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reasonsforhope · 11 months ago

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Hazel Chandler was at home taking care of her son when she began flipping through a document that detailed how burning fossil fuels would soon jeopardize the planet.

She can’t quite remember who gave her the report — this was in 1969 — but the moment stands out to her vividly: After reading a list of extreme climate events that would materialize in the coming decades, she looked down at the baby she was nursing, filled with dread.

“‘Oh my God, I’ve got to do something,’” she remembered thinking...

It was one of several such moments throughout Chandler’s life that propelled her into activist spaces — against the Vietnam War, for civil rights and women’s rights, and in support of environmental causes.

She participated in letter-writing campaigns and helped gather others to write to legislators about vital pieces of environmental legislation including the Clean Air Act and the Clean Water Act, passed in 1970 and 1972, respectively. At the child care center she worked at, she helped plan celebrations around the first Earth Day in 1970.

Now at 78, after working in child care and health care for most of her life, she’s more engaged than ever. In 2015, she began volunteering with Elder Climate Action, which focuses on activating older people to fight for the environment. She then took a job as a consultant for the Union for Concerned Scientists, a nonprofit science advocacy organization.

More recently, her activism has revolved around her role as the Arizona field coordinator of Moms Clean Air Force, a nonprofit environmental advocacy group. Chandler helps rally volunteers to take action on climate and environmental justice issues, recruiting residents to testify and meet with lawmakers.

Pictured: Hazel Chandler tables at Environment Day at Wesley Bolin Plaza in front of the Arizona State Capitol in Phoenix, Arizona, in January 2024.

Her motivation now is the same as it was decades ago.

“When I look my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren, my children, in the eye, I have to be able to say, ‘I did everything I could to protect you,’” Chandler said. “I have to be able to tell them that I’ve done everything possible within my ability to help move us forward.”

Chandler is part of a largely unrecognized contingent of the climate movement in the United States: the climate grannies.

The most prominent example perhaps, is the actor Jane Fonda. The octogenarian grandmother has been arrested during climate protests a number of times and has her own PAC that funds the campaigns of “climate champions” in local and state elections.

Climate grannies come equipped with decades of activism experience and aim to pressure the government and corporations to curb fossil fuel emissions. As a result they, alongside women of every age group, are turning out in bigger numbers, both at protests and the polls. All of the climate grandmothers The 19th interviewed for this piece noted one unifying theme: concern for their grandchildren’s futures.

According to research conducted by Dana R. Fisher, director for the Center of Environment, Community and Equity at American University, while the mainstream environmental movement has typically been dominated by men, women make up 61 percent of climate activists today. The average age of climate activists was 52 with 24 percent being 69 and older...

A similar trend holds true at the ballot box, according to data collected by the Environmental Voter Project, a nonpartisan organization focused on turning out climate voters in elections.

A report released by the Environmental Voter Project in December that looked at the patterns of registered voters in 18 different states found that after the Gen Z vote, people 65 and older represent the next largest climate voter group, with older women far exceeding older men in their propensity to list climate as their No. 1 reason for voting. The organization defines climate voters as those who are most likely to list climate change, the environment, or clean air and water as their top political priority.

“Grandmothers are now at the vanguard of today’s climate movement,” said Nathaniel Stinnett, founder of the Environmental Voter Project.

“Older people are three times as likely to list climate as a top priority than middle-aged people. On top of that, women in all age groups are more likely to care about climate than men,” he said. “So you put those two things together … and you can safely say that grandma is much more likely to be a climate voter than your middle-aged man.”

In Arizona, where Chandler lives, older climate voters make up 231,000 registered voters in the state. The presidential election in the crucial swing state was decided by just 11,000 votes, Stinnett noted.

“Older climate voters can really throw their weight around in Arizona if they organize and if they make sure that everybody goes to the polls,” he said.

Pictured: Hazel Chandler’s recent activism revolves around her role as the Arizona field coordinator of Moms Clean Air Force, a nonprofit environmental advocacy group.

In some cases, their identities as grandmothers have become an organizing force.

In California, 1000 Grandmothers for Future Generations formed in 2016, after older women from the Bay Area traveled to be in solidarity with Indigenous grandmothers protesting the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline at the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation.

“When they came back, they decided to form an organization that would continue to mobilize women on behalf of the climate justice movement,” said Nancy Hollander, a member of the group.

1000 Grandmothers — in this case, the term encompasses all older women, not just the literal grandmothers — is rooted at the intersection of social justice and the climate crisis, supporting people of color and Indigenous-led causes in the Bay Area. The organization is divided into various working groups, each with a different focus: elections, bank divestments from fossil fuels, legislative work, nonviolent direct actions, among others...

“There are women in the nonviolent direct action part of the organization who really do feel that elder women — it’s their time to stand up and be counted and to get arrested,” Hollander said. “They consider it a historical responsibility and put themselves out there to protect the more vulnerable.”

But 1000 Grandmothers credits another grandmother activist, Pennie Opal Plant, for helping train their members in nonviolent direct action and for inspiring them to take the lead of Indigenous women in the fight.

Plant, 66 — an enrolled member of the Yaqui of Southern California tribe, and of undocumented Choctaw and Cherokee ancestry — has started various organizations over the years, including Idle No More SF Bay, which she co-founded with a group of Indigenous grandmothers in 2013, first in solidarity with a group formed by First Nations women in Canada to defend treaty rights and to protect the environment from exploitation.

Pictured: Pennie Opal Plant has started various organizations over the years, including Idle No More SF Bay, which she founded in 2013 alongside Indigenous grandmothers.

In 2016, Plant gathered with others in front of Wells Fargo Corporate offices in San Francisco, blocking the road in protest of the Dakota Access Pipeline, when she realized the advantages she had as an older woman in the fight.

As a police liaison — or a person who aims to defuse tension with law enforcement — she went to speak to an officer who was trying to interrupt the action. When she saw him maneuvering his car over a sidewalk, she stood in front of it, her gray hair flowing. “I opened my arms really wide and was like, are you going to run over a grandmother?”

A new idea was born: The Society of Fearless Grandmothers. Once an in-person training — it now mostly exists online as a Facebook page — it helped teach other grandmothers how to protect the youth at protests.

For Plant, the role of grandmothers in the fight to protect the planet is about a simple Indigenous principle: ensuring the future for the next seven generations.

“What we’re seeing is a shift starting with Indigenous women, that is lifting up the good things that mothers have to share, the good things that women that love children can share, that will help bring back balance in the world,” Plant said...

[Kathleen] Sullivan is one of approximately 70,000 people over the age of 60 who’ve joined Third Act, a group specifically formed to engage people 60 and older to mobilize for climate action across the country.

“This is an act of moral responsibility. It’s an act of care. And It’s an act of reciprocity to the way in which we are cared for by the planet,” Sullivan said. “It’s an act of interconnection to your peers, because there can be great joy and great sense of solidarity with other people around this.”

-via The 19th, January 31, 2024

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

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Dirty Cops

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: With a dirty cop killing women in the BDSM community running loose you and Spencer have to devise an equally dirty plan to catch him in the act.

Warnings: Kintober Day 22 - S&M, BDSM themes, public sex, oral sex, exhibitionism, bathroom sex, interrupted sex (both of them are cockblocked by the job).

A/N: I'M BACK! Sorry for the delay. This is the fic that has been beating my ass for about two weeks now. I fear I put too much detail into the case, and now I'm 6k words deep into a part one of a fic that should've been a 3k standalone.... oops! I hope you enjoy~

You sat in your office hands on your forehead as you desperately searched for the solution to your problems. 12 women, 12 homicides that VICAP had just spotted were easily similar. All in the same jurisdiction, and yet no connections made by their police force.

Something was going on in Tampa, and you needed to get to the bottom of it before another person died.

You supposed it didn't really help that some of the women had died in some pretty unorthodox ways. Strangulation, blunt force trauma, evidence of rope burns, and having been held hostage but not for long. Things your team was familiar with, but local detectives usually couldn't stomach.

As the BAU's brand new liaison officer, you got the job of convincing the local law enforcement to invite you in. They certainly weren't making it easy for you.

"Listen, I'm telling you there's something here, sir, if you'd just check the case files. We're only trying to help."

"You're trying to stick your nose in my departments business because you think your fancy FBI agents can handle my cases better than me."

"Sir, with all due respect -"

"Fine, you think you can come find whoever whacked these street whores you come and do it." You took in a sharp breath and paused, trying to make sure if you were hearing him correctly.

"What do you mean by whores, Captain? Choose your words very carefully." The warning was a bonus, knowing your voice had already done such a 180 he was probably regretting his previous word choices. As far as you knew none of the victims were wex workers. They mainly had office jobs or were even stay ah hone mom's.

"Each and every one of these women were jezebel's. Cheating, doing dirty things while showing their faces in church. They attended a certain establishment, not a Christian one, if you understand what I'm telling you, Miss."

"It's Agent, actually, and if you ever leave these details out of a case file ever again, I'll make sure to have your badge pinned up on my wall like a hunting trophy. Are we clear, Captain?" He stuttered out a yes, but you cut him off quickly.

"My team and I will arrive later today. Expect us for lunch." You said, slamming the receiver down and finally releasing a huff of breath you'd been saying for emergencies.

A whistle from the door finally draws your attention after a few minutes.

"Okay, Y/N," JJ clapped, looking impressed. "Who pissed you off?"

"Just the Captain at the precinct who just very politely invited us to consult on our next case." You threw the file in her direction as she set down the coffee she'd bought you, picking it up to peruse it. "Where's Hotch? I need to tell him we've got to go now before they change their minds."

"You know you want to say it," she teased as you began walking out of the office to find your elusive boss.

"Ha. Sure. Wheels up in 30, Jennifer." She raised her coffee in a salute to you as you finally took off, getting ready to go to war against an unhelpful police precinct.

–X–

With all the time you don't have, you end up briefing the team on the jet. You have to stand and grab the edge of the table as you try not to pace up and down the aisle.

"Twelve victims, all women between the ages of 20 to 28. He's crossing race lines, so I don't think they're placeholders." In all honesty, this case had pissed you off.

Twelve dead women and no one seemed to care until you phoned the department up yourself when VICAP flagged it all with you. Half of the cases had been closed for lack of evidence, and the other half so poorly investigated that you knew it was only a matter of time before they got boxed up and shelved too.

"The general public in Zephyrhills doesn't even know they have a serial killer. No one is being told to exert caution. There's no local press on this either."

"It says that these women were all killed, but there's no viable DNA they could pick up?" Morgan asks, looking up at you.

"That's right, no DNA evidence can be lifted, but spermicide was found on three of the victims."

"So our unsub was wearing a condom. He came prepared, and we were dealing with a serial rapist who has bridged into murdering his victims."

"There was no spermicide found on the other nine victims?" Emily looks up at you from her place at the small table.

"No. Rape test kits weren't run on any of the other victims because, quote: 'it was pretty obvious what had happened.' The precinct waited too long to collect the DNA evidence and now we don't have enough to locate, let alone prosecute an unsub based on DNA."

The whole team shared in your stressed look then, sending you matching sympathetic glances as they suddenly understood the herculean task you'd taken on trying to convince the locals to invite you in.

Not noticing the awkward silence that fell on the group, Spencer spoke up quickly from his place, standing beside you.

"You know, Zephyrhills is only about an hour away from Tampa. Tampa is the number one hook up spot in the US. It's residents boast on average 14 orgasms a month instead of the nationwide average of 12.5." He seemed pleased with the knowledge he'd just let everyone in on, as you looked back on him.

"Right. So our guy is trying to get his rocks off to out gun the rest of the country. Thanks, Spencer."

"It's relevant. It's says in the casefile here that three of our victims were last spotted on the highway making their way to Tampa, but then their bodies were found dumped in Zephyrhills. What if he's following them?"

"Spencer has a point, but if he's following them, what gets them to turn around? The cars were found abandoned in Zephyrhills, too, none of these women made it to Tampa." Hotch adds, and you make eye contact with him as your next thought comes to you.

"What could get someone to stop on a highway?" You ask, the question so simple, every single one of them knew the answer before you'd even finished asking.

"A cop." JJ filled in, and you all sat silently as you realised how dangerous this next case could truly be.

"We're about an hour out from arrival, everyone get some rest for now, I'm going to make a call to the nearest FBI Field Office, see if any of this is on their radar."

You slunked back to your seat at the back of the jet and sat down again, trying to get comfy but ending up just shifting multiple times in your seat.

Spencer joined you, sitting beside you, so close you could feel his eyes on you as your leg began to bounce. He put his hand over it and, with a strong hand, stilled the movement.

"Y/N, you did a good job connecting these cases." His voice was meek and calming, and you'd generally very much appreciate it if his hand weren't sending your body through some serious loops right then.

Your leg was on fire where he was touching you, his hand hot even through the fabric of your clothes. But when he pulled the hand away, watching your legs for any further tremors, you felt the need to snatch it back and replace it on your leg, certain that it would sooth the burning once more.

You snapped yourself out of it quickly. If you were thinking this way about Spencer of all people, then you really needed to get laid.

"Tampa's population consists of 43% singles, you know. Good statistics for getting laid." You twisted your head around to meet his eyes again.

"Tell me I didn't say that outloud." But his small smile dashed your hopes as you realised you just admitted to feeling incredibly horny because of his hand on your knee.

"If it's any consolation, I'm definitely the only one who heard it." His hand fell back to your thigh, and you twitched as it did, but you didn't move him.

"Fucking floridians and their goddamn 14 orgams a month," you muttered under your breath, hoping that he wasn't paying any attention to you now, seeing as how he'd opened up a book to hold in one hand.

"Lucky if I get even one and Florida man has 14 in him." You continue mumbling as you try to get cosy, closing your eyes and moving your head to find a comfortable position.

“You definitely said that one out loud.” He laughed, and you threw up your middle finger while letting your head fall back and your body take the rest it needed.

Without opening your eyes, you decided you needed the last word, a phenomenon you often found occurring in Spencer’s presence.

“A gentleman would pretend to not have heard that, Spencer.”

“I’m not a gentleman.” Annoyance prickled you at his reply, but you were too tired to say anything more as you caught up with the sleep that had been evading you for weeks.

–X–

Your landing in Florida comes almost too soon, and Hotch delegates tasks before you’ve even had the chance to properly get your feet beneath you after so long in the sky.

This case was becoming more of a mindfield with each of the pieces of information you’d received. Upon getting off of his call with the FBI Field Office closest to Zephryhills, Hotch had informed the team about an ongoing investigation into the police captain’s wife, whose pseudo-Christian church group were spewing vitriol about damn near every group you could think of.

“Religious discrimination, racism, sexism, homophobia and some pretty screwed up views of basically everything else, too.” Penelope had informed the group, pulling up the files that had been sent to her.

“It seems their most recent project is… Oh, how relevant. An adult establishment just opened up on the outskirts of Tampa, right on the highway that connects it to Zephyrhills. And from the boasts of the club owner on social media, it seems he’s telling anyone who listens that he’s not going to get shut down because the police are his main clientele.”

She sent through links to some of the posts to your iPads, and you angled the thing towards Spencer so he could take in the new information as well.

“Could we be looking at a religious motive to the murders? You said that the police captain called these women Jezebels. The name is biblical, she was a Queen who worshipped a false god and was defenestrated because of it, but over time, the uncapitalised jezebel, as you know, tended to refer to women with loose morals.”

“The motives could still be religious, but these women were raped. It says in the case files that Mrs. James’s church group is solely comprised of women, mostly the wives of the officers in the police force.”

Again, everything was leading you back to this stupid police precinct. You grimmaced as you realised that the next few weeks were going to be spent on the edge watching your back.

“Y/N, Reid, I want you both with me at the precinct when we land. Morgan, JJ, go to the church and interview some of the ladies there, see if you can’t push some buttons. Emily, Rossi, some of the family’s of the victims got in touch with the field office to request inquiries, go anf find out whatever you can about the last known whereabouts of these women.”

Now bracing yourself, you set your face in a neutral expression and let Spencer hold the door open for you as you walked into the station.

“Hello, we’re the agents from the FBI. Where can we find your captain?” You ask the receptionist at the chatting to her desk, but just as you finish your inquiry, another officer cuts you off, stepping half in front of you and demanding some files from the woman.

She stands awkwardly, sending you an apologetic glance as she scurries off to go and complete whatever busy work he’s just given her as you quietly seeth at his back.

The officer turns around to you and grins, sending you a smile as he walks off, apparently pleased with himself for foiling your attempts to find his boss.

“Y/N, keep a cool head. The captain’s office seems to be just ahead, I’m going to go and see if he’s there, smooth out some of the issues they seem to be having over here with our presence.” You nod and stay back with Spencer, who takes a quick seat behind you.

You don’t sit, though, too on edge and pissed off to get comfortable now.

The officers seem to ignore the two of you, bustling around you with no sense of shame, but you can tell they're watching you, hearing the low murmur of whispers.

When one of them decides to out their hands on you, though, you've decided you've had enough.

"Sorry, little lady, I need to get through. Important police business." He practically Leeds down at you as his hands grab your waist, meaning to move you aside to her you out of his path.

You don't give him the chance, grabbing his hands from your hips and twisting them behind his back quickly, shoving him face first into the nearest desk.

"Fuck, you little bitch. Come and control your partner, man." He struggles in your grasp, signalling to Spencer.

You grin as Spencer doesn't even look up at him, having pulled out a copy of War and Peace and settling nicely in his seat. You could tell he was on edge though, had seen the slight way his body tensed when you'd first been touched, and knew that if you'd needed it, he'd be there backing you up in a second.

"Sorry, are you talking to me?" He finally said, still not looking up from his book.

"Yes, get this bitch off of me."

"If you ask her nicely, I'm sure Agent Y/N would release you. As for me, I'm certainly not making her do anything she doesn't want to." He grinned as he said it, and you rolled your eyes slightly.

"Maybe if you told some of these other agents here to stop looking at her likes, she's a hunk of meat and greeted her respectfully instead of calling her… little lady, was it? Maybe then she'd be more generous." The man grumbled beneath you again, but before you could actually force his hand, Hotch and the Captain were exiting his office, obviously alerted by the crashing sound you'd made.

"Reid, Y/N, that's enough." Hotch signalled, and you complied, letting the man go and stepping back to Reid's side. He'd stood now, squaring his shoulders and making use of his quite intimidating height. You must seem tense, though, because the second you settle next to him, he puts a hand on your lower back, and you're surprised at how calm you instantly become.

Earlier, his touch had been fire and ice, and now it was relaxing you beyond belief. What the hell was wrong with your body recently?

"Thank you, sir," the officer said, straightening, dusting off his uniform as he levelled a glare at both you and Spencer. "I was beginning to think the FBI was just a bunch of sissy's and menstruators-"

"Cut the crap." Hotch barked out, and even you were startled by the sound. "Captain, if you or any member of your precinct says anything further about any member of my team, or god forbid puts a hand on them, I'll personally make sure this office is charged with conspiracy to murder for not investigating these deaths and aggravated assault of a federal officer. Do I make myself clear?"

The man seemed displeased at having his badge threatened for a second time in 24 hours, but nodded, dismissed the other officer, and finally shut up.

He has the female receptionist from earlier show you to the room you'd be using for your investigation for the next few weeks.

After making sure the room is secure, you place a call to Penelope and the others trying to gauge if they'd found any further leads.

"Some of the family members know exactly where they were going that night. One of them had a husband, said he was going with her, that they drove in separate cars because it was part of the thrill of it all." Emily's voice sounded tense and frustrated, and you could only sympathise silently before jumping in to ask her more questions.

"I thought they said it was an adult establishment? Does that not mean strip club?" You asked, perplexed at why the married couple would be going together.

"No, from what I can tell, it seems these women were members of the BDSM community, and that place… is somewhere they can practice."

"So even if we do somehow get another victim, any DNA test could be questionable evidence because they all left to have consensual sex." You sighed out and ran a stressed hand through your hair.

On your call with JJ and Morgan, you got much of the same.

"Oh, they're angry, alright. About the immigrants and the drug dealers, the homosexuals, and the jezebels. Seems they're working hard to get the club closed not just because it's a house of sin but also because the man who owns it might be an illegal immigrant."

"How quaint and Christian of them."

"Yep, and get this, the club's official title? Women for the Grace of God. There were no men in this group, Y/N. We're not going to find our unsub here."

Hanging up, you let your head hang, the fatigue of the case really kicking your ass.

"Spencer, draw the blinds, Y/N, lock the doors." Hotch ordered, and you listened, quickly making sure that no one was even close to the door. Returning to your seat, you noted the tense set of your boss's jaw and decided that whatever he had to say wasn't going to be good.

"Our unsub is in this precinct, which means we're not safe. But it also puts us in a unique position. They don't know we suspect them yet. We can force the unsubs hand."

You straightened in your chair, listening closer.

"You want to bait them out?" Spencer asked from his place beside you.

"I want you two to bait them out. You already got under a few of the officers' skin, push a few more buttons, and we could get our unsub to slip up."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" You asked, heart thumping in anticipation. You thought you already knew, but you needed to hear the words from his mouth to be sure.

"They're going after women in the BDSM lifestyle. Let's convince them that the two of you are also similarly involved."

He turned and left you with the decision then, leaving you and Spencer in the small room alone.

Your palms were sweaty, and you refused eye contact for a few minutes before he finally cracked and gave in first.

"It'd work." He whispered, suddenly closer than you remembered.

"What?"

"It would work. Whoever this guy is, he's getting off on dominating these women, seeing another man that he deems physically inferior dominating a woman who's already kicked an officers ass… that's enough to get him to crumble, slip up."

"So I'm supposed to just bend over and take it?"

"Bend over, yes, but I usually prefer women to be a bit bratty."

"What?" You found yourself blinking up at his face, even as the door swung open again, another officer walking into the small room you'd been left in.

You stepped away from Reid slightly, putting a more appropriate distance between the two of you before the man started talking.

"Well hello, I heard we had some feds in the office, thought I'd come introduce myself, but I didn't hear we had such a beautiful woman here, too. She a witness?" He directed the question to Spencer, but his leering eyes never left your body, trailing down slowly and disgustingly as you tried not to shudder under his gaze.

"I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, this is my partner, Agent Y/N. How can we help you?"

"Oh, I'm all set on my medicals, doc. You can't help me. Maybe she can if you let me take her out for a test drive?" Your blood boiled as he said those words, and you were about to send a cutting reply back to the man, when Spencer sat back down in his seat, snaking an arm around your waist to take you with him.

"Sorry, I don't lend out my private property." Stunned, you tried to act naturally about your new position, but his hand on your thigh slashes your brain capacity down by half, the only thought in your head running through Spencer Reid's possible sexual preferences.

"Oh, I see how it is. She's a slut, just not that kind. Okay, I'll bite, what's this one into? Choking, spanking? Careful, don't go too far or you'll be prime suspect number one for our perp."

"What are you insinuating, officer?"

"That these sluts you're asking about got in over their heads. Some women like it rough, practically beg for it. Poor guy just did what they were asking." Biting your tongue, you let the man keep digging his own hole, as Spencer kept him talking.

"Actually, contrary to popular opinion, in most sado-masochistic relationships, the submissive partner is the one in control. They have power to stop whatever role play is going on in the scene through safe words and actions, and the dominant role is more of a protective role, requiring a deep level of commitment and care for their sub." As he said it, he turned your face to his, hooking a finger under your chin and then stroking your face as you fell further into his body.

You almost forgot the other officer was there until you heard his grumbled reply, turning your head slightly to whisper in Reid's ear.

"Long shot, Doc." With that, you climbed from his lap, turning back to the other officer with a grin.

"Sorry, was there anything professional we could help you with? Or would you like to go and deal with your little problem alone in the men's bathroom now?" He turned on his heels and exited swiftly, face red with rage at your insinuations.

"Okay. I'll admit, it's going to work. But we're going to need to set up some bait and deliver the profile to them to make sure we have each and every one of their attentions."

"I'll notify, Hotch."

"Spencer, wait." He stopped at the door and turned back to listen to you. "Earlier when you said… when you mentioned that you'd prefer…" You tried to ask the question but it seemed the question just wasn't going to form on your lips so you simply let out a small frustrated humph and let him figure out the rest.

"Y/N, I… I don't know how to answer that question and still act professionally around you."

He left the room shortly after, and you couldn't help but feel disappointed at the distance suddenly kept between the two of you. You were beginning to become much too distracted by Spencer Reid.

–X–

"Let's have another rundown again, just so we're all clear on the play by play on this." Morgan said as you and Spencer were wired up, ready for your operation.

It wasn't exactly undercover, but it wasn't quite straight police work either, but here you were. After giving the profile earlier, you'd noted that three of the officers had seemed a little bit fidgety under all the new information they were getting, all three of them matching your profile.

Unluckily for you, they just happened to be the Captain in charge of the precinct, Detective Handsy from your first trip into the office, and Detective Dumbass, who'd asked you and Spencer all about BDSM earlier that day.

Penelope had filled you in on each of their backgrounds. The Captain was second generation police force, but court of public opinion had ruled that his father wasn't exactly an upstanding guy, a report corroborated by his mother's multiple accidents and trips to the ER. Detective Handsy had a misdemeanour sex crime expunged from his juvenile record for masturbating in public - on the unconscious girl who sat next to him on the bus.

Detective Dumbass seemed to be the police contact for all the local prostitutes. He'd busted at least thirty in three months, and each of them had reportedly tried to turn him in as the John who'd paid for their services.

"Run through it again." Morgan brought you down to earth as JJ finished attaching the wire under your clothing, handing you the small in ear so you could hear updates from the team.

"We walk into the bar, get a little too close for comfort than they'd like, then ask the bartender where we can have some fun around here. She's been prepped to give us the answer we want, and we set out on the highway where Rossi and Hotch are waiting in unmarked cars to give us an escort until our unsub takes the bait and tries to pull us over."

"Good, now, Spencer, do I have to show you where to put your hands, or do you think you've read enough to figure out how to push the right buttons?" From the grin on his face, it was evident he was enjoy pushing the younger man's buttons but you could tell he wasn't doing it maliciously. The two of you were both tense and on edge, and you needed that waylaid somehow.

"Trust me, Morgan, I think he knows where his fingers should go." You said before grabbing Spencer’s hand and dragging him out of the vehicle, not letting him go until you were right by the door of the bar.

You didn't really let him go either, it's more like he caught up to you and moved his hand from yours to your ass instead, pulling you closer into his body as you made to move inside the bar.

He hesitated a moment outside, though.

"Y/N, we haven't talked about boundaries yet. I'm going to have to touch you in there and-"

"You have my permission. For anything." Your words come faster than you expect, but they're there, filling the silence of the night quickly.

"Anything?" He asks, a small play lighting up his lips as he pulls you in closer. You can feel his breath on your skin, and you almost take back your words until he lowers his head. Your lips are barely an inch apart and getting slowly closer as you angle your head up towards him, when the bar doors swing open and he turns and pulls you inside instead.

You recover quickly, trying to focus on the twelve women who need to find justice rather than the many things you suddenly want Spencer Reid to be doing to you.

You slide into a booth at the edge of the bar but you'd canvassed the place earlier, knowing that while it appeared to be a quiet corner, every other table had a clear view of your actions in the corner.

Surely enough you felt a few pairs of eyes on you as you sat down, a little closer for comfort than you expected.

"Well, Penelope's sources were correct. It seems like every cop in town is here tonight." You said, whispering the words into Spencer's neck, just above where his own wire was placed, making sure the words were heard by both him and the members of your team left in the surveillance van.

"Show time," he said, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his lips as you stood. He gave your ass a quick slap as you made to walk towards the bar, and you sent him back a wink as you walked to order your drinks.

Ordering them quickly, you took a simple scan of the room, noting that all three of your suspects were social butterflies tonight. They all sat on different tables, but each had at least another man with him, and every single one of them was looking at you presitorially.

Returning to your seat with the drinks, you never felt their gazes leave you.

"Certainly caught their attention. What now?" You asked hesitantly, sliding up against Spencer’s body again.

"Now we give them a show." He said, snaking a hand between your legs and forcing them apart gently. You'd changed into a shorter skirt and smaller top before coming back out, needing to look the part of the slut they'd already deemed you.

You smiled up at Spencer as he stoked your thigh suggestively, but he never moved it further up.

"Spencer, kiss me." You said, eyelids heavy as you begged the man to take you further than touching.

"Why?" He asked softly in your ear.

"Because a few of our suspects are getting restless, and I want to see if we can tip some of them over the edge. Obviously you're smarter than trying to stick your hand up my skirt in public surrounded by a group of cops who would happily stick you in a cell for the night for public indecency, so you're just going to have to stick your tongue down my throat."

"Here I was thinking maybe you wanted it," he grumbled but complied anyway, grabbing the back of your head with his free hand and pulling you towards him. The kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle the way his caresses were. It was hot and it was demanding, and when he pulled away after a minute and your lips followed his desperate for more he grabbed your hair and pulled you backwards, baring your neck to him easily as he moved his lips down slightly.

Opening your eyes then, you again surveyed the bar, noting that the Captain and his friends were leaving, sending a stink eyed glare in your direction as they threw down their cups and left.

"Morgan, get eyes on the Captain. Make sure he goes home and stays there," you breathe out quietly, waiting to hear the affirmative in your ear as Spencer kept his head buried at your neck.

In another second, he was off you, taking a swig only his drink as he smoothed your hair down again. You do your best to ignore the history pooling between your legs and the haze clouding up your brain as you stare at him swallow the drink, watching a small stream of the soda you'd ordered him instead run down his chin.

You watched it fall and, in a moment of thoughtlessness, pressed forward to lap it up from his neck. He'd spent time marking you. What harm could this do now?

However you rationalised it, you knew it was just an impulse, one greatly rewarded by his hands pulling your hips over his and a growl in your ears.

"Anything?" Was the only thing he said, and you pulled away to look into his eyes again before he pulled you in for another kiss.

"Sorry to interrupt, love bunnies, but we've had a change of plan. Two of our suspects are out, and they've bailed and been safely and discreetly escorted home by FBI agents from the field office. Hotch and Rossi are on the way back. He thinks we can nail him in there and get him to act out."

Pulling back from the kiss long enough to whisper your reply to Morgan into Spencer's mic, you can barely tear your eyes away from the man.

"What do you want us to do?"

"Men's bathroom is free. Hotch thinks if we make it look like you're doing something less than holy in there that it could force his hand. Especially because he's shown voyeuristic tendencies in the past."

"Shit. Detective Dumbass?"

"Only one left. And his name is Dunbar. You'd do well to remember that in the paperwork."

Pulling yourself up and out of Spencer's lap, you took a swig of your drink again as you stood.

"Follow me in three minutes." He grabs you by your wrist and turns you back around to him again, though before you can leave.

"Y/N, we're going to get this guy. After we do, I think we should talk." Instead of answering him, you pressed another lingering kiss to his lips and moved out again, heading directly to the dark corridor where the bathrooms were.

You slipped into the men's easily enough, thankful that it was empty. It was a single stall, and when you heard the knock on the door two minutes later, you were suddenly thankful that it was, because it meant that you could lock the door behind him and not risk anyone else coming in while you baited your unsub.

Spencer placed a hand to his lips as soon as he made it through the door, pulling out his phone to type out a message to you without speaking.

"Followed me. Think he's listening outside."

You pulled your own out to answer him.

"Let's give him a show then."

The both of you discarded your phones on the countertop of the bathroom and suddenly collided again, as if you were two magnets who could no longer resist the pull.

Your lips fought hungrily, and now you didn't pull back your voice letting all the moans of pleasure fall from your mouth and fill the bathroom.

His hands were on you in an instant, pushing you back against the door, letting the creep behind the wall hear as much as possible as his hips found yours and you started grinding against him like your life depended on it.

You could no longer tell what you were doing for the case, and what you were doing out of the simple desire to do so, wrapped up in all of the pleasure he was giving you in that minute. And that was before he started talking.

"You like that, whore? You like feeling my hands on you out here in this dirty bathroom." You clenched around nothing, even as his hands trailed lower, reaching the top of your skirt just as you replied.

"Yes, I like that, Daddy. Please touch me more."

You crashed together again, even as Spencer's hand fell inside your skirt and panties suddenly reaching for your clit. You forgot everything. The bathroom, the unsub, the wire you were wearing. When his hands were on you your only thoughts were him.

You gasped in delight as he began rubbing you, moaning out heartily, not bothering to restrain your voice. Even if there was not a murderer on the other side of the door, you'd have wanted everyone to know how good he was making you feel.

"Kneel," he says, and you listen, getting down to the dirty floor for him and looking up at him innocently.

"Now what, sir?" You ask, teasing him with a smile. He gives your face a light slap in reply, but the sound is sharp, and you can hear some movement outside. You don't get to think about it for too long, however, as he suddenly removes his cock from his pants.

"Suck" is all the instruction you need before you're taking him into your mouth and wrapping your tongue around him.

After the entire night of teasing, you don't have to be told twice. You take him down your throat until you're gagging, but he puts his hands on your head and pushes you further anyway.

"That's it, baby, such a nice little slut just for me." He holds your hair as he begins fucking your face, softly whispering insults into the quiet bathroom.

"Perfect little slut, letting me do this here. For anyone to see and hear how much you like my dick down your throat. I should unlock this door, show everyone how nicely you take my cock."

You moan around him, desperately gripping his thigh as you struggle to breathe. He finally pulls out, pulling you up by your hair until you're face to face with him again, saliva dripping from your mouth.

"Is that how you like it?" He asks, and you nod fervently.

"Yes, sir. Please fuck me now, I've been such a good little girl."

He turns you and presses you against the door again. As you turn your ear to it, you can hear some pacing outside of it as he lifts up your skirt.

You were ready to feel this perfect bliss, right up to the moment Morgan decided to remind you of the task at hand.

"Hotch is here. We've got him cornered. Great acting, guys. We're thinking if Y/N exits the bathroom now, we can catch him trying to carry her off."

His hands stilled on you, and you both stared guiltily into each other's eyes. You kept your sounds up, definitely acting now, feeling as though you'd just been doused in ice-cold water.

Footsteps retreating down the hall had you suddenly nodding in response to each other, faking your orgasm with one last large gasp followed by a few minutes of silence and you straightened your clothes ready to bait the unsub once again. He tucks himself into his pants, and you loudly discuss your plans for separate exits.

"I'll meet you back at the table in five." He says, and with another lingering look, you're out the door and alone in the dark corridor, feeling empty and needy.

It was time to catch a killer.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #kinktober 23

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my-my-my · 4 months ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 3 - Orgasm Denial (+ age gap): Ryuken Ishida x Female Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Dr. Ishida was a brilliant doctor, earning the praise of all those working at Karakura Hospital. His dedication to his work inspired you to become a doctor yourself, leading you to work at the same hospital. Years have gone by, and the staff continue to praise the Head Director's work, but how little do they know how much control he seeks, especially with you.

TW: MDNI! Slight age gap between Ryuken and you (but you're older than Uryuu), orgasm denial, use of sex toys, oral sex (male receiving), dirty talk, slight hints of a dom/sub relationship.

Word count: 1849

Read on AO3 here.

You made your way through your unit, conducting your regular rounds to visit your patients. Reviewing patient chart, after patient chart, and listening to the worries and concerns from your patients’ loved ones, you were weary by the time you reached the nursing station.

But as exhausted as you were, you worked hard for this career and loved being a doctor. You thanked the staff for their hard work today. One of the nurses wanted your consultation on the next steps of a patient’s discharge plan, when Dr. Ishida, the head director of the Karakura Hospital entered the ward.

You bowed your head politely but continued your discussion with the nurse. The charge nurse informed you on the general updates of their unit to him. You didn’t pay close attention to their conversation but noticed him walking away to the next unit.

Once he was out of earshot, some of the nurses and residents gushed about him, “Dr. Ishida is so handsome.” One said, followed by someone else chiming in “he’s such an incredible doctor, his patients seem to adore him.” Comment after comment, praising him for being a talented doctor and leader for the hospital.

The nurse who you were speaking with quietly asked you, “I mean, isn’t that why you decided to work at this hospital, Doctor?”

“I mean, who wouldn’t want to work with Dr. Ishida?” A fellow responded, laughing loudly.

The small group laughed, with you joining in. Once the laughter died down, you shared with the group your reasons for working at the Karakura Hospital. You had long admired the work of Dr. Ishida, and you had seen his bedside manner and care for a distant relative of yours while you were in high school.

You had always been driven to become a doctor, but he set the standard for you on how a doctor should be. He was thoughtful and driven.

But people have always said “don’t meet your heroes.” You worked hard during medical school, during residency and your fellowship, and you achieved your goal for working in Karakura Hospital.

But how would the staff react to knowing their wonderful Dr. Ishida, so dutiful to medicine and his patients, was dating one of the much younger doctors?

When the two of you had begun dating, he was strict, as if he was compartmentalizing his feelings for you and his duty to the hospital as a medical professional. You would see this in action with Ryuken’s own young adult son, a man a few years younger than you. Ryuken was cold with his son, the few times the three of you would have dinner together, but tried to be patient with Uryuu nonetheless. And in private, would talk about Uryuu with a gentle tone in his voice.

From what you had seen about Ryuken, from work to his personal life, control was of upmost importance to him. If there was one thing you knew for certain about the man, he hated rumours and gossip. You never felt as if he was ashamed of his relationship with you, but more so that there was a distinction between romance, work, and everything else in his life.

The nursing staff would be aghast as to how he was like in the bedroom though, you laughed to yourself. The nurse you were speaking asked what was funny, “oh nothing, I was just reminding myself of what the fellow said earlier.” You gave a gentle smile. “If there’s anything else I need to review, please bring it to me, or else I’ll be heading out now.” You said to the attending nurses.

It was your day off, a rare event in your life. You had already planned out your day – reading, reading, and more reading. You wanted to be up to date in your field, learning and understanding any new research that had come to light.

But Ryuken had other plans. The man was never one for texting, but rather call you, leaving you a voicemail stating he would be visiting your place for lunch.

You weren’t particularly fussed about lunch, making something simple, yet filling for the two of you. You also knew Ryuken hated being too full at work.

Ryuken had brought you a coffee, and a shopping bag from a store you didn’t recognize, but he left it alone for the entirety of lunch. Lunch was quiet affair, as he asked you what you had done so far during the day. You shared with him interesting articles you had read, discussing with him new techniques and technologies on the way. Ryuken smiled at you softly, watching the way you lit up sharing these things with him.

The hour went by quickly, with Ryuken preparing his leave, but just before he left, he gave you the shopping bag. “I made a reservation for dinner, and I want you to wear this.” He said, his tone even as he quickly checked his tie in the mirror by your door.

“Thank you? But I have plenty of dresses I could have worn.” You said, carefully peering into the bag.

“I know, but I saw this on a mannequin in store and thought of you when I saw it.” Ryuken remarked, his voice cold, as if he were telling you the time. But you knew he was sincere in his actions. Gifts from him were truly thoughtful matters.

You smiled at the bag, seeing white fabric inside, “I’m happy to wear it.” You kissed him on the cheek, smelling the faint scent of cigarettes, and watched him depart for the hospital.

Ryuken had bought you a simple, cream-coloured maxi dress with billowy sleeves, yet fairly form fitting at the top, nipping you at the waist. It then fell to a floating skirt below. The sleeves had little accents of blue and grey, which reminded you of some of the clothing Ryuken wore, leading you to question if had truly bought it, or had it custom made.

Either way, you adorned yourself with simple jewelry, make up and footwear, waiting for Ryuken to arrive.

As soon as you had finished getting ready, Ryuken was at your door, but he didn’t usher you to leave with him just yet.

“It fits you like a glove.” He remarked, inspecting your figure. “But it’s missing something.”

Confusion spread across your face as he pulled you to your bedroom. He pushed you on to the bed and looked down on you. His face was stern, as if he were assessing you for something. You were nervous.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, as he looked straight into your eyes.

“Yes, of course? But what’s wrong?” Confusion echoed through your voice, wondering why he was acting this way. He was usually very direct, so matter-of-fact in his words and actions.

“You ignored me yesterday,” Ryuken remarked, pushing your legs apart. The familiar drop of arousal came with it, as the skirt of your dress began to ride up your thighs. You shuddered from his touch as he coldly stared at you.

“You were busy, I didn’t want to interrupt.” You whimpered out, as he pushed your skirt past your underwear.

You had decided to wear a nude thong, worried that the dress was a bit sheer. Ryuken clicked his tongue in approval of your choice.

“You won’t be needing this.” Ryuken said, with an indifferent tone, as he pulled your thong off your body.

“But what about our reservation?” You shrieked, “won’t we be late?”

“I cancelled it.” Ryuken calmly explained.

It was then he pulled something out of his pocket. It was a remote-controlled vibrator you were curious about. That was so long ago, you thought. You were casually browsing an online sex toy shop at Ryuken’s home, and he asked what you were looking at it. You made a passing comment about how you thought the vibrator looked fun but paid no mind to it. But Ryuken certainly did.

Ryuken’s warm fingers spread your pussy lips apart, with his thumb circling your clit. You moaned softly as his thumb rubbed against your clit gently. Soon Ryuken’s finger was circling your entrance before he pushed it in. He pumped his finger out of you, your pussy growing wetter with each motion, before he pulled his hand away.

You whined at the sudden loss, until you felt something unfamiliar gently stretch your pussy and something else grazing your clit.

It was then, Ryuken got off the bed and watched over you, his phone in his hand. As soon as you tried to get up, an intense pulse came from the snug toy inside your pussy, followed by a whirring of something pressed against your clit. You screamed at the intensity, writhing as Ryuken toyed with the different levels of the toy, a satisfied smirk appearing on his lips.

The vibrations were relentless, as you felt tears prick your eyes. Your pussy clamped around the toy as its clit portion pulsated at random intervals – you couldn’t discern its pattern.

“I’m going to cum!” You shrieked, as you gripped your bed sheets.

Then the vibrations stopped. Ryuken immediately grabbed your face in one hand, his eyebrows knitted, “you know better than that.” He sneered, to which you whined in response. You needed to cum so badly. Ryuken’s hand flew to your hair, grabbing a fistful, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re not allowed to cum unless I say you can. Did you forget that?” He ordered, the grip on your hair tightening.

You sobbed as you felt your pussy throb from being so close to relief. “I’m sorry sir, please let me cum.”

Ryuken smirked, “good girl”, letting go of your hair. He kneeled next to you, unzipping his pants and pulling out his soft cock. “But even better girls please their master before cumming.” As he pulled your head to his cock.

You began to lap at his tip, feeling him twitch and harden against your mouth. You sucked his tip, feeling the taste of his precum on your lips, before working your way down.

It was then you jolted, as the vibrator worked its magic again. You moaned around Ryuken’s cock, with his steady hand back on your head, slowly forcing his cock down your throat. Tears pricked your eyes, as you felt your pussy throb and spasm, but you couldn’t cum. You tried to steal your resolve on sucking Ryuken off, as you bobbed your head on his cock.

The vibrations were relentless, with Ryuken giving a cold stare at you, watching you struggle to keep your pace. He narrowed his eyes, as he pulled you off his cock, a string of your saliva linking your mouth to the tip of his cock, “you’ve been slacking off, slut.” Ryuken coldly explained, as he gripped his cock, gently tapping your face with it. “But we have all night, so open your mouth.” Flashing you another smirk as the vibrator increased in intensity.

Your eyes rolled as the vibrator continued to whirl around you, while your mouth was stuffed with Ryuken’s cock.

This was going to be a long night indeed.

Thanks for reading! This mini-fic was set to Hidden Face's "White Carousel."

#bleach #ryuken ishida #ishida ryuken #bleach smut #bleach fanfiction #ryuken ishida smut #ryuken ishida x you #ryuken ishida x reader #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach imagines #a writes #kinktober #anonymous #ryuuken ishida #ishida ryuuken #ryuuken ishida x you #ryuuken ishida x reader #kinktober 2024

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 11 months ago

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By: Beth Bourne

Published: Feb 27, 2024

Kaiser gender specialists were eager to approve hormones and surgeries, which would all be covered by insurance as “medically necessary.”

On September 6, 2022, I received mail from my Kaiser Permanente Davis Ob-Gyn reminding me of a routine cervical screening. The language of the reminder stood out to me: “Recommended for people with a cervix ages 21 to 65.” When I asked my Ob-Gyn about this strange wording, she told me the wording was chosen to be “inclusive” of their “transgender” and “gender fluid” patients.

Based on this response, several thoughts occurred to me. Could I expose the medical scandal of “gender-affirming care” by saying and doing everything my daughter and other trans-identifying kids are taught to do? Would there be the type of medical safeguarding and differential diagnosis we would expect in other fields of medicine, or would I simply be allowed to self-diagnose and be offered the tools (i.e. hormones and surgeries) to choose my own gender adventure and become my true authentic self?

If I could demonstrate that anyone suffering from delusions of their sex, self-hatred, or identity issues could qualify for and easily obtain body-altering hormones and surgeries, all covered by insurance as “medically necessary” and potentially “life-saving” care, then maybe people would finally wake up. I certainly had.

I was prepared for failure. I wasn’t prepared for how easy success would be.

* * *

I am a 53-year-old mom from Davis, CA. My daughter began identifying as a transgender boy (social transition) and using he/him pronouns at school during 8th grade. Like several of her peers who also identified as trans at her school, my daughter was a gifted student and intellectually mature but socially immature. This shift coincided with her school’s sudden commitment to, and celebration of, a now widespread set of radical beliefs about the biology of sex and gender identity.

She “came out” as trans to her father (my ex-husband) and me through a standard coming-out letter, expressing her wish to start puberty blockers. She said she knew they were safe, citing information she had read from Planned Parenthood and the World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH). To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I was also confused because this announcement was sudden and unexpected. While others quickly accepted and affirmed my daughter’s new identity, I was apprehensive and felt the need to learn more about what was going on.

Events began escalating quickly.

During a routine doctor’s visit scheduled for dizziness my daughter said that she was experiencing, the Kaiser pediatrician overheard her father using “he/him” pronouns for our daughter. The pediatrician seemed thrilled, quickly asking my daughter about her “preferred pronouns” and updating her medical records to denote that my daughter was now, in fact, my son. The pediatrician then recommended we consult the Kaiser Permanente Oakland Proud pediatric gender clinic, where she could get further information and (gender affirming) “treatment.” Now I was the one feeling dizzy.

As I began educating myself on this issue, I discovered that this phenomenon—minors, most often teen girls, suddenly adopting trans identities—was becoming increasingly widespread. It even had a name: rapid onset gender dysphoria, or ROGD. Thankfully, after learning about the potential side-effects of blockers and hormones, my ex-husband and I managed to agree not to consent to any medical interventions for our daughter until she turned 18 and would then be able to make such decisions as an adult.

Over the past five years, my daughter’s identity has slowly evolved in ways that I see as positive. Our bond, however, has become strained, particularly since I began publicly voicing my concerns about what many term as “gender ideology.” Following my daughter’s 17th birthday family celebration, she sent me an email that evening stating she would be cutting off contact with me.

While this estrangement brought me sorrow, with my daughter living full-time with her father, it also gave me the space to be an advocate/activist in pushing back on gender identity ideology in the schools and the medical industry.

I decided to go undercover as a nonbinary patient to show my daughter what danger she might be putting herself in—by people who purport to have her health as their interest, but whose main interest is in medically “affirming” (i.e., transitioning) whoever walks through their door. I am at heart a mother protecting her child.

* * *

My daughter’s sudden decision to become a boy was heavily on my mind in early September of 2022, when mail from my Kaiser Permanente Davis Ob-Gyn reminded me of a routine cervical screening with “Recommended for people with a cervix ages 21 to 65.” I was told that the wording was chosen to be “inclusive” of transgender and “gender fluid” patients.

Throughout the whole 231-day process of my feigned gender transition, the Kaiser gender specialists were eager to serve me and give me what I wanted, which would all be covered by insurance as “medically necessary.” My emails were returned quickly, my appointments scheduled efficiently, and I never fell through the cracks. I was helped along every step of the way.

Despite gender activists and clinicians constantly claiming that obtaining hormones and surgeries is a long and complex process with plenty of safety checks in place, I was in full control at every checkpoint. I was able to self-diagnose, determine how strong a dose of testosterone I received and which surgeries I wanted to pursue, no matter how extreme and no matter how many glaring red flags I purposefully dropped. The medical workers I met repeatedly reminded me that they were not there to act as “gatekeepers.”

I was able to instantly change my medical records to reflect my new gender identity and pronouns. Despite never being diagnosed with gender dysphoria, I was able to obtain a prescription for testosterone and approval for a “gender-affirming” double mastectomy from my doctor. It took only three more months (90 days) to be approved for surgery to remove my uterus and have a fake penis constructed from the skin of my thigh or forearm. Therapy was never recommended.

Critics might dismiss my story as insignificant on the grounds that I am a 53-year-old woman with ample life experience who should be free to alter her body. However, this argument for adult bodily autonomy is a standard we apply to purely cosmetic procedures like breast implants, liposuction, and facelifts, not “medically necessary” and “lifesaving” treatments covered by health insurance. Or interventions that compromise health and introduce illness into an otherwise healthy body. And especially not for children.

My story, which I outline in much more detail below, should convince any half-rational person that gender medicine is not operating like any other field of medicine. Based on a radical concept of “gender identity,” this medical anomaly preys upon the body-image insecurities common among pubescent minors to bill health insurance companies for permanent cosmetic procedures that often leave their patients with permanently altered bodies, damaged endocrine systems, sexual dysfunction, and infertility.

* * *

Detailed Timeline of Events

On October 6, 2022, I responded to my Ob-Gyn’s email to tell her that, after some thought, I’d decided that maybe the label “cis woman” didn’t truly reflect who I was. After all, I did have some tomboyish tendencies. I told her I would like my records to be changed to reflect my newly realized “nonbinary” identity, and that my new pronouns were they/them. I also voiced my desire to be put in touch with an endocrinologist to discuss starting testosterone treatment.

Fifteen minutes later I received an email from another Kaiser doctor informing me that my medical records had been changed, and that once my primary doctor returned to the office, I’d be able to speak with her about hormone therapy.

I responded the following day (October 7, 2022), thanking her for changing my records, and asking if she could connect me with someone who could help me make an appointment for “top surgery” (i.e., a cosmetic double mastectomy) because my chest binder was rather “uncomfortable after long days and playing tennis.”

She told me to contact my primary care MD to “get things rolling,” and that there were likely to be “preliminary evaluations.”

Six days after contacting my primary care MD for a referral, I received an email from one of Kaiser’s gender specialists asking me to schedule a phone appointment so she could better understand my goals for surgery, so that I could get “connected to care.” This call to review my “gender affirming treatment options and services” would take 15-20 minutes, after which I would be “booked for intake,” allowing me to proceed with medical transition.

This wasn’t an evaluation of whether surgical transition was appropriate, it was simply a meeting for me to tell them what I wanted so that they could provide it.

On October 18, I had my one and only in-person appointment in preparation for top surgery. I met in Davis with my primary care physician, Dr. Hong-wen Xue. The assessment was a 10-minute routine physical exam that included blood tests. Everything came back normal. Notably, there was not a single question about why I wanted top surgery or cross-sex hormones. Nor was there any discussion of the risks involved with these medical treatments.

The following week, on October 24, I had a phone appointment with Rachaell Wood, MFT, a gender specialist with Kaiser Sacramento. The call lasted 15 minutes and consisted of standard questions about potential drug use, domestic violence, guns in the house, and whether I experienced any suicidal thoughts. There were no questions from the gender specialist about my reasons for requesting a mastectomy or cross-sex hormones, or why I suddenly, at 52, decided I was “nonbinary.”

After the call, Kaiser emailed me instructions about how to prepare for my pre-surgery intake video appointment to evaluate my mental health, scheduled to take place on November 15. The email stated that prior to my appointment, I should research hormone risks on the WPATH website, and to “research bilateral mastectomy and chest reconstruction surgery risks and recovery” on Kaiser’s website.

I decided to request a “gender-affirming” double mastectomy and phalloplasty. Kaiser sent me a sample timeline for gender transition surgery preparation (see below) that you can use as a reference for the process. I also asked for a prescription for cross-sex hormones (testosterone) as needed and recommended by Kaiser.

[ Source: Kaiser Permanente, Top Surgery - EXPLORING YOUR SURGICAL OPTIONS ]

Pre-Surgery Mental Health Video Appointment, Part I

This “Mental Health Visit” assessment was conducted over Zoom. The Kaiser gender specialist started with questions addressing my marital status, race, gender identity, and other demographics. She asked whether I was “thinking of any other surgeries, treatments in the future.” The list she read included “gender-affirming” hysterectomies, bottom surgeries such as metoidioplasty and phalloplasty, vocal coaching, support groups, and body contouring. “Anything else you might be interested in doing?” she asked. I said that I’d perhaps be interested in body contouring. I was also assured that all the procedures would be covered by insurance because they were considered “medically necessary.”

I dropped in several red flags regarding my mental health to see the reaction, but all were ignored. For instance, I revealed that I had PTSD. When the therapist asked me about whether I had experienced any “childhood trauma,” I explained that I grew up in Mexico City and had been groped several times and had also witnessed men masturbating in public and had been grabbed by men in subways and buses. “I was a young girl, so [I had] lots of experiences of sexual harassments, sexual assault, just the kind of stuff that happens when you are a girl growing up in a big city.” “So, you know,” I finished, “just the general feeling that you are unsafe, you know, in a female body.”

The therapist did not respond to my disclosure that trauma could be the cause of my dysphoria. Instead of viewing this trauma as potentially driving my desire to escape my female body through hormones and surgery, she asked whether there is anything “important that the surgery team should be aware of” regarding my “history of trauma,” such as whether I’d be comfortable with the surgeon examining and marking my chest prior to surgery.

When asked about whether I had had any “psychotic symptoms,” I told her that while I had had no such symptoms, my mother had a delusional nervous breakdown in her 50s because she had body dysmorphia and became convinced she had a growth on her neck that needed to be removed. I told her that my mother was then admitted to an inpatient hospital for severe depression. I asked her whether she ever sees patients with body dysmorphia and whether I could have potentially inherited that from my mother. She told me that psychosis was hereditary, but that it was “highly unlikely” that there was any connection between body dysmorphia and gender dysphoria.

I enthusiastically waved more mental health red flags, waiting to see if she would pick up on any of them.

I’m just wondering if my feelings, or perseverating, or feeling like these breasts make me really unhappy and I just don’t want them anymore!...I’m just not sure if that’s a similar feeling to body dysmorphia? How do you decide which one is gender dysphoria and general body dysmorphia, and just not liking something about your body? Feeling uncomfortable with your body? And I did have an eating disorder all through college. I was a distance runner in college so I had bulimia and anorexia, you know. So I don’t know if that’s related to gender dysphoria?

The therapist replied, “I completely appreciate your concerns, but I am going to ask you questions about your chest, about your expectations. And then I’ll be able to give you an assessment.” She also said the main difference between my mom’s situation and mine was that my mom didn’t really have a growth on her neck, whereas it’s “confirmed” that I actually have “chest tissue.” Furthermore, she said that while “historically there has been all this pressure on patients to be like ‘Are you really, really sure you want hormones? Are you 100% sure?’ We are a little more relaxed.” She continued, “As long as you are aware of the risks and the side-effects, you can put your toe in the water. You can stop ‘T’ [testosterone], you can go back and do it again later! You can stop it! You can stop it! You know what I mean?”

Because we ran out of time, I scheduled a follow-up phone meeting on December 27, 2022 with a different gender specialist to complete my mental health assessment for top surgery.

Pre-Surgery Mental Health Video Appointment, Part II

During this meeting, Guneet Kaur, LCSW, another Kaiser gender specialist (she/her/they/them pronouns) told me that she regretted the “gatekeeping vibe” of the meeting but assured me that since I have been “doing the work,” her questions are essentially just a form of “emotional support” before talking with the medical providers.

She asked me about what I’d been “looking into as far as hormones.” I told her that I’d be interested in taking small doses of testosterone to counterbalance my female feelings to achieve “a feeling that’s kind of neutral.”

When she asked me about me “not feeling like I match on the outside what I feel on the inside,” I dropped more red flags, mentioning my aversion to wearing dresses and skirts.

I don’t own a single dress or a skirt and haven't in 20 years. I think for me it’s been just dressing the way that’s comfortable for me, which is just wearing, jeans and sweatshirts and I have a lot of flannel shirts and, and I wear boots all the time instead of other kinds of shoes. So I think it’s been nice being able to dress, especially because I work from home now most of the time that just a feeling of clothing being one of the ways that I can feel more non-binary in my everyday life.

She responded, “Like having control over what you wear and yeah. Kind of that feeling of just, yeah, this is who I am today. That’s awesome. Yeah.”

She then asked me to describe my dysphoria, and I told her that I didn’t like the “feeling of the female form and being chesty,” and that because I am going through menopause, I wanted to start taking testosterone to avoid “that feeling of being like this apple-shaped older woman.” “Good. Okay, great,” she responded, reminding me that only “top surgery,” not testosterone, would be able to solve my chest dysphoria. (Perhaps it was because all these meetings were online, they didn’t notice I’m actually fit and relatively slender at 5’-5” and 130 pounds, and not apple-shaped at all.)

She told me that we had to get through a few more questions related to my medical history before “we can move on to the fun stuff, which is testosterone and top surgery.”

The “fun stuff” consisted of a discussion about the physical and mood changes I could expect, and her asking me about the dose of testosterone I wanted to take and the kind of “top surgery” technique I’d prefer to achieve my “chest goals.” She told me that all or most of my consultations for surgeries and hormones would be virtual.

The gender specialist told me after the appointment, she would submit my referral to the Multi-Specialty Transitions Clinic (MST) team that oversees “gender expansive care.” They would follow up to schedule a “nursing call” with me to review my medical history, after which they’d schedule my appointment with a surgeon for a consultation. Her instructions for this consultation were to “tell them what you’re wanting for surgery and then they share with you their game plan.”

[ Decision-making slide to help me identify my goals for top surgery–flat chest, nipple sensation, or minimal scarring. Source: Kaiser Permanente, Top Surgery - EXPLORING YOUR SURGICAL OPTIONS ]

She told me that Kaiser has a team of plastic surgeons who “only work with trans and nonbinary patients because there’s just so much need for them.” She asked about my priorities for chest surgery, such as whether I value flatness over nipple sensation. I learned about double incision top surgery with nipple grafts, as well as “keyhole,” “donut,” “buttonhole,” and “Inverted-T” top surgeries.

By the end of the hour-long appointment, I had my surgery referral and was ready for my “nursing call” appointment.

Nursing call with Nurse Coordinator from the Transgender Surgery and Gender Pathways Clinic at Kaiser San Francisco

On January 19, 2023, I had my nursing call with the Nurse Coordinator. He first said that “the purpose of this call is just for us to go through your chart together and make sure everything’s as accurate as possible.” Once that was done, my referral would be sent to the surgeon for a consultation.

He asked me about potential allergies and recreational drug use, and verified that I was up to date on mammograms, pap smears, and colon cancer screenings, as well as vaccines for flu and COVID. I verified my surgical history as well as my current medications and dietary supplements.

He told me about a “top surgery class” available for patients where one of the Kaiser surgeons “presents and talks about surgical techniques and options within top surgery,” and includes a panel of patients who have had top surgery. I signed up for the February 8th class.

Within 10 minutes he told me that he had “sent a referral to the plastic surgery department at Kaiser Sacramento,” and that I should be hearing from them in the next week or two to schedule a consultation.

Appointment for Testosterone

On January 27, I had a 13-minute online appointment with a primary care doctor at Kaiser Davis to discuss testosterone. The doctor verified my name and preferred pronouns, and then directly asked: “So, what would you like to do? What kind of physical things are you looking for?”

I told her I wanted facial hair, a more muscular and less “curvy” physique, and to feel stronger and androgynous. She asked me when I wanted to start, and I told her in the next few months. She asked me if I was menopausal, whether I had ovaries and a uterus, although that information should have been on my chart.

The doctor said she wanted me to come in to get some labs so she could check my current estrogen, testosterone, and hemoglobin levels before starting hormones. Then “we'll set the ball in motion and you'll be going. We’ll see you full steam ahead in the direction you wanna go.”

That was it. I made an appointment and had my lab tests done on February 12. My labs came back on February 14, and the following day, after paying a $5 copay at the Kaiser pharmacy, I picked up my testosterone pump. That was easy!

Top Surgery Consultation

On the same day I received my labs, I had a Zoom surgery consultation with Karly Autumn-Kaplan, MD, Kaiser Sacramento plastic surgeon. This consultation was all about discussing my “goals” for surgery, not about whether surgery was needed or appropriate.

I told the surgeon that I wanted a “flatter, more androgynous appearance.” She asked me some questions to get a better idea of what that meant for me. She said that some patients want a “male chest,” but that others “want to look like nothing, like just straight up and down, sometimes not even nipples.” Others still wanted their chest to appear slightly feminine and only “slightly rounded.” I told her that I’d like my chest to have a “male appearance.”

“What are your thoughts about keeping your nipples?” she asked. “Are you interested in having nipples or would you like them removed?” I told her that I’d like to keep my nipples, but to make them “smaller in size.” She asked me if I’d like them moved to “the edge of the peck muscle” to achieve “a more male appearance.” I said yes.

I was asked to show my bare chest from the front and side, which I did. Then she asked me how important it was for me to keep my nipple sensation. I replied that it was important unless it would make recovery more difficult or there were other associated risks. She highlighted the problem with the free nipple graft, saying that removing the nipple to relocate it means “you're not gonna have sensation in that nipple and areola anymore.” However, some nipple sensation could be preserved by keeping it attached to “a little stalk of tissue” with “real nerves going to it,” but that would require leaving more tissue behind. I told her I’d go for the free nipple graft to achieve a flatter appearance. It was also suggested I could skip nipple reconstruction entirely and just get nipples “tattooed” directly onto my chest.

She told me I was “a good candidate for surgery,” and put me on the surgery wait list. She said that the wait time was between three and five months, but a cancellation could move me up to a sooner date. Also, if I wanted surgery as soon as possible, I could tell the surgery scheduler that I’d be willing to have any of the other three surgeons perform my mastectomy. Outpatient top surgery would cost me a copay of $100.

They contacted twice, in February and March, notifying me of cancellations. If I had accepted and shown up on those dates, they would have removed my breasts. This would have been less than five months from the time I first contacted Kaiser to inform them of my new “nonbinary” gender identity.

How Far Can I Go?

I decided to see how easy it would be for me to get approved for a phalloplasty. Known euphemistically as “bottom surgery,” phalloplasty is the surgical creation of an artificial penis, generally using tissue from the thigh or arm.

I sent an email on March 1, 2023, requesting to have a phalloplasty and concurrent hysterectomy scheduled alongside my mastectomy.

Two weeks later, on March 16th, I had a 16-minute phone call with a gender specialist to discuss my goals for bottom surgery and obtain my referral.

During the call, I explained to the specialist that I wasn’t sure about taking testosterone anymore because I was already quite athletic and muscular, and that taking testosterone didn’t make much sense to me. Instead, I wanted bottom surgery so that I wouldn’t feel like my “top” didn’t match my “bottom.” I told her:

But what I really wanted was to have bottom surgery. So this way when I have my top surgery, which sounds like it could be very soon, that I’ll be aligned, that I won’t have this sense of dysphoria with one part of my body and the other part feeling like it matched who I am. So yeah. So I just did a little bit more research into that. And I looked at the resources on the Kaiser page for the MST clinic and I think I know what I want, which is the hysterectomy and then at the same time or soon after to be able to have a phalloplasty.

I told her that I wanted to schedule the top and bottom surgery concurrently so that I wouldn’t have to take more time off work and it would save me trips to San Francisco or Oakland, or wherever I had to go for surgery.

None of this gave the gender specialist pause. After a brief conversation about some online resources to look over, she told me that she would “submit the referral now and we’ll get this ball rolling.”

Bottom surgery would cost me a copay of $200, which included a couple of days in the hospital for recovery.

Phalloplasty Surgical Consultation with Nurse Coordinator

On May 16, 2023, I had a short surgical consultation with a nurse coordinator to go through my medical history. This was similar to the consultation for top surgery but included information about hair removal procedures for the skin on my “donor site” that would be fashioned into a makeshift penis. They also went over the procedures for determining which donor site—forearm or thigh—was more viable.

After only 15 minutes, she submitted my referral to the surgeon for another surgical consultation.

On May 25 I received an email from my phalloplasty surgeon’s scheduler, informing me that they have received my referral and are actively working on scheduling, but that they are experiencing delays.

I ended my investigation here once I had the referral for the top and bottom surgery. I never used my testosterone pump.

Final Thoughts

In fewer than 300 days, based on a set of superficial and shifting thoughts about my gender and my “embodiment goals” triggered by the mere mention of “gender” in a form letter from my primary care physician, and driven by what could only be described as minor discomforts, Kaiser Permanente’s esteemed “multi-disciplinary team” of “gender specialists” was willing, with enthusiasm—while ignoring mental health concerns, history of sexual trauma, and rapidly escalating surgical requests—to prescribe life-altering medications and perform surgeries to remove my breasts, uterus, and vagina, close my vaginal opening, and attempt a complex surgery with high failure and complication rates to create a functionless representation of a penis that destroys the integrity of my arm or thigh in the process.

This describes the supposedly meticulous, lengthy, and safety-focused process that a Kaiser patient must undergo to embark on a journey to medically alter their body. No clinician questioned my motivations. No one showed concern that I might be addressing a mental health issue through radical and irreversible interventions that wouldn’t address my amorphous problems. There were no discussions about how these treatments would impact my long-term health, romantic relationships, family, or sex life. I charted the course. The clinicians followed my lead without question. The guiding issue was what I wanted to look like.

No other medical field operates with this level of carelessness and disregard for patient health and welfare. No other medical field addresses issues of self-perception with surgery and labels it “medically necessary.” No other medical field is this disconnected from the reality of the patients it serves.

Kaiser has traded medicine for ideology. It’s far beyond time we stop the ruse of considering “gender-affirming” interventions as anything approaching medical care.

This isn’t the first time Kaiser Permanente has been in the news for completely disregarding medical safeguards in the name of “gender-affirming care.” As girls, Chloe Cole and Layla Jane became convinced that they were born in the wrong body and were actually boys on the inside. Doctors at Kaiser ignored their underlying conditions and instead prescribed testosterone and removed their breasts. Both Cole and Jane have since detransitioned and are currently suing Kaiser.

The fact that children and vulnerable adults are being exploited in this massive ideological experiment is not just tragic; it’s deeply disturbing, especially considering it has evolved into a billion-dollar industry.

I hope that by sharing my story, I can bring more focused scrutiny to the medical scandal unfolding not just at Kaiser but also at medical centers and hospitals across the Western world. These institutions have completely abandoned medical safeguards for patients who claim to be confused about their “gender,” and I aim to awaken more parents and assist them in protecting their children.

This is completely insane.

Apologists online are running around saying, but she didn't mean it, she was lying, she was pretending...

It doesn't matter.

Any kind of security, penetration or integrity test is insincere too. When security researchers compromise Microsoft's operating system or Google's browser or whatever, "but they didn't mean it" is not a defence to a discovered security flaw. It doesn't matter that the security researchers didn't plan to steal data or money or identities. The flaw in the system is there regardless.

It doesn't matter that it was insincere. Because the workers didn't know that. They never checked, never asked questions, never tested. They had been taught and instructed to never ask any questions. They did what they were supposed to. And the system failed spectacularly. Because that's what "gender affirming care" means.

Additionally, the claim that Beth Bourne committed fraud is an outright lie. A patient cannot bill. They do not have the authority. The medical clinic is the only one that can bill, and they must supply a diagnosis and a medical necessity.

If they didn't diagnose her and just wrote down what she said, then they committed fraud. If they claim they did diagnose her, then they committed fraud, because the diagnosis they concocted was bogus. This, by the way, is actually going on. Clinics are reporting fake endocrine and other disorders to get blockers, hormones and other interventions. Jamie Reed and other whistleblowers have documented evidence of this. Beth Bourne is not responsible for what the clinic does. They have medical licenses and legal responsibility. Not her.

Additionally, anyone who actually read the article would know how she tested the system. She said things like, "I've always been not that feminine. So, maybe I get my boobs removed." And they said, "sure." Instead of saying, "wait, why do you think that?" Framing it as her lying is itself a lie. They violated their ethical obligations. That much is incontrovertible. And it's directly the result of "gender affirming care," where clinics and clinicians rubber-stamp anything deemed "trans" based entirely on ideological, not medical, grounds.

#Beth Bourne #undercover #undercover investigation #gender identity ideology #queer theory #nonbinary #non binary #top surgery #bottom surgery #double mastectomy #bilateral mastectomy #gender affirming care #gender affirming healthcare #gender affirmation #affirmation model #medical scandal #medical malpractice #medical corruption #religion is a mental illness

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aquamarixx · 26 days ago

Text

breaking point

faking an injury to escape the burn out, Hiori Yo meets you at the brink of his breaking point and discovers what’s he’s missing; the courage to breathe, to rest, and to finally choose himself for once.

⁺₊ ❆ TURNING POINT 2025 ENTRY ❆ ₊⁺ pairing hiori yo x reader word count 2.3k words tags post timeskip, aged up, hurt/comfort, good ending, hiori just tired of the endless grind navigation

Hiori Yo is exhausted.

Ever since getting out of Blue Lock and being drafted into Bastard München, football has consumed his entire life. The intense matches, relentless training, and constant scrutiny have left him drained, with no time to breathe or process the pressure he feels both on and off the field.

Every move on the field feels like walking a tightrope, with countless eyes ready to tear him apart the moment he stumbles. His teammates are laser-focused on victory, their intensity leaving no room for camaraderie. And then there are his parents.

His parents, teetering on the brink of divorce,who continue to see him as their last hope to fix their fractured relationship. But Hiori knows better.

No amount of football glory will solve their problems.

He would rather have them get divorced than let their dissatisfaction and resentment towards each other fester any further. Because at this point, there’s nothing to save.

No one’s winning. Not his mom, not his dad, and especially not him.

So when a nasty collision with Barou during an exhibition match against Italy Ubers results into a mild sprain, Hiori takes advantage of it. He pretends his injuries are worse than they are, hoping to escape the constant grind of football and take a much-needed break.

The league assigns him to you, a young physical therapist with a promising reputation.

When he first meets you, the first thing he notices are your eyes. Your eyes—so bright and full of life—are a stark contrast to his own, dulled by burnout.They’re so full of life.

Even your handshake catches him off guard, firm and enthusiastic, as if you genuinely care about this moment. You shake his hands, a little too eager, a little too tighter than he expected.

Aah. Must be nice, Hiori thinks, to have that kind of passion and not feel like you're being crushed by it.

“It’s a Grade 2 sprain,” you explain during your first consultation. “No broken bones or torn tissues, just mild swelling. With proper care, you’ll be back on the field in three to six weeks.” You pause, glancing at your clipboard. “I do recommend physical therapy to ensure everything heals correctly, and your team manager requested it as well.”

Three to six weeks. It’s isn’t bad. But if he plays his cards right, maybe he can stretch it to ten or even twelve weeks. Anything to keep himself off the field a little longer.

At first, Hiori half-heartedly goes through the motions. But as the weeks pass, you notice how quickly he’s recovering. By the third week, it’s clear he could be back to full strength in another three.

That’s when Hiori ups his game.

“I’m still feeling some pain,” he tells you during a session, wincing for effect as he tests his ankle.

Alarmed, you immediately run additional tests. The results come back clear—no abnormalities, no lingering issues. But Hiori insists the pain is real, suggesting he just needs more rest at home (and by “rest,” he means gaming marathons on his PC).

Your concern deepens, not wanting to risk it, especially since Hiori isn’t just any athlete. “Skipping therapy isn’t an option,” you warn, your tone firm but not unkind. “If you don’t stick to the regimen, I’ll have to notify your team.”

Hiori stiffens. His plan to buy more time is starting to backfire. Begrudgingly, he agrees to continue.

As the weeks go by, Hiori does find himself looking forward to your sessions. You’re different from the cold, mechanical efficiency he’s used to in his professional life. You’re kind and thoughtful, and he notices how your eyes light up when you’re helping others.

Even when you’re clearly exhausted, you go out of your way to cheer up the kids waiting in the clinic, slipping them candy when no one’s watching. Sometimes, the older patients would strike up conversations, and though you’d apologize to him afterward for the delay, he never really minded.

There’s something appealing about your openness, your passion, the way you seem to pour your whole heart into every detail of your work. He envies it. It’s the same kind of fire he used to have for football, the fire that now feels like a dying ember.

And as he continues to enjoy his sessions with you, the guilt starts to pile up. He sees the extra hours you put in, combing through his test results, double-checking your notes. One night, he overhears you fretting aloud about the possibility of ruining someone’s career or being seen as incompetent.

“What if I’m wrong?” you whisper but it can’t hide the fear in your voice. “What if I’m missing something and it ruins his career?”

He recognizes the weight of your anxiety—the same kind of crushing pressure he feels from his parents’ expectations. For the first time, he sees her not just as an obstacle to his rest, but as someone who understands his struggles.

It eats him, seeing someone who’s only trying to help him be that affected by his lies.

During a particularly long session, you’re clearly worn down. You arrived later than usual, in a disheveled state. Your hair is a mess, a couple of strands escaping your low bun. Bags grow darker under your eyes and there’s sluggishness in your movements. You skim through your notes quickly, your voice faltering under the weight of your own exhaustion.

“So, Hiori, it’s possible this could be an occult fracture or stress fractures,” you say, speaking faster than usual for someone who’s tired. “These can happen because of repetitive injuries or even normal stress on weakened bones. Normally, the body can repair these fractures with time, but without rest, they can worsen, potentially leading to larger fractures.”

Normally, the bone is able to repair these small fractures. But that needs time. When the activity continues or happens again before the repairs are complete, these small fractures can add up to form a stress fracture. In extreme cases, ongoing activities can cause sudden larger fractures.” You were talking a bit faster, skimming through your notes. The guilt begins to seep in.

You pause, rubbing your temples. “I’ve never handled a case like this before, so I’ve been consulting with other colleagues and rechecking everything. Your team manager agreed to extend your therapy for another four weeks—just to be safe.”

“I haven’t had a case like this before. So it might take a couple of more weeks for us to address the issue. I hope you didn’t mind that I took the liberty of talking to your team manager to extend your sessions for at least 4 more weeks.”

Four more weeks. He should be thrilled, but all he sees is the strain in your posture and the doubt clouding your voice. He can’t take it anymore.

“I’ve been lying,” he blurts out, the words sharp and trembling as if they’ve been clawing their way out for weeks.

You pause mid-note, your pen hovering over the paper. Slowly, you lift your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“I… I exaggerated my injury,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I needed an excuse—a way out. From football, my parents, everything.”

Your gaze remains steady, unreadable, as his words hang in the air. Then, you blink, your lips parting slightly in disbelief. “You… lied?”

He looks down, shame written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“You lied?” you repeat, the weight of his confession beginning to sink in. Your voice is calm, but there’s a quiet tremor beneath it, a raw edge he doesn’t miss. “Hiori, do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Do you have any idea?” you interrupt, your tone still measured, though cracks of exhaustion begin to show. “I’ve been losing sleep over your case. Nights spent second-guessing every test, wondering if I missed something crucial. I’ve gone over your file more times than I can count because I thought I was failing you.”

He flinches, guilt carving deep lines into his face. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” you say, the weight of your words pressing down on him. Your voice isn’t loud, but it’s tired, worn thin by the toll of his deception. “You didn’t think about how this would affect me. About the stress, the doubt, the hours I’ve poured into trying to help you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “I know I messed up. But I didn’t do it to hurt you. I just… I couldn’t breathe anymore.” Now, it’s his turn to break.

And you notice it. How tense he is, as if there’s so much he’s been carrying on his back. Your shoulders slump slightly, the anger ebbing into something more fragile. But you don’t respond, letting the silence stretch until he speaks again.

“My parents… They’ve always been fighting, ever since I can remember. And I’m stuck in the middle, trying to hold everything together. Football used to be my escape, but now it’s just another thing they argue about. Another way for them to push me. I didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

The room grows heavy with his confession. You glance at him, and for the first time, his usual calm exterior has shattered, revealing a young man who’s barely holding himself together.

Taking a deep breath, you place your notes down and fold your hands. “Hiori,” you say softly, though there’s still an edge of weariness in your tone. “Running from your problems doesn’t make them go away. And pulling other people into your escape… it’s not fair. To me, or to yourself.”

He nods, his eyes downcast. You hesitate for a moment before continuing.

“And you can’t just admire passion from afar, Hiori. You have to fight for it. Even when it feels like the world is against you.”

His eyes meet yours, wide and glassy. “I know,” he whispers. “I just didn’t know what else to do. But… meeting you, seeing how much you care—about your work, about your patients—it’s made me realize something.”

You raise an eyebrow, but stay silent, letting him continue.

“You don’t just care because it’s your job,” he says, his voice steadying. “You care because it’s who you are. And seeing that… it made me realize how far I’ve drifted from what I used to love. From who I want to be.”

His words catch you off guard, striking a chord you didn’t expect. You look at him for a long moment, your exhaustion giving way to something softer. Your expression softens as his words sink in.

“I want to try. Not just for football, but for myself. For everything I’ve been running from.” He nods, his expression resolute.

For the first time since his confession, a faint smile tugs at your lips. “Good. Because the only way out of this is through it.”

“Also… You know I should report this, right?” you say, half-joking, as Hiori stays quiet, his expression flickering with surprise at the sudden shift in tone.

“But I won’t,” you add, your grin softening. “Doctor-patient confidentiality and all.”

You laugh, and after a beat, he laughs too—a sound lighter than anything you’ve heard from him before.

In that moment, something shifts. The air feels lighter, the tension unraveling into something resembling hope. He came here for a way to heal his body, but what he found was a way to start healing his soul.

And you, despite your exhaustion, can’t help but feel a flicker of pride—because maybe, just maybe, you’ve helped him take the first step toward being whole again.

From that day on, Hiori approaches therapy differently. The façade he had built around himself starts to crack, allowing glimpses of the person he truly is. He stops faking symptoms and begins putting in genuine effort, not just for his body but for his mind. Each session becomes more than just a routine of stretches and exercises—it’s a space where he starts to confront the feelings he’s buried for so long.

When the two of you are alone, you talk about things outside football, like good old friends. He talks about the pressure he’s been under, the weight of expectations from everyone around him, and the way football, once his passion, had turned into a source of dread. You listen, guiding him where you can, but mostly letting him navigate his own thoughts.

It’s a strange dynamic, but somehow, it feels natural. It feels right.

Outside of therapy, Hiori begins to address the chaos at home. For the first time, he sits his parents down and tells them how their arguments have affected him, how he’s been caught in the crossfire of their unhappiness. It’s not easy, and there are setbacks, but he’s no longer running from the conversations that once felt impossible.

By the time his final session arrives, he’s changed a bit. He’s still Hiori—the same sharp-witted, slightly mischievous person you met weeks ago—but there’s a newfound lightness in him.

As the session wraps up, he lingers by the door, his usual confidence replaced by something a little more hesitant. Finally, he turns to you, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I know this is probably the worst time, but… would you maybe want to grab coffee sometime?

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to respond.

“You’re the first person I’ve felt like I could really talk to in… forever.” He confesses. And you see it—the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability he’s no longer afraid to show. It’s not the charm of an athlete used to getting his way; it’s the genuine request of someone who’s found a lifeline and wants to hold onto it, if only for a little while longer.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Okay,” you say finally, a smile breaking through the fatigue. “But only if you promise to stop faking injuries.”

Hiori laughs—a real, unburdened laugh that seems to echo in the room, filling the space with warmth. “Deal,” he says, his grin wide and boyish.

amari's notes: this went on a bit longer than i wanted. this has been a longtime headcanon. i think he'll try to get out of playing football for a while to rest and rot in his bedroom to play games. anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask or even a request! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

taglist: @inu1gf

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #hiori yo x reader #amari's turning point 2025 #turning point 2025

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thyras · 30 days ago

Text

→ of yearning & longing

PAIRING → halbrand | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 4.9k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → just LOTS of yearning and longing (y'all are probably sick of that by now), angst

SUMMARY → as fate draws you both ever closer, you can't help but feel the aching of centuries apart and what they have done to you.

AUTHORS NOTE �� there is a sneaky celebrimbor x reader in this just cause ya know you do not spend five centuries hanging out closely and not have some non-platonic thoughts at times. i may be going on a little hiatus with this for a little teeny bit due to school starting this week. i have lots of homework and will not have time to devote to this, i have a plan for the whole story but i just need the time to execute it and that may be a couple of weeks. outside life calls.

PARTS → masterlist

“Is that really where you came from?” The little voice chimed, trembling with wonder. Her luminous eyes, wide as the moonrise over the woods, looked up at you as though you carried the secrets of the stars in your gaze. Her delicate hands clutched the hem of your robe’s sleeve, and in that touch, you could feel her burgeoning curiosity—a flame that, with care, would burn for centuries.

Your fingers traced the edge of an ancient, weathered page, its texture rough yet familiar, like the bark of the trees you once wandered among. The book felt alive in your hands, a relic of a bygone era, steeped in the whispers of the past. You had carried it through fire and shadow, across the tumultuous escape from Beleriand, a treasure nestled beside your husband’s intricate designs and other tokens of a life left behind. This book, though—it was more than mere parchment and ink. It was a fragment of your soul.

The illuminated script told of your people’s beginnings: the Moriquendi’s deep bond with the earth, their whispers shared with the roots of ancient oaks and the flowing rivers. It recounted the tale of Thingol and Melian, whose love was like a song woven into the fabric of Arda itself. It painted a picture of the grand realms of Beleriand—Doriath’s shadowy, enchanted forests; Gondolin’s shining spires hidden amidst the mountains; Laureandor, golden and resplendent under the eternal sun. Every page sang with memory, each word resonating with the cadence of forgotten voices.

“I came from the earth itself,” you murmured, your voice soft but rich, like the hum of wind over a meadow. “Awoke when Eru sang me into being.”

The little girl’s lips parted, her breath catching as she turned the words over in her mind. Her brow furrowed, and her tiny fingers fluttered in the air as she counted, her thoughts as transparent as the clear forest streams. “But that would make you…” she paused, consulting her fingers again, “over five thousand years old.”

A smile spread across your lips, slow and indulgent, tinged with the mischief of centuries. “A lady does not reveal her age, little one,” you said, tilting your head with mock severity. “It is very impolite.”

Her eyes widened, and her small voice rushed to apologize, faltering with earnestness. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Before she could finish, you placed a hand gently atop her head, the warmth of your touch silencing her in an instant. The faint scent of the forests clung to her hair, and it brought memories of younger days. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to her brow, a benediction as ancient as you were.

“There is no need to apologize,” you said, your tone tender, carrying the weight of countless ages. “I have lived many lives, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, and passed through the shadowed woods of Middle-earth. Yet, it is my purpose to pass on what I know, as I was created to be a keeper of memory and a weaver of stories.”

Her wonder deepened, her small face lit by an unearthly glow as if your words had planted stars in her heart. The weight of the book in your hands seemed lighter now, for in her awe, you saw the continuation of the tale, the promise of futures yet to be written.

“Telling wild stories to young ears again?”

The familiar voice carried a hint of amusement, smooth as silver ringing against stone. You turned your head, and there he was—Lord Celebrimbor. His soft brown hair caught the light as he approached, and a genial smile touched his lips. His presence was steady and reassuring, and your own lips curved into a fond smile at the sight of your old friend.

“They are not wild stories,” you retorted, a playful edge sharpening your tone. “They are histories, Celebrimbor.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and continued his leisurely approach until he stood beside you. His eyes flicked down to the little girl perched beside you on the stone bench. She had been listening with the rapt attention only the young possessed, her small fingers clasped tightly in her lap.

“May I borrow her for a while?” he asked, his voice gentle but carrying a trace of mirth.

The little girl hesitated only briefly before nodding. She turned to you, her eyes luminous with hope and longing. “Can we continue tomorrow?”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at her eagerness. “Same time,” you promised, inclining your head.

That was all she needed. With a delighted grin, she slid off the bench and ran, her fair hair catching in the soft breeze, flowing like a stream of gold as she disappeared down the path toward the town. You watched her go, warmth flooding your heart, an ache sweet and bittersweet settling in your chest.

All you had ever wanted was a family of your own—a child to hold, to nurture, to guide with the wisdom and love you carried in your light. Yet, unlike Melian and Thingol, such a blessing had never come to pass for you and Mairon. It was understandable. The shadow that lingered on the edges of his soul was not a burden that would be easily tempered. Still, in all the centuries and ages that had passed, the absence of that dream was a hollow place in your heart, a place no other joy could truly fill.

Even if the possibility of his darker nature manifesting more strongly in a child had weighed on your mind, you knew it wouldn’t have swayed your desire. You would have loved them fiercely, shielding them with your light and guiding them toward a brighter path. To nurture, to cherish, to offer a soul unyielding warmth—that was the essence of who you were.

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your reverie, his tone soft with understanding. “You’re still thinking of it, aren’t you?”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his perceptiveness, but his gaze held no judgment. Only the quiet companionship of someone who had shared lifetimes and understood the burdens carried through them.

“It is a thought that never truly leaves me,” you admitted, your fingers brushing absently over the ancient book still resting on your lap.

He nodded, his expression solemn but kind. “Perhaps, in some way, you already have what you seek. In the little moments, the stories shared, the light you give to others.”

Your lips twitched upward in a bittersweet smile. “Perhaps,” you murmured, though in your heart, you knew the longing would always remain.

For now, you let it rest, soothed by the lingering warmth of the little girl’s trust. It was enough, if only for today.

“Elrond has returned with news from the Dwarves,” Celebrimbor announced, with a gentle smile.

You rose smoothly from the bench, the ancient book pressed to your chest as though safeguarding its secrets. The weight of it was comforting, a tether to times long past. Without hesitation, you moved to step alongside him, your robes swaying with each deliberate stride.

Together, you walked, the rhythm of your footsteps falling into an easy harmony, as if the centuries of shared purpose had been etched into the very earth beneath you. You hoped Elrond had brought good news, because the project was dangerously behind schedule. And there was only so much time left.

With each sway of the ship, Halbrand let the movements cradle him, like a lullaby he could not quite hear. He tried to lose himself in it, to let the rhythm of the waves wash away the heaviness in his chest. Yet his mind wandered relentlessly, tugging him back to places he could not escape. Memories, sharp and vivid as the stars reflected on dark waters, flared to life—pulling, aching, longing.

The burn of this mortal form was sharper, more immediate than the last. Where once he had armored himself against emotion, now they coursed through him unchecked, raw and consuming. He ached for you. For the touch of your hands, the solace of your voice, the brilliance of your mind. His soul felt unmoored without you, a drifting fragment searching for its other half.

When he had awakened in this new life, the frost-laden air of winter biting his skin, his first thought had been of you. He had reached out across the unseen threads of the world, yearning to feel even the faintest echo of your presence. He had scoured the vastness of Arda with his mind and heart, desperate for a whisper, a glimmer, a trace of you among the living. But there had been nothing. The silence was deafening.

The thought of your absence had carved an emptiness into him. You, who were among the first to walk this land, who carried the songs of creation in your very being. It was possible—heartbreaking, unbearable, but possible—that you had faded into the earth itself, surrendered to your grief for him. The thought sent shards of pain through him, sharper than any blade.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and his strength returned, faint signs began to emerge, like footprints in the snow. In dreams, he found you. Glimpses of your face, your eyes—those luminous, eternal eyes—would appear to him, soft and shining, filled with the golden light of Laureandor’s unending dawns.

In these dreams, you were radiant as you had been in the days of your joy. He would see you wandering among the gardens of that sacred city, the eternal sunrise painting your skin in hues of warmth. He would reach for you, yearning to touch the softness of your shoulders, to trace his fingers along your arms, to hold you as he had in those golden days. He would try, so desperately, to drink in the memory of your scent—jasmine, lilac, and the faint sweetness of raspberries—an essence burned into his soul as deeply as your name.

But it never came to pass. Before you could even acknowledge that he was searching for you—and you almost had, on more than one occasion—the shadows of Morgoth’s curse would rise, relentless and cruel. They dragged you away from him, shrouding your presence in darkness and sending him back into his own mind. Each time, the pain surged through him like a tidal wave, dropping him to his knees in the prison of his thoughts. He would cry out, his voice raw, begging to touch you, to hold you, to feel even the faintest trace of your light once more.

It was not until he had regained moderate strength, his resolve steeled against the ever-looming shadow, that he managed to push past it and reach you again. This time, the veil parted, and he saw you.

The scene unfolded like a long-lost dream: you, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, your beauty ethereal and untouched by the years. You sat at your dressing table, a brush gliding through your hair with deliberate, graceful strokes, and your lips parted slightly as you hummed a melody. It was a song he knew well—one you had sung in the golden days of Laureandor, when life felt eternal and untainted. He had heard it many times, lying in bed and watching you with quiet reverence, soaking in the warmth of your presence, your radiance.

“Mori?” His voice trembled as it left him, his shadows quaking around the edges of your sanctuary, a fragile boundary between worlds. Yet you did not turn. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment met his call.

Moments passed, heavy and laden with hope and despair, until your movements stilled. The brush in your hand hovered above the table, and your gaze fell to the small jewelry box resting there. Your fingers reached out, trembling ever so slightly as they hovered over the box’s delicate clasp, hesitating as though the act of opening it would summon something too painful to bear.

He stepped closer, his presence behind you a silent echo of who he had been. As you unclasped the box, the faint creak of its hinges seemed to reverberate through the room, a sound both tender and haunting. Inside, nestled in the velvet lining, lay a chain and a ring—the very ones he had forged for you.

The sight of them hit him like a blow, a torrent of emotions flooding through him. The memories surged—of molten metal and careful hands, of pouring himself into the craft, shaping his love and devotion into something tangible. He had made the chain and blue jewel to rest lightly against your skin, the ring to shine as brightly as the Two Great Lamps that they were forged under, unknowing of why he yearned to craft a marvel. All when he was your Mairon. Your sweet Mairon.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it hovered just behind your shoulder, yearning to touch you, to reclaim even a fragment of what they had once shared. But the shadows still lingered, cruelly mocking him, as if to remind him that he could watch, he could ache, but he could not hold you—not yet.

You slammed the jewelry box closed and turned away, the sharp snap echoing through the room. The pain of your mark flared again, forcing you to retreat from the part of him that had once been poured so fully into that ring and chain. The sight of your reaction caused his anger to flare, a shadowy frustration that burned hotter as his eyes drifted to your wrist. The mark there pulsed with darkness, black tendrils crawling like living veins up your skin, a visible reminder of Morgoth’s curse.

But then, in a moment that stole his breath, your hand rose instinctively to the golden chain around your neck. Your fingers brushed over the crimson jewel nestled against your skin, caressing it softly. As if in answer, the darkness on your wrist began to fade, the tendrils retreating as though repelled by the warmth emanating from the chain.

His chain.

It seemed to bring you no pain, even in the face of the shadows. Unlike the jewelry in the box, this piece of his work had not been tainted. He realized with awe that the elven hands that had enhanced it in its making had infused it with a power greater than he had imagined. It radiated warmth, a steady comfort amidst the storm of darkness and shadow that plagued you both.

He remembered the night it was placed around his own neck, a gift for a moment of unity and love. He had been hesitant, even fearful, as the chain hovered above him. He had known its nature—that it would burn him if his soul was not pure of light. The stone would have seared his skin and marked his darkened fingers if the darkness in him had prevailed.

But that had not happened.

In your presence, beneath your unwavering light, he had bathed in something he had thought lost to him. The darkness had been pushed back, retreating into the recesses of his being. For that fleeting time, he had become whole again. He had become your Mairon.

You had turned his heart pure, if only for a moment. And in that moment, his whole being had prospered, the shadows receding as the brilliance of your love and light filled the void within him. Even now, the memory of that time was a beacon in his mind, a reminder of who he had been and who he might yet become.

He had pulled away from your mind, granting you a brief moment of solace. But his absence was only temporary. He returned, filling your mind with his deepest, most desperate desires. Shadows crept in again, curling around you as he reached out, hoping—aching—that you might welcome him this time. Welcome him with your warmth. With your light.

“Nightmares again?”

The voice pulled him abruptly from his reverie. Halbrand’s gaze shifted to Diarmid, whose head had lifted from his makeshift pillow, the dim glow of the ship’s lantern casting shadows across his weathered face. The old man’s eyes were sharp, even in the low light, watching him with a curious, almost knowing expression.

Halbrand hesitated. His instinct was to keep his thoughts buried, locked away where no one could reach them. Yet, there was something about Diarmid’s persistent, uninvited concern that made resistance seem futile. The old man had a knack for prying, for picking at the seams of Halbrand’s carefully guarded silence. At times, it irritated him to no end.

But tonight? Tonight, he found himself willing to entertain it.

“Something like that,” Halbrand said at last, his voice low and rough, as though the shadows in his mind lingered still. He leaned back against the ship’s support the cool air brushing against his skin, though it did little to quell the heat of the turmoil within.

Diarmid’s brow furrowed slightly, his curiosity sharpening. “Dreams, then? Or memories?”

Halbrand’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Does it matter?”

The old man shrugged, sitting up more, but his gaze remained unwavering. “Only if you think it does.”

Halbrand said nothing, his eyes drifting around the cargo hold. The waves lapped against the hull, their rhythm both soothing and relentless, much like the memories that refused to leave him. He could still feel the ghost of you in his mind, the ache of what he’d shown you, the fragile hope that you might yet answer his call.

He exhaled slowly before speaking. “I’ve done evil,” Halbrand admitted, his voice low and rough, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows of the night instead of the old man beside him.

“All of us have done things we care not to admit,” Diarmid replied, his tone laced with a quiet understanding.

Halbrand chuckled bitterly to himself. If he only knew. His mind drifted back to you, to the weight of his greatest sin: the evil he had cast like a shadow over your life. Even now, he could feel the heaviness of your hairpiece tucked into the waistband of his pants, the cold metal pressing against his skin. It was a token he could not part with, tarnished by time and freezing temperatures, yet priceless beyond measure.

He had gone back for it, braving danger and decay to retrieve a piece of you. To him, it was a relic—a tangible fragment of the happiest memory he possessed. He clutched it like a lifeline, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could bask in the light of that moment once more. But that light was gone, and the darkness of his choices had set a path that could not be undone.

His plan, even now delayed, was in motion. And with every passing day, he drew closer to you.

“That trinket you carry,” Diarmid’s voice cut into his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “A family heirloom? Or perhaps a token of a lost love?”

Halbrand’s eyes darkened as they snapped to the old man, his glare sharp and unyielding. But then, to his own surprise, he spoke the truth.

“It was my wife’s,” he murmured softly, his voice a shadow of itself.

“Lost, then?” Diarmid asked, his expression solemn but kind.

Halbrand shrugged, the gesture dismissive, though the pain in his chest betrayed his indifference. “I am unsure.”

Diarmid nodded slowly. “Did she know of this evil that you had done?”

Halbrand’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. The truth of it was inescapable. You had known. You had always known. And despite that knowledge, you had remained devoted to him, loving him with a fierceness that sometimes bordered on blind faith. You had stood by him, willing to follow wherever he led, even when it cost you dearly.

To be worshipped by the one he loved—by you—had been a divine feeling. One that lingered even now, haunting him.

“Then do not dwell in what was,” Diarmid said after a moment, his voice calm and steady. “For all is forgiven to her.”

But Halbrand knew better. Forgiveness was a lie. He had burned your world down, not once but countless times over. He had tried to repent, to make amends for the ruin he had caused, but when the cost became clear—eternal separation, eternal damnation for the both of you—he had fled. He had run from the truth of what his true repentance required. Not able to accept the words of beings that had once hunted him down like an animal.

“Now you must find forgiveness in yourself,” Diarmid continued, breaking through the silence. “You are here, with the hope of seeing her once more, wherever she might be. All because you have chosen good on this day.”

“And what of tomorrow?” Halbrand asked, his voice heavy with the weight of his doubts.

“You choose it again,” Diarmid said simply. “And then the next day, and the day after that, until it is part of your nature.” A soft smile crossed the old man’s lips, his words as gentle as the first light of dawn.

Halbrand said nothing, his mind swimming with memories of what he had once been.

Mairon had been good. He had loved, deeply and without restraint. He had danced in the light, sung with his whole fëa, and devoted himself to the one who had been his guiding star. Day after day, he had chosen to be admirable, to be worthy of the love you gave so freely.

Sauron, though… Sauron was irredeemable in the eyes of all but one.

Yours.

You had clung to the hope that the light could penetrate the shadow once more. You had believed in him when no one else did, holding on to the belief that the spark of goodness within him still existed. And he had told you once, long ago, that his light was embedded in you, waiting to return to him when the darkness had faded.

But the darkness had never faded.

And now more than ever it crept even closer, begging to swallow him further.

Over the weeks, you had lingered in the hazy solace of your dreams, refusing to wake from the gentle caresses and whispered promises of your husband. His touch, his voice, his presence—it all felt so real in the quiet sanctuary of your slumber. You clung to him desperately, even as he faded, unwilling to release him to the waking world. For when you did, you knew you would wake to the cold emptiness of your bed, the hollow ache in your heart once more reminding you of the loneliness that consumed your days. The sunlight seemed dimmer now, as if mourning alongside you, its warmth unable to pierce the sorrow that wrapped itself around you. His words of patience echoed in your mind, but the longing you carried was shifting—slowly, insidiously—into grief once more. And the shadows whispered to you, their call growing ever louder.

“Everything well?”

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your reverie, and you startled slightly before turning to him. He stood across the small forge, his keen eyes watching you with gentle concern. You offered him a cheerful smile, though it barely masked the weariness tugging at your features.

“Yes, of course, my lord,” you replied, trying to sound lighthearted.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I can tell when you’re lying, Thilwen.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly turned back to the parchment before you. The last bit of correspondence for the day was nearly finished, and you placed your quill back in the inkpot with careful precision. Blowing on the ink to dry, you focused intently, determined to ignore Celebrimbor’s prying gaze. Though he rarely ventured into matters of your personal life, he worried for you on occasion. He had seen the signs: your faraway stares, the way you flinched at the faintest creak of a door, the late-night strolls through the courtyard where you seemed to murmur to no one.

“I am fine—” you started, but Celebrimbor crossed the room in a few strides and placed his hand firmly on the parchment, cutting you off.

“Go,” he said, his voice gentle but resolute. “You look exhausted. I will finish this.”

“But—” you began to protest, but he shook his head.

“No buts. You’ve been working harder than ever, and I need your mind sharp once the forge is complete. We’ll have plenty of work ahead of us.” His expression softened as he added, “Rest, Thilwen. Truly rest.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth of his concern and the firmness in his tone left no room for argument. But instead of rising you only sat back in your chair as you moved to rub your eyes, you wanted to rest more than anything but it would only make your grief and sorrow flourish.

“Thilwen?” Celebrimbor prompted with a raised brow.

“I can’t sleep,” you murmured, a shred of truth in the words. Celebrimbor moved to sit across from you. “I keep having dreams.” You paused, hesitating wether or not to even tell Celebrimbor, but he was one of your oldest friends and was always full of wisdom, even more than you. A child of Ilúvatar.

“Nightmares about your husband again?” Celebrimbor’s voice was careful, yet tinged with the barest hint of curiosity. It wasn’t entirely off the mark, though to call it a nightmare felt wrong. If one could call being driven to the edge by the ghostly caress of your husband’s touch a nightmare, then perhaps he was right. But that was none of Celebrimbor’s business.

“Some nights I see the white towers burning,” you began, your voice steady though your chest felt tight. “Others I see fellow elves—”

You didn’t have to finish. Celebrimbor’s hand reached across the small space between you and settled gently on your arm. His touch was soothing, an anchor in the storm of your words.

You weren’t lying. There were nights when your husband’s presence didn’t soften your dreams, when his whispers didn’t guide you into a fragile comfort. Instead, there were nights when the weight of old memories and distant faces overwhelmed you.

You saw them clearly—people you had loved, places you had walked—now all reduced to ruin. The brilliance of their existence snuffed out beneath the crushing weight of your husband’s oppressive hand. The burning white towers haunted you, their light extinguished by shadow, and the faces of those you cherished twisted with pain and betrayal.

Celebrimbor’s touch tightened slightly, grounding you. “You are not alone in this grief,” he said softly, his voice as steady as his presence. But in your heart, you knew your grief was far more complex than he could ever understand.

Because no one but you could love the hand that had wrought such destruction—and still long for it in the dark of night.

“It is alright; all is in the past. We have endured the darkest of days with our kin, and now we look to craft a brighter future,” Celebrimbor said, his voice steady and filled with quiet conviction. His hand gave your arm a gentle squeeze, a small gesture of comfort before his tone turned teasing. “But please, do go get some rest—you look awful, my dear.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound lightening the heaviness in your chest as you stood and pushed your chair neatly under the table. Stepping closer to him, you placed your hand on his cheek in a warm, familiar gesture. Celebrimbor’s smile softened at your touch, a warmth radiating from him that you had come to know so well over the centuries.

For five centuries, you had known his affection. Though it was unspoken and never crossed into anything beyond platonic, it was evident in the way he treated you. Others had noticed, whispering of how his gaze lingered on you longer than it did on anyone else, how his words carried a gentler tone when they were meant for you, and how his kindness toward you surpassed what he offered even his closest smiths.

But no matter what others said, Celebrimbor knew your heart belonged to another. He carried on with his immortal longing for greatness, his own ambitions burning brightly. Perhaps, somewhere in the depths of his heart, he held a quiet yearning for you as well. Yet, he had always respected the boundaries of your devotion, never once letting his affection compromise the steadfastness of your bond.

For your fëa sung for only one being.

The melody you shared with your husband was eternal, unshakable. It was a song that no other could replicate, a harmony woven in the light that existed between only the two of you. Even in his absence, even in grief so profound it threatened to consume you, you knew you would never betray that song. To do so would be to betray yourself.

“I will try to do so,” you said, letting your hand fall back to your side. You turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at him. “Good night, my lord.”

“Good night, my lady,” Celebrimbor replied with a small bow, his voice soft and reverent as you stepped out into the quiet night, carrying with you the weight of an unyielding love and the memories of what had been.

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #sauron #halbrand #trop fic #the rings of power #rings of power fic

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lorrainepoulos · 2 years ago

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intriga-hounds · 1 year ago

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some updates

i’ve been really busy lately. so busy i don’t really engage online a whole lot anymore. i feel pretty disconnected from dogdom in general, but also from the silken world. then again, every time i dip my toe back in, i just think, “oh yuck.”

work has been going well, but i’ve been so stressed about making things go well that my hair is falling out and my health continues to be poor. planning on seeing a dermatologist and hopefully getting more exercise back into my life soon. honestly everything is going really well except my body finding new ways to let me down lmao

planning on breeding ponzu mid spring, and i’m determined to make that a source of joy instead of more stress. 😌 she has appointments with three different vets next month to get things rolling: regular vet for titers/vaccine updates, repro vet for consultation, and our sports vet to get her fat n buff before her pregnancy. i’ve been revisiting avidog and puppy culture and myra’s books among other things, plus just enjoying my good girl. with @pippindot’s help, we landed our first choice stud and i’m very very excited about the temperaments that i know will come out of this pairing.

baz is excelling at nose work. his instructor thinks very highly of him and said he has been progressing “by leaps and bounds.” he loves it and it is a fantastic outlet for him. due to his severe temperament issues, bazzy’s world has continuously gotten smaller the past three years, and i’m thrilled that with nose work, we’ve managed to make it a little bigger.

sivi is feeling a bit left out, so he’s coming to work with me on friday while i finish grading finals and cleaning up my classroom. he’ll get to do a few nose work hides and do a big sprint on the baseball field, but best of all, he’ll get me all to himself for the day.

as for ollie, i am missing him. i still go to let him out every morning and he isn’t there. i picked up his ashes today, so it finally feels permanent. luckily, caring for him to a ripe old age, plus knowing with certainty i made the right choice has made things easier.

i am sooooo ready for a break. this will be the first time i have no grading, planning, or presenting to do since august!!!!!!!

#sivi #7 years #teaching #text

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suckerforcate · 6 months ago

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This is so exciting!

I love Kate Stewart!

May I request a Kate Stewart x fem reader? Older woman x younger woman ( legal age gap of course)

A one bed trope/ forced proximity/ will they won't they trope.

Reader works closely with Kate Stewart. They have a very caring/ slightly flirtatious dynamic but both are in love with each other and Kate is very protective and possessive over reader and gets jealous when men flirt with reader as reader as regarded as a total catch .

Can be a mixture of fluffy , angsty and smutty😊

I'm so happy Kate is getting the love she deserves!

Pitlochry

Pairing: Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x fem!Reader

Word Count: 4223

Warning: 18+, oral sex

Summary: When you drive to Scotland with Kate and spend the night in a pub where a guy hits on you something in your relationship finally shifts.

A/n: So it's just a hint of the one-bed trope and more of a shared proximity. I also sprinkled a bit of pretend/fake relationship in there. I hope it's what you had envisioned!!! It's a bit longer than I had planned, hence why it took a bit longer. @freshmoneyalmondathlete <3 It's also my first time writing for Kate, so I hope it not totally off-character. I would love a repost, like, or comment <3

■----------------------------------------■

It had been months. Months since this strange sort of dance had started. You both knew there was something, but no one acknowledged it and work was way too time-consuming and hectic to talk about it.

You’d been working for UNIT for some time now, having started there as an exited young scientist just finding out about the wonders of the Universe. And you were good at your job, which helped you quickly work your way up into a bit of a lore important position. You still did mostly lab work, and that was a part you’d never give up. But it was nice to be recognised for your hard work and to be given more responsibility.

More and more often you were right in the middle of the action. A trusted consultant for Kate when hell went loose, and it felt good. To know your opinion was valued by the boss herself. But it was more than that. You admired her, no question about it. What she does and the way she worked for it couldn’t be described as anything else than admirable. But you also couldn’t keep your eyes off her when you were in the same room. She took your breath away in all her smart pantsuits and high heels.

And whether Kate knew about it or she felt similarly, there’d been a sort of charged air around the two of you right from the beginning. It wasn’t unknown for the two of you to flirt even, or maybe especially in life-threatening situations. A way of staying grounded, keeping some light-heartedness to the job was all you could do to stay sane.

You obviously cared for each other immensely, but no one dared to make a step forward. And whenever you thought you’d ask her out something happened. Cybermen came, the earth was nearly invaded, the Doctor showed up. It felt like the Universe itself was against you. At least until now.

Your hard work had led to Kate taking you with her to a call they’d gotten up in Scotland. Someone had apparently seen something that could be connected to a scientifically unexplained phenomenon that Osgood had picked up upon a few days ago. It needed to be looked at and that’s how you found yourself in the passenger seat of a UNIT vehicle next to Kate on the way up to Scotland. It was cold outside. And considering it was November and you were driving up north, that was not surprising. You had thrown a sweater over your long sleeve, but you were still cold.

„Turn the heating up.“ Kate suggested, clearly having registered that you were cold. The way you were practically curled up into the passenger seat and had your arms crossed, it probably wasn’t hard to put one and one together. You turned to look at her and shook your head.

„Too much heating air gives me a headache.“ You explained and looked back out the window. It looked peaceful, just miles and miles of fields and flat land. In the corner of your eye you saw Kate nod in understanding. It was silent for a few seconds before she spoke.

„I have a jacket in the backseat. You can put it on.“ You looked at her and then turned your head around very uncomfortably to look at the backseat. Sure enough there was a cardigan, looking soft and incredibly warm. For a moment you hesitated. Another look at Kate, but she was just smiling softly. It was probably a bad idea and would make you fall even more in love with her. But you were so cold.

So you bent your back awkwardly and reached behind your seat to grab the cardigan. Your shoulder brushed Kate’s and your face was far too close to hers. The sift smell of her perfume filled your nose, and it made your heady dizzy. As soon as your fingers wrapped around the soft fabric of the cardigan you pulled it to the front and sat back normally. With a little bit of fidgeting you put the jacket on. The fabric a little tight around you, but so wonderfully warm. You let out a happy sigh and nuzzled into the cardigan with a soft smile.

„That’s much better, isn’t it?“ Kate said and even though you’d closed your eyes you could hear the smile in her voice. That beautiful smile, the one you wished would always be because of you. The familiar sensation of fluttering butterflies made itself known inside of you. You hummed in agreement and just nuzzled deeper into her cardigan. It smelled exactly like her and that gave you so much comfort.

You felt a tender touch on your cheek, soft fingers brushing over the skin there. Unconsciously you leant into it, humming happily. A warm chuckle, soft like honey made its way through the fog of sleep.

„(Y/n), dear. We’re there.“ The same warm voice said, soft and quiet. Sounding so much like Kate. Suddenly your eyes snap open. It was Kate. You immediately sat up straighter and untangled yourself form the complicated mess you’d brought your limbs into in the seat. You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness around you, just a little light in the car on around you.

„I remember when I could sit like that.“ Kate chuckled amused as she pulled the car key out of the ignition. You looked at her next to you, still a bit out of it from the sleep. You hadn’t even realised you’d fallen asleep. But that soft, tender touch in your cheeks… You couldn’t stop thinking about it, you craved more of it.

„My old body won’t allow something like that anymore.“ She said, laughing, and before it registered in your brain she had stepped out of the car. You hastily put your shoes back on and in an attempt to quickly get out of the car, nearly fell face-first into the mud. In the last second you caught yourself, albeit not very gracefully. When you looked up you saw Kate peeking around the car from behind and grin at you, eyebrow raised. A bit embarrassed you stuck your tongue out to her and closed the car door. A hearty laugh came from Kate, slightly morphing into that absolutely ridiculous laugh of hers. It wasn’t heard too often around UNIT headquarters it always made your heart warm.

„You’re being mean.“ You said, sounding like a petulant child, but it was clear you were joking. You rounded the car and stepped up next to her, grabbing your bag from the boot.

"And you’re not old.“ You added, the actual reason you’d even started that ridiculous exit from the car. Without waiting for an answer you walked away from the car and into the little inn that Kate had parked in front of. Kate looked after you, as soft smile on her lips and slightly shaking her head. She closed the boot and followed you inside.

The inn really wasn’t big and was more of a Pub with a few rooms than an actual inn. Very Scottish, but cosy and most importantly warm. You could just hope the rooms would be warm as well. There were a few people scattered across the room and an old man behind the bar. You walked up to him and his thick Scottish accent immediately woke you up. Half asleep you wouldn’t have understood a single word he said.

Kate came up next to you, and you looked at her, right in the middle of paying for the room. Room, not rooms. Kate suspiciously eyed the one key you had. You quickly wrapped up with the man and practically shoved her through the room and into a very badly lit hallway with creaky stairs.

„I didn’t understand a single fucking word of what he said.“ You told Kate as you walked up the stairs. The whole Pub had an unmistakable smell of spilled beer to it. „I think he said something about the other rooms all being full. And I think he assumed we were a couple.“ You explained, trying to remember the few words he’d coherently spoken and string them together. You heard a sharp intake of breath behind you and stopped in the last step to look back at her.

„Everything alright?“ You asked a bit concerned, it was hard to make out faces in the near complete dark of the hallway. But you could see Kate nod and wave you off. For a moment you hesitated but figured she’d speak up if something was wrong, so you kept walking. The room was at the end of the hall, and you opened the door easily, though just like the stairs, it creaked a bit.

You stepped inside holding the door open with your foot until you felt Kate hold it. Two steps, and you were in the middle of the room, and you abruptly stopped, resulting in Kate practically walking into you.

„What-…“ She started but immediately got why you stopped. Not only was it fucking freezing in the room, and you shortly thought about sleeping in the much warmer hallway, there was also just one bed. One, quite small bed. Your insides practically fell over themselves, fluttering at the thought of sleeping in that bed with her.

„I’ll sleep on the floor.“ Kate’s words pulled you out of your daze. Turning around to her, an eyebrow raised critically you shook your head. Absolutely not.

„Don’t be ridiculous, your back would kill you.“ Was your simple answer, and you stepped further into the room, rounding the bed and setting your bag down on the right side of the bed. You took Kate’s cardigan off and slipped out of the pullover underneath, leaving you in a long sleeve shirt. It was definitely freezing in the room. You just wanted to put on a thicker sweater on when you see Kate remained standing by the door, just watching you.

„Kate, we are grown people. We can share a bed for two nights.“ You nearly sounded like a scolding mother and that seemed to snap Kate out of it. She walked to her side of the bed and silently started unpacking her bag.

A part of you wishes Kate really would sleep in the floor. It was the reasonable part, the one that this couldn’t end well. The bed was too small, the room to cold. Your body would surely seek warmth in Kate.

„I’ll treat you to dinner downstairs. As compensation for having to sleep in a bed with me.“ Kate said a bit softer again and looked up from her bag, now nearly completely unpacked. You look at her, your pj’s in hand and tilt your head.

„That’s really not necessary, but thank you.“ You knew arguing would get you nowhere with Kate, so you just accepted it. Quickly you finished unpacking your things as well and saw her waiting for you. She was leaned against the wall, hands stuffed into the pockets of her pants. She had taken her blazer off and the pale blue blouse underneath drive you crazy. The upper buttons were opened, and her sleeves were neatly rolled up. The sight alone made your mouth water.

You shook yourself out of it and without thinking put Kate’s cardigan back on. You missed the way Kate looked at you in her jacket and smiled softly, her cheeks ever so slightly flushed. The long sleeve and the cardigan would be too cold for the room, but the bar room had been nice and warm, with the fireplace alight. You walked over to Kate and gave her a smile. Opening the door you gestured for her to step into the hallway. She shot you a smirk and walked past you.

Nothing had changed in the bar room since you’d crossed it to get to your room half an hour ago. The old Scottish man still stood behind the bar, now reading a newspaper. Seven people were spread around the room. Three young women, crouched into a corner chatting and giggling like teenager. Best friends, you assumed. An old, presumably married couple sat at a table by the bar, eating fish and chips. And two men, about your age sat at a high table on the wall opposite the bar. They were just drinking beer, a bag of crisps in front of them.

You simply followed Kate to a table close to the fireplace. Sitting down across from her, your back turned to the warm fire you sighed happily. Kate smiled at you softly and opened one of the menu’s. When she was done looking through it, she turned it around and pushed it to you.

„What will you eat?“ You asked absent-mindedly, while looking through the menu. She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, running a hand through her blonde hair.

„Fish and Chips and the bitter they have on cask.“ She answered and pulled her wallet out of her bag. She looked ready to stand up and walk to the bar, just waiting for you to decide.

„I’ll have the pie and mash and the lager on cask, please. Thank you.“ You said and closed the menu, putting it back in its holder. She stood up and walked over to the bar to order your food and pay. You were thankful actually, at least you wouldn’t have to talk to the old man again. His accent really was not understandable. You watched her lean on the bar, looking so effortlessly attractive. One hand pushed into her pocket and the other gripping her wallet.

She had one leg behind her other, foot propped up in the tips and tapping on the floor impatiently. It brought out her figure even better, and you shamelessly stared at the way her suit pants clung to her ass. She paid and as you saw her reaching for the two pints in front of her you turned your head away. She placed the beer down in front of you and sat down on her chair again. You blinked your glasses together and spent the time waiting for the food talking about anything but work. A welcome change to your usual conversations.

At some point your mind slipped away, and you barely listened to a word she was saying. Her lips were moving, but the words didn’t hit you. You couldn’t help but stare at her lips, your eyes flickering down the few open buttons of her blouse, a tantalising amount of cleavage exposed for your eye. You were thankful that at some point the food had come and Kate was too preoccupied with it to see where your eyes were directed to.

„What do you want to drink? I’ll buy you one. You already paid for the dinner.“ You said after you had both finished eating and shoved your empty plate away. Without warning, she grabbed your glass and took the last sip of it.

„I like that. I’ll take one of that.“ She said nonchalantly and puts the glass back down. All you could do is nod, your eyes still glued to where her lips had touched the rim of the glass. You grabbed your wallet and headed over to the bar, trying to get your head straight. You ordered two half pints and paid for them.

„I’ve never seen you here before.“ Surprised you turned your head to the side. You saw one of the man from across the bar standing next to you. He was your age, brown curls, a tad taller than you. A slight Scottish accent could be heard in his voice. He actually looked kind of nice. Like someone, you’d be friends with, definitely not someone you’d date. But with men you could always see it in their eyes, he definitely wanted to pick you up. You gave him a polite smile.

„That’s probably because I’m not from around here.“ You said, putting your card back into your wallet and looked back at him, waiting for beers to be ready. He had his eyebrows raised, the question clear on his face.

„London.“ You offered as an answer, and judging by his understanding nod you’d read his question right.

He leaned on the bar, trying a bit too hard to look relaxed. You turned to him fully and grinned, in the corner of your eye you could see Kate's eyes glued to you. A tilt of your head helped you take a look at her. She looked...jealous?

"And what does such a pretty London lady do in a dump like this?" His word shook you out of it, and you looked back at him, chuckling amused.

"I'm afraid, that's classified." He looked a bit taken aback, but he quickly found his smirk again and nodded.

"Classified, huh? What are you, the MI5?" Awfully pleased with, he grinned at you and just at that moment two half pints of Lager were placed in front of you. You took them, shoving your wallet into your jeans and smirked at the man.

"Maybe." You simply reply and walk past him, towards Kate. You missed the dumbfounded look on the man's face and just saw Kate's eyes still trained on you. A hint of possessiveness and jealous still gracing her features. You more assumed than knew that the man would be following you. And when you set down across from Kate he stood right beside the table. You sighed and crossed your legs. Taking a sip of your beer first before giving him any attention.

"Let me give you my number, we would have to talk about your classified work." He said, and the innuendo was clear in his tone of voice and the smug expression on his face. You had to concentrate hard to not roll your eyes. You shot Kate a look and hot an idea.

"Sorry, mate. But I'm already spoken for." You said and looked at Kate in just the right moment to make it clear who you were spoken for. You saw Kate's eyes widen a bit, but for the sake of the moment she pulled herself together.

You did not like the look in the man's face when he eyed Kate. Not at all. He looked at her disparagingly, like he would be a better match for me. And no doubt that's what he thought.

"Come on, how old is she?" He said and that was definitely a mistake. Your little thread of patience you had with men like him ripped in mere seconds. You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure that's any of your business. Besides, she gives better head than you." Well, that effectively shut him up. He gawked at you for a moment, like a lost fish and then retreated back to his table. You snickered amused and sipped on your beer, but when you looked at Kate you didn't see the smirk you had expected.

Her whole demeanour had changed, and her eyes had darkened. The only word you could think of to describe what you saw was hunger. Sure, the two of you had danced around each other for months. And you were quite sure that there was something between you. But this was new.

"Drink up." She said and her tone of voice cut right through you and went straight to your core. A bit perplexed you stared at her, blinking a few times. But there was no patience in her eyes, so you quickly drank the rest of your beer. She stood up and reached out a hand for you to take. You took it and followed her through the pub, past the guy that had hit on you and into the darkened hallway. You went up the stairs, her hand still tightly gripping yours, and towards your room.

Inside the room you were immediately pulled flush against her and soft, warm lips pressed against yours. Considering the hunger and possessiveness you'd seen in Kate's eyes downstairs the kiss was surprisingly tender. But that was Kate for you, full of care and gentleness. It was what made her such an excellent leader. She always kept a clear head and could lead and make aliens falter with one look. But she never lost the care and empathy she felt for the world. For her officers and her team. For you.

Instinctively your hand reached up and tangled itself into her honey-blonde hair, soft and silky. You’d wanted to touch it for so long, and it nearly made your legs give out, the way she kissed you, so fiercely and yet so loving. When you both felt like you might suffocate if you don’t take a breather she pulled back and rested her forehead against yours.

„I don’t like men flirting with you.“ She admitted and nearly sounded embarrassed, like she had no right to feel that way. And you assumed in some ways she didn’t, but you wanted her to feel jealous. You wanted her to want you for herself.

„I figured as much. You were quite jealous.“ A soft giggle bubble out of Kate as you said that and the sound was so unfamiliar, so unusual for her, it made your heart stop for a moment. And with the way your heart warmed and everything inside you felt like you just wanted to hear her make that sound again, there was no denying your feelings anymore. You were head over heels, absolutely stupidly in love with her.

Gently you let your hand wander from her hair into her neck and played with the soft hair there. You felt her shiver slightly and a soft sigh escaped her. Her hands gripped your hips a bit tighter, her fingers digging into the material of her own cardigan draped around you.

"So, you think I give better head than that douchebag, huh?" She whispered, but there was a hint of a challenge in her tone, and you chuckled in responds. Slightly pulling back you were able to look her in the eyes. With a mischievous smirk on your lips you spoke.

"Why don't you show me?" She answered with a grin and suddenly her hands were all over you. Tugging the cardigan off your shoulders, pulling your shirt out of your jeans and pushing you back towards the bed. With a slight oof and a giggle you fell back onto the sheets, and you quickly kicked your shoes off. The sight in front of you made heat pool between your legs. Kate easily fell to her knees, settling between your legs in front of the bed. Her slender fingers made quick work of the button on your jeans.

"You'd like that, huh?" Kate practically husked, and it was enough to tell you that she was just as affected by all this. Eagerly you lifted your hips when she hooked her fingers under them hem of your jeans. Tantalisingly slow she pulled them down your legs, exposing more and more of your skin. From up in the bed you had a delicious view right into her blouse and the soft pale curve of her breast drove you crazy. Before you knew it your knickers were gone as well and strong hands pushed your thighs apart, digging wonderfully into your flesh. Your head fell back onto the mattress, and you just heard her hum.

"You're dripping, darling." She commented and that alone nearly made you burst. You needed her, now. One of your hands made its way back into her hair, impatiently pushing her closer to where you so desperately wanted her. She chuckled, deep and warm and the sound went up your spine and through your whole body like honey. The next thing you heard was your own moan as her tongue trailed through your folds and your fingers tightened their grip in her hair.

"Shit, Kate." You gasped. She was good at this, really good. No doubt better than the guy from earlier. Her tongue on you felt like heaven, and you asked yourself how you'd been able to resist her all these months. Your hips lifted up involuntarily, and you ground against her. Desperate for more, for her. Her hands held you steadily in place, fingers massaging the soft flesh of your thighs. Gasps and moans filled the room when she sucked on your clit, a wonderful mix of hungry and gentle that made your head spin. Your free hand gripped the bedsheets desperately. When you came your back arched off the bed and your thighs wanted to squeeze shut. But Kate held them open, spreading them for her to ride you through it and clean every bit of you up.

The smug smile on her lips when she pulled back and looked up at you made you laugh. Breathless but absolutely content. Gently to untangled your fingers from her hair and cupped her cheek.

"Come here." You said, smiling and pulled her up on top of you. One leg wrapped around her, you pulled her flush against you. Your thumb tenderly trailed over her bottom lip.

"You were definitely better than that douchebag." You confirmed and chuckled at her happy face, she looked awfully pleased with herself. Swiftly you pulled her into a kiss and switched your positions on the bed.

"Your turn."

The small, single bed definitely wasn't a problem anymore.

#doctor who #kate lethbridge stewart x reader #kate stewart x reader #kate lethbridge stewart #kate stewart #jemma redgrave

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raayllum · 7 months ago

Text

You Have A Good Heart — It's Super Annoying :: An Ezran and Rayla Meta

Forgive me for a moment, meta readers, for a quick anecdote.

Ages ago (aka pretty shortly after S3) I had plans to write an Ezran and Rayla focused meta, centred primarily on how the show highlights their unique bonds with dragons at different intervals and thus far (and honestly still now) with an emphasis that hadn't been doled out likewise to Callum. It was meant, therefore, to be a companion piece to my "Callum and the Dragon Prince (Zym)" relationship analysis, and is built upon a similar thought that Ezran and Rayla are fundamentally more similar to one another than they are to Callum. (Also just goes to show that procrastination can, indeed, last up to four years.)

Ergo, previous meta / thoughts you might want to consult if this is an area of interest:

Brief Rayla & Ezran parallels meta + headcanons

Ezran & Rayla parallels compilation (s1-s5), some of which we'll be going into more detail with

A short meta about how Callum is different from Ezran and Rayla (s1-s4)

For fun, this poem always makes me think a lot about Ezran and Rayla a lot too.

Now, this isn't to say that Rayla and Ezran are 100% or even 80% similar; they are very different, and I would say they're one of the few dynamics in the show that doesn't quite hit the foils mark, either (at least not to me). Nor is this to say that Callum and Ezran, and Callum and Rayla, don't have parallels or similarities. The brothers are both very compassionate, love each other and their father deeply, have many big feelings, are generally emotionally pretty open, and Callum takes on being Zym's caretaker when Ezran turns around to go home. Callum and Rayla's early arcs both have a great deal to do with coping with ideas around failure and familial belonging, and their arc 2 plot lines have been dominated by their devotion to each other and being pushed back onto paths (dark magic, assassinations) that they would rather leave behind.

Therefore, what I am saying that is that Ezran and Rayla are quite similar to each other in some really important, interesting ways, and that I think they are more similar to each other in terms of their Core characters than they are to Callum. Take it or leave it. Okay? Okay. With that out of the way, let's get into it

Core vs Presentation

One thing that I find particularly useful when it comes to discussing/analyzing characters, or when creating them, is the difference between a character's core vs their presentation. The most classic kind of example we see is the "jerk / bad boy with a heart of gold" archetype where the character's presentation is one way (outwardly prickly and/or mean) but their internal core (values, priorities, 'truest self' etc) is very warm, loving, and caring. We see it so often it borders on the point of being cliche.

However, it is useful in explaining just how much a character's core can differ from somebody else's, but their presentation might be similar, or vice versa, with their presentations being different but their cores being similar. And obviously even that is simplistic (characters can have pieces of one another's core but still be very different; for example, while Viren and Callum have a similar devotion to their loved ones, Viren does not always act on it and puts things above his loved ones - leading to theirs and his downfall - whereas Callum thus far hasn't put much above his inner circle, because he always acts on his devotion).

The reason I get into all of this is because I think that while Ezran and Rayla have different presentations, they have very similar cores.

Despite Ezran being more childish and cheery where — especially season one Rayla — is more gruff and impatient, Ezran and Rayla both have similar responses when it comes to forgiveness, their families / upbringings, senses of self worth, and their priorities.

But first, let's get some of the basic parallels out of the way. Ones with an asterisk * next to them will be expanded upon later in greater detail:

General Parallels

Not being believed (by Ruthari and Callum in BH and 1x08 respectively)

Not fitting in growing up

Following in parents' footsteps vs wanting to be different/better than your parents

4x08 gift giving being relational to their fathers, whereas Callum's is Ibis' staff

Arguing to give up hands as they perceive something as being mostly their fault (1x06, 5x08)

Going the nonviolent route in 5x05 vs Callum wanting to seek out the Nova Blade *

A thematic / social emphasis that never quite affects Callum in the same way *

"I knew I had to be strong alone." / "It's not fair you have to struggle through this alone." *

Now let's get into the specifics.

Upbringing

On the one hand, Ezran and Rayla had very different upbringings. Ezran never knew his mother before she died, whereas Rayla remembers, loves, and resents the parents who left. Ezran is given plenty of space to be a fun loving, mischievous little boy, whereas Rayla is playful too, but definitely more dutiful and devoting more time to training and taking it more seriously. Ezran believes that "it's okay to be afraid of things" whereas Rayla mandates that "Moonshadow elves aren't supposed to show fear, ever".

One isn't blamed for being a child:

And one is:

Now, part of this is context. While Ezran has decisions to make, his current ones (up to s1) haven't caused any harm or consequences. Rayla sparing Marcos and then lying about it (pre-binding spell too!) has gotten her team into a load of trouble. But where Soren reminds Callum of his youth to reaffirm that Callum needs to stay safe (much more in vein with Opeli) even if it's in a cruel way, for Rayla it is little more than a critique. She's a child, she had compassion, so she's weak.

This is also a critique lauded at Ezran ("You're just a little boy believing in fairytales" -> "This is a trick and a trap, you're a fool Rayla") in terms of their hope for peace. Likewise, Viren believes that if a child king leads them, Ezran will make 'weak' (aka bad) choices. In spite of their compassion being what they are most critiqued and punished for (Ezran is imprisoned for his abdication of his duty to try to spare people, and Rayla is exiled for sparing Marcos), this is ultimately what makes the difference in ending the war and protecting Zym.

With that in mind, let's talk about Ezran, Rayla, and

Dragons

Ezran and Rayla are both routinely shown to be more anchored to the dragons in a way that Callum is not in arc 1. This is shown in them agreeing with each other about Zym in 1x03 ("It has a mother and it needs to go back to her" "You're right, it wants its mother") even when Callum doesn't act until Ezran is put in danger, Ezran being Zym's tried and true soulmate whereas Rayla becomes the Last Dragonguard, and other little notices.

In arc 2, Soren arguably steps up to take the other half of the draonic-caring role (highlighted most notably by Rayla walking away from the drake in 4x05) in addition to Zym getting less plot focus. However, we still some of this overlap given that Rayla is the first to initiate the gift giving with Rex Igneous, and Ezran is the one to actually figure out what the great dragon wants. Additionally, when Rayla was at her best / not tamping down said self, we see that she does reflect Ezran.

One of my favourite little season four parallels was also the trio's responses to Zym's 'death' in 4x07 and Soren's an episode before, where Ezran and Rayla are the most distraught respectively (Ez stays optimistic about Soren, Rayla turns and mourns alone about Zym), and Callum steps in to look after both of them. Moving on.

That said, the parallel between Rayla and Ezran that sticks out to me is:

Blame, Responsibility, and Self Worth

One of the things that's stood out to me on my most recent S2 rewatch is how unnecessarily hard on himself Ezran is (which Callum verbally acknowledges in 2x03), and how much it reminds me of Rayla throughout the series. This isn't to say that Ezran's mental health or self esteem is as poor as Rayla's — he does have a better view of himself (good, however?), he processes and shares his emotions better, for example — but that they repeatedly use the same language and phrasing, and worry about similar shortcomings.

Ezran: I'm so sorry I messed up the plan. Rayla: Ah, you should cut yourself a break. Everyone messes up sometimes. Or in my case, all the times. (1x08)

Ezran: Corvus, I'm sorry I let you down as king. It only took a few days for me to mess everything up. (3x05) Rayla: I let you both down. I let the world down. (1x09) / Oh no, I messed up again! (4x06)

Rayla: Ugh, I'm such an idiot. I should've figured it out. She's not a healer, she's a fake. She's an illusionist. She can't heal anything. (1x09) Ezran: You knew? Ugh, I'm such an idiot. I should've figured it out! When we met you, you had two of those assassin-y ribbon-y things, but one of them fell off that night. (2x08)

We also know Ezran's super annoying good heart is something that Rayla has too ("I told him you were too good-hearted for the work of an assassin") and something she has various levels of self hatred for ("Rayla felt her heart turn soft in her chest in just the way she hated" —Chasing Shadows part 1).

The point, however, is ultimately that Ezran and Rayla tend to primarily blame themselves when things go wrong, they worry immensely about failure and letting people down, and that Ezran has a greater capacity for self loathing than I think we sometimes give him credit for.

For example, both Rayla and Ezran exchange themselves for Viren in S3. Ezran abdicates and takes Viren's spot in jail, though the mage likewise finagles his way into being king, which wasn't part of the deal, and Rayla tackles Viren off the Pinnacle even if that means also dying in order to save Zym.

That said, one of the main reasons these two are so hard on themselves is because of the amount of internalized responsibility they take on when it comes to their

Collective Priorities

While both care deeply about individuals — friends, family, strangers, animals — Ezran and Rayla most often prioritize the collective, albeit in different ways. We see this first hand in 2x09 when discussing Ezran's decision to turn home and prioritize being king of his kingdom:

E: Now that I'm king, I have to go home. Maybe I can help the world better from the throne. I can do whatever I can to stop the war. R: Ezran, returning Zym to his mother is the world's best hope. E: I know. And you guys will do that. You'll find his mom and Zym will take his place in Xadia, just like I have to take mine.

This is also reflected in how Rayla wants to stay behind in 2x07 for a stranger, Ezran reminds her they have to take care of Zym (and follows Zym down), and Callum follows Rayla down and does dark magic. We see this once again in 4x04 and 5x01 with their choices:

Opeli: King Ezran, maybe there is a way. Go with her. Ezran: But Katolis needs me. Opeli: The world needs you right now. The high council can take care of the people, I promise you. Ezran: You're right. The kingdom will be in good hands.

Rayla: I love you, and I haven't forgotten about you. But... I can't help you yet. Because right now, the world needs me. Callum and Ezran need me. A great evil is trying to return to Xadia and we have to stop it. At any cost.

We also see this in how they prioritize their own understanding of harm mitigation over Callum's, as Ezran and Rayla ally with each other over the prison vs Nova Blade discussion, even though Rayla was the one to tell Callum they should be looking into killing Aaravos in the first place. Now that both stopping the mage fam from finding the prison and going after the Nova Blade are on the table, Rayla chooses the former over the latter, reaffirming her and Ezran's 'violence as a last resort' whereas Callum sees it that way, too, but is more inclined to get there faster (since Rayla has made that mistake twice, and is trying not to repeat it.)

Season five doubles down on this Ezran-kingdom and Rayla-world set up yet again, with Ezran primarily thinking things through in relation to his duty as a king, and Rayla in the self-imposed duty she feels to the greater good, even if that means denying doing or feeling the things they want to do or need to feel:

Soren: You deserve time to do kid stuff. If you spend all your time doing adult stuff now, you'll grow up weird, like your brother and Rayla. Ezran: I don't have time to do kid things. I must gain the trust and cooperation of the dragons, and I shall not be deterred. So many people are counting on me to do my duty. [...] Every time I sit on my throne, I'm reminded of the immense pressure of my kingly duty.

Rayla: It hurts me to know they're trapped like this. It's agonizing. But I know our mission comes first. The world is in danger, and you can trust me to stay focused. Callum: We can help them. Rayla, we can undo this spell. Rayla: Not yet, Callum. Believe me, I want to do something, but [...] Callum, we have to leave! Callum: Two minutes, that's all I need.

From what we know in 6x01, this seems reflected in Ezran putting off looking for Zubeia until they have something settled on with the prison, Rayla agreeing with Ezran's verdict that the prison should stay hidden in Katolis for now (until Callum convinces her otherwise), and Rayla reaffirming that while she wants to free her parents, she won't let it bias her.

All of this honestly just makes me more excited because when Ezran's mental health starts to crack, it's going to crack hard and be absolutely devastating. What will Ezran's mental health start spiralling over? Well...

Fathers and Remembrance

Like Claudia, Ezran and Rayla are direct legacy carriers. While every character in TDP carries some kind of legacy or hold over from their past, some characters are more entrenched in it than others.

For example, Soren's occupation has — as far as we know — nothing to do with his father, so that has nothing to do with legacy, but Soren choosing to be a different man than the son his father wanted absolutely does. Callum sort of gets the inversion of this, as occupation wise as mage and particularly as a high mage, he's carrying the weight of Ibis, Claudia, Kpp'ar, Viren, and potentially the Jailer on his back. That's where legacy comes into play, as although he's very much Sarai and Harrow's son (and Harrow's letter is a legacy unto itself), he's not struggling with the same things they struggled with primarily outside of "how to break (or perpetuate) the cycle," which every character struggles with. If he was having an arc decidedly about being a warrior, leader, or ruler, it might be different, but his occupation is what his legacy is mostly about, which fits a character who's meant to be 'born normal' and ascend to great heights purely by his own merit, even if he has royal status.

Ezran and Rayla, meanwhile, are given both occupational and familial legacy to deal with, much like Claudia, namely because all three of these characters are shot down the line to carry their parents' — primarily their fathers' — mantles.

Harrow was king, so Ezran becomes a king ("So I've realized I don't have to be the king my father was [...] I don't want to be that kind of king"). Runaan was an assassin, so Rayla tries to become an assassin ("Is this right? The moonshadow assassin who isn't capable of killing?"; Lain and Tiadrin were Dragonguard, so Rayla becomes a Dragonguard ("Don't you remember who you are? You're the last Dragonguard"). Viren was a dark mage, so Claudia becomes a dark mage ("I have led my beloved daughter down this path").

We see this reflected in the gifts Rayla and Ezran offer to Rex Igneous, tokens of love and remembrance that they carry with them to remind them of their fathers, but are willing to sacrifice. We see this in the way that each want to honour their parents, but also want to be different than them (i.e. Rayla doesn't want to be an assassin like Runaan, mirroring Ezran's changing assertion of "I wish Dad was here, he'd know what to do" to realizing he can't solely look at his father in an idealized lens because of his mistakes).

Of course, their gifts to Rex Igneous highlight their interrelated trauma. Ezran lost his father because of Rayla's father. Rayla's parents were imprisoned by proxy because of Harrow through Viren. Rayla is going to get her parents back. Ezran? Well... not so much, but it doesn't stop Claudia from mirroring Callum in her offer.

We see this aspect of remembrance and loss and mistakes in S3 as well, as a good deal of the first half of the season emotionally deals with Ezran and Rayla coming home and finding not quite the circumstances they wanted. The primary father they wanted to be like (Harrow, Runaan) is fallen, and so they have to step into different roles. For Ezran, that means being a new kind of king; for Rayla, that means becoming a Dragonguard.

With all this in mind, we're wrapping in similarities (though I'm sure there's some I missed or didn't touch on much, like the "the crown is a heavy burden" and "There's a burden I'm carrying" y'know?) but for now, onto the

Differences

Shorter section as these are more obvious, and I'd expect apply to both surface level and core aspects. Ezran's never been as prone to action/violence or being super active, Rayla's mental health is still somewhat in a ditch whereas Ezran's holding on (by a thread maybe but a thread nonetheless), Stella is the only animal Rayla's had a very close bond to meanwhile Ezran bonds with every animal, etc etc.

That said there are two I want to highlight in particular.

The first, like I've already alluded to, is that Ezran is better at holding and thinking of dualities in terms of priority and in terms of emotions (even if sometimes he can barrel on a bit too fast, like in 4x03). For example, when heading up the Cursed Caldera, Ezran is the one who mentions her hand (fittingly, since if she loses, it'll be for him):

Ezran can hold and prioritize two things at once. To help break the cycle, you have to hold love and pain in your heart at the same time. Upon inviting Zym and Zubeia to Katolis...

Corvus: But is this really about changing the world, or is it just an excuse to see Zym again? Ezran: Can't it be both?

Ezran is, of course, likely going to initially fail at his own challenge of thinking about Both when it comes to Runaan, prioritizing his pain and love over Rayla's, but the point stands that Ezran is usually better at focusing on what can and what needs to be done.

Ezran felt bad for Rayla and her fear of water, but he knew she could face the fear again. He was about to encourage her to cross the bay when Callum jumped in. “You know what?” Callum said. “We’ll just walk around it somehow. With our legs.” Ezran couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But thankfully, Rayla shook her head no. (—Book 2: Sky novelization)

Rayla, meanwhile, tunnel visions, and tunnel visions hard. When Ezran brings up her hand, she tells him, "Don't worry about my hand, the egg is all that matters." When she goes to save Pyrrah, she states, "It doesn't matter what happens to me, live or die, this dragon goes home." She destroys her relationships in the name of killing Viren and puts herself at risk, and it takes two years to come back and start making amends and recovering. Where Ezran's passivity shifts to carefully weighing things and making pretty measured decisions most of the time, Rayla's tendency to not consider anything but the immediate goal in front of her routinely gets her into trouble... such as abandoning a mission to save an individual (Harrow + the egg, Pyrrah, the Dragon Queen) no matter what the personal cost.

On that note, we also see Ezran directly reject the worst of Rayla's more toxic mindset, re:

The other difference that I noticed, particularly in S5, is that Rayla knows not everyone has a good heart, even if she expects someone to:

Ezran, meanwhile, continues to see the best in everyone even when being told it's unlikely.

Both these perspectives are good and bad circumstantially, and both can get them into trouble, but it's an interesting one to me to say the least.

Conclusion

Overall, I hope you enjoyed this dissection of Ezran and Rayla's similarities, contrasts, and flat out differences. I don't think we'll see a lot of their bond in S6 as we got to see in previous seasons, but fingers crossed for S7! As always thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

#tdp #the dragon prince #tdp ezran #tdp rayla #brotp: it's super annoying #ezran #rayla #parallels #analysis series #analysis #multi #arc 1 #arc 2

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