into your mouth but before he can the door swings open and none other than fucking Chester walks in and the moment’s diffused, dissolved, deflated, you’re on your feet faster than you realize and you grab your jacket from the floor as Chester guffaws at the scene. Your feet take you down the stairs and out of the house in a daze, you don’t hear Rydal calling your name behind you in your haste to leave and you see your roommate still with Sebastian, leaving her in his good hands as you make your way back to your dorm. 

Halfway through the Quadrangle you realize you weren’t wearing your own jacket, Rydal’s cologne wafting from it in the humid pre-rain atmosphere. Great, now you had a corporeal reminder of what just transpired. Out of everybody at that party to walk in on the two of you, it had to be his best friend, the one who he was probably going to dish all the dirty details to anyway. 

“Ughhhh!” you groaned once you reached your empty dorm room. 

The entire walk back was filled with images of Rydal, the way his hair felt between your hands, the way his thumb was softly caressing your cheek, the way he felt heavy in your mouth, the way his eyes looked at you like he couldn’t believe his reality. What a waste of your time, you thought bitterly. Neither of you even got the chance to finish what you started. 

Neatly folding the borrowed clothes on your roommates bed, you forced yourself to sleep, only able to nod off after several failed attempts to relieve the buildup between your thighs. 

///

The next two weeks went by uneventfully. Never mind you leaving your dorm for literally anything other than necessities. Classes ended a week before exams, the library was full at all hours, so you resigned yourself to studying in your bed and at your desk. Your roommate spent half her time at her desk and the other half at her new boyfriend’s dorm, Sebastian. That fateful night turned out in her favour, ironically.

She had actually asked you what happened and if you were okay, not having found you after your pathetic runaway stunt. 

“Uhh, I had a really bad acid trip. Ended up here, no memory of how.” 

She nodded at you solemnly, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder comfortingly as if you’d just told her someone in your family had died. 

Rydal’s jacket rests on the back of your chair, the smell of it lingering, both comforting and disconcerting at the same time. You’re bad at lying to yourself so you’ve come to terms with the fact that you enjoyed what happened between you two at the party and felt real regret that you couldn’t finish what you started, going home empty handed. Like a kid at the carnival with no prize, it was stolen from you at the last second and you had to leave before letting them see how badly you wanted it. 

And you did, you wanted him so badly. You almost hate yourself for acknowledging it but when you closed your eyes he was all you could see, his face moments before coming down your throat. Studying in a perpetual state of horniness wasn’t doing you any favours either. You had taken to going for early morning runs to get rid of the itch under your skin, having given up on trying to relieve it yourself. 

The answer key worked, flawlessly of course. You still studied, you weren’t completely undignified in your cheating. It’s not like you were behind in the course, so you did your due diligence and it turned out in your favour. You hung around after finishing, double checking your work and then handing it in with the first half of the class and leaving the examination room with a pep in your step. Once again your thoughts strayed to Rydal, and how you should thank him for his help but then memories of your thanks came to mind and you decided he already got his dues.

Still, you had his jacket. You should probably take it back, all things considered. You turned in your seat to check the tag, curious as to how much it cost him. No doubt that it cost more than half your closet – Balmain. 

Okay, upon first glance it was just a basic denim jacket, but now that you knew it was designer, you noticed the detailing, the strong hardware and clean top stitching that held it together. A quick google search told you it cost him nearly $3,000 and you’re rendered speechless that he hasn’t come knocking down your door and calling you a thief. 

Your leg starts bouncing under your desk, his cologne somehow more fragrant while the words on your laptop screen stop making sense, jumbling together as your mind screams at you to return the jacket at once.

///

Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on his door.

You speed walked here, his jacket in hand. Yes, it was cold outside, but you braved the wind and refused to put the denim on, based entirely on principle and fear that you’d be billed in case anything happened to it while you wore it. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you tried to listen to the shuffling behind his door. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was and didn’t want to see you? What if Chester was here? What if he had a girl over?!

Before you could drop his jacket and leave, the door opened to a shirtless Rydal, sweatpants hung low on his hips and he held a towel to his hair, drying it while looking at you with a clear question in his eyes. 

“Um, hi. I just came here to return this, since, well since I mistook it for mine. They basically look the same except yours cost you like, a lot more than mine did so it's okay if you don’t have it, I kind of ran away. Anyway, I’m gonna go–”

“You still owe me a favour, y’know.”

You pause in your turn, looking at him exasperatedly. He doesn’t even have the shame this time, there’s no pause in his words, no hand to cover his smirk, no, his mouth is twisted up crookedly and making his dimple jut out at you infuriatingly. Insultingly. You’re not staring at the water droplet making its way down his chest but you’re also not not staring. He’s gorgeous. 

“That’s not true, I think I remember–”

“Doesn’t count. I didn’t finish.”

Your eyes flash at his brazen response. Rydal licks his lips in response, staring openly at your mouth now. 

“If you wring my jacket any further, you’ll owe me two times–”

He didn’t get to finish his stupid threat with your mouth covering his, your body colliding with his almost violently and pushing him into his room in the process. He was quick to push you against the door once he had half the mind to close it, his body smothering yours and his hands ripping the jacket from your grip to toss it haphazardly behind him. It was somehow better this time, maybe due to him already being half undressed but you were enjoying the way his tongue was lapping at your bottom lip while your hands roamed his torso, running down his shoulders and lightly scratching him at the same time. His body shuddered and slumped against you as his forehead came to rest against yours, lips parting for air and sharing the same breath pointlessly. 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you pant, his hands pushing your shirt up inch by inch as he explores your skin. 

“And what exactly is this, baby? Because it feels like more than a favour right now,” he said the last part while grinding his hips into yours causing you both to groan at the well-needed friction.

You glare at him, despite his face being mere centimetres away from yours and an irritating grin playing with his mouth, “You’re ridiculous.”

Flattening your palms against his bare chest, you push him back until the back of his knees hit and buckle against his bed, falling on it before your legs come up on each side of his hips, straddling him as your hands tangle in his hair again.

He’s volatile and sharp and unpredictable in ways that make you nervous and excited and you want to keep him you realize. Rydal’s hands rest on your hips, massaging the skin he can reach without pushing you for more but the desire is clear on his face, looking up at you with no mask. He presses your lower back so your hot core rubs his hardening cock through his sweats and you gasp and arch your back and press in a little closer, and his eyes are tracing your facial expressions. His hand comes up to cup your cheek again and you’re reminded of the last time he held your face like that, his thumb rubbing the same way as before and angling your face better for him to kiss you, stopping just before your lips connect.

You feel a little vulnerable until he says, “Yeah, I know.”

And then he’s kissing you and he’s not stopping and you’re grinding your hips down again, addicted to coaxing small groans and whines from him.

He takes a frightening amount of pleasure from seeing you come around his fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit and leaving behind a trail of wetness, just like you imagined all those days ago. His three digits curled and pressed on your sweet spot, your fingers tightening in his hair as he hummed into your mound, not letting up. 

When he rests the fat tip of his cock against your entrance, looking at you one final time before pushing in, you can’t bring yourself to plead with him so you kiss him instead, hoping your lips conveyed what you didn’t want to voice. He gets it, and enters you in one rushed thrust. Your nails dig into his meaty shoulders, eyes closing against the intrusion. 

You thought sex with Rydal would be competitive, as every exchange between the two of you usually is. You wanted to turn him inside out and devour the crumbs. It should’ve been aggressive, he should’ve fueled your violent tendencies, it should’ve been all bite and not soft brushes of his hand against your face, not him kissing your face as you gasp around a particularly deep thrust, not him religiously watching your mouth as you whimper and your cunt fluttering around his cock. 

He wouldn’t speed up. You already came twice, once on his fingers and once on his thick length as he stayed still inside you, holding off his own release until he reached some-inflicted goal to make you go cross eyed and cockdumb for him. He didn’t let you put your mouth on him before, claiming that you could ‘repay him for last time’ at another date, cheekily insinuating there would be a next time, without a doubt. 

You bite your lip to hold back from begging him to fuck you faster, harder, anything but this slow torture he was inflicting on your slick folds. There was no catch, he was gliding through you easily and he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how wet you were. Pulling your lip free from your teeth, his thumb dipped into your mouth and caught your spit on it only to drag it across your cheek messily. You let out a high pitch whine at that, his cock hitting you deeply.

You turn your face to the side, scrunching your eyes closed as you feel your core building up again despite his agonizing pace. Rydal grabs your chin and turns you to face him again, holding your jaw in place.

“No, you look at me, wanna watch you come again,” he huffs into your face, lifting your leg to fold you in half. 

“I–” you start to choke, needing him to understand.

“What, baby? You owe me, remember?” he thrusts a bit harder at that, hard enough to make you snap and pull a guttural moan from you.

It happens before you’re ready; your spine feels exposed as your back arches into him, eyes unfocused and brain short-circuiting, and you gush around him. He’s still thrusting, albeit sloppy and irregular now, but he’s also talking a lot and you can’t focus on his words because your ears are ringing from how hard you just came.

“...fuck, baby, so pretty, love watching you come, fuckkkk, I’m gonna– ahhhh!” his hips buck wildly until you feel hot spurts of his come inside you and dribble out of your puffy pussy. His whole body flexes over yours as he all but empties his balls and slumps over you, your hands mindlessly running through his hair and petting his sweaty back. He had just showered before you showed up. Oh well.

The urge to keep touching him stays even past the time it takes for you to regain feeling in your legs, and Rydal has been nuzzling your neck for the time being. You don’t know how long you two stay like that, just basking in each other’s calm presence for the first time since knowing him. You feel like all the stress from the whole semester, let alone the past two weeks, had left your body, seeping out of you and into his sheets. 

You feel him smile against your skin and without thinking, you tug his hair to pull his face up to yours, wanting to see it. It’s not his regular smug smirk that he gives you, it's something else entirely. 

This smile is a bit gummy, not as dazzling as the one he turned on you on the first day you met, but sweet and genuine. His nose wrinkled a bit with it and you had to physically refrain yourself from kissing him silly.

Your bodies are sticky and clammy, no space to be found between you two until he pulls out of you, hissing as he does so. Taking a moment to slyly appreciate the mess between your thighs, he swiped a finger through it before you moaned in resistance, swatting his hand away. Rydal sniffed out a laugh, murmuring an apology before getting you something to clean up with. You were worried he’d be cold as soon as it was over, the tenderness he showered you with minutes ago was still present though and he seemed to share the need to keep touching. Useless and unnecessary touches, lingering hands and longing gazes hung around as he gave you something clean to wear, holding you close once you were decent. 

“Um–” you began.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow or something, for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t you be like super zen now?”

You choked.

He was right though, he had made you come, like, really hard. Plus, you did feel more relaxed so you let yourself laugh at his sassy remark, adjusting to his humour now that you saw how soft he really was. You tried to fake glare at him but couldn’t hold it since he was giving you the nose crinkling smile again, your own lips twitching at the whole situation. 

Burrowing yourself further into his chest, you remembered what you originally came here for.

“By the way… Can I keep your jacket since you lost mine?”

He burst out laughing at that. You find yourself loving the sound of it. 

//

tagging people who I think want to read this and if you don't kindly ignore lmao: @melodygatesauthor @360iris @xbellaxcarolinax @annautumnsoul @ninebluehearts @bit-dodgy-innit @moonknightly @luc-k-y @eyelessfaces @kittyofalltrades @romanarose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @fandxmslxt69 @missdictatorme @loonymagizoologist

[transbutchblues]

tagged by @cattus-catos :) thanks

last book i read : The Communist Manifesto by Engels and Marx. it was over a month ago but i’ve been feeling weird so i haven’t been able to actually finish a book since then.

a book i recommend : Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, my favorite book. it’s so beautiful. everyone should read it.

a book i couldn’t put down : so many! i’d say Thistlefoot by GennaRose Nethercott, an absolutely amazing book exploring collective and generational trauma through the presence of ghosts while also being sometimes funny and lesbian. it’s so good i read it aloud to my mother then offered it to my grandparents. as well as Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg, which opened entire new paths for me.

a book i’ve read twice : so many books but let’s say Anne Carson’s Antigonick. one of my favourite ancient greek play translations/retellings.

a book on my tbr : Aristophanes’ plays. i don’t like comedies so i keep procrastinating, but i really need to read them at some point.

a book i’ve put down : The Hera of Zeus : Intimate Enemy, Ultimate Spouse even though i absolutely loved it, because i borrowed it at the uni library and then had to give it back before finishing it. and now said library is closed for the summer. but also some other academic books that are interesting but too tiring to read right now.

a book on my wishlist : @nicosraf’s Angels and Man - i absolutely loved the first book, it’s incredible, it’s one of my favorite queer books, but i still haven’t found the time and money to buy the second one.

a favourite book from childhood : a french book collection on ancient greek myths called Saga of [Hero’s name] : greek mythology in 100 episodes. The ones on Odysseus and Theseus are the very first books on greek myths that i remember reading, when i was about 5 or 6.

a book you would give to a friend : Gideon the Ninth from The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir. this is so good. lesbian necromantic science fiction, absolutely hilarious but also tragic. i should probably have put it as the book i reread because i read it exactly 4 times in 6 months (and did the same with the two following books. before writing a analysis document on it.)

a book of poetry/lyrics you own : Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho’s poetry, If not, Winter. and Ocean Vuong’s two poetry books, Time is a Mother and Night Sky With Exit Wounds. as well as Richard Siken’s Crush. or Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal, the first poetry book that i enjoyed. all amazing works!

a non-fiction book you own : Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson (lots of Anne Carson here. maybe i have an obsession), an exploration of love in ancient greece. i read mostly pdfs of non fiction books or i borrow them from the library.

currently reading : too many books…. Lucan’s Pharsalia, Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine by Rashid Khalidi, a french translation and commentary of Catullus’ poems, multiple retellings of ancient plays,…

planning on reading next : the Iliad! i really want to reread it, i keep thinking about it. the first time i read it it only took me 3 days but this time i want to annotate it. also, Female Masculinity by J. Jack Halberstam. and multiple academic books about Antigone.

tagging : @hiemihymni @olympianbutch @khaire-traveler but no pressure!

[darkmaga-returns]

Communism's Long March of Death, Deception, and Infiltration

NE - Naked Emperor Newsletter

Nov 06, 2024

Remember to add your book recommendations in the comments below.

Today’s book is:

The Devil and Karl Marx: Communism's Long March of Death, Deception, and Infiltration by Paul Kengor

Two decades after the publication of The Black Book of Communism, nearly everyone is or at least should be, aware of the immense evil produced by that devilish ideology first hatched when Karl Marx penned his Communist Manifesto two centuries ago.

Far too many people, however, separate Marx the man from the evils wrought by the oppressive ideology and theory that bears his name. That is a grave mistake. Not only did the horrific results of Marxism follow directly from Marx’s twisted ideas, but the man himself penned some downright devilish things.

Well before Karl Marx was writing about the hell of communism, he was writing about hell. “Thus Heaven I’ve forfeited, I know it full well,” he wrote in a poem in 1837, a decade before his Manifesto. “My soul, once true to God, is chosen for Hell.” That certainly seemed to be the perverse destiny for Marx’s ideology, which consigned to death over 100 million souls in the twentieth century alone.

No other theory in all of history has led to the deaths of so many innocents. How could the Father of Lies not be involved?

At long last, here, in this book by Professor Paul Kengor, is a close, careful look at the diabolical side of Karl Marx, a side of a man whose fascination with the devil and his domain would echo into the twentieth century and continue to wreak havoc today. It is a tragic portrait of a man and an ideology, a chilling retrospective on an evil that should have never been let out of its pit.

You can buy the book here (Amazon link).

[rattenmann]

hey, did you know that Wikipedia has famous people signature including, but not limited to, Karl Marx?

another fun fact is you can buy the communist manifesto in America and i happen to have one myself

[anarchomccarthyist]

heavy vent delete later

grooming abuse incest mentioned

where do i start? there is such a heavyness. why can i relate to someone who was sexually abused by their own father? i am realizing that that excerpt from incest diaries hit home with me to a disturbing degree. what the fuck did he do to me that i relate to someone who went through that? i had a dream about him that felt like stockholm syndrome. i was back in his office, doing everything i could to get him to keep me there the way i knew he wanted to. he wanted me as an object on his shelf next to the communist manifesto, dispensing my knowledge for him to sign his name on. he wanted to own everything i produced, co-sign everything. i almost let him give me that key to his office. he asked me to only ever work in there. what would he have done if i had agreed? everything he did was a test to see how deep he’d gotten his hooks in me. can i take you to italy? do you want to come out and smoke with me? have a cigarette. where did you get that necklace? let me touch it. do you have a boyfriend? you should come to italy after you graduate. i’ll give you a key to my office. i found a job for you. i found an internship for you. you don’t need to talk so much with the other professors. let everyone hear me chastise you. let them know that i own you. won’t you stay for your masters here? take the key to my office. work in my office. okay, i will. i’ll let you make me feel special and tear me down, let you put your name on my work. i’ll sit on your shelf. i want you to think i’m sexy. i want you to think i’m clever. if i take the key will you touch me? will you chain me to your desk? keep me there? will you think i’m sexy, clever? if i stay in your office long enough can i cut you in half? can i bite off your dick when you can’t wait any longer to put it in my mouth? will you shut me up and pour my words out only when you need me? will you buy me coffe and give me a ride home? will you take me to italy? will you fuck me there, in that hotel room you wanted to share? can i kill you! can i kill you? can i kill you? where are you now? i want you to think i’m clever. if i smoke with you will you think i’m clever? if i let you touch my necklace will you make me special? give me a ride? take me to coffee? sequester me. i want to kill you. i wish you were dead. i wish i had gone to italy with you. i wish i had the key to your office.

[rhetoricalsoapbox]

🎻 Helmer, 🚫 Aurin, 💛 📚 Merriweather

Ooh boy.

I'll go in order, but this'll be a long-ish post. Buckle in.

Going in order, I'll start with Helmer.

🎻 "does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)?"

God, he plays a LOT of different instruments. He's best with piano and violin, but you could honestly hand him anything and he'd play something beautiful with it. You could also probably hand him any piece of sheet music and he'd be able to nail it fairly easily. (He's also a great singer btw)

No one, including Helmer really knows why music was his talent -- like Aurin's necromancy or Cerillia's shapeshifting -- it's just one of those things that's probably better left unanswered.

I could definitely see him nailing something like this pretty easily when he was younger. He'd probably scare Aurin to death since his "music corner" in the attic used to be directly above Aurin's room, and being quiet really wasn't Helmer's thing (still isn't).

Not sure if I'd call him a virtuoso, but he's outstanding.

----

Aurin is.. yikes.

🚫 "does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?"

Did you have to ask?

I think it's fairly clear that Aurin has a smoking problem, but for the decade I suppose it isn't insanely bad.

It's definitely a regular thing; probably more than regular if you'd ask Merriweather, but it's not his worst problem with drugs of any kind.

^ And in case you were wondering, he did go through the entire pack before the end of the day and he did buy Malikye a new one.

----

Hooray! Love for Merriweather! I'll start with the yellow heart first.

💛 "how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any?"

Fluently, Merriweather speaks English, French, and Russian.

Russian isn't a great language for the 50s/60s, but she picked it up during group meetings and stuck with it. Her mother also stressed her to know some minimal things as she thought it'd be important for a "person wanted to be involved with the scientific field."

Merriweather also, while she doesn't speak either very well, can read some Latin and German. The only reason she ever really learned german was to read the Communist Manifesto in it's original text (Manifest der kommunistischen Partei), and she learned Latin through reading and writing some of her own stuff for the lab + her practices when she still had her medical license.

📚 "what level of education has your oc most recently completed/is currently in (GED, undergraduate, grad school, phd, etc)?"

Merriweather has an MD and is extremely proud of it. She is one hundred percent the type of person to ramble about her "academic achievements" if you give her the platform to.

She's disbarred from practicing medicine, partially because of her "unethical behavior" and partially because of how she got the degree in the first place; but she is an actually okay doctor and still does practice medicine to a degree.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Did you see Key's desktop type layout of the promo material for the mini album (with all the folders etc? ? And in general the office worker type aesthetics?

I did! I'm so excited for it. I mean, I always am, ever since I started paying attention to Key. The level of storytelling and attention to detail for each of his concepts is right up my alley. I'm a big fan of Bad Love, but I didn't buy the album at that time. I do have Gasoline though, the VHS version which is incredibly cool. Key has been playing with the camp horror/SF aesthetic in the last 2 years and he managed to incorporate all the references into something that is completely his own.

Anyway, moving on to present day, I'm intrigued 👀 At first, before knowing about the office setting, I thought Key might portray some kinky prison guard and build a story around that, something similar to Jean Genet's Un chant d'amour. I mean, my mind obviously went too far, but how couldn't it based on that first teaser poster?

Now that we know he's an office worker, it changes things quite a bit. I like the minimalist approach and the dark tones, but I can't possibly imagine how the music video will actually be. I was also laughing at this caption this morning:

"A song for all the workers in the world". With lyrics inspired by the Communist Manifesto or what? 😂 We'd need a new anthem anyway, it's been too long since Dolly Parton released 9 To 5.

There's a new teaser as of today, Key is keeping us on our toes. I'm most excited about his album in September

[i-am-dulaman]

I love Marx and Engels but this is an outdated take from a pamphlet they hurriedly published in the middle of the 1848 spring time of the peoples, when they were only 29 and 27 years old respectively.

The rest of the pamphlet is basically a bunch of bravado about how the proletariat should rule over all the other classes with the same iron fist that they used to rule over the working class for centuries, rather than abolishing the class system altogether.

Keep in mind that at this time the proletariat only made up about 1.5% of the population of germany societies. It did not include the peasant class, or landed farmers, or slaves, nor did Marx call for the liberation of these classes either. No the communist manifesto, in the eyes of a very young and inexperienced Marx, was about putting the working class at the top of the class pyramid, rather than tearing down the pyramid.

Marx and Engels' later works (like Das Kapital) is where they actually call for a fair and equal society. They call for the elimination of the class system and go into good detail on how to achieve that through communism, and how capitalism could never. This is in one way antithetical to the above passage's point about bourgeois socialism wanting everyone to become bourgeois. Because essentially that is what the elimniation of the class system means - that everyone will become the same class. However the above passage is correct in its critique of bourgeois socialism not wanting to change the system, and marx points out exactly why you cannot both keep the old economy while doing away with the old class system, and that they are in fact one in the same.

Now about his critique of reformists and counter-revolutionaries;

The spring time of the peoples, for those who dont know, was a wave of revolutions and revolutionary fervor spreading across the monarchies of Europe. It was a time when people like Marx and Engels foresore great change and a lot of people were hopeful.

At the time of course there were a lot of counter-revolutionaries and moderates too. The above passage from Marx is a valid critque of them - revolution was already upon them, and the regid monarch governments made reform downright impossible. So a revolution was going to happen regardless of what the reformists wanted, and if it was going to happen anyway it was a worthy cause to right as many wrongs as possible while we're at it, which to marx of course included the economic system.

At the time, Marx was whole heartedly correct.

But that was 170 years ago. He was working from within a system of government that was diametrically opposed to change.

Now we have democracy, albeit flawed as it is. Change is possible from within the system.

Imagine if Jeremy Corbyn won in 2019. If the Swedish wage earner funds weren't overturned in the 1980s. If FDRs economic reforms weren't undone by Raegan.

I know all those examples were ultimately failures, but if you can't convince enough of the population to vote in socialist reforms, what chance do you have of convincing them to join your socialist revolution? How can you claim your revolution is for the people if you dont have the support of the people?

I know it will be hard. Our flawed democracy isn't exactly in our favour when capitalists can buy the media. But you know what else would be hard? A bloody revolution. And im using the word bloody here both figuratively and literally - because any revolution will require bloodshed, and every revolution always faces counter-revolutionaries and if you lose things will become much, much worse.

So its a choice between a slow and hard but peaceful democratic reform, or a bloody and risky revolution.

Marx didn't have that choice, he was right to critique the reformists, but we do have that choice, and personally I'm choosing the path that won't lead to thousands of deaths.

CONSERVATIVE, OR BOURGEOIS, SOCIALISM A part of the bourgeoisie is desirous of redressing social grievances, in order to secure the continued existence of bourgeois society. To this section belong economists, philanthropists, humanitarians, improvers of the condition of the working class, organisers of charity, members of societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals, temperance fanatics, hole-and-corner reformers of every imaginable kind. ... The Socialistic bourgeois want all the advantages of modern social conditions without the struggles and dangers necessarily resulting therefrom. They desire the existing state of society minus its revolutionary and disintegrating elements. They wish for a bourgeoisie without a proletariat. The bourgeoisie naturally conceives the world in which it is supreme to be the best; and bourgeois Socialism develops this comfortable conception into various more or less complete systems. In requiring the proletariat to carry out such a system, and thereby to march straightway into the social New Jerusalem, it but requires in reality, that the proletariat should remain within the bounds of existing society, but should cast away all its hateful ideas concerning the bourgeoisie. A second and more practical, but less systematic, form of this Socialism sought to depreciate every revolutionary movement in the eyes of the working class, by showing that no mere political reform, but only a change in the material conditions of existence, in economic relations, could be of any advantage to them. By changes in the material conditions of existence, this form of Socialism, however, by no means understands abolition of the bourgeois relations of production, an abolition that can be effected only by a revolution, but administrative reforms, based on the continued existence of these relations; reforms, therefore, that in no respect affect the relations between capital and labour, but, at the best, lessen the cost, and simplify the administrative work, of bourgeois government. Bourgeois Socialism attains adequate expression, when, and only when, it becomes a mere figure of speech. Free trade: for the benefit of the working class. Protective duties: for the benefit of the working class. Prison Reform: for the benefit of the working class. This is the last word and the only seriously meant word of bourgeois Socialism. It is summed up in the phrase: the bourgeois is a bourgeois—for the benefit of the working class.

-The Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx and Frederich Engels

[solarpunkcast]

I've heard a lot about how not reading theory is a sh*tty idea, but I don't actually know what "theory" to be reading. I can't exactly buy myself a copy of The Communist Manifesto right now, and I don't know where to find anything free, online, and actually understandable by somebody who hasn't got, like, a degree in this kind of stuff. Do you have any suggestions?

hey that’s perfectly fine!  here’s the Manifesto http://www.slp.org/pdf/marx/comm_man.pdf

first up: we’re leftists. any theory you ever want to read is online FOR FREE. because that’s the point yea?

you’ve got marxists.org and theanarchistlibrary.org for basically any theory you’d ever want to read. libgen also has a lot if you can’t find it on those two.

if audio can be easier for you, I highly recommend LunaOi who has great intro videos to theory. I’d actually watch that linked video before diving in, to get an explainer about some of the core ideas.

there’s also Hakim who even did a list of intro works if you really want to get into it. both of these creators are non-Western communists and both provide insight into how simple or difficult their recommendations are to read. Luna is even in the process of translating Vietnam’s dialectical materialism textbook into English for us!

(if you want anything more specific please let me know, the final thoughts part is specific recommendations on the assumption you’re American.)

second up: DO NOT EXPECT TO UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING THE FIRST READ. no matter the flavor, theory does require study. some things will make sense first read, a bunch of others won’t click until you’ve researched around more. if something doesn’t make sense on your first pass, it’s perfectly fine! did you understand physics or trigonometry the first class you had it? no.

third up: you don’t need a hyperspecific label, and you will go much farther by reading/understanding a wide range of leftist history. this point could be its own entire rant so I’ll keep it to a personal example: I call myself a communist because my end goal is a stateless, classless society where everyone is taken care of (like anarchism's) but I believe we need a transitory proletarian state to make sure that goal isn't overtaken by corporatists and fascists. that’s it. my politics are influenced by my desire to make people’s lives safer and better.

final thoughts: don’t stop at European leftists. Frantz Fanon can be difficult to get through, but his Wretched of the Earth is a dissection of colonialism and a proof that the colonized have every right to resist their oppressors by any means necessary.

Fanon is an absolute must-read for anyone who considers themself to be anti-imperialist or anti-colonial. Any leftist from anarchist to socialist should at least know and understand who Fanon is. here’s an intro vid. and a link to the Concerning Violence documentary.

Angela Davis gets tapped for Are Prisons Obsolete, along with numerous other interviews and writings throughout her time with the CPUSA and beyond it.

Unironically read and listen to MLK’s full speeches to see why he’s been sanitized to the American Public.

Study the Black Panther Party and the methods they employed through their 10 Point Program & leaders like Chairman Fred Hampton. Their history intersects with other liberation groups like Yellow Peril and the American Indian Movement during the wider Civil Rights Movement.

Hammer and Hoe is a great book about the black Alabama Communist Party’s fight against white supremacy in the South, and the international socialism that supported black radicalism.

**IF YOU DO NOT LIVE IN THE US: apply this to your own history. find out what the liberation movements in your country were, find out who the sanitized radicals are, find out how your history intersects with colonialism/imperialism.**

[zalrb]

ROFLMAO!!!!! No, because Damon would ABSOLUTELY say “I don’t make love I fuck, hard.” And “It’s the way that I am!!! Because I’m fifty shades of fucked up.” I’ll give it to Ian tho in that if Damon DID say these lines I would have laughed even harder than when Christian says them. I almost burst when he said that shit about wanting the mini van drivers hearing him and Elena and how he makes a great naked breakfast or any tantrum. The amount of corn and cheese that was forced down our throats.

“It's taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car, just to show you that you're mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I'll buy you a fucking car"

     “Anastasia, I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s something about you, though,and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.”  

I am laughing so hard all the dialogue and writing is terrible, like this is a LINE from the book:      “I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of The Communist Manifesto.”  

and I love that Stefan’s flex is just, OK I’ll just stop touching you and Elena is like um, no? 

[irldoomerboy]

Random Stardew Valley Headcanons In No Particular Category

Elliott, Harvey, Sam, Sebastian, Emily and Haley are all ex-theatre kids, i will DIE on this hill

Sam watches Jojos Bizzare Adventure, his favourite characters are Jouske and Mista

Sam just buys a ton of random shit off amazon, e.g DaBaby guitar pick, the entirety of the communist manifesto, a shirt that says “almod mikl” on it, that image of an old woman with an asthma inhaler- list goes on

Willy is scottish

Dont ask why but Elliott is just French

Sam and Sebastian both laugh at those monke videos, totally expected from Sam, from Seb? Not so much

Emily, Maru and Penny are all NB

Trans Harvey

Sam has a cardboard cut out of Obama

Sam, Sebastian, Abigail, Emily, Maru, Harvey and Penny are all nurodivergent, not a nurotypical in sight

The younger bachelors and most of the bachelorettes probably have tik tok lets be honest

“Being negative is poetic or some shit idk leave me alone” - Sebastian

Irish Leah

Haley is just the “GET YO FUCKIN DOG BITCH” vine

Leon (my friends farmer oc) literally just calls Harvey dad, Harvey is used to it and does respond to it

Sam Sebastian and Abigail sometimes climb up trees for no good reason just to sit there and do nothing for an hour or so

If Sam ever got his hands on a trampoline he would drag Seb onto it and launch his twink ass 50ft into the air with no regrets

When Sam visits the city he always sees this raccoon that he feeds, its like his best friend, one time it followed him back to pelican town and let itself into Sams room, he had to hide it from Jodi and did so successfully, Sam named it Tom

As much as i love him, we all know Seb used to have an edgy gacha phase that he cant live down

Seb is a fuckin cuddle bug, dont change my mind, when hes tired or sick he will literally latch onto his partner and not let go unless they ask

In addition to the last hc, Seb gives really tight affectionate hugs that make people warm really quick

All pronouns Elliott

[bisluthq]

really glad to see you debunk backgrid bc the amount of people who think theyre a staged agency goes stupid. meghan markle for instance is almost always attacked for "staging" this grainy ass pics for no reason meanwhile kate has a bunch of high quality candids from her twenties

I just don’t understand where it even came from because it’s such a BLATANT lie? Why would you stage SHITTY PICS for PR? Why would you choose to look bad and make the person stay far away?

And like sometimes shit is staged and it’s bad because it’s a bad idea lmfao. Like this is obviously staged and Speidi don’t come off well but they for sure didn’t think through that it was a bad idea:

The Communist Manifesto ones I showed.

These pics of Lucy Hale buying Maybelline in Target and applying it in her car are just super silly:

And this is CALLED not staged - like they did really go for walks and stuff and are promoting themselves not like a storyline or something they’re selling:

But they look DOPE and you can clearly see they know the pap is right in front of them and they’re HAPPY to be papped.

Again, there are situations where it’s debatable if the paps were called or if there was some staging happening but like it’s not… potato quality long lens pics of celebs behaving badly.