#She needs coverage daily

[tianalaurence1]

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Sunscreen & Statistics (S.R.)

Summary: Reader asks for Spencer’s help putting on sunscreen (and washing it off after).  Request: Spencer lecturing Reader on the statistics of wearing sunscreen, but his mind going blank when reader needs him to help put it on. A/N: This is my (first) entry to my Summer Sunshine Challenge! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Spencer POV, so much sexual tension, mutual pining, heavy petting, fingering, rough sex, unprotected penetrative sex, coworker relationship, so many statistics (showers, skin cancer, sunscreen, sex), schizophrenia mention, Reader wears a bikini Word Count: 5.6k

MASTERLIST

It was a beautiful day—the kind that artists had attempted to capture through many mediums. The summer sun was relentless, stretching its rays across every inch of the region. Even the shade hardly seemed spared, with bits of bright light slipping between green rustling leaves.

This seemingly idyllic set of circumstances offered the BAU a wonderful excuse to stay behind on the sunnier coast. Everyone was quick to buy new bathing suits and Rossi had already begrudgingly extended an invitation for everyone to stay at his favorite luxury hotel (on his dime, of course, or none of us would’ve made it).

The celebrations were already in full swing, and everyone was blissfully happy. It was, after all, the perfect day to hang out by the pool. So, they did. Each and every one…

Except for me. I stayed inside.

I wasn’t trying to ruin the fun. I had my reasons. Some were more reasonable than others.

Others were scary and slightly embarrassing. They wore a smile so bright it would rival the sun and managed to make me turn red even quicker than the star could. The kind of reason that turned me to nothing but a blubbering mess of a man.

I should’ve known better than to try to avoid her, though. Because that reason, that very important and tempting enchantress of a reason, always seemed to find me at the most inopportune time.

“Are you still hiding in here?”

I nearly jumped through my skin at the sound.

“No!”

I turned to find her staring back with an entertained, albeit disbelieving stare.

“Sort of. Maybe,” I felt compelled to continue.

When she still didn’t believe me—for obvious reasons—I finally conceded, “Yes.”

To my joy and eternal shame, she laughed like it had been an intentional joke.

“Well, I got banished back inside because I forgot sunscreen, so I’m trying to figure out where JJ left her bag,” she sighed.

Thankfully, that had been something I could help with. Despite everyone’s enthusiasm when they’d tossed the bags into the center of the suite lobby, I had managed to determine who owned which brightly colored pattern.

From my seat in the center, I reached over to pull JJ’s bag from the fray.

As soon as (y/n) spotted the motion, she was quick to exclaim, “My hero!”

Immediately, I felt the blood rush to my face.

I suppose there were worse places it could have gone.

“How did you forget sunscreen?” I asked.

“I hate the way it feels, so I almost never wear it unless forced,” she shrugged. Then, she turned to me, pointing the bottle like a weapon as she explained, “Plus, it always feels like they’re trying to trick me with all the numbers. I don’t know what SPF is. They could just be lying to me.”

“Well, the good news is that even a weak sunscreen is helpful,” I tried to reassure her. “Regular daily use of at least 15 SPF can reduce your risk of squamous cell carcinoma and melanoma by up to 50%.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. I can tell you more about this product specifically, if you want.”

When I held out my hand, she was quick to hand me the bottle. I was, in turn, very happy to have an excuse to look at something other than her before all the blood left my brain.

“Okay, so, this one is an interesting formula. It offers a decent coverage and—,” I started, but my voice died just as soon as I looked up.

Because there she was, pulling her top over her head to reveal the barely-there bikini beneath it.

I knew I only had a few seconds to shamelessly ogle her before she would find out, and I greedily accepted the sight of soft curves that all consisted of and led to her.

My eyes traversed her body the way I wished my hands could until I was left practically trembling.

The blood wasn’t in my face anymore. It wasn’t even anywhere near my brain. To the point I’d barely even noticed she’d already taken her pants off until her voice snapped me back to reality.

“And what?” she said.

“What?”

“… You stopped talking.”

“I did?”

She reached forward and grabbed the bottle from my hand. If she’d noticed the way I had been looking at her, she didn’t say anything about it. She just sort of… smiled.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

I might’ve been able to answer honestly if it hadn’t been for the way she dumped the contents of the bottle into her hand and began lathering it over her legs.

“A-Anyways,” I tried to continue. With a wavering voice and wandering eyes, I rambled, “to maximize protection you should really use about an ounce of sunscreen with an SPF of 30. Anything over 30 is, well, like you suggested, sort of a scam.”

All the while, there she was, smoothing over slick skin that smelled like summer.

“An ounce, huh?” she hummed as her hands traveled between pillowy thighs to coat skin the sun could rarely reach. “Feels like you could make it a drinking game with enough motivation.”

“Drinking alcohol actually dramatically increases your risk of sunburn, so you should definitely wear more sunscreen if you’re drinking,” I muttered absently while my eyes stayed firmly fixed between her thighs long after her hands had abandoned the area.

“Noted,” she said, the end of the word tinged with a little bit of amusement.

I looked up at her to try to understand what had excited her, or perhaps annoyed her.

Or at least, I tried to look at her face. My eyes made a few involuntarily stops along the way. Once they settled safely back on her smile, however, she was quick to get my blood pumping in a different way.

“So, will you help me?” she asked.

“With what?”

She scoffed, then laughed.

“… the sunscreen? Duh.”

Despite my best efforts to make any sense of the request, I was, once again, a hopeless, lovesick idiot.

“W-What?” I babbled, “You… You want me to put it on? You?”

“I can ask JJ if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” I blurted out with both hands raised in opposition or surrender.

Didn’t seem to matter which.

I tried to explain it away, but my attempts to bolster my good character seemed even less convincing than the sudden outburst.

“N-No, no it’s fine. I-It’s… why would that make me… uncomfortable? I’m fine. I can do it.”

“Wow. Convincing,” she teased.

And that is what it was. There was no anger in her tone; not even a hint of resentment. She laughed, and I did, too.

“Okay, I admit that wasn’t very convincing. But seriously, I can do it. Promise.”

She spoke through her teeth when she muttered, “Whatever you say.”

When she tossed me the bottle back, we were both surprised to find that I’d caught it.

My hands, still shaky, were quick to close the gap between our bodies. The sunscreen felt nearly frigid compared to our skin, but she didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, she rewarded the sensation with a dreamy sigh and a slight arching of her back.

That motion, however small, felt like fire to an already ruined man. I tried to stay focused on more innocent areas. I worked my hands over knotted muscles in her shoulder and tried to free her of those burdens, too. With each swipe of my thumbs, she would let out the most delicious rumble that made me want to do it again.

Each time that I pulled away to add more, I came back a few inches lower until my fingers nearly slipped beneath the top of her bikini bottoms.

At that moment, with her arched lower back pressed against my palms and my fingers brushing against the little fabric between us, she shivered. Silently, I watched as the goosebumps covered her skin like a sheet.

Reaching forward to grab hold of the couch in front of her, she arched her back once more. The movement seemed intentional, closing a couple inches of the distance between us until there was almost nothing.

With more speed than I’d intended, I stepped back and nearly fell.

“O-Okay, I-I think that’s it!” I said with a squeak.

To my dismay, she stayed exactly where she was for a long moment. In fact, she deepened the stretch and fell forward with a sigh before she whined, “Shame.”

I tried to calm my fast beating heart while simultaneously trying to run from the thoughts that continued to chase me the longer she stayed bent over. My hands were still buzzing from the contact, and I felt almost lightheaded from the strength of the unrelenting erection still struggling against compression shorts underneath my pants.

(I had been right that I would need them if she was going to be there.)

And there she was, finally standing and stretching her arms over her head. They dropped back down and I couldn’t stop myself from admiring the effect of physics on her chest.

“It felt nice to be touched like that,” she sighed.

I couldn’t respond to that without making a complete fool of myself, so I tried to distance myself from the moment, instead.

“You’re actually supposed to wait 30 minutes after application to go into the sun, but, y-you can probably just sit in the shade and wait.”

“Did you already apply yours?”

“I’m not taking off my clothes so I could do it myself,” I explained.

I should’ve known better than to doubt her ability to get whatever she wanted—which, at the moment seemed to be my catastrophic defeat.

“Well, that’s not fair,” she whined, “I want to return the favor!”

“I-I mean… I’ll probably have to reapply it to my face soon, but I doubt you want to—.”

“Awe! Fun!” she cried before I could finish the thought, “Gimme!”

“Oh… um, okay.”

I handed her the bottle and whatever I still had of my heart. With expert fingers, she spread the chilly contents over my cheeks. We were both smiling, the expressions growing wider and more genuine as she started to play with pliable skin.

I involuntarily joined in on her laughter. Her hands and eyes were so warm, I couldn’t help but melt into a puddle in her palms.

The moment ended far too quickly. I missed her immediately, but she made sure that my smile didn’t fade.

“There. You’re only sort of pasty now,” she sighed contentedly before adding, “Mostly red, actually.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” I grumbled back. The sarcastic tilt to the sound wasn’t lost on her.

I realized in that awkward, somehow lonely quiet that I loved her more than I’d thought.

I almost wanted to tell her. I’d even opened my mouth, ready to spill the contents of my soul and hope for the best.

I never got a chance, though. Because before I’d uttered a single syllable, she jumped with her own realization.

“Oh, I forgot the most important part!”

“What?”

She turned away from me and dove her attention into the pile of bags without further explanation. I watched as she dug through clothing and whatever else she’d stuffed into her tote until she stood triumphantly with a closed fist.

“What?” I asked again.

She held up a single finger in reply.

I followed her instruction, waiting patiently as I watched her uncap a small tube of chapstick and use it to thoroughly coat her lips. Once again, I was left to shamelessly stare at a beautiful woman as she dutifully cared for herself in a way I’d wished I could.

Swallowing the lump in my throat that carried heartfelt confessions, I spoke again.

“What am I waiting for, exactly?” I teased.

Her eyes narrowed with what seemed to be a playful warning.

“Sunscreen application,” she explained flatly, “Duh.”

I paused. My head cocked to the side and my face twisted as I struggled to find any explanation for why she’d needed me for this part.

“Wha—?”

Then, just when I’d started to speak, it hit me all at once.

And by that, I mean she kissed me.

With both hands cupping already-reddened cheeks, she pulled me forward until I could taste flavored lip balm and her.

Her lips opened, sliding against mine with an undeniable affection that made my whole body tense. I tried to hold her, but it all happened so quickly that by the time I raised my hands to her arms, she was almost gone.

“There!” she said happily, “Now we’re ready.”

For what? I wanted to ask.

But before I could make myself speak, she was already gone.

I spent the next several hours outside.

The rest of the team seemed both surprised and not surprised about my decision to join them. After all, everyone knew I didn’t particularly enjoy pools or any body of water, and, despite my Vegas origins, the sun and I didn’t quite get along.

But they also knew I liked her.

It had never been more obvious than it was that day, when I emerged from the safety of darkness with freshly kissed lips and an expression filled with utter confusion.

(Y/n) was quick to greet me in her usual manner. She said nothing about the kiss.

Part of me had even started to wonder if I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe the doctors had all been wrong, and I was already waist-deep in psychosis that manifested purely through happy memories of her.

It would be an odd presentation, sure, but at the time it somehow felt more likely than her returning my affections. But as soon as I started to convince myself, she would flash me a glance that set my already overheated body on fire. Even as she peered up at me from the edge, I could still see her smile under the water.

She wore that same look in her eye she always did when we were alone. It was a slightly unnerving but mostly flattering feeling. It felt like being wanted by a beautiful woman.

I’m definitely losing it.

That was the only reasonable conclusion to reach. Because when she emerged from the pool, I could’ve sworn she paused before to make sure I was watching.

Of course, I was watching. I made sure that my flawless memory captured damn near every droplet as it caressed her curves. I stared, practically worshipped the sight of her lips parted with a relieved exhale that I could see leave her chest.

The blood was gone again. I was doomed.

“You’re still hiding, huh?”

I was too afraid to answer until she took the seat closest to me.

“No, not hiding, just… staying safe,” I explained through my typical awkward smile.

I pointed up to the umbrella above me, but she didn’t look. Her eyes stayed glued to me.

“It’s probably time for me to reapply, huh?” she laughed.

I liked the way it sounded, so, I laughed, too.

“Yeah, to be honest, you really should’ve done it a couple hours ago, but I didn’t want you to think I was… a wet blanket or a pervert.”

She snorted at the suggestion. Her eyes squinted, playful as always and carrying some meaning that evaded me.

“It’s very interesting that those were the two options that came to your mind,” she said.

I panicked.

“I don’t know, it’s weird, isn’t it? Me insisting you should let me touch you?” I rushed, “I’m not crazy, right? It’s… weird! It’s…!”

She sighed.

At first, I mistook the sound for annoyance. But when I looked into her eyes, I knew that wasn’t right.

Because she looked… like she had been caught in a dream. A melancholy fantasy of something she felt was just beyond her reach.

She was looking at me, I realized, exactly the same way I looked at her.

 “You’re not crazy, Spencer,” she said with a smile, “Just a little oblivious.”

My lips twitched as I fought a smirk that came through, anyway.

“I can accept that.”

She seemed pleased, as if I’d given the right answer.

“Well, the good news is I’m done with the sun for the day,” she announced.

Her eyes finally left me as she once again stretched her arms over her head and left me to ogle her like an idiot. Then, when I was thoroughly distracted, she glanced around like she was checking to see if anyone could hear her.

“They don’t seem to be calming down, so…” she said, much quieter now, “any statistics on what I should do with sunscreen when I’m finished with it?”

“No statistics, per se, but you definitely should wash it off. It can be pretty irritating for skin,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Not to mention the salts and chemicals from the pool.”

“I see,” she laughed.

Then, when she realized that I was, in fact, a hopeless, perverted fool with no blood in his brain, she made her intentions much clearer.

“Will you help me with that?”

Not clear enough for me, though.

“What?” I asked.

“With the sunscreen,” she answered simply.

“Uh—.”

Even that eloquent thought couldn’t make it through a parched, tightening throat. With each passing second and every syllable uttered, my voice got higher and even more unstable.

“I’m sorry, are you—what—w-what are you asking me?”

That’s when she took my hand, bursting with laughter as she dragged me from me seat with the most terrifying, alluring, and magical answer.

“Come on, pretty boy.”

I followed her without question but many concerns—the largest of which was the fear that she was actually leading me to my demise by humiliation.

Those worries grew tenfold when she yanked me over the threshold into her private room.

I stumbled forward and practically fell into her arms. But she was waiting for me, seemingly anticipating the clumsiness. Her hands were still soft, still soothing on boiling skin as she guided my lips to hers for the second time that day.

That time, I was prepared.

My hands covered her sun-kissed cheeks and pulled her even closer than she’d done to me before.

She tasted like salt and sugar from summer fresh fruit. I gave her every breath that I had, panting hopelessly against her lips each time that we broke apart.

Her hands were gentle when they found mine. I was reluctant to leave her until I realized that she was simply repositioning them to less innocent areas.

Still, I hesitated to go any further. I let my hands rest softly against her hips while I struggled to express my relief.

“Thank god,” I laughed, “I was sort of worried you were going to beat me up for staring at you all day.”

Her eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that seemed almost insatiable.

“No, I like it when you look at me like that,” she stated so simply it hurt. “In fact, I think I want to thank you.”

Before I could ask her how she intended to that, she made her intentions very clear by grabbing my dick through the fabric of my pants.

“So, tell me… any statistics on why we shouldn’t have sex in the shower?” she asked.

I don’t know how she’d expected me to think clearly. It actually seemed like she was purposefully trying to make it harder for me to form any words at all.

“It’s actually—,” I started just to stop when she started stroking the full length of me with devilish fingers.

“It’s actually really dangerous to try to have sex in the shower,” I tried again.

That time, she began applying a cascading pressure through playful fingertips. I spoke faster, trying to finish any thought before I truly lost my mind.

“There is a—fuck—a 44% chance of injury,” I forced out.

Her hand stopped. She cocked her head to the side with a brilliant smile and asked, “Is that right?”

I was almost relieved. Almost.

“Yeah, and…”

Then she started taking off my pants.

“A-and it can be quite uncomfortable for a woman without additional lubrication,” I said while shaking my head.

Even my subconscious knew I was speaking against my own self-interest, that I could’ve just accepted her question as rhetorical. I could’ve just shut up and go along with whatever she wanted because I would always be happy so long as she was happy.

She dropped down as she pulled my pants to the ground and revealed a second set of bottoms. I couldn’t be sure of it, but she seemed vindicated when she realized how hard my body was struggling against the compression shorts.

“The movies make it look so fun, don’t they?” she hummed as she stood back up. “I guess it is pretty dangerous. And inconvenient.”

“Yeah, but also, I sort of wish I hadn’t said any of that,” I responded immediately, “Let’s do it anyway.”

Thankfully, she found my eagerness charming and not pathetic (or perhaps those were the same to her). Her fingers sneaked past the band of the compression shorts, but she didn’t make the move to remove them yet.

Instead, she used her free hand to lead mine straight to the knot holding her bikini bottoms together.

My fingers twitched. She leaned closer, her cheek pressed against mine and her breath hot on my ear as she said the most beautiful words.

“We can shower after, then.”

“Thank you god,” I cried.

Practiced fingers untangled the knots within seconds, and I fought the urge to stare at her newly exposed skin by kissing her instead.

Her skin, still wet, was chilled enough from the cooler air that she barely reacted when I backed her against the ceramic countertop in the bathroom.

She leaned back, groaning with relief when I finally undid the knots of her top.

Again, I shamelessly admired the wonderful world of physics as it was displayed before me. With each breath, her chest lifted and came closer to my own.

Seemingly sharing the same thoughts, she reached forward and practically tugged my shirt off of me.

As soon as I could, I held her naked body as close to me as I could. My hands covered her lower back and drifted further down her hips, seeking every inch of cold skin that remained.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered. I couldn’t see most of her, but the memory from mere seconds ago was as vivid as it would ever be. “Words don’t exist that would ever do it justice.”

She pulled back, still toying with the tops of my shorts with that insatiable look in her eyes.

“I’d say take a picture, but I think your memory might rival a camera,” she giggled.

“I’ll never forget this,” I promised her, “I’ll never forget you.”

But there were so many other ways I’d yet to see her. So, after carefully loving each inch of her hips, I turned my attention to the burning heat between her thighs. 

At the same time my finger slid through slick folds, my lips found hers once more.

“I wanna make you feel good,” I slurred.

Her lips parted in a broken gasp as I tried to do just that. I inched eager fingers between tight muscles and didn’t even bother fighting the urge to moan into her mouth.

She swallowed that desire and returned her own with a growing enthusiasm. My fingers grew faster, sloppier in their gentle beckoning for her to fall apart.

“That’s it. Good girl,” I reassured her when her breathy moans became pitchy. “Oh, you deserve to feel so good, sweetheart.”

That spark in her eyes had turned into a wildfire further stoked by my praise. I leaned into it; I became more confident in my loving her. Her walls were tense and insistent, seeking something more than what my hand could give them.

I withdrew them despite her immediate protests. She recanted any complaint as soon as I moved drenched fingers to the small pearl at her center.

Her moans became shameless, and I accepted them as an imminent victory. She rocked her hips against my hand, riding it to find her elusive end.

All the while, her eyes were locked onto mine. She refused to look away, forced us both to acknowledge that I was the one who brought her here. To the edge of the abyss, to the ultimate euphoria.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” I said through a smirk, “Come for me.”

She followed the direction with the utmost enthusiasm. She fell forward, favoring me to the cold countertop. I caught her but continued my relentless efforts to please her.

I kept going, kept cherishing her until she whimpered from my touch. Then I held her. I pet her damp hair and laid a gentle kiss atop the crown of her head.

“Good girl,” I assured her.

But I wasn’t finished yet.

“Now turn around.”

She perked up the second she’d heard the order. Although she’d barely caught her breath, she turned on shaky legs without question.

My hands found her hips just like they had before. Except this time, there were no bikini bottoms. There was only pillowy flesh and the strong muscles of her backside pressed firmly against my dick.

Barely moving away from her, I finally freed myself from the confines of compression shorts. I groaned with relief and noticed how the sound made her back arch further.

When I lined myself up at her entrance, she rewarded the action with a dreamy sigh.

It wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to see the look on her face, to hear the desperation in her voice before I gave her what I’d fantasized of from the moment I met her.

My hand knotted in her hair. I pulled her back from her comfortable position braced against the countertop. I held her up so that I could whisper in her ear the same as she’d done to me earlier.

“This is what you wanted, right?” I asked, as if her whimpers hadn’t been answer enough.

“Yes,” she moaned, “please.”

The sound of debauchery on her tongue sent shockwaves through me. My cock twitched involuntarily, bumping against satin skin now dripping with desire.

I barely resisted the urge to slam into her with full force. Instead, I stayed there, with just the tip of me inside of her as I groaned.

“Oh, I’d give you the whole world if you asked me like that.”

“This’ll do for now,” she giggled.

Her hips began to sway as she rocked on her toes. She chased even just a half inch more of me and rewarded me with beautiful sounds when I finally started to sink into her.

“That’s it…” I sighed.

Her confidence was quickly shaken, though, as my pursuit continued. Not even half of my dick was inside her when I felt her start to tremble.

“You can take it,” I assured her.

She responded by tightening her muscles even further, resisting the gentle stretch of her body as it accommodated my own.

“That’s my girl,” I groaned. The blinding heat of her demanded my full attention to the point that I was barely coherent as I slurred, “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.”

But all it took was one word to unravel my best efforts.

“Spencer,” she whimpered.

Any hesitance I had vanished without a trace. I thrust my hips forward to the hilt with so much force that she scrambled to stay on her feet. Manicured nails struggled to find a grip the ceramic before my next motion.

I took my time pulling back, and I watched her struggle with the fullness that was our bodies come together. I reveled in the sight of her heaving chest and clouded eyes.

That time, I didn’t fight the urge to slam into her. I even pulled her back as I did it, bringing our bodies together over and over again with a blissful type of violence.

With each thrust, I watched her reaction in the mirror. I made sure that my mind captured each second of her pleasure. Each time her jaw dropped open with whines and praise in the shape of my name.

“Please, Spencer,” she keened with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter.

I hadn’t been sure what she was asking for, so I continued to love her the same as I always had.

But she only became more frustrated, sobbing with pleasure the next time my hips crashed into hers.

“Harder,” she cried out.

And I tried. I tried to follow her instruction, to grant her the release that could only be found in the fullest expression of years of repressed passion.

The problem wasn’t my unwillingness to give my everything to her. Rather, it was the siren’s call of resistant, relentlessly desperate muscles.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I ground through clenched jaw. 

Then, with a small and wavering voice, she insisted, “I can take it.”

Every atom of my being burned with a suffocating desire. It felt nearly feral; fully free to show her just how badly my body ached to be with her.

She began slamming back against me with a similar fervor and I almost made myself stop.

“Fuck, I’m so close, but I don’t want it to end,” I begged her.

But that beautiful, evasive, brilliant star of a woman just giggled. I could practically feel myself leaving bruises in the shape of my fingertips and she couldn’t have been happier.

Through the mirror, she looked at me and reminded me of the full, unrelenting power of the sun.

“Don’t worry,” she purred, “we can do it again later.”

That was all it took. With just a look, she practically brought me to my knees.

“Fuck!” I choked as I slammed into her with my full force. We both nearly collapsed against the counter, but I managed to pull her hips down harder against me just as I found my release.

The blissful heat of her grew to new heights as I filled her. Each wave of pleasure caused her to shiver with sheets of goosebumps.

I watched through half-lidded, lust-clouded vision as she accepted every inch and every drop of my desire with a euphoric smile.

“Sorry,” I said while trying to catch my breath. Even when I managed to capture some breath, it escaped me with a laugh as I explained, “I… I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“Don’t apologize,” she slurred.

I might’ve thought she was just being merciful if she hadn’t immediately followed, “That was fun.”

It was so obviously sincere, but I was so ridiculously stupid that I had to be sure, anyway.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The sound was even more beautiful when I could feel the vibrations from within. I groaned from the thought of how it might feel for her lips to be wrapped around my cock. It twitched inside her, and she responded with a small whimper.

My hips bucked one more time, forcing me to the hilt before I withdrew in one quick motion.

I stood there for a moment, holding her hips steady as I watched the evidence of what we’d just done drip down her thighs.

My stomach was filled with butterflies doing flips and there was no accounting for the blood that still hadn’t made its way back to my brain.

(Y/n) was patient as ever with a pitiful man.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she chuckled as she took my hand, “help me get clean.”

Despite my best efforts, there were significantly less attempts to get clean in the shower than I’d expected. It was only thanks to her self-preservation that we didn’t end up having sex in the shower, although we came pretty close.

I could never tire of kissing her, but I realized I could love her just as much with lather as I could with my lips. My worship shifted as I dutifully cared for her the way I’d always wished I could.

When it was over, I didn’t give up. I followed her into her bed and she made no attempt to stop me.

In fact, she moved closer to me until my arm could reach around her waist and her head rested on my chest.

“Any other statistics you want to share?” she mumbled, now sleepy from the sun and… other activities.

“Always,” I answered. “Like, did you know, I have now joined the 54% of people who have slept with a coworker?”

“Fascinating. Was it worth it?” she chuckled, having already known my answer.

“Yes,” I told her, anyway. But the way I always did when it came to sharing statistics, I couldn’t stop myself. “Although, there is a smaller subset of that group that’s even more interesting.”

She gasped, quickly pressing her fingers to my lips to stop me from ruining her moment.

“Let me guess—at least half of them fucked in the office,” she said.

And in that quiet, private moment, the only thing more beautiful than her hopeful smile was the fact she’d gotten it right.

“You are, without a doubt, the most attractive woman I’ve ever met in my life,” I confessed.

She gave her wholehearted admission that she felt the same in the best way she could.

With a cheeky smile and the utmost sincerity, she asked, “What are the odds of that?”

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Looking for another mutual pining summer-themed fic? Check out my 11.2k oneshot Lost Time, where Reader and Spencer spend their mandatory leave taking the Spring Break Spencer never got to have. 

Reid Taglist: @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic , @mslowlife , @conniesanchor , @trippol-threat , @will-byers-needs-a-hug , @poo-tay-toot , @bookobsessedfreak

Complete Taglist: @cynbx , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @jayyeahthatsme , @pepperthealien

Thanks for reading!

[stele3]

I know that a) I literally just included this link in the Destiel Daily Digest and b) the discourse doesn't give a shit about any humanitarian disaster that isn't Palestine, but SERIOUSLY GUYS YOU NEED TO START PAYING ATTENTION TO SUDAN.

Sudan is facing a famine that could become worse than any the world has seen since Ethiopia 40 years ago, US officials have warned, as aid deliveries continue to be blocked by the warring armies but arms supplies to both sides continue to flow in. With much of the world’s attention focused on Gaza, the scene of another human-made famine, Sudan is already the worst humanitarian crisis in the world and is slipping towards a humanitarian disaster of historic proportions, with far less media coverage and global concern. A UN humanitarian appeal for the country has received only 16% of the funds it needs.

...

The Ethiopian famine killed a million people between 1983 and 1985, according to UN estimates. Thomas-Greenfield said that in a worst-case scenario, a famine in Sudan could become even more lethal. “We’ve seen mortality projections estimating that in excess of 2.5 million people, about 15% of the population in Darfur and Kordofan – the hardest hit regions – could die by the end of September,” the ambassador said. “This is the largest humanitarian crisis on the face of the planet. And yet, somehow, it threatens to get worse,” she added.

[sinnamongirls]

ALL NATURAL, CHAPTER ONE: drop the game.

a 2016 college au patrick zweig x f!reader fic

you’re a reporter for the stanford daily forced to cover a speech and debate tournament. lucky for you, there’s a really hot nerd there.

author notes: this is literally the first time I’ve published fanfic since middle school eek! but im really proud of this one heheh even though it is incredibly long (the next chapter will be shorter I swear)

contains: mentions of alcohol, suggestive language, dual pov’s (patrick and reader), reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, but no physical traits are described.

“Speech and debate? Seriously? Kendall, come on.”

Kendall just rolled their eyes at you. It was 10 am, and you, the Stanford Daily’s head general coverage reporter, were already pissed.

It was Kendall’s fault, really.

If they’d given you the co-executive editor position, they wouldn't be dealing with your smart ass complaining about assignments every time you got one.

Last year, you were quiet as a church mouse, never complaining with the previous editor about your assignments.

But the last editor wasn’t your childhood best friend, turned roommate and coworker. The last editor was a bitch, frankly. And you both were a year closer to graduating. So you really cared about what you were writing.

And you weren’t a sports person, or an editorial person. You liked campus, the hustle and bustle of it all. And that meant covering it all, even the lame ass stuff like speech and debate.

“Don’t complain. I won’t give you anything if you keep it up.” It was a lie. You both knew it.

“But.. speech and debate? Seriously?”

“It needs coverage, and it’s too far off campus for me or the advisors to feel comfortable sending an underclassman. You have that much of an issue, take it up with Nadine or Lucas.”

You huffed.

“Fine.” Walking out of the editor’s office of the Stanford Daily, letting the door slam behind you, you sighed. First issue of junior year, and your article’s on fucking speech and debate. At least it wasn’t Model UN.

You looked at your phone. Class was in 20 minutes, and the building you needed to be in was 10 minutes away. Time to hustle.

“Okay, remember: first exam next Monday, you all are gonna crush it if you study!” Dr. Abernathy’s voice was so high, most times she sounded like a chipmunk, especially when you were walking out of the lecture hall after hearing her voice for almost two hours twice a week. But, she was the only one who taught media psychology, so there wasn’t much of a choice. The midterm, however, had you worried. There was a saying in the Stanford journalism program: pass any of Phoebe Abernathy’s exams, buy a Powerball ticket immediately.

That mantra had found its home on a sticky note on your bedroom mirror for the whole summer. Preparing you. Kendall thought it was stupid, but Kendall also considered themselves president of the Dr. Phoebe Abernathy fan club. It was a stupid club, with one member: Kendall Jefferson-Mcall.

Walking back to your car, you checked your texts. There were about 10 from Kendall. Your assignment for tonight: where it was, what needed to be photographed, and who needed to be interviewed. You skimmed it while walking, making sure not to walk straight into traffic.

One of the interviewees' names rang a bell in your head. It was a distant one, though, because you couldn’t tell where you knew it from:

Patrick Zweig, co-captain. Junior. Pre-law. You’ll know him when you see him.

“Really helpful, Kendall.” Muttering as you climb into the car, you stare at the text for a while. Then you see the time. The tournament was at Berkeley, so you needed to hustle back to your apartment and get ready.

Berkeley was full of cunts.

Grade A, top tier, cunts.

Patrick would rather die than debate them. They’d been shit since Patrick had joined the speech and debate team. His freshman year was the year Berkeley won the national championship, and they had never let it go. And it got to Stanford pretty bad— they’d lost every time they’d competed against Berkeley since Patrick was a freshman.

It was annoying as hell, and every time they had to travel to Berkeley for a debate, Patrick wanted to die.

Seriously, he’d considered faking sick, or taking a whole bottle of Benadryl before.

But, he’d finally convinced Tashi and Art to make the hour journey to Berkeley to watch him. They supported him when they had tournaments at Stanford, sure, but any tournament that required driving more than 30 minutes? Forget it.

Patrick Zweig was more than Stanford’s men’s tennis star. A whole lot more. Co-captain of the speech and debate team, vice president of his fraternity, Phi Iota Chi, member of the Pre-Law Society, and one of the best students in his class.

But deep down, a part of him hated people knowing that he was smart. He liked being the hot athlete in the top frat on campus. High school was his time to be smart- he was valedictorian, student body president.

College was his time to be the best at tennis, get shit faced, and generally, have fun.

His dad did it, and that’s how he became one of the best real estate lawyers in Upstate New York.

But he still found himself pacing the green room in Wheeler Auditorium, wondering if he should stop dumbing himself down in front of normal people, be more proud of his intelligence, and accomplishments.

But day drinking on the weekends was way more fun, and didn’t require thinking, for the most part.

“Pssst, Zweig,” It was his teammate, Samira. She’d cracked the door open, peeking her head in. Patrick turned to look at her— she had a new hijab on- cardinal red. Samira was Stanford, as far as Patrick was concerned. That girl bled school spirit. She was ready to kick Berkeley’s ass. “We’re on in 5 minutes, you wanna prep with me, or are you good?”

Patrick shook his head. “I’m fine, I think.” He wasn’t, but he couldn’t let Samira know, or she’d flip out, and Samira being emotional would fuck up their entire strategy against Berkeley.

“Good, good, I’m glad. See you in five.” She smiled, and shut the door. Patrick let out a long, exasperated sigh once the door was shut.

“Fuck.” Patrick really, really needed a win. Not just a speech and debate one, but a win in general.

Wheeler auditorium was massive. The biggest auditorium on UC Berkeley’s campus, it was also the oldest, and it was a national historic landmark.

That made up for the hour-long drive across the bay.

You studied the people in the room, trying to spot the best places to get pictures of the action. Good thing you had a press pass, because there were a lot of ugly looks. Surprisingly, the auditorium was pretty full on both sides, and you could’ve sworn you saw Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson sitting on Stanford’s side. But you put that aside, as the action was starting.

4 people took the stage: two from each school- you could tell who was who- the girl and guy from Berkeley both wore outfits with blue and gold. And then Stanford’s team came out: a woman, about 5’5” in a modest black dress with a cardinal red hijab, and a tall, toned man with curly black hair, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. He stood at the right podium, closer to the back of the stage. The woman stood closer to the stage's edge. You could read her name clearly from where you were crouched on the floor: Samira Hadi.

You couldn’t quite tell what his name tag said, though.

The debate was interesting, all things considered. You resisted the urge to scroll on your phone in the middle of it when it got boring.

But at the very least, Stanford won. So it wasn’t a total waste of your Monday night.

Patrick was pretty sure he blacked out when he heard the words “First place, Stanford University!” Come out of the announcer's mouth.

He snapped out of it when he felt Samira bear hug him, the weight of her body (he was pretty sure she did powerlifting or something, she was jacked) and the smell of her vanilla musk perfume brought him down to earth. If Samira drank, Patrick would buy her as many drinks as she wanted tonight.

But as Samira hugged him, jumping up and down from excitement, he noticed someone in the front row. Well, in front of the front row.

Dressed in business casual, she was out of place— usually Patrick saw the same 20 people in the crowd for his tournaments. But then he saw the reason for this, incredibly attractive, outlier: a shiny Stanford Daily press badge dangling from your neck.

Aha. It made sense. He figured you were either a poor freshman forced to trek to Berkeley for their first assignment, or an overworked upperclassman fed up with the paper.

But just as quickly as Patrick saw you, you were gone.

And Samira had drug him back to the green room, where Tashi and Art were waiting, with flowers no less.

“Guys, really?” Patrick feigned being upset at them. He could never. They were good friends. He didn’t mind being their third wheel. Honestly, he didn’t have a choice: Tashi was Phi Chi’s sweetheart, and Art was the vice president of membership education, so the world of Phi Chi and Patrick’s friend group got a little incestuous. In a good way, though. Tashi sat the flowers down on a table behind her, and hugged Patrick. Tashi was wearing her favorite green satin dress, and like always, it fit her perfectly. Art wore a basic black suit, but it looked good on him, too. That was the thing- Patrick may have been a legacy of Phi Iota Chi, but he used it for good, like making sure every single member has at least one perfectly tailored suit.

Because Patrick, and Patrick’s father, hated a sloppy suit.

“We had to, hell, Tashi was gonna give them to you even if you lost.” Art smiled as he handed Patrick the flowers. They were the high-dollar grocery store ones- a sign it really was Tashi’s idea- she worked part time in the flower department at the Whole Foods by campus. Patrick looked at Tashi.

“You made this bouquet, didn’t you?” Tashi gave him a sly smile in response.

Samira lingered by the door, but a knock, and the muttering of one of their coaches caused her to leave, leaving the green room to just be Patrick, Art, and Tashi.

The dim lighting of the hallway was honestly kind of eerie, but the main auditorium area was filled with loud, butt-hurt Berkeley fans, and that’s no place for an interview.

“Can you say and spell your full name, your class, and your position on the team for me?” The recorder rested in your hand at about chest level for you and Samira.

“Samira, S-A-M-I-R-A, Hadi, H-A-D-I. Senior, Captain of Stanford’s Speech and Debate Team.”

“Thank you. So, this win against Berkeley, I know it’s been a long time coming, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it has. They won at Nationals back in 2014, and they haven’t let us, or anyone really, live it down. So it’s very fulfilling for the entire team.”

You looked behind Samira’s shoulder at the green room door. You know the guy on Stanford’s team was in there. But when Samira was pulled out of the room by the team’s faculty advisor, you could hear some other voices in there- another male voice, and maybe a female one, too.

She could tell you were looking back there, but didn’t say anything. You continued the interview, and after the recorder clicked off, Samira spoke.

“You need to interview him?” Even though you knew it was coming, the question caught you off guard.

“Huh?” You replied.

“If you need a quote from him, I can go grab him.” She never said his name, which you found odd. But maybe Kendall was right, maybe you’d know ‘him’ when you saw him.

“N-no, I think I’m okay. I got 2 quotes from you and from your faculty advisor. I think I’m good.”

“Okay. If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna head out before it gets too dark.” Samira smiled, and walked off. You were standing in the hallway, alone.

You looked at your watch. It was around 8:30 now. You needed to head back too. If you didn’t, Kendall would think you’d died.

By the time you got back across the bay and back to your apartment, it was 9:30. You opened the door to your apartment, and there Kendall was, sitting on the couch.

“Hey, how’d it go?” They were sprawled out on the couch in their PJs, a bowl of guacamole on the coffee table and a bag of chips by their side. Some shitty Lifetime movie was playing softly on the TV.

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, bending down to take your kitten heels off. “It was okay.”

“Get good quotes? Good pictures?”

“Yeah, I got good material. You can look at it tomorrow.”

“Okay, good. Did you see him?”

“Who?” You cocked your head to the side, sighing as you stood flat footed on the cold hardwood floor.

“Patrick, dipshit. I figured you’d drool all over him.”

So he was Patrick. That name sounded familiar to you, but you couldn’t place it.

“I mean, I saw him. I got pictures of him, b-but he had friends visiting him after the competition, I think. He was in the green room, I couldn’t get a quote. But I got a quote from Samira and the faculty advisors.”

Kendall nodded, popping a guac covered chip in their mouth. “Good enough, thanks, babe.” The two of you had called each other babe since junior year of high school. It was a great way to piss off anyone who thought the two of you were dating.

“Yeah. What are you watching?” You studied the TV screen. The volume was turned down, but you could see women yelling passionately, and a very scared, blood-covered man behind them.

“Some Lifetime true crime movie, I dunno. I watched Miss Congeniality, and Pretty Woman, then settled on… This. It’s honestly trash.”

“Why not watch Housewives?”

“Didn’t wanna watch it without you. Plus, it was a rerun of DC, so.”

“Oh, ew.”

You walked over to the fridge, grabbing a cold bottle of water out, and then headed towards the couch, sitting next to Kendall. They switched the channel to Bravo, where you were both greeted by another scene of two women screaming at each other. It was the glorious world of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and the two of you watched at least 2 hours worth of toxic, shitty reality TV, until you checked the time and noticed it was almost midnight.

“I have class at 9 in the morning, I need to head to bed.” You yawned, standing up. Kendall turned the TV off. They looked up at you, their green eyes twinkling in the warm lighting of your shared living room.

“Okay, grandma. You have fun with that.” Kendall turned their phone on, typing rapidly. You envied them, in a way. They didn’t have class until 3pm tomorrow, but they still spent most of the day working on the paper. Busy busy bee.

“Goodnight, Kendall,” you called out as you walked into your bedroom.

“Night, bitch.” They replied from the couch. You shut your bedroom door, sighing.

You resisted the urge to stalk Patrick on instagram. He definitely had a girlfriend. He was good looking.

But why did you know his name?

Your phone lit up with a notification. A reminder of an assignment due tomorrow. It was your sign to go to bed.

You could stalk Patrick tomorrow. Consider it research while you write your article tomorrow.

Tonight, you needed to rest.

So you changed into your pajamas, crawled into bed, and fell asleep. And dreamt of him.

When Samira left the green room, Tashi broke her silence.

“Wanna go out?”

“Fuck yes.” Art and Patrick replied.

So the three musketeers drove back across the bay, went to some bar on the edge of Stanford’s campus, and got royally shitfaced, resulting in Art getting a pledge to drive the three back to the Phi Chi house.

Being a fraternity executive team member had it's perks. Living in the house was one of them.

Patrick told Tashi and Art goodnight, and headed down the hall to his room.

The whole time they were out, he couldn’t shake the face of the reporter from the Daily out of his head.

And to make matters worse, he didn’t have a name to go with a face.

Shit.

His head started throbbing, and he took that as his sign to go to bed.

He wondered if Tashi knew her.

Tashi knew everyone.

But he fell asleep before he could think about asking Tashi about you.

He may or may not have woken up the next morning, dealing with the aftermath of a wet dream and a next-level hangover. You woke up perfectly fine, ready to face the day.

Some would say that’s a match made in heaven. But we’re not there yet.

[miniwrites1]

In the Shadow of Azkaban - Dark! Sebastian Sallow

Requested!

Word Count - 1.2k

Themes - Angst

(Warnings will be added as the story progresses)

As a potions master, you were used to having to find your own ingredients, whether it be a trip to the Forbidden Forest or simply stopping by J Pippin’s Potions; it was a hazard of the role that you’d taken when agreeing to teach potions at Hogwarts, being invited back by Headmaster Black.

You’d made a name for yourself rather quickly in the wizarding world, producing a curse-reducing potion to aid those who had suffered at the hands of dark wizards, extending their lives and reducing their pain. It had been a breakthrough, with many people telling you it was impossible. But being undeterred, you pursued it. The media coverage you’d had after the breakthrough had been intense; the Daily Prophet had contacted you daily, standing outside your home and sending letters until you’d finally relented into giving them a quote to run on the front page.

“(Y/N), what made you want to create a cure for pain?” A journalist asked, magic quill and parchment ready to scribble down your every word. You paused for a moment to think.

“After seeing a close friend be killed by a curse, I knew I needed to do something. She was in agony every day up until her death. It is unfair to allow those cursed to suffer for the rest of their lives.” You responded calmly, trying to keep your composure; you could feel your nose tingle slightly and a small lump forming in your throat, a sign that you were heading towards tears. You had remembered Anne, Sebastian’s sister, who had passed away not long before you had finished testing the potion. You’d sent her letters about your discoveries, ensuring to keep in contact with her throughout the journey of your potion craft. She seemed excited at the thought of a potion designed specifically for someone like her; however she’d never had the chance to use it.

You remembered visiting her a few days before she’d passed, using the floo network to get to Feldcroft. You’d appeared outside the front of her home covered in soot, yet she’d invited you inside anyway, glad to see a friendly face and embracing you in a hug as soon as she saw you. You could tell she was in pain, which only made you fight harder to find a solution.

Days later, you received an owl to your home informing you of her death; it was devastating to you. After everything that had happened with Sebastian and the death of her uncle, you’d know that she was struggling, but it added a new layer of pain she couldn’t stand any longer; she’d battled for six long years until she’d finally passed away.

And now you were the potions master at Hogwarts, spending your days teaching children to brew potions that could heal or kill other people. Somehow you’d still found time to continue your research, a potion that could ease a curse was one thing, but a potion that could cure a curse was a whole other thing entirely.

As your students arrived at your classroom, you looked at their faces, smiling and happy mostly, remembering that feeling of walking into your first potions lesson with Sebastian at your side. It was a mere memory now; Sebastian was locked away in Azkaban, unseen and unheard, with only the Deatheaters for company. Thinking back, you felt a small amount of shame in turning him in, having him expelled and sent to Azkaban for killing his uncle, but at the time, it felt like the right thing to do. He needed to know that what he had done was unforgivable in the eyes of many and that the dark arts were not something to be meddled with.

Sighing softly, you stood up from your desk at the front of the room and sharply wrote your name on the board, causing all the students to focus their eyes forward; the sound of chalk grating across the board was enough to catch anyone’s attention, let alone first years. “Good morning class; I’m Professor (Y/L/N).”

Sebastian’s POV

Sebastian flipped through the Daily Prophet lazily as he sat on the floor in his cell, a small number of articles grabbing his attention, mainly those about spells and dark wizards. He sighed to himself; he’d been locked in Azkaban for seven years from the age of sixteen until twenty-three, having to beg for scraps of food from other inmates during his one hour of freedom from his solitary cell.

He was classed as almost reformed, showing that he’d paid his debts to society for what he’d done, but he would always be branded as a murderer.

“One more year.” He mumbled to himself as he made another mark on the wall of his cell. He’d been counting down the days until his freedom, waiting for the day he could finally feel a fresh breeze and the grass under his feet. That day couldn’t come soon enough. He felt his heart rate pick up as he thought of everything he’d do once he was free. The first would be to find Anne; he wanted to ensure she was still alive, even from a distance, as he doubted she would see him. He couldn’t blame her, not after everything that had happened.

The second would be to find (Y/N), the one who had sentenced him to a life of pain and sorrow. He blamed you for everything that had happened to him, swearing to himself that he would hunt you down until his last dying breath to make you pay for what you’d done to him.

Anger flared through his veins, a visceral sense of wanting to hurt you taking over. He wanted, no needed to make you pay for everything. He would stop at nothing to get to you; even if you were in the world’s most guarded, secretive place, he would find you. Flipping over the copy of the Daily Prophet he was holding, he noticed the headline.

“Troll slaying Witch discovers a pain-reducing potion.”

He glanced down at the photo below the headline, anger coursing more furiously than ever when he saw your face beaming at the camera, pride in your accomplishments shining through. He wanted to tear the paper in half, seeing that you’d made something of yourself flipped a switch inside of his mind. He didn’t just want to make you pay; he wanted to make you suffer in the most painful ways possible. He wanted to rip everything away from you, just as you had done to him.

His eyes floated to the sub heading.

"Professor (Y/L/N) dedicates the breakthrough to Anne Sallow - Passed 17th November 1896."

Sebastian closed his eyes, feeling tears brimming at the corners, throwing the paper across the room. He'd never had the chance to say goodbye, never had the chance to save her. Through his sadness emerged an unwavering feeling of anger.

You knew how much Anne had meant to him, Ominis had too. Why had neither of you contacted him? His anger only grew more as he thought.

In his mind he began to piece together a plan of how to get to you once he was free. He knew it would be a mammoth task to try and get near you again; however his Slytherin genes weren’t just for show; slowly he’d find a way to you, break you down bit by bit and ruin you in the worst possible way.

[strictpunishedhubby]

Hello. My name is Kerry, and like you, my wife was very strict with me. Almost from the beginning of our relationship, back in 2001, when I was 50 years old and she was 52 years old, she made it clear that she would be the authority in our relationship, and that I was to obey her without grumbling, and do my chores to her specifications and in a timely manner. Any deviation on these rules would result in punishment--always corporal punishment, because she said I was immature and therefore needed to be disciplined like an immature little boy.

I had never had to be under the authority of a woman unless she was my Mother or Aunt, or babysitter, or teachers, or my superior at work. So I rebelled, like you, and received painful beatings on my bare flesh with straps, brushes, paddles, and the cane.

Curiously, my Wife also informed me that I was to give her all of my male underpants, which she locked away in a box to which she alone had the key. It was maddening, because I could look at the box whose contents proclaimed me a man, even as my girlfriend informed me that I would have no further need for male underpants, because from that moment on I would wear panties under my clothing.

She brought out a bag from her car and spilled the contents on my bed. Around half of them were white, semi-sheer, nylon lady's briefs with full coverage in back, wide cotton gussets and waists that came well over my navel.

The other half of the panties were 100% cotton briefs with waists as high as the nylon ones, full back coverage, and in various prints: rosebuds, daisies, polka dots, rainbows, and squiggly lines in different pastel colors.

After choosing the pair she wanted me to put on, she led me by my hand to the bathroom, and taught me how I would now be expected to pee. She even insisted I use a square or two of toilet tissue to wipe dry the tip of my penis. When she was satisfied I knew the new toilet rules, she flushed the toilet and told me to stand.

I started pulling up my new panties, but she stopped me, and explained that I was now expected to put my penis in the "pointing backward" position when I pulled them up. She noted that my penis's short, skinny length might prove difficult to keep pointing backwards, but told me to at least try to keep it pointing that way.

{ I should point out that she adamant when we began to message over the internet, that I include a photo showing my flaccid penis beside a ruler, as well as my erect penis next to the same ruler. When I asked her why she wanted two photos of my privates so soon after we met online, she just said that she did NOT want a boyfriend who was well endowed and left it at that. She said her reasons would become clear if we started dating in earnest, but to not enquire further at that point.}

This regime went on for 12 years, until 2013 when it was clear I was incontinent, and after seeing a urologist, switched me to diapers and plastic panties, which I wear to this day. (photo attached, taken tonight)

In any event, I was compelled to wear panties daily, except for special circumstances when she would give me a pair of my old underpants to wear for the day, but had to return to her immediately after I no longer needed to wear them.

I should mention that just as your Wife uses your little girl panties to deliberately embarrass you, by making sure the panty legs peek out from under your shorts, my Wife uses my compulsory diaper and plastic panties to humiliate and embarrass me by dressing me in too-loose track pants and too-short tee shirts. The elasticized waist of the loose track pants begin to droop soon after putting them on, and the too short bottom of the tee shirt begins to ride up after a short time.

The combined effect in public (e. g. in a busy supermarket, or at the mall) is to reveal a large expanse of my diapers and plastic panties when my Wife tells me to keep my hands at my sides and not to hold up my pants. Because I like to wear diapers with a high rise for their sense of security, the mere fact that my tee shirt inches up is enough to expose my diapers, even if my Wife allows me to pull my pants up.

Fortunately, this isn't an everyday event, but is often used by my Wife when she feels she needs to enhance my humility and obedience to her, and reinforce her über-superiority over me.

This is a good opportunity for every man who, like us, is being strictly disciplined by his wife to open his heart. What punishments you receive, how you react to them and how you react before, during and after the punishments.

[fatphobiabusters]

TW//ABUSE, ABLEISM, FATPHOBIA

Hey sorry if this is a rough topic but have you been seeing the news about KayleaTitford? She was a disabled plus sized girl who died, and the news has only been focusing on her weight and not the fact that her parents were abusing and neglecting her, maggots were found in her body and she had tons of infections but the news was only ever super disrespectful to her.

https://twitter.com/thefatdoctoruk/status/1623093763450044416

I wanted to learn more about the situation but the news seems to only be focusing on her weight and not the fact that her parents are/were actively absuive and neglectful and keep saying that her weight, not her parents neglect is what lead to her death?

Sorry if I phrased something insensitively or worded it wrong way but why isn’t the press doing it’s job correctly??? Sorry if this isn’t an okay ask to send I just didn’t know who else to send it to

additional cw: o word, medical fatphobia if you go reading the threads.

Side note before I get into this "thefatdoctoruk" looks to be a pretty good Twitter to follow? Just scrolling through and he calls out medical fatphobia from a science literacy and medically sound pov. So hey if you Twitter check them out.

Okay so I'm putting in a read more

https://twitter.com/thefatdoctoruk/status/1623375820575150081?s=20&t=wSaN5nQgWjgk28JepMf8Pg here's a thread about how obviously she was being neglected because of the state of her mattress.

the BBC has been on the decline they got into hot water due to that shit show of a transphobic article (https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLB8NXe_on1cUW1EYsFBHQlu0PVDyX_qM- here a youtuber sends in a complaint about that article and its shoddy journalism for people who missed it) and I saw people saying only their coverage of international news is worth anything anymore. Tories have their fingers in it. And because everyone thinks they can trust the BBC they follow when copying reports.

She had spina bifada and needed help with daily care and her shit parents let her rot. They decided that since she didn't have to go to school due to lockdown they would leave her there. She never re attended school. Likely because she would have told someone what happened and because it was easier to keep ignoring her. This is ableism. This is abuse, to be frank the framing of this should be indictive of the massive eugenics and antidisability culture instead its framed as self inflicted weight gain. If it was HONEST reporting it would read "child with spina bifada left to die by parents"

This is utterly disgusting and I'm so sorry this child was abandoned like this. Everyone has failed her.

[virginmiri99]

So you have a go-to daily eye look I'm trying to mix my style up

My daily eye makeup is very office siren inspired--the inner corners of my eyes are done white and it slowly fades into brown (or black when i'm feeling goth) with no eyeliner bc I never have time. Depending on my outfit I pick between black, red, and purple mascara. I get my colored mascara from color pop cosmetics.

the eye shadow i use everyday is:

elf everyday smoky, and horror nekoyanin (sold out rn sadge) nekoyanin may use stolen uncredited art for her makeup but got damn can she make a good white eyeshadow

It usually ends up like this. Some days I add glitter others I do not. Some days I use my bold colors like neon green, smokey rose, blue... just depending on my outfit of the day.

There is literally nothing fancy you need to do like i know this is deranged but i sit on my floor and use my fingers to put the eyeshadow on. looks slightly choppy sometimes but coworkers don't notice the little mistakes. for maximum coverage I start with a color correcting neutrogena primer & then a LIGHT layer of tinted sunscreen (also neutrogena). it makes the shadow stick SOOOOOO much better.

Second image above is closest to what my makeup looks like most days--I really like the smokey eye style bc it really highlights my features. If you have hooded eyes like moi, i only apply eyeshadow to my eyelids, never my brow. will look good with or without eyeliner. I've tried to cut down the amount of products i use on my face bc in highschool it was CAKEYYYYYYY.

[naritaika]

Some updates about Gaza I found (11/26/23)- please share!!!

-this war and genocide has hurt the Palestinian people severely. We need to continue to push for full ceasefire -the truce has been reported to be violated by journalists, due to Israeli military shooting

-Despite this, it’s important to remember how many Palestinians remain resilient -Palestinians have used this pause to harvest olives -Motaz (journalist/photographer) has been getting repeated threatening calls due to his coverage exposing Israelis crimes

-there are more than 20,000 killed. Read that number again -there was a anti-Palestinian hate crime that occurred in the United States -there are still Palestinian bodies being held by IOF after they stole them

-Some details from Motaz of the calls/harassment he’s been getting

-restrictions on hostages release being celebrated have occurred, I have also heard of this happening for years in the past

Bisan’s updates from today; (Let me know if these get deleted, I have them screen recorded)

https://instagram.com/reel/C0GnyXrgzlB/?igshid=NzBmMjdhZWRiYQ==

https://instagram.com/reel/C0HDMVtsI

-bisan has gotten gray hairs since the genocide began (she’s in her 20s btw)

-she highlighted the way the media treats Palestinians like they’re less valuable

-Eye on Palestine put up a post saying to rate instagram poorly and write a bad review due to their censorship of Palestinians

Truce day 3 updates from let’s talk Palestine

Please keep in mind that this isn’t everything. So much pain is occurring along with much resilience. Let that inspire you to keep pushing for full ceasefire!!! Email your reps, donate, do you daily click (http://Arab.org)or protest if possible, keep sharing!!

I sincerely apologize for lack of alt text, I didn’t have as much free time today but still wanted to post about Palestine. If I have time I will add alt text later. Palestine will be free!!! Don’t forget about them.

To add on; https://x.com/ShaykhSulaiman/status/1728903352514224522?s=20

-Red Cross hasnt done their job to aid civilians properly

-doctors have been arrested in the so called “safe corridor”

As always I have everything downloaded in case of censorship!!

Keep posting until Palestine is free!!

[thecclover-fanfictions]

Home Again

There was absolutely silence in the drawing room at Balmoral Castle. The main family circle was assembled and stared shock-faced around. No one didn´t really know what to say. A few minutes before they had got the terrible news: Lord Mountbatten, Uncle Dickie, was dead, murdered by terrorists.

Charles mind was empty. He simply couldn´t believe this, Uncle Dickie`s dead never was an option for him, least of all not a murder. There was no person he was so close to, beside his Grandma and…Slowly his mind begun to work again, he knew he wouldn´t find much comfort in his family now. Of course, they were all shocked and sad but, they had to go back to daily business as soon as possible. They were not a family who let themselves down. He simply couldn´t disburden his heart to his parents or the rest of the family, all had to fend for themselves. Of course, there was his grandma, the Queen Mother. She gave him love and safety but, she also demanded Charles to stay hard at some situations. Apart from that he didn´t want to become a burden to any family member, they all had to cope with the situation now.

Around the same time 400 miles southern Camilla tried to handle her daily routine. She had to do her house chores and to look after her horses and dogs and that means lots of work with a huge property like Bolehyde Manor. Constantly her two children rampaged around her, Tom was five and Laura one and a half years old, that didn´t make it easier. After lunch and bringing the children to bed she scuffled into her living room and let fall onto her sofa. Exhausted she breathed out and switched on the TV, expected to watch one of these endless, mindless soaps. But there was a breaking news coverage, she realized that an important person was murdered but, missed the name. Again and again the rest of a destroyed boat drifting in the water was shown and finally she heard the name. It took a few seconds until it completely came to her mind and now she sat there with wide eyes, her opened mouth covered with her hands and all what she could think about was Charles.

The telephone rang and she run over to pick up the receiver, panting: “Hello”. There was no answer, she only heard someone breathing and knew who it was. “Charles…Charles…I…I just watched the news…” Charles sobbed: “Oh…yes…it´s terrible…isn´t it? Quietly Camilla asked: “Do you want to come here?” This was the question his heart had waited for: “Yes. Yes, I will. Immediately. See you later!” Not waiting for her answer he pushed down the receiver, grabbed a few of his clothes and his toothbrush and put it into the next bag he could find. He took his jacket, slipped in any pair of shoes and rushed down the stairs to the rooms of his Grandma.

He burst into the room: “I have to leave, Grannie.” Queen Mum didn´t wonder, she knew since the scene in the drawing room what he would do. But his idea to drive the whole way by car wasn´t the best she decided, and chartered a plane for him. “Maybe you should not say good-bye to your parents. It´s better I tell them, especially your father…” Charles was relieved, he really wasn´t in the mood for an argument with Philip now. Tightly he embraced his grandmother and rushed out.

The flight seemed to be endless, he counted every second, he almost was about to go into the cabin to ask for more speed. Finally they landed and his Aston Martin Volante was driven to the plane. He entered the car and drove in full speed, ignoring any traffic rules. Anyway, he needed more than an hour to reach her, way too long in his opinion.  As he finally rolled over the drive way to Bolehyde Manor something behind a window moved, seconds later the door was open. He jumped out of his car, felt Camilla´s arms wrapping around his neck and pressed strongly against her body. Camilla whispered into his ear how sorry she felt for him, and that she would be there, and he could stay as long as he wished. He closed his eyes, he felt so relieved to be here, as nothing could happen to him anymore. And despite his grief and his clouded mind he felt something change. Her nearness gave him back a part of himself, now he was fully aware of how much he really had missed her. Slowly his hands caressed her back, his head turned around a bit, he kissed her cheek tenderly and got down to her neck. Camilla shivered, quickly loosened out of his arms and squeezed his hands.

At this moment Tom came to the door, a second later his little sister Laura emerged, both were absolutely excited to see Charles again. Laura squeaked: “Sir…Sir…” one of the few words she was able to speak. Tom asked Charles to play with his new toy cars and Camilla was relieved to escape the situation so easy.

After Tom and Laura went to bed they had dinner, although Charles was hardly able to eat something. More and more his brain realized what had happened. Tears run down his face and he sobbed. But the breakdown came later, as they sat in the living room and watched the news. Again and again the pictures of the exploded boat were seen, suddenly Charles broke out in heavy crying and his whole body trembled. He knew this was not the end of his grief, it was the beginning. But the huge lump in his throat was loosened now. Camilla switched off the TV, she was crying, too. She also was in mourn, she knew Uncle Dickie from their weekends at Broadlands and they liked each other. But most of it she was sad for Charles and could hardly bear to see him in such condition. She got nearer to him on the sofa, her right arm slipped under his bowed body, the left hand caressed his back softly and she laid her head down on him. The feeling of her gave him power and energy and after a while he calmed down a bit. He was able to eat something now and they remembered the times at Broadlands and they dug out the old jokes about Uncle Dickie. Charles could even laugh a bit.

It was very late now, Charles first went into the bathroom for a shower. Then he laid down on the bed in the guest room, with crossed hands behind his head he looked up to the ceiling, brooding about the day. After fifteen minutes Camilla came in, dressed into a washed-out T-shirt. His heart beat faster, once more as she sat down on his bed. Tenderly she covered him with the blanket and stroke his cheek. “Tomorrow you will feel better, I guess.” Charles took her hands: “I felt better in the moment I was here.” Camilla only smiled to him. Charles whispered: “I want to say Good-night.” Slowly he pushed her down to him and embraced her. His hands tenderly grabbed her upper arms and his lips touched hers, first very gently then more tightly. Camilla didn´t veto, she let him kiss a millisecond too long for “just” friends. His never abandoned hope to hold her in his arms forever grow a bit more immediately.

This night he didn´t sleep very well, of course. He didn´t only think of his Uncle, he still felt Camilla on his skin and lips. Since years he wasn´t so close to her like on this day. And now this wish to be with her, the wish he had locked in his heart for so long, came up with full power from the ground, impossible to push down again.

In the morning they all had breakfast together, afterwards Camilla had to do some of her chores. Charles played with the children, much to Camilla´s alleviation, finally she could work without the kids crawling around her. They romped around, rolled over the floor and laughed heartily. Tom loved every second with him. He always had fun with “Sir”, how Camilla always referred to him. This surname sounded a bit strange to Tom but, he didn´t mind actually.

After lunch the children went to bed for a nap. In the garden waited lots of work, with pleasure Charles assisted Camilla. He loved this as much as Camilla did and he could distract again from his grief. Kneeling side by side they weeded in the rose beetroot. First they chatted around and then Camilla asked him: “So, what about your current girlfriend?” Charles was overtaken by this: “Oh…yes…I…” Now he chuckled but, was a bit awkward. “Oh my god, I had completely forgotten about her. I didn´t call her for almost two weeks now.” “Oh Charles, this is really not nice! I mean…really…you can´t treat her like this.” Camilla looked at him but, he could feel, she wasn´t as concerned as she simulated. He smiled and rolled his eyes: “I know. But, at least, I never forget to call you.” Camilla looked down and whispered: “No, you don´t.” Charles was almost to do what he longed for so much. But now Camilla looked up to him again: “Charles, you know. You need a wife. You really need, there is no choice.” Charles heart beat faster and he took all his courage to grab her hand. “Yes, I know that…I need…a wife.” And hastily he added: “But I have the choice to take the right one.” Camilla breathed and took away her hand. “Oh Charles, please…” He jumped up and tossed away his gardening tool. With his hands steadied into his back he looked up in the sky. He deeply breathed, quickly turned around and got down again. Now he tightly grabbed both her hands and looked serious to her: “You know that I love you. You know that I love you more than anything else. I always did.” Camilla´s breath became uneven and she tried to get out of his hands. But he didn´t let loose her and continued to look into her eyes: “Listen to me…All the girls I have met were only a distraction from you. I didn´t love a single one of them. And you know that.” Camilla turned away her head and desperately sighed: “Charles, please….” He interrupted her by turning her head back to him: “I love you. I want to be with you. I want to be married to you! I want to be the father of your children!” He became louder and louder, in his excitement he almost screamed now. Camilla looked down on the ground, chewed her lower lip and he could see her cervical artery heavily pulsing.

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her a little: “Darling, let us…” At this moment Laura woke up and cried out of the half opened window. Camilla took the chance to jump up and run into the house. Charles breathed and his head sunk down. And suddenly he begun to brood: did she actually still love him? After her engagement to Andrew she never mentioned it to him again. Of course, she was very affectionately and attentively to him. But like a very good friend, not as a lover. He was not sure now. Well, sometimes she looked at him in her most special way and the kiss yesterday…But he was in a bad condition, maybe it was in sympathy.

The rest of the day they spent with the children going for a walk, having tea time, played around and finally having dinner. They didn´t mention the incident from the afternoon, Camilla simply went on with daily business. After bringing the children into bed she came down to the living room and kept standing in the door. “Would you mind terribly, if I will go to bed now?” she asked him. Charles was a bit disappointed, shortly looked up to her and then back in his book. “No, of course, not”, he lied, “good night then.” Hesitatingly Camilla turned around and went up the stairs. Charles was completely confused now, Camilla ignoring his words and the death of his uncle wore him down. He couldn´t concentrate on the book and switched on the TV. Mindless he zapped around.

Meanwhile Camilla was in her bathroom, shortly before a crying fit she hasted into the shower and turned on the hot water. Slowly she could relax, sat down with the water running over her body and tried to clear her mind. She knew these days with Charles would be a turning point in her life. Yesterday had unlocked something long suppressed in their hearts, she had to face it now. She had a family to care for, Andrew offers her this comfortable life, she has lots of friends but, something is missing. But what would be the prize for getting real happiness? And would it be happiness? A divorced woman with two children from another man living with the heir to the throne? The Duchess of Windsor came to her mind and she panicked. No, this was not the life she wants to lead. And of course this was not what Charles wanted for them. But, she couldn´t get back to normal now. Charles had spoken the words, it hung in the air…

Charles heard Camilla leaving the bath after aeons, he decided to go to bed as well. Maybe it would be better to leave tomorrow, he thought, he didn´t want to risk a row with Camilla. The hot shower let him feel better, but his mind was still clouded. He laid on the bed again in his boxers, switched off the light but, couldn´t fall asleep. After around twenty minutes he heard a quietly jarring, his door was only leaned. Someone tiptoed over the floor and stopped at his room. Maybe Tom? Quietly sighing he stood up, ready to carry the little one back in his bed. But it wasn´t Tom. In front of him stood Camilla, looking at him in a mixture of unsureness, desire and love. “Oh, hello…” was all he was able to mumble but, his heart was almost running now. She didn´t answer, he only heard her breathing and after an eternity he felt her hands grabbing his. Shivers run over his body, his heart stopped for a second. Gently she pushed him over the floor to her bedroom. Charles´s mind almost exploded, full of pleasure he sighed: “Darling….” Immediately Camilla laid her index finger on his lips: “Sshhh, the children!” He hastily closed the door and wanted to embrace her. But suddenly he was forced to stop, her view was amazing. The room was decorated into dimmed light, this let her hair shone and her eyes sparkle even more. His knees turned to jelly as his eyes wandered about her body. Her curvy silhouette and her breasts loomed under the cloth were breathtaking, she was more beautiful than ever.

Camilla couldn´t wait a second longer, she embraced him stormily and kissed him tightly. “I love you…I love you” she broke out agitated. He couldn´t believe this, he was frozen and not able to do anything. In his head echoed her words: “I still love you…I never stopped…I want to be with you!” Finally he was able to embrace her, too. He felt her tongue opening his lips and was in heaven. Her tongue circling around in his mouth drove him almost crazy, he begun to tremble while kissing her. It was what he had longed for so very much, how much he just realized now but, he couldn´t believe this was actually real. Again and again he opened his eyes to make sure it was Camilla who he was kissing so passionately. His heart burst with love as he watched her face adorned with bliss and happiness.

His body run riots. He was hot and cold at the same time, he could hear his blood running through his veins. Camilla felt that he was hardly able to stand on his feet any longer and gently pushed him back to her bed. Charles fell down, still holding her. She had butterflies in her stomach as she loosened from the kiss to watch his face. He looked at her in the same way he always did before her marriage. Yes, she had back her little prince who became a man meanwhile. But somehow it will be her little prince forever, she smiled. Slowly her hands glided down caressing his body, now and then she kissed him. Charles trembled and panted heavier the more she neared his boxers. As she freed his massive erection, he let out a deep groan and his back arched. Camilla chuckled and whispered: “Sshh, the children!”

But he was determined now, he had to see her naked, instantly.  Apparently Camilla had read his mind, she scrambled onto his stomach, took his hands and both stripped off her nightie. Charles almost fainted, her body wasn´t only adorable, it was to die for. Her curvy hips, her great legs, the cute triangle between them and those breasts! They seemed to be grown even more with her pregnancies, he couldn´t stop staring at her. His hands had loosened from his mind and already explored a well-known and still new area. He wanted to caress every part of her with his hands and his tongue, if he would survive this.

But his brain had stopped working, he had problems to concentrate any longer. His erection heavily ached, he had no idea how to hold out, just to imagine to be one with her soon sent him almost over the edge. Camilla felt how confused he was. She bent down, cupped his face with her hands and whispered, almost touching his lips with hers: “Darling, everything is alright. We have all the night!” Now he felt her tongue again, heavily he moaned into her mouth and as she took his hands and laid them on her breasts, it was all too late for him. He explored in a heavy orgasm, Camilla desperately tried to choke down his yells with kisses. He was away for a moment and needed some time to get back to reality.

As he woke up again, he found Camilla nestling to him. With a mischievous grin on her lips she played with the curls on his chest. Charles raised an eyebrow: “Whaaat…!?” Camilla didn´t answer, playfully she pulled a face and chuckled. Charles quickly turned her on her back, scrambled onto her, his legs on either side and pressed her down on the bed. “Do you laugh at me?” he tried to sound very seriously. Still chuckling Camilla stared at the ceiling: “Nooooo…” “Oh, wait! I will show you!” He bent down and started to kiss her on every sensitive point he could reach, still holding her tight in position. Camilla didn´t want to let him win, she tried to hold her breath and bit on her lips. But Charles caressed her in all the right places, his tongue tickled her right under her earlobes and slowly, very slowly glided down her neck to her collarbones. She got a gooseflesh but, still had pressed her lips closed.

He placed light kisses bit by bit along her collarbones, his tongue circled around in the hollow between them and she tried to move now. But Charles had still grabbed her tightly. He chuckled: “Just wait…” Camilla shook her head, she still was reluctant to give in. Charles wandered down to her breasts and now she knew there was no chance. His lips got down to her areola, she heavily panted now and Charles grinned. Now he paused, his lips directly over her already hard nipples. Her chest heavily sunk up and down, all what she wanted was to feel him now but, her lips were still locked.

Suddenly she felt his tongue circling around, loudly she breathed in and clenched her fists. And as Charles started to suck her nipples, she couldn´t help but open her mouth and heavily moaned. Finally Charles loosened his grip but, Camilla immediately grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down again. “Don´t stop!” she breathed. Charles smirked: “First tell me, I have won!” She moaned: “Yes, yes…you´ve won.” He kissed her, sucking at her tongue. “Good girl!” He wanted to continue now but, got up to her face again. Seriously he looked at her and stroke her hair. “Darling, I love you.” he whispered, “And I´m home again now. You´ve brought back heaven to me.” Camilla was moved by his words and the way he spoke to her. He always was so affectionately and attentively to her and now even more. “Yes, my darling, my…most…precious…darling” she kissed him after every word. “I love you, too. I always will, always.” Charles eyes sparkled and he got a longing facial expression: “I will, too. And I want to marry you, really!” Camilla laid her index finger on his lips again. “Sshhh, not now. Come, kiss me again. It´s so wonderful to feel you.” With pleasure Charles did so, he still couldn´t really believe to have her in his arms again.

He treated her like a treasure, bit by bit Camilla sunk down in his caresses. Every part of her body was met by his hands and tongue, she wasn´t able to speak any longer, she just let it happen. But she wasn´t only heavy sexually aroused, Charles gave her a warmth and so much love that she forgot everything around. Meanwhile Charles erection was in full bloom again, when not kissing he just moaned, he was desperate to feel her completely now. He scrambled between her legs, willingly Camilla spread them wider. His gaze fell on her sanctum, her wet lips and her swollen clit looked so inviting to him. Despite being in this world no longer, as well as his lover, he bent down and caressed her with his tongue, very covetous indeed. Camilla didn´t moan anymore, she wined, grinding her lower body against his mouth.

Charles wasn´t able to wait one second longer, immediately he was in her. Camilla winced and let out a relieved groan, her legs twined around his body, pressed him covetous deeper inside her. Charles arm slipped under her body, his hand grabbed her bottom cheeks to hold her as close as possible and to support their moves. His other arm slipped under her neck, holding her head in his crook of the arm. Camilla´s hands wandered up and down his back, over his waist and his bottom cheeks as well. Their sweating bodies moved faster and faster in the same rhythm, Charles gave her very hard shoves now, still holding her bottom but she had her feet to steady on the mattress yet. They tried to look constantly in their eyes on the way to their climax. It didn´t need long and both exploded in a mixture of yelling, trembling and seeing stars and colors in their mind. While shivers and waves of great pleasure run through their bodies, they tried to be clung to each other and kissed to suppress their moans, less successful indeed.

Tightly embraced they laid there for a while, Charles still on top of her, Camilla had wrapped her legs around him again. Slowly they were able to move again, they kissed lovingly, caressing all the parts of their bodies they could reach. And both felt they were much more in love than ever, there bond has grown again. Charles kissed her ear and whispered: “Home again, we are home again, aren´t we?” And from the bottom of her heart Camilla quietly answered: “Yes, we are home again.”

[bonearenaofmyskull]

Hey sooo sorry that this is irrelevant to Hannibal. Its about this youtube guy you said in one of your old old posts that you enjoyed. He is a bearded ginger guy that sits in front of the wooden wall of a warehouse with shelf talking about politics? Usually wears a hat. Usually his view is around 15-30k i think and he uploads daily.

for some reason I don’t know why i kept remembering him as Shia Labeouf??? And his youtube channel name is 4 words.

thanks to you i discovered his channel but i got uninterested so I unsubscribed, but now in my wee 5.30-6 am sleepless hour i suddenly missed him and was tryna search so hard but you know how that goes looking at my description

thank yew

It's Beau of the Fifth Column, and for the record I NEVER would have associated him with Shia Labeouf. I recommend his channel and the partner channel The Roads with Beau for anyone who wants non-sensationalized, realistic reporting, with a leftist bent, of foreign affairs, domestic affairs, climate change, science news, and occasional pop culture news insofar as it overlaps with one of the other categories. They also do occasional personal advice and are a good internet mom and dad for especially queer kids who need that. And they do charity work, give survival advice and tips whenever there is an ongoing weather event that is potentially life-threatening, and weekly q-and-a.

I'm referring to them as a partnership because Beau has left his position running the channels in the last week and turned it over to his wife because he is a workaholic, and it was affecting his health, charity work, and family. Other than them dropping one of their daily videos from the agenda and his wife (going by "Belle"--"Beau" was also a pseudonym) still being in that stage of finding her voice and comfortability in front of the camera, I haven't seen too much of a change in the quality of their commentary, though the jury is still out on that IMO--she seems a bit spicier than Beau but is still working control the nerves and be natural, and I'm not sure she's quite there with the way he would lay out his reasoning and show it coming around to his conclusions, though I don't think the conclusions themselves have changed in any significant way. It'll be really tested when they cover more foreign affairs because that was where Beau really shined, and it's my understanding he is really NOT involved in the channel at all anymore in any way, at least for the time being. Coverage has been very US election-focused since Belle took over.

My strongest general recommendation would to go back and watch every single video, in order, that Beau made about Gaza in order to understand why things have gone the way they've gone and why the US has made the moves they've made, and why other countries that are nominally pro-Palestine have done some of the things that they've done as well. That includes this dumb-it-down whiteboard video from last year. Most people will find him reporting things that they don't like for one reason or other--hell, he reports things HE doesn't like about the way the foreign policy system works and will occasionally remind audiences of that as well--but it will explain where and why morality fails to gain traction when there is a question of power, and how that limits steps that are taken, how it informs public positions taken on the world stage versus what is happening behind the scenes with actions taken, etc.

Beau's organizational and labeling system for finding topics of interest is an absolute nightmare--even worse than mine--so I'd just recommend browsing in chronological order for likely topics if you're going back through historical stuff.

They're southerners and they drawl and if you're into hyperspeed internet videos you'll have to adapt your brain to want to watch their stuff. Over time you should get used to the pacing, and I eventually found it soothing. Beau is one of those rare individuals that I could regularly expect to have insights and perspectives and thoughts that I wouldn't have had, and he could change the way I view something. There aren't that many people that I run into in life that have that ability, so this was a rare gift for me.

[beardedmrbean]

There are over 3,600 students enrolled at the University of Helsinki who have not completed any coursework in the past year, according to the educational institute's data.

This number of 'ghost students' has nearly doubled in three years, rising from just under 2,000 in 2021.

However, this figure includes students with multiple study rights, numbering in the dozens, as well as those who enrolled in courses before 2005, who have perpetual study rights.

There are a total of over 30,000 students at the University of Helsinki.

A similar situation has been noted at Tampere University, where about 2,500 enrolled students earned zero credits in the 2023–2024 academic year, marking a slight rise in the number of 'inactive' students.

According to Anu Haapala, Director of Development at the University of Helsinki, the students' situations are diverse and many factors contribute to this situation.

Financial challenges may drive students to work instead of studying, family situations can change, and health-related reasons could disrupt studies. Sometimes, students may need time to consider if their chosen field is right for them.

"As a university, we aim to enable smooth progression of studies. However, it is ultimately up to the student to decide how and when they will complete their studies," Haapala said.

Enrolling in courses for student benefits and discounts

Those with a student card in Finland are entitled to significant discounts on meals, public transportation, gym memberships, and various retail purchases, as well as access to subsidised health services, university IT resources, and professional union memberships with insurance coverage.

Yle spoke to Jani, 33, who after graduating with a master's degree in engineering from the Tampere University of Technology in 2017, applied for a new degree in mechanical engineering at Lappeenranta.

He was accepted into the programme and registered as an active student at the beginning of the following autumn without any intention of completing his studies.

Jani, who lives in southwestern Finland, said having a student status gives him access to numerous discounts and benefits for the many services he regularly uses in his daily life.

He estimated that he saves around 2,000 euros a year from these discounts and benefits.

While Jani acknowledged that his actions might be seen as depriving other students of a study spot, he said that any system will inevitably be exploited by some individuals.

"It may require a bit of moral flexibility. I personally feel that since the system allows this, I am just as entitled to use student benefits as anyone else," he said.

While he is no longer a student at Lappeenranta, Jani enrolled in the University of Tampere in 2021 to study mathematics and statistics. After his study period ends, he plans to apply to another university.

"Sometimes I wonder how much longer I will dare to eat at the student canteen," he said.

Jani wished to be anonymous in the story due to the sensitive nature of the topic.

Anu Haapala told Yle that she is not in a position to assess the extent of the exploitation of student discounts and benefits.

"The message I get from student organisations is that the benefits and subsidies could be much better so that they better support the promotion of studies," she said.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Timeline: Part 7 - October 2017

For earlier timeline posts: click here or here.

There are three installments of the "Meghan's PR Timeline" today, which will see us finish out 2017: October 2017, November 2017, and December 2017.

One particularly interesting observation about this period of time is that from mid-October to mid-November, there are actually whole days without a single item or piece about Meghan. It's very strange because from about the end of April 2017 to the end of September 2017, we were being bombarded DAILY by stories about Meghan.

Is the missing coverage because those pages, stories, and articles were scrubbed in 2018/2019 when Meghan's PR was cleaning up her image?

Did Meghan finally get the ring in early October and no longer needed her PR to pressure Harry and force him to propose?

Or is it the quiet before the storm (i.e., the engagement announcement)? Meghan decided to drop coverage to get more bang when the engagement was announced?

10/1/2017: Toronto Invictus Games Closing Ceremony. Meghan, Doria, Jess, and Markus arrive early and are in a box. Meghan arrives first and is caught directing photographers where to go and what angles to use. Harry arrives later. Meghan leaks that Harry and Doria met at the closing ceremony and they get along fabulously.

(For additional context timeline-wise: 10/1/17 is the Route 19 Harvest Festival shooting in Las Vegas)

10/2/2017: Harry returns to London via Heathrow Airport and it's listed in the Court Circular. Meghan teases an engagement to E News and says that her friends have become Harry's family.

10/3/2017: Meghan merches her shoes from a September 2017 papwalk. She also tells Elle Magazine that she and Harry are unofficially engaged, and everyone knows.

10/4/2017: Meghan modernizes the monarchy if she marries Harry. Charles is in Malta.

10/5/2017: Ronan Farrow's Weinstein expose is published by The New York Times. Meghan merches her Invictus Games clothing - Opening Ceremony Outfit, Closing Ceremony Coat.

10/6/2017: Carole Middleton and Doria Ragland are the same.

10/7/2017: Charles's letter to Tony Blair about the hunting ban is published.

October 7th is the first day with no Meghan stories or Harkle coverage since early summer.

10/8/2017: Meghan has moved to London and is being driven by a royal chauffeur.

10/9/2017: Harry's ex Cressida makes the news for being connected to Harvey Weinstein. Jess Mulroney sources an "all about Meghan's bestie, Jess" story.

10/10/2017: Meghan's PR takes a dig at William and Kate, asking why they never hold hands. Kate makes her first public appearance since announcing her third pregnancy, implying that she is on the mend from HG.

10/11/2017: Meghan's 2011 film, Dysfunctional Friends, resurfaces. Her character is a photographer for male underwear models. Meghan tries to be a fashion influencer, gets linked to Julia Roberts, Naomi Watts, and Greta Lee as a major "power dresser". She also merches the nail polish she might wear for the wedding and/or the engagement announcement.

Meanwhile, Harry attends the 100 Women in Finance Gala Dinner. Kate's aide, Rebecca Deacon, receives the Royal Victorian Order. Buckingham Palace announces that Charles will lay wreaths at the Cenotaph for The Queen during the Remembrance Sunday service, and The Queen returns to London, ending her summer Balmoral haloriday.

10/12/2017: The Queen's first day back in London/work following summer holidays. Harry has #1 sexiest celebrity beard. (No, they're not talking about Meghan. They mean the actual hair on his face.)

10/13/2017: Meghan and Harry leak that they're house-hunting in the Cotswolds for a marital home and merch a few properties in the Daily Mail. Meghan also teases wedding speculation and Soho Farmhouse's newest financial report reveals that they lost $34.48 million in 2017 (hence the Harkle sponcon throughout 2018)

10/14/2017: Royals living in the US - forgotten Spencer cousins who call the American Pacific Northwest home.

10/15/2017: Meghan confirms that she is finished with Suits when Season 7 wraps in November. #MeToo movement begins and James Middleton, Donna Air split is revealed.

10/16/2017: Meghan leaks that she and Harry are already engaged but won't announce it until Suits filming has ended. Harry attends the WellChild Awards. Also, Harry tells people that he doesn't want a formal pageanty Cambridge-like wedding.

Meanwhile, Harry accompanies William and Kate to an engagement celebrating the release of Paddington 2.

10/17/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories, but Eugenie is papped in Los Angeles; William and Kate announce the baby is due in April; and Camilla gives a landmark speech on osteoporosis.

10/18/2017: Meghan leaks to the Daily Mail that she and Harry had tea with The Queen at Buckingham Palace on October 12th, and it's the first time Meghan met Her Majesty.

Note: This version of events contradicting Harry's claim in Spare that Meghan met The Queen for the first time on Sunday at the Royal Lodge while visiting the Yorks. October 12th is a Wednesday.

10/19/2017: Meghan teases Harry's proposal plan.

10/20/2017: Meghan's copycatting of Diana's outfits and behavior finally gets noticed. Meghan hints about etiquette lessons and teases the engagement.

Samantha Markle sets up a gofundme to raise money for an accessible home as her MS progresses, capitalizing on Meghan's fame.

10/21/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

10/22/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

10/23/2017: Harry has an away day in Lancashire.

10/24/2017: Meghan makes a dig at Kate - why she never wears red nail polish.

10/25/2017: Meghan merches her voice (perhaps this is when she starts negotiating for a Disney documentary voiceover gig...).

10/26/2017: DailyMailTV discusses Meghan's ancestry. Meanwhile, Harry and Meghan leak that:

Harry has had a crush on Meghan since 2015 when he saw her on Suits and he did tell friends back then that she was his ideal woman.

KP aides have been instructed to begin wedding planning and are reviewing dates.

The Cambridges announced Kate's pregnancy early because protocol requires the wedding can't take place until after the baby is born.

10/27/2017: Channel 4 broadcasts a "10 Things About Meghan Markle" documentary.

10/28/2017: Meghan and Harry are actually related! They're distant cousins.

10/29/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

10/30/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.

10/31/2017: Harry is in Chicago to attend the Barack Obama Foundation Summit, and Charles and Camilla are in Singapore for royal tour.

[vriskabot]

davris morning routine hcs?

YOU CAUGHT ME OFF GUARD I WAS PLAYING MINECRAFT cracks my knuckles. this kinda turned into sleeping habit and self care hcs as a whole sorry not sorry -vriska is not a night owl or a morning person but she IS a long and heavy sleeper. do not wake her up before she is good and ready or you WILL get torn a new asshole bare minimum. if the verbal lashing does not work she will escalate immediately and directly to grievous bodily harm -dave is probably the only person who can manage this without dying but even THEN he would much rather get on her ass about going to sleep on time than get on her ass about getting up in the morning -dave is a much lighter sleeper and honestly naturally a nap guy. i think on a genetic level the strilondes dont sleep long even when they DO manage to sleep (dirk and rose are notorious insomniacs) but i dont think dave really minds it -nobody knows when he sleeps but he does! hes just Constantly Around -this was only further reinforced by living with bro and being trained and all that jazz so daves sort of got a built in alarm clock (lol time player) -in that vein dave can kinda predict when vriska is gonna be up based on what time shes gone to sleep so he can be in and out of the bathroom before she needs to be in there which is. a very very good thing -i think dave was a lot more anal (and anxious) about what he looked like when he was a teen (to the point of being unable to leave the house if his hair wasnt JUST right) but hes way more lax about it now -that being said i also dont think hes gone fully curly girl now that hes okay with his hair having a single iota of texture whatsoever. he just combs it into the style he wants it to dry in and lets nature take the wheel after that (its very soft and vriska LOVES to touch and tousle it) -he MAYBE uses a light pomade while wet if anything but thats only if he NEEDS his hair to stay nice all day -vriska on the other hand. woo buddy. -depending on how im feeling about her styling, shes either full 17 step curly hair routine or blowdried + straightened + hairsprayed until its crunchy even if her hair is naturally already straight -like im sorry shes SO emo -i think a lot of that stemmed from the sort of persona she put on to protect herself that ended up becoming her taste Anyway -the full face of makeup + done hair carries a very Intentional feeling that makes her seem a little less off the wall, has-no-clue-what-shes-doing than she really IS -ultimately its about control! having more control over the interpersonal dynamics and the flow of things based on the kind of assumptions people make about her based on the way she presents herself -dave was doing his similarly insane hair routine at 13 14 15 for the same exact reasons -dont let her fool you though its all smoke and mirrors -when she was in her teens it was definitely a full coverage foundation + powder foundation + pencil liner for EVERYTHING situation and loads of dark eyeshadow -in her adulthood though i think shed be alright with like. a much more lightweight base like bbcream or even just concealer in spots for daily wear and she saves the full face beat for more special occasions like dates and shit -as much as i think dave finds later on in life that he actually kinda enjoys cooking, hes not up making a Full Breakfast every day -theyre both perfectly fine with like. toast and microwave breakfast sausage to eat -vriska however is not to be trusted with the stove. she sucks SO bad at cooking save for the few dishes shes ruined enough times that shes got the experience to do it right -both of them are horrible caffeine fiends. they will drink soda or energy drinks with breakfast and then wonder why their fucking stomachs hurt later -i think in the case of NEEDING caffeine vriska is much more varied in her intake sources--energy drinks, soda, coffee, and tea are all viable options depending on how much energy she feels she needs -dave though... he feels like the "starts with an energy drink and only drinks other stuff when he has a craving" kinda guy

-though maybe thats the raging adhd you tell me -their bed is almost never ever made and both of them live in organized chaos. whether or not they ENJOY the chaos is a different story entirely -vriska is a blanket hog AND a pillow hog so they eventually had to settle on each having their own blankets -vriska loathes mint toothpaste and dave is a cinnamon toothpaste guy so you can imagine how much of a eureka moment vriska had the first time she spent the night -and yes that means she was just bearing with the mint because she had no clue there was any other option -uhhhhh i cant think of much else more on this topic i hope u enjoyed <3

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Mark Sumner at Daily Kos:

Donald Trump's theft of classified documents was worse than anyone knew, as additional documents were released Tuesday showing that, months after the FBI search of Mar-a-Lago, documents were found in Trump’s bedroom and classified material was allegedly copied to a laptop for Trump’s Save America PAC. 

Trump’s legal team is currently attempting to have all of the evidence thrown out, claiming that the search was unconstitutional and “illegal.” Judge Aileen Cannon is set to hold a hearing on Wednesday on a defense motion to completely dismiss the charges against Trump. How does The New York Times cover this—new evidence in what is arguably the biggest presidential scandal in history and a Trump-appointed judge holding the case in her hands—on its front page? It doesn’t. The Times does have a story on the documents, but it's hidden inside under the headline "Trump Lawyers Accuse Prosecutors of Misconduct in Documents Case." Like the headline, the first paragraph of the story focuses on how federal prosecutors are fighting “allegations of misconduct and politicization in how the government handled the investigation that led to an indictment accusing Mr. Trump of illegally holding on to classified documents after he left office.”

[...] Contrast this with The Washington Post coverage headlined “Unsealed motions in Trump’s Fla. case suggest new evidence of possible obstruction.” This article does more than announce that supporting documents were released. It even mentions how the documents contain evidence that a Trump employee avoided the view of security cameras when moving boxes of documents. The Post article also discusses how the FBI search warrant included standard language authorizing the use of deadly force, which Trump is now trying to politicize with claims that President Joe Biden sent the FBI to Mar-a-Lago to assassinate him.  Better still, contrast The New York Times’ coverage with how it covered the story when former FBI Director James Comey announced that the agency was reopening its investigation into Hillary Clinton’s emails. The day after Comey spoke, every single column of the Times’ front page was devoted to the possibility that a document might appear on a laptop.  [...]

It’s not as if The New York Times doesn’t cover some Trump scandals. It had daily coverage of Trump’s criminal trial over charges of falsifying classified documents. With the trial happening blocks from its offices, that was a bit hard to avoid.  And it did dispatch Maggie Haberman, so she was there to hear former Trump fixer Michael Cohen testify that she was one of his go-to choices when he wanted to find someone to write favorable news about Trump. David Pecker, former publisher of The National Enquirer, disclosed new details during his testimony about the “catch-and-kill” deal that he, Cohen, and Trump worked out to protect Trump’s 2016 run for the White House. But it’s clear that Trump no longer needs that deal. Congratulations, Mr. Sulzberger. You’re the new David Pecker.

The New York Times seeks to help enable Donald Trump's crime spree by giving more attention to right-wing pseudo-scandals designed to hurt Joe Biden than Trump's actual crimes and scandals.

[melancholicbutterflies]

Hellmouth | Chapter 1

Summary: After nearly a millennium of being away, Angel lands on Earth, finding herself in 1960s Memphis, Tennessee.

Tags/Warnings: vampire!Elvis, angel!reader, dark!Elvis, controlling!Elvis, religious overtones, mystery/horror elements.

Author's Note: At long last! First chapter of approx. 4 chapters planned.

Word Count: 4,043

The angels were talking loudly today. Normally you’d let this pass, focusing on your tasks. You had quite a few humans under your wing, so-to-speak, and because of your stellar performance you’d only acquired more in recent decades. One such human was Daphne Willows, and she wasn’t audible in the same way she had been previously to you. Something must have happened, and so you did something out of the ordinary. Once securing approval through the proper channels, you traveled down to earth, taking on a human appearance. 

It had been so long since you were in the human world that your sense of fashion and behaviors had required a good deal of tweaking. Spying on a few humans out and about, you watched them for some time to understand their mannerisms and clothing choices. Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; certainly, the dress code had changed quite a bit. In place of the more lengthy skirts females wore, you now found knee-high, tight fits and blouses and dresses that dipped low. Even stockings, which as you understood it were for coverage, had become sheer and more for a statement than practicality. Makeup, used to make one’s face prettier (for the male gender, of all things), too, had advanced, becoming a spectacle on a woman’s face with highly pronounced eyes and eyebrow arches. The hairstyle of today was the oddest; many women had taken to wearing their hair straight, but with a beehive sort of look, piling hair at the crown of their head and descending in a curl toward the end. All this had taken milliseconds for you to fashion upon your being, yet you pitied the humans who were forced to contend with it daily. 

Daphne lived in a town called Memphis, in the US state of Tennessee. Your knowledge of human affairs was limited, and over time had whittled down to near nothingness; there was nothing required in your job title to understand their customs beyond the need to do your job, and so it was easily forgotten in the millenia or so you’d left the earth yourself. This suited the higher powers, as they emphasized a need to maintain distance between humans and angels. You didn’t understand why, at first, but at one point in time you had a fellow angel you might have called something akin to a friend in the human world lose their angelic powers (including a stripping of their wings, which was not unlike losing one’s identity, and nevertheless extremely painful) due to an inappropriate dalliance with a non-angel being. They were, incidentally, human; you couldn’t imagine how much worse the consequences would have been if it had been an unholy being. At the very least, one would be cut off from heaven entirely. 

Memphis was hot. It appeared to have bustling tourism, with people milling about on nearly every corner. You suspected this had something to do with the number of buildings with music notes on them; on one you read ‘Sun Studios’, with many tourists crowding around the perimeter taking pictures and loitering with their eyes peeled inside the dark interior, as if they might spot something of interest. 

Humans were funny. 

Suddenly your stomach gurgled, and you stopped in the street, much to a driver’s discontent. You watched him drive around you, yelling blasphemous words, before hitting the gas. Humans really could be so short-tempered. Then you remembered that, as a human, you were now susceptible to all the many states and ailments of their kind. One such one, you distantly recalled, was hunger. Grimacing, you continued to pace the downtown until you found an establishment that would serve the energy resource. Unfortunately, upon entering a diner, your simple-minded drive made it difficult to locate something with which to fill your stomach. The waitress, a haggard woman with stains on her pinstripe apron, arrived with a pot of black-looking sludge which she used to fill your cup, and pulled out a pad of paper and writing utensil. 

“What can I get you?” She asked. 

“What do you recommend on the menu?” 

Her eyes never left her pad of paper. “Steak and fries. What will you have?”

You glanced back down, looking at the poorly made depiction. “Yes, I’ll have that.” 

“Will that be all?” 

“Yes,” you said again. You looked out the window, thinking again how peculiar it was that you couldn’t sense your charge’s exact location. Fortunately, you recalled where she lived, and would go at once. As soon as you received your order, you ate quickly, only narrowly avoiding spilling on your dress. As you rose you noticed an older man’s gaze on you, mid-bite on his hamburger, looking shocked. Perhaps you’d eaten too quickly, or inappropriately in some way. Nevermind, you had no time for the minutia of their manners. However, the woman came to you now looking angry. 

“I didn’t just catch you tryin’ to just dine and dash, now did I?”

Your head tilted in confusion. “Dine and… dash?” 

“Yes, leave without paying the bill. Are you simple? Not from here?” Her outburst drew the attention of restaurant-goers. If you were human, or here on Earth for a longer duration of time to adapt, you might have felt something like shame or embarrassment. Instead, you very matter-of-factly replied: “how much does it cost?” 

“It’s 4 bucks fifty, with tip. You got that on you?” She eyed you skeptically, seeing no pockets on your dress. 

The amount materialized on the table, beside your cleaned plate. 

“There you are.” You turned back toward the door.

The waitress’ eyes bulged. “But-but, that wasn’t there when-”

Hearing the bell on top of the door chime behind you, you took some steps away from the diner to an alleyway to transport yourself to the house from memory. In doing so, you’d missed the man on the floor sitting in his own filth, an unmarked jug pressed to his lip as he cried, “What the - damn, I gotta get me off the bottle-!” 

430 Bismark Road was in a cul-de-sac set off from the main road with nice manicured lawns and friendly folks sitting on their porches. It was the sort of neighborhood you’d come to learn was ‘darling’ in human terms. A far cry from the downtrodden home Daphne had grown up in, she bought the house together with her husband, Daniel, who worked as an investment banker. You weren’t quite sure what that meant, but it allowed them to live the lifestyle they enjoyed, and to which Daphne seemed all too willing to adopt. And you could sense for the first time in her life she was happy, well on her way to having the two point five kids she always dreamed of, having already attained the rich husband, house in the suburbs, and white picket fence. It was a regular old apple pie life, so you’d heard, and you couldn’t imagine what could have taken her away from it. 

Ringing the doorbell, you waited until Daniel answered the door. Although it was only early afternoon, his car was parked in the driveway. He wasn’t keeping normal working hours. Strange. You rang again, this time a few more times, finally hearing steps thudding down the stairs, dull and heavy. When he opened the front door, you understood why. Dark circles lined his eyes, his hair was unkempt, and his eyes bloodshot, squinting at the sunlight that filtered through the doorway. 

“Who are you? Are you here about Daphne?” He barked.

“I am, as a matter of fact. May I come in?” 

Blinking several times, he seemed to come into himself. “Sure, yes, of course! I’ve been waiting so long to hear any news – but you…” he took a second look at you, from head to toe. “You dont look like the police...” 

“Police?” 

“Yes,” he frowned at you now. “My wife’s been missing for a few days now. Isn’t that what you’re here about?” 

“Well yes, but I want to hear from you.” You immediately were regretting your outfit; perhaps he would have taken you more seriously had you presented in uniform. Regardless, you will retrieve the information you need from him. Using your angelic powers on a human was illegal, but under such circumstances, the case could be made. 

He looked unsettled, and you put him into a trance-like state that would force him to be more welcoming to your line of questioning. 

“When was the last time you saw Daphne?” You inquired. 

“Last Sunday. We had a roast and went to bed shortly after. I went to work Monday morning and came back to find the house empty.” 

“Is there any possibility she could be staying with someone? A sister? A friend?” 

“No. I called her sister Monday evening and she hadn’t heard from her. Her friends hadn’t heard anything, either.” 

The possibility that one of them knew but hadn’t told him didn’t escape your notice, although you couldn’t think of a reason why. Either way, you’d be sure to check with them. 

“Anything odd about the way she has behaved lately? Something that seemed amiss? Could be anything.” You implored him to consider the words. 

Pausing, he answered, “yes, she had been acting differently the past few weeks. I never could pinpoint why, but I suppose I was too caught up in work to take time to figure it out.” 

“Differently in what ways?” 

“She wasn’t going to service anymore. She always used to be a devout christian, at least since I met her. We would attend church every Sunday, and if not, then Saturday evenings. It was how we met, at church. A friend of a friend introduced us.” 

You recalled this, and the news left a feeling you could only describe as unsettling. “That is indeed concerning.” You murmured. “Was there something she was doing instead? Surely this you would have noticed?” 

“So she said, she was volunteering at a soup kitchen. I don’t even know how she found it, but it was something she seemed terribly passionate about, and seeing as it was serving the greater good, as Christ would, I didn’t have a problem with it.” 

“Hmm.” You highlighted the mental note you made to talk to others in her life, her friends in particular. “What do the police think happened to Daphne?” 

“They visited the house and took some fingerprints and photos. Nothing out of the ordinary, they claimed. They also said since nothing was taken, it wasn't likely anything to do with a burglary. Their working theory is that she ran off and just didn’t have the heart to tell me.” 

“Do you believe that’s true?”

“No!” His forced calm demeanor morphed into anger. “Of course not. I’m her husband. I did right by her. I don’t know why she’d ever get an idea like that–”

“Was there any reason she could have been unhappy?” You interrupted his tirade. 

He faltered. “I… I don’t know.” 

“Think carefully, Daniel.” 

His head fell. “I gave her everything she ever wanted, with the exception of children, which we were well on our way to having. There was no reason Daphne would have left of her own free will, I can tell you that.” 

He was convinced of his own words, and his mind felt rigid now to you. He wouldn’t be of any further help.

“Thank you, Daniel. Be well.” You waited until you were several steps from the house to relinquish your hold on him. 

You were certain now more than ever that there was something very wrong with Daphne.

Night had come to Memphis, and you were feeling sluggish from your travels and interrogation. Using your powers was more draining in the human plane, and this had exponentially zapped you of your energy. Recalling humans laid their heads to sleep in hotels, you found one such one of low-profile. This took you back to the downtown area, which had emptied of the larger crowds of earlier. More of a motel, which as you understood was of less quality, you walked to the front desk, where a man stood behind looking skittish. 

“Booking a room?” He said, taking his eyes off the small television in the corner. 

His eyes had barely landed on you before you understood what he was. 

“Angel?!” He hissed at you, eyes glowing dark as midnight as he immediately assumed an aggressive stance. 

“Incubus,” you mirrored, narrowing your eyes in disgust. He was one of the unholy, and one of the most abominable creatures that there was. They existed off of the misery and taint leftovers that other unholies like vampire and werewolf kind alike had discarded. They were the bottom-feeders of their class. 

“Well I’ll be. A goddamn angel in Memphis of all places. Guess you got bored and decided to slum it down here with us heathens,” he grinned meanly, showing his rotten incisors. To humans he would appear irresistibly handsome, but to your keen eye, and that of other supernaturals, this was a mere illusion for the dirt and rot that his true form possessed. His looks weren’t the worst part – to you he stunk of sin, and that was only displayed in the form he took. “I’ve got business, which incidentally, is none of yours. Now give me a key,” you reached over the counter. 

He nearly seized your arm before remembering himself with a humorless laugh. The unholy burnt at the touch of an angelic, some even said to burst into flames; the reverse was not said to be true, although it would surely be unpleasant as well as lower your status in heaven. 

“Ah, I suppose you can seize it as you wish.” 

His eyes followed you up the stairs, licking his lips quick as a gecko as they narrowed into tiny flints. “I’d wish you sweet dreams, but I don’t think they will be.” He smirked. 

He wasn’t wrong. Your night brought you a fitful sleep. Nearly drained of your powers for the day, you weren’t able to utilize as many protective measures as you might have otherwise, using what little you had left on the forcefields of your room that protected you from physical harm. The incubus’ face appeared in horrible visions, only disappearing at your wake. These were interspersed with dreams of your charge, Daphne, who flit from scene to scene like an actress appearing in film, never appearing clearly. In fact, even her surroundings were blurred, which was highly unusual. Your mind's eye had sought her presence in a dream-like state once before, and it was never like this. The only thing that became clear was the presence that surrounded her. It was dark, like ink flames that followed her wherever she went. Towards the end you might have caught something red pooling… blood? You couldn’t be sure. A terrifying smile that shook you to your core revealed itself to you, forcing you from your last attempt at rest. It was unfamiliar, yet so horrifying it could only belong to that of an unholy creature. Something told you that it was not that of the incubus’. Could it have been Daphne’s captor? This would mean you were most assuredly up against an unholy. Alas, you needed more information. 

Being in the human realm in long periods made your angelic powers less accessible to you. It was dangerous, but you felt you had no choice but to move onward. The sooner you found Daphne, assured her health and safety, the sooner you could return home to heaven. This was what you told yourself as you sought a different source of sustenance in the early morning hours. Now remembering to pay, your breakfast went seamlessly, and you felt recharged enough to tackle the day. Daphne had three close friends varying in intimacy, and one sibling, her sister Sarah, who she’d reacquainted with later in her married life. Her friends were located only twenty minutes or so from her neighborhood, while Sarah was located approximately three-hours northeast in Nashville. You vowed to preserve your powers today, and would forego teleportation in favor of driving. If you made good time, you could return to Memphis by sundown and resume your search. 

You quickly learned that Daphne’s friends were in the dark about her extracurriculars, all except for one that was. 

Mary Jane. She was a forthright woman, which you could respect. She brewed you some coffee and revealed Daphne had talked about meeting someone at the soup kitchen. 

“What kind of someone?” You’d asked. 

“A man. I don’t know his name,” she shrugged, “she’d never said, but he was a real charmer apparently.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You don’t think Daphne had an affair, do you?” 

Mary Jane looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. If she did, I don’t think she could have fibbed so easily. She’s a terrible liar,” she gave a sardonic laugh, “but she was definitely taken with the man. I think it made her feel awful about it. She didn't talk about him after that, so I assumed it fizzled out. But then she got really distant, not wanting to get together as much. She said it was something at home, not related. Now that she’s missing. . .” 

“What?” 

“Well, I wonder if it’s about this mystery fella after all,” she looked perturbed. “Sorry, I can’t help more than that.” Probing her mind, you could tell Mary Jane was telling the truth. 

Sarah wasn’t much more helpful. Her sister had only recently reconnected, and much of her time was spent wrangling four young children; there wasn’t a lot of common ground. Still, Sarah was appropriately concerned about her sister’s wearabouts. When asked about any new person in Daphne’s life, Sarah seemed completely in the dark. “I can’t say. I wish I could be more helpful.”

Night had descended by the time you returned to Memphis. The ‘Night Crawler’ was a night club just on the outskirts of the city limits, with the backdrop of corn fields all around; in darkness it was nearly pitch-black, save for the odd flickering lamp light that was only ever enough to illuminate a single parking place. An imposing figure stood guard outside the door of the nondescript building, arms crossed. He appeared to be checking for identification, which you would be lacking. Fortunately you had a trick up your sleeve. 

“ID?” He asked boredly, eying you up and down. When you attempted to use a simple spell you felt a brick wall not unlike the building’s surface.

Cursing at you, he warned, “Whatever you’re trying to do, Angel, it won’t work.” 

It became immediately clear you had run into another supernatural. But of what kind, was the question. You felt aggravation prick at you: what were the chances you’d run into so many non-humans in one place? Either there was more going on than met the eye in this city, or you were naive to the number of supernaturals that had immigrated to the human realm. The incubus hadn’t been entirely wrong in that angels were unaware of the goings on outside of heavenly affairs. Perhaps to your detriment, you were soon learning. 

“What are you?” You demanded, feeling a sense of foreboding. “I can’t read you.” 

The guard laughed, large chest bouncing with the effort. “It is amusing to see you out of your depth, Angel. I’m one of you. Well,” he considered, “technically, half of you.” 

“A nephilim?” You gasped. “But I had heard you were extinct? Run out after the third war, the rest captured and killed.” 

“Indeed,” he growled, “I don't need a history lesson on your kin’s ways. Abomination, right? Anything that’s not pure angel is.” He laughed humorlessly. 

You remained silent. 

It was a belief held by the most conservative of your kind that angel hybrids were to be rooted out with the same level of vengeance as an unholy, because they committed the most heinous of betrayals by diluting the heavenly essence. Both the parties that were found guilty of committing the act, and their offspring as a consequence. You yourself were neutral, but that didn’t seem like the right approach in this circumstance. “It’s unnecessary, and I don’t condone it.” 

“But you wouldn’t stop it if you saw it happening either, would you?” He sneered.

Two men, or what appeared to be at first glance, broke into fight in the parking lot, their faces transforming into something monstrous. “Hey, break it up you dogs!” The guard bellowed, eventually pushing himself off the wall to intervene physically. Even half-angel, his strength was a force to be reckoned with, and was more than enough to subdue two fully-grown werewolves without further bloodshed. He looked back at you, gesturing toward the door. “Go on ahead, I won’t stop you. But if you cause any problems, you’ll regret it.” 

With a solemn nod of understanding, you went inside, swallowed by the darkness within.

 Third Person Point of View

Elvis sensed you the moment you entered the building. Powerful that he was, it was not out of the ordinary that he was acutely aware of others, particularly females, who were his preference of the human sexes. What was highly unusual was the preternatural need he had for you without ever having laid eyes on you. When he found your figure, standing out-of-place in the crowded dance floor while humans and supernaturals alike writhed up against one another and occasionally against your body, clueless thing that you were, he was mesmerized. He’d have thought it an act of God if he weren’t so far removed from heaven. Indeed, his dead heart raced in his chest, long deceased veins thrumming with pleasure as he drank in your view from afar. If you’d only look up, you might have seen him staring greedily, but alas, a woman on a mission, your focus appeared to be elsewhere.

No trouble at all, Elvis thought to himself, reclining back on the long couch surrounded by his scantily clad thralls. He was patient when he had to be. And for you, he had nothing but time.

To be continued . . .

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