#post-soviet design

[picsfromsiberiangirl]

Feeble Snow Carpet.

[tvnorvestt]

[thesovietonion77]

man their interaction gonna be interesting

@thedenofravenpuff i drew your little guy and my little guy lol theyre so sad

[mrbeanautopsyvideo]

Where is your banner from I've never seen that before

Wow, never thought anyone would ask, but: it's a colourized screenshot of a scene from the 1965-66 New Year's broadcast of Голубой огонёк ("Little Blue Light"), a Soviet musical variety show that aired around the holidays. Here's the episode in full (could only find it in B&W):

That year's broadcast featured guest appearances by cosmonauts Yuri Gagarin, Pavel Belyayev and Alexei Leonov; for the uninitiated, the latter two are the guys in my header.

I just used it on a whim so I didn't look like a spambot immediately after moving accounts.

[rpfisfine]

deeply obsessed with our bathroom

[redpredatorforpindoses]

I didn't want to post anything about this dude for a long time like I don't want to look like someone who writes on hype topics but lol look at this underground! I've been there irl, it's pretty much the same as the one in my city (also a big post soviet city), the only difference was that instead of grids (like at 2:33) we have a blank wall and you can't look down at passing trains (for safety).

Russian metro is awesome, also look at stations from other cities and neighbouring countries (google pics).

"Palats Ukraina", Kyiv, Ukraine (Photo from 2010, all the Soviet decorations have now been removed)

"Mayakovskaya", St. Petersburg, Russia

"Moskva", Almaty, Kazakhstan

"Botanicheskaya", Yekaterinburg, Russia

"Lefortovo", Moscow, Russia

"Dostoevskaya", Moscow, Russia

"Alisher Navoiy", Tashkent, Uzbekistan

"Avtovo", St. Petersburg, Russia

"Pyatrowshchyna", Minsk, Belarus

"Belorusskaya", Moscow, Russian

"Zoloti Vorota", Kyiv, Ukraine

[strip-mall-union]

This is a design I did that was inspired by old USSR propaganda. The color palate is pretty cool. Strip-Mall Union is an oxymoron of sorts, meaning strip-malls are usually associated with capitalism at it's peak, and unions being usually associated with workers rights and socialism. Those two things usually don't go together. I digress, I hope you enjoy the artwork and share it with your friends. Capturing the essence of strip mall union camaraderie like never before!

[chuckbbirdsjunk]

[picsfromsiberiangirl]

A Small Soviet Guy.

[koagulere]

Ryugyong Hotel

[babymarvin]

Two Ladies on a Smoke Break

Inspired by a recent visit to the Minnesota Russian Museum's exhibit on Women in Soviet Art. Let me know what you think!

Commissions are open!

[thesovietonion77]

oof now he's scared of you

[daldraws]

From my walk in city(⁠◔⁠‿⁠◔⁠)

[randomroomsphotos]

#140

[genderblentbeeper]

HOLY SHIT

Okay one more thing before I go to bed. Russian Empire design reveal :)

[heavenlybodies333]

The Devil Works Hard, but You Work Harder -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

“You’re grounded. Again.”

Your father’s voice rang in your head like a judge’s gavel.

You were so over it.

Okay, maybe you’d gone a little overboard. Caught with a fake ID, trying to sneak into a Georgetown bar that apparently had ties to an open BAU case. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dad. You were twenty so what was one year more? Except who the hell waited until legal age to drink. To make matters worse, Hotch wasn’t a federal agent playing Daddy Cop of the Year—he had the badge to back it.

But now he was gone, along with the rest of the team, off to retrieve old case files from a station barely two hours out. Quick trip, back by midnight, if not earlier. That gave you time. Just enough.

Unfortunately, Spencer Reid had been designated babysitter.

“Your father just doesn’t want you to get into trouble,” he said now, from the other side of the bullpen, launching into a monologue about legal penalties for fake identification and—was that a tangent on Soviet dishonesty post-Chernobyl? Jesus Christ.

You turned your back to him mid-sentence and made your way into your father’s office. If Spencer even noticed your disinterest, he didn’t let on. The man could give lectures to a wall.

He kept talking, “…and when Pripyat was evacuated, many of the locals weren’t even informed of the reactor’s condition until days later…”

You rolled your eyes and peeled off your hoodie. Then your tank top. Replacing it with a black silk romper, low-cut and backless. The one that made your boobs look gravity-defying and your legs go on for days. You pulled your hair down, shaking it out like a hair commercial, and slid on your scuffed white Converse.

By the time you emerged from your dad’s office, Spencer’s voice faltered like a scratched record.

He stared. And not subtly. “…uh.” His mouth parted, eyes dropping, then snapping back up. “Where are you—why are you—?”

You looked down, slowly, at your neckline like you hadn’t just intentionally flashed him half your cleavage. Then up again with a lazy smile. “You were saying something about nuclear fallout?”

His jaw clenched. He dragged a hand down his face. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not going out,” you replied, voice syrupy and innocent. “Because that would violate the very serious and totally not overblown grounding my father gave me.”

“You’re grounded,” he reminded you, eyes still visibly trying not to look at the way your tits bounced slightly when you grabbed your phone. “Your dad said—”

You interrupted him, tapping your phone screen. “Uber Black’s two minutes out.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “You’re seriously going?”

“Obviously. I’m grounded, not in jail. And my romper’s already on, so…”

“You’re not supposed to leave.”

“I heard you the first time,” you said, slipping on a jacket and flipping your hair. “But that’s your problem. Not mine. Bye, Spence,” you sing-songed, grabbing your bag. “Try not to miss me too much.”

You got to the elevator and just before the doors closed, a hand slammed between them. Spencer.

“Where?” he asked.

You smirked. “Greek row, frat party. Duh.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Yeah, as if” you laugh, half expecting him to stay.

“I’m coming,” he repeated, stepping inside. “Your dad trusted me.”

Fifteen minutes later: Frat Row

The bass hit before you even stepped out of the car. The front lawn was packed with sweaty hormonal undergrads, red solo cups, and the haze of weed in the air.

You didn’t expect Spencer to follow you. But there he was ten minutes later, standing awkwardly at the door, dressed like a narc with his messenger bag and worried face.

You turned toward him, “Try not to look like you’re here to arrest someone.”

“I should arrest someone,” he muttered, watching two guys size you up from across the yard.

You leaned in close, lips at his ear. “You gonna arrest me, Spence?”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t test me.”

You left him fuming by the hedge, hips swaying as you headed toward the keg line. A blonde guy with a backwards hat was already waving you over, leering like he’d just hit the jackpot.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where they gripped the railing.

When the blonde leaned in and whispered something into your ear—too close, too confident—Spencer was already moving. Controlled, precise, like a shark slicing through a pool of drunk fish.

He reached you just as the guy’s hand brushed your lower back.

Spencer’s voice cut through the noise. “Can I talk to you? Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Why? Jealous?”

“I’m not—” he stammered. “This is incredibly irresponsible. Do you have any idea—”

The frat guy piped up. “Yo, man, she said she was good—”

Spencer stepped forward, hand curling around your waist as he pulled you gently—yet firmly—away. “Hey,” Spencer said, voice low and polite and dangerous. “She’s with me.”

The blonde snorted. “Didn’t ask, dude.”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

The guy backed off, laughing under his breath. “Whatever, man. Chill.”

Spencer turned to you, eyes dark. “We’re leaving.”

You let Spencer drag you out the door.

“Jesus, Reid. Controlling much?” you teased once you were outside.

He didn’t let go of your wrist. “What were you thinking?” he hissed. “Do you have any idea what your dad would do to me if something happened to you?”

You leaned in close, smirking. “So make sure nothing happens.”

His breath hitched. “You can’t just—this is completely inappropriate—”

“Then take me somewhere appropriate.”

The Uber back to Quantico was silent, your thigh pressed against his, his fingers twitching on his knee.

You barely made it to the back seat of his car in the BAU parking lot before you were straddling him, your mouth hot on his, his hands gripping your thighs like he was trying to convince himself this was still a terrible idea.

“Spence,” you breathed, rolling your hips down. “I’ve wanted this forever.”

His voice was strained. “This is so, so—so unethical—”

“Then stop me.”

He didn’t. Instead, he groaned as you rocked against him, your soaked panties grinding against the thick, twitching bulge in his slacks.

“God, you’re—” he swallowed, “—you’re Hotch’s daughter.”

“And you’re hard as hell,” you whispered, kissing just beneath his ear. “What’s that say about you?”

Something in him snapped. He shoved the seat back, pulled your romper aside, and dragged your panties down with a single, desperate motion. The groan that left him when he slid his fingers through your wetness was guttural.

“Fuck,” he hissed. He undid his belt with one hand, still working you with the other. When he pushed inside, your moan was broken, needy, raw.

“Fuck—fuck, Spencer—”

“I know, baby,” he panted against your mouth. “I know.”

He fucked you like he’d been waiting forever. Deep, controlled strokes that had you crying out in the cramped backseat, his hand wrapped around your throat, his mouth crushed to yours to muffle the sounds.

“God, Spence,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “You feel so fucking good—”

His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place. “You have no idea what you do to me.” he muttered, voice rough.

“Oh, I think I do.” You clenched around him deliberately, biting your lip when his eyes rolled back for just a second. “You gonna come for me, Dr. Reid?”

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, his grip slipping beneath your ass to bounce you harder on his cock. “You’re not supposed to talk like that.”

“Still doing so good though,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “So deep… feels like you wanna fill me up.”

His pace faltered as he bottomed out again, every motion more frantic than the last. The windows were fogged, your hair was sticking to your forehead, and your romper was bunched around your waist like a sin waiting to be confessed.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” His voice broke, and you tugged his hair to bring his mouth back to yours.

“Inside,” you begged. “Spence—inside.”

He came with a strangled groan, thrusting up one final time as he filled you, panting into your neck. You stayed like that, shivering against him, still shaking from your own orgasm, his come dripping slowly between your thighs.

His hand was still around your waist, trembling slightly as the adrenaline faded. “We’re so fucked,” he muttered into your collarbone.

You grinned lazily, brushing a kiss over his jaw. “Mmhmm.”

You were slipping your romper back up when you glanced at your phone.

47 missed calls.

Hotch: Get back. Now.

You winced, tucking your hair behind your ear. “So… slight chance I’m dead.”

Spencer sat back up, face in his hands.

“Want me to say you tackled me and confiscated the vodka?”

He groaned. “Please stop talking.”

Back inside the BAU – 12:47 AM

You walked back into the BAU with Spencer in tow, your hair messy, your thighs still sticky, and a smirk on your lips like you hadn’t just been railed by the genius of the BAU.

Hotch was standing in the middle of the bullpen. Waiting. His face was stone.

“I asked you for one thing,” he said, his voice low and furious. “Stay put. Don’t leave. And you couldn’t even manage that.”

The team was silent. Morgan froze mid-coffee sip. JJ looked like she wanted to disappear.

Hotch turned to Spencer. “You’re not in trouble,” he said tightly. “You tried to do your job.”

“You and I are going to have a very long conversation,” he said, voice steel.

Spencer stepped forward, but Hotch stopped him with a raised hand. “Not your fault, Reid. I should’ve known better than to think she’d listen to anyone. I’m not blaming you for her choices. I know she’s manipulative.”

Ouch.

Hotch stood at the railing. “Office. Now.” You sulked up the stairs, giving Spencer one last smile before entering hell.

He shut the door a little too hard.

Then came the voice that could quiet nations. “What the hell is wrong with you? You think this is a joke? You think you can just disappear while grounded and embarrass me like this?”

You leaned on the chair across from his desk, feigning innocence. “I came back, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point. Spencer is not your damn babysitter—he’s a federal agent, and you put him in an impossible position. You’re not a child anymore, but you sure as hell aren’t acting like an adult.”

You rolled your eyes.

He paused. “You smell like vodka.”

And now he looked like he wanted to break something. You waited for him to yell more. Instead, he just stared at you.

“You’re grounded until further notice,” he said finally, voice dead cold. “No car, no phone, no campus housing. You’ll be commuting from here. I’ll pick you up from classes myself if I have to.”

You scoffed. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice so the team outside couldn’t hear. “You disobeyed me. Lied. Left this building after I explicitly said not to. Do you understand how serious this is? Do you understand what would’ve happened if something had gone wrong?”

You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off.

“I’m not just your father. I’m a federal agent. And when your name gets dragged into places like this? It doesn’t just reflect on you. It reflects on me. On my team.”

“I’ve seen murderers with more impulse control than you,” he continued, tone clipped, full of bite. “And the fact that you think this is about a party or a drink or a fake ID just proves how out of your depth you are.”

You scoffed. “Please. If I wasn’t your daughter, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“That’s exactly the point,” he snapped. “You are my daughter.” His eyes narrowed, jaw tense. “So here’s what’s going to happen.”

You crossed your arms. “Do tell.”

“This is the last time. Indefinitely. No car. No phone. You go to class, you come home, you breathe under my roof and nowhere else. Try me, and I’ll have one of the team walk you to every lecture, every building, every fucking bathroom if I have to.”

”Dad, if you would just let me FUCKING EXPLAIN!” you began to raise your voice at him. Wrong choice.

Hotch’s voice turned ice-cold. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

You looked away. “I just needed to get out. Just for a night. I didn’t want to be… here. Locked in. Under a microscope.”

“You’re not under a microscope,” he said.

“You assigned Spencer to watch me like a damn parole officer,” you snapped. “That’s not normal parenting, Dad. That’s surveillance.”

“I know that,” he snapped, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know. But that’s not the point. The point is you keep crossing lines like they mean nothing. And one day, you’re going to cross one you can’t come back from.”

The room was too quiet now. Just the low hum of the BAU bullpen outside the office glass. And you, shrinking a little more with each second.

Hotch stepped back from his desk, paced once, then turned.

“This is over,” he said. “You’ll be escorted to and from your classes for the next month. You’re grounded until I say otherwise. And if I catch you near a bar, a frat house, or—God help me—another federal agent, I will make your life hell. Understood?”

You nodded, muttering. “Understood.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face, suddenly looking more exhausted than furious. “Go home. Get in the car. Don’t say a word to anyone.”

Downstairs, Spencer was pacing.

His tie was loosened, hair mussed from your fingers, cheeks flushed red like he was still feeling the way you clenched around him. His eyes lifted the second you emerged.

“Well?” he asked.

You grinned. “Grounded. Again.”

He exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “Jesus.”

You stepped close, so close he flinched. “Was it worth it?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just the way his eyes dropped to your mouth, then your throat, then lower—like he was memorizing every inch again. Like he already regretted how badly he wanted more.

“Yes,” he said finally, voice like gravel. “But it can’t happen again.”

You smiled, pressing your lips to his ear. “That’s what you said last time.”

a/n: I’m not saying this is why I’m going to hell… but it’s definitely in the top five

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆