#but increasingly so as i became more experienced and better at telling people what i needed

[misirosekisiro]

The Silent Killer 1-2

เรื่องเจนผ่าน AI เหมือนทุกเรื่องช่วงนี้ ยังสนุกกับการทดลองเจนเรื่องแนวต่าง ๆ ไปเรื่อย ๆ อยู่ เรื่องนี้แจ้งก่อนว่าน่าจะติด 18G ถึงไม่ได้โหดแต่ก็มีฉากฆ่ากัน ใครไม่นิยมโปรดผ่านนะครับ

Chapter 1

Inside the dimly lit coffee shop, Dylan sat quietly at a table against the wall, sipping from his cup of cold brew, browsing through the pages of a worn paperback. His eyes darted back and forth between the words and the occasional movements around him – students chatting animatedly, laughter echoing off the old wooden walls, the faint whirring of laptop fans intertwined with clinking cups.

In these moments, Dylan felt strangely comforted, finding solace among familiar faces and unassuming routines despite being surrounded by people. He couldn’t help but feel like he belonged here, amidst the buzzing energy. It was during one such break in conversation when his attention was captured by a peculiar man entering the cafe.

He noticed the way the sunlight played upon the man's face as he made his way towards him; there was an air of mystery surrounding this stranger.

Something inside Dylan told him not to dismiss this chance encounter; perhaps it would lead somewhere interesting. With an easeful smile, the man approached Dylan's table and introduced himself. "Hey there," he said softly, drawing out the word 'hey'. "I don't think we've met before."

Dylan found himself caught off guard momentarily, trying to remember if he had seen this guy somewhere else before. "Ah… maybe? I can't quite place you either." He answered truthfully, genuinely curious now about this enigmatic individual.

The stranger leaned closer, smiling gently, studying Dylan intently. There was a magnetism to him - magnetic charisma, Dylan thought to himself, suddenly aware of how attractive the other person was. Without even thinking, he found himself asking, "So what brings you here?"

With a swiftness that surprised even Dylan, the response came quickly: "Books, actually!" The stranger laughed, displaying perfectly straight teeth beneath a set of full lips.

"Oh, just some casual browsing, really. But tell me, which one do you enjoy most? Are you more inclined toward classics or contemporary works?" The intriguing aura continued to swirl around him, capturing Dylan completely.

For the first time in weeks, he experienced a spark of excitement within him, awakening feelings long buried deep down.

Nodding in agreement, the stranger elaborated further, "Well, you see, I am usually fond of modern literature, though occasionally, I find myself engrossed in classical texts too. What about yourself? Do you prefer any particular genre?"

Dylan smiled slightly as he replied, "It depends on my mood, honestly.

Sometimes I crave a good classic tale filled with rich language and depth, whereas other times, I simply want a quick escape from reality with a fast-paced page turner. Why do you ask?"

 The stranger gave a small nod, his voice becoming increasingly deeper and resonant as he spoke. "Perhaps because I sense your thirst for knowledge and adventure, Dylan." Pausing briefly, he added softly, "Apart from discussing our literary interests, do you care to join me later tonight for dinner?

We could continue our discussion over drinks or dessert. Perhaps I might be able to provide you with some recommendations based on your reading habits."

 Dylan hesitated, feeling flattered yet uncertain about this strange proposition. Despite his reservations, curiosity got the better of him. Sensing an opportunity to expand his social circle, he agreed tentatively, "Alright, let's meet then.

When and where should we rendezvous?" The stranger paused briefly, contemplating his choice of words carefully. In a smooth tone, he responded confidently, "How about Tomorrow at eight o'clock outside the library? We shall proceed together afterward." This seemed agreeable enough to Dylan, who expressed gratitude and exchanged contact information. As the conversation continued, Dylan became more engaged, finding himself fascinated by this stranger's intellect and easygoing demeanor. He realized that spending the evening in his company held potential for friendship and intellectual growth alike.

"Oh how bad i am, we talk until now but we still not know each one name, I'm Dylan."

He said, introducing himself finally. He looked almost apologetic, but also excited, waiting to hear the answer. "I'm sorry! How remiss of me," the stranger exclaimed playfully, taking a sip of his own drink before replying, "My apologies, Dylan. My name is Adrian, pleased to make your acquaintance." There was something both earnest and teasing in Adrian's expression—a mix of sincerity and subtle humor that endeared him even more to Dylan.

As they talked, hours passed without notice, and soon enough, it was already late afternoon. Dylan glanced at his watch, realizing he needed to head home to prepare for work tomorrow. Reluctantly, he stood up from his seat, thanking Adrian profusely for the delightful conversation. "It was truly wonderful speaking with you, Adrian. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Adrian grinned broadly, waving farewell as Dylan left the cozy confines of the coffee shop. Outside, the sun cast long shadows across the sidewalk, painting the world in golden tones. Dylan took a deep breath, savoring the last lingering traces of autumn in the crisp air.

As he walked briskly along the streets, his thoughts drifted back to Adrian.

Although he wasn't entirely sure why, he felt a growing anticipation for their planned rendezvous. Maybe it was merely because Adrian had piqued his interest with his diverse range of topics, his ability to hold a conversation effortlessly, or the undeniably strong connection they shared. Whatever the reason, he knew it wouldn't hurt to spend more time getting to know him. The prospect of discovering more about this eloquent stranger appealed greatly to Dylan, offering the promise of adventure and companionship he so desperately sought.

Reaching the corner near his apartment building, he slowed his pace, relishing the last few minutes spent daydreaming about Adrian. Climbing the stairs leading to his modest abode, he mentally prepared himself for another night spent alone, indulging in the memories of their remarkable conversation. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't suppress the anticipation brewing within him for their rendezvous later on.

Arriving at his doorstep, Dylan slipped his key into the lock, opening it to find a surprising silence greeting him.

Typically, he expected to be welcomed by the humming noise of his refrigerator or the low murmur of his television from the living room. However, today, nothing stirred within his apartment save for the ticking clock on his bedroom wall. Glancing down at his phone, he saw that it was well past midnight. Thoughts of Adrian danced through his mind once more, igniting a mixture of nervous anticipation and sheer excitement.

Pushing aside his unease, Dylan decided to settle down for the night.

His anticipation for their date grew stronger, filling him with eagerness for what lay ahead. Before retiring to sleep, however, he reached for his laptop, pulling up Google Maps to double-check the directions to the library. Scrolling through the map, he noted several landmarks and familiar roads, memorizing them in case he got lost along the way. Satisfied with his preparations, he powered down his computer, ready to rest and dream of Adrian until morning arrived.

Morning broke bright and clear, promising a beautiful day ahead.

Dylan awoke early, showered, dressed sharply, and proceeded to put on a layer of cologne, hoping to impress Adrian. Leaving his apartment, he took stock of his surroundings – it appeared that the entire city was alive with activity. People were streaming towards business districts, catching public transportation, and going about their daily routine. On the horizon, the library tower loomed majestic against the blue sky, standing tall as a symbol of education and wisdom. With a surge of determination, Dylan hastened his steps towards their appointed destination.

Along the journey, he admired the grand architecture adorned in various styles, reflecting the city's history. The bustling urban landscape buzzed with energy and purpose, inspiring optimism within him. As he approached the imposing stone edifice known as the university library, he noticed a figure lounging idly against the pillar, a pair of slender legs crossed neatly. Recognition dawned upon him immediately, for this must indeed be Adrian. He strode forward with confidence, eager to embrace this unique experience awaiting him.

As he drew closer, he observed Adrian watching passersby intently, a slight smile playing on his lips as if silently musing over human nature. Greeted by an amiable grin, Dylan extended his hand in introduction, "Hello there, Adrian!"

Smiling warmly, Adrian accepted the gesture, gripping firmly as they shook hands. "Good morning, Dylan! It's nice to finally meet you properly." Their palms remained locked for a moment longer than necessary, holding onto each other's gaze with mutual curiosity. "Thank you for agreeing to meet here," Dylan began, breaking the spell.

Adrian returned his attention to the surrounding environment, gesturing expansively, "Not at all, dear friend! These environs serve as a perfect setting for our little tête-à-tête.

Dylan commented, looking around appreciatively. The library, situated amidst ancient trees and serene courtyards, boasted an atmosphere ripe for intellectual exploration. As they entered, their footsteps echoed off the high ceilings adorned with ornate chandeliers. Books lined countless shelves, forming seemingly endless rows of knowledge. The smell of old paper and leather bound volumes permeated the air, imbuing the space with an almost magical quality.

Dylan led the way to the main entrance, allowing the coolness of the interior to sweep away the lingering heat of the outdoors. Together, they navigated the sprawling labyrinth of shelved literature, choosing works that caught their eye along the way. From philosophy to poetry, fiction to psychology, the breadth of subjects tantalized their imaginations, sparking animated debates and discussions.

Over hours, they covered everything from the existential crisis of modern man to the role of technology in contemporary culture. While most people would consider such discourse banal, it provided solace for two individuals starving for meaningful connections.

Their minds fed, bodies craved sustenance; thus, the duo ventured forth to explore food options available within the vicinity. Upon entering a quaint eatery nearby, they found themselves absorbed by its rustic charm, complete with weathered wood floors and warm lighting illuminating exposed brickwork.

A comforting aroma of freshly ground coffee swirled in the air, adding a pleasant touch to the ambiance. Seated together at a table, they browsed the menu while sipping steaming cups of rich espresso. Engrossed in discussion about the impact of social media on personal identity, they ordered dishes reflecting their contrasting culinary preferences - Dylan opted for a hearty vegetarian soup accompanied by whole wheat crackers, whereas Adrian chose a platter featuring juicy burgers served alongside crunchy fries.

Both settled into comfortable positions, leaning slightly toward one another to better understand the nuances of every point made during their debate.

In between bites, they occasionally paused to glance at each other, sharing moments of understanding that transcended the mundane. For Dylan, it was a revelatory encounter, unveiling layers previously concealed beneath his polished exterior. In turn, Adrian in depth he just laugh inside, how his prey follow his guide.

No emotion, no attachment. Just games, toying like puppet master with strings. After dinner, walking together back to Dylan’s place, a soft drizzle started falling from gray skies above, creating a romantic atmosphere. Hand in hand, the couple strolled under the canopy of trees surrounding the charming neighborhood, feeling at ease, not quite knowing what brought them here tonight, yet strangely connected despite their differences.

Back at Dylan's place, the sensuous vibe continued to intensify.

Chapter 2

As the rain pelted against the windowpane outside, Dylan's skin tingled with awareness and arousal. This was his first time hosting someone at his home, let alone inviting a mysterious stranger. Despite his nerves, the sexual chemistry between them had grown increasingly intense since they left the restaurant earlier that evening. Now, sitting close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Adrian's body, Dylan struggled to maintain composure. How could something so wrong be so right?

Dylan wondered, brushing a tendril of hair behind his ear. His breath hitched when Adrian leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss on his cheekbone, followed by a whispered endearing remark. The warmth of Adrian's lips against his sensitive skin sent tremors through Dylan's core, making him weak in the knees. Unbeknownst to either party, the intensity of their connection seemed destined to spiral further beyond control.

Slowly, tender fingers caressed Dylan's face, eliciting involuntary moans from deep within his throat. As Adrian pressed closer still, their mouths sought one another, hungry for release. Lips entwined passionately, tongues tangled in a dance only heightening the desire coursing through both veins. Emboldened by this newfound freedom, they shifted closer still—their combined strength now a driving force.

Fingers deftly undid buttons and zippers, yielding smooth, bare flesh teasingly revealed. Each subtle motion spoke volumes about the hunger building between them. Gasping, they pulled apart briefly, drawing a line of saliva between their mouths. Drenched in raw, animalistic lust, Dylan surrendered himself fully to the unknown, trusting blindly in Adrian's expertise.

"Oh God, I want you..." he breathed, voice wavering as he succumbed entirely to his desires.

Adrian smiled, nodding encouragement, pressing deeper kisses down Dylan's neck until reaching the valley between his shoulder blades. He ran his tongue slowly across the skin, causing goosebumps to rise in response.

Moans escaped Dylan's lips involuntarily as the pleasure coursed through his body. Unable to hold back any longer, he reached out, grasping Adrian tightly. They both fell to the floor in sheer ecstasy, losing themselves completely in each other's arms.

Dylan clung tightly to Adrian, feeling like he was floating, carried away by the waves of pleasure crashing over him. He felt tears streaming down his face, but whether they were born of joy or sorrow, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that this was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

Lost in the moment, Dylan hardly realized where they were anymore – trapped in a vortex of desire and oblivion. Adrian too was consumed by their shared passion, relishing in the fact that he held total sway over his prey.

His powerful frame moved confidently with grace, every movement calculated to evoke pure delight. Shifting between delicate and aggressive caresses, he ensnared Dylan even further into his web of intrigue. There was no question, no doubt; nothing mattered except giving and receiving pleasure, immersing themselves in the eroticism that enveloped them.

With renewed vigor, Dylan grabbed onto Adrian's head, pulling him closer for a scorching kiss that ignited flames within his very soul.

Adrian reciprocated eagerly, devouring Dylan's lips greedily, showing no signs of restraint. Their lips danced wildly, their teeth clicking in harmony, fueling the fire raging between them.

As if lost in the euphoria of this moment, neither thought of consequences nor stopped to ask questions about each other's past. It was as though the world outside did not exist, as their passions became intertwined, merging inextricably with one another.

Sweaty palms met feverish skin, sending jolts of electricity surging through both bodies. Nails scratched gently against muscular shoulders, marking their claim upon one another. Every fiber of being yearned to consume the other wholly, driven by an insatiable appetite for fulfillment.

Breathing heavily, Dylan began to rock back and forth, grinding his groin against Adrian's. Their rhythm matched perfectly, pushing them both towards the edge of ecstasy.

Feeling powerless yet utterly satisfied by Adrian's dominance, Dylan closed his eyes, embracing the sensation sweeping through his entire being. His hands wandered upwards along Adrian's sculpted torso, marveling at the hard planes of his abdomen and the play of muscles flexing beneath his palm.

The room echoed with the sounds of wet, passionate gasps mixed with low, husky murmurs. Adrian, ever in control, took charge of guiding their fervent exploration of one another's bodies. With firm hands, he traced exquisite patterns on Dylan's chest, making sure to pay attention to those sensitive areas that drove him wild. Meanwhile, Dylan allowed himself to simply indulge in the pleasure, allowing Adrian to dictate the pace and intensity of their encounter.

After a while of resting in each other arms. Adrian slip off the bed.

He stood facing Dylan, looking deeply into his eyes. "Stay strong," he said quietly, before turning around, removing his clothes piece by piece. His body gleamed with well-defined muscle, evidence of his dedication to fitness. Stripped down to just briefs, he returned to stand beside Dylan, offering him a glass of water. Dylan drained the glass, then set it aside. Closing his eyes, he listened intently to the beat of his own pulse. When he opened them again, Adrian was already waiting expectantly.

His gaze bore into Dylan, conveying a sense of possessiveness that both frightened and excited him.

Desire burned hotter than ever before as Adrian slowly approached Dylan, his movements impossibly fluid. Taking care not to disturb the sheets, he crawled seductively over Dylan's prone form, slithering his way up the contours of his partner's muscular physique.

His hands caressed and massaged every curve, honoring each dip and swell of Dylan's flesh. His touch was slow and deliberate, setting a tantalizing tempo that made Dylan's heart race faster.

With growing excitement, Dylan raised his arms, welcoming Adrian closer. As their skin touched, sparks flew once more, reigniting the fires of desire within them both. Dylan threw caution to the wind, opening himself up completely to whatever lay ahead.

But thing not go as Dylan thought, Adrian both hands was draw on his skin, form the chest up to his bare neck. then his touch turn to warp... his hand warp around Dylan's neck. the warp just tight and tighten until it's grip of death.

Forgetting all the lustful moments they enjoyed earlier, fear flooded Dylan's system, numbing everything else - including reason. His heart raced frantically, trying to break free from what he perceived as impending doom. In a panicked bid to escape, he tried to push Adrian away, flailing helplessly under his suffocating grasp. But Adrian remained unfazed, holding on tighter, his face unreadable as his sinister intent grew clearer by the second.

Time seemed to slow down, each tick of the clock becoming deafeningly loud in Dylan's ears. Panic seized him as comprehension dawned upon him. No, this wasn't supposed to happen! He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords refused to cooperate.

A wave of anger coursed through Dylan as adrenaline fueled his determination to fight back. Summoning every ounce of energy he possessed, he attempted to buck against Adrian's iron grip. But his efforts proved futile as his struggling was easily quashed.

Feeling hopeless and desperate, he looked directly into Adrian's penetrating stare. Something cold and dangerous radiated from Adrian’s gaze, almost as if he could see right through Dylan’s very soul. Paralyzed by terror, he found himself unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes of his captor. Dylan struggled to process the sudden change in circumstances, torn between horror and disbelief. How could things take such a drastic turn? Where had it gone wrong?

[urhighnessbitch]

hi eli! I've been feeling really weird about dom/sub stuff recently and I wondered if you could tell me if this kind of thing is normal n expected or not? so I'm a switch with a dom lean, and all the people I've been with thus far were exclusively subs. I'm also a very gentle dom, I get very distressed about the idea of hurting or really degrading my partners, but every time I've asserted that boundary and told them I don't want to do it they've tried to cajole or beg me into it anyway, or acted like I was pathetic for not wanting to. the same thing happens when I'm feeling upset or anxious, either after a session or completely outside of the dynamic - I'm high strung and I tend to feel very vulnerable and weepy when I'm sad but all my partners have insisted on continuing to treat me like a dom even then, when I just want to feel small and cared for. I'm too nervous of neglecting their needs so I usually end up just ignoring how I'm feeling and focussing fully on them so I don't have to endure any more awkwardness because it feels worse having this halfhearted judgemental "it's okay you're still a big strong dom even when you're sad" attempt at comfort, which just.. isn't true for me. is it normal and expected for subs to always treat their doms as infallible and unshakeable? because when I feel that awful I honestly just want to be treated like I'm as weak as I feel, but idk if it's pathetic for me to want that.

So disclaimer before l get into your questions: fuck them, the way they treated you was in no way alright

I'll try to make this into a couple of different parts tho because there's multiple issues - them not accepting your boundaries, them forcing a dynamic on you when you didn't want to have it, and them probably not understanding what being a switch means to you.

I'll go reverse this time and start with them possibly not understanding what being a switch means to you bc that's where a lot of problems can start, from personal experience. For some, switching means they can be either, dom or sub, but they'll only ever be one with any given person and have no interest in switching within that dynamic. They might want to have a different dynamic where they get to explore that other role. For others, being a switch means wanting to shift within a dynamic to account for their current mood. And that works great with other switches or ppl who are open to it! But not always with people who view themselves as one thing exclusively. If someone assumes you to be in category one and you're actually in the second, it's going to get frustrating because your needs aren't being met. I included this in case what they did was a honest miscommunication (although l don't really believe that from the context)

Second and in my eyes much bigger issue is them forcing you into a dynamic when you didn't want to have it. Doms have every right to not be feeling like it, doms have every right to be wanting to be taken care of, they have every right to just want to be treated as human beings. I'm sorry you didn't get to have that when you needed it and instead needed to push your feelings aside. If you should ever find yourself in a situation like that again, telling someone that the way they're trying to comfort you isn't working and letting them know what you need instead can be really good! And if they don't listen to you, it's a very easy way of seeing if someone respects your boundaries or not. The line they used to try and comfort you is kinda common and you see it on tumblr a lot because it tries to go against that picture of the always dominant superhero who never struggles, but l get why it doesn't ring true for you!

Last issue, they did not respect your boundaries, and l probably don't have to explain why that's not alright? They're your boundaries, they're good just the way they are, and if someone doesn't respect that I'd advise against playing with that person.

Now for your actual questions, is it common for subs to treat their doms like that? I wish it wasn't but I've seen it happen and experienced it enough to know that it isn't as rare as I'd hope. If it's any consolation, it's often those who aren't as experienced or knowledgeable that will try to get their dom to meet unattainable goals. I don't think we talk about red flags in subs enough, but what you described are definitely multiple. Doms are not dispensers for dominance, they're human beings with their own set of needs and things get shitty when someone views you as a dom first, person second

Still, it is very very possible to have a dynamic where you can feel seen and respected and safe and human. Even a full on sub should be able to put your dynamic aside and care for you as a human being who's struggling. Once again, I'm sorry your past experiences weren't like that. You def deserve better in the future, and you can def have that if you choose

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Spending $200b to relocated doomed communities will save $1T

One million US homes are built on floodplains. It would cost $200B to relocate the people who live in them. If we do that, we will save $1T. Those homes are doomed. When (not if) people leave them (either before or after floods come), they merely be arriving at a conclusion that is inevitable today.

https://prospect.org/environment/how-to-de-develop-in-an-age-of-fire-and-flood/

There’s a useful concept to think about here: “Bezzle,” JK Galbraith’s term for “the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it.”

Some people call this the anthropocene, but we could also call it the bezzlepocene, the magic interval in which we can pretend that there is a chance that we’ll return to “normal,” and can therefore ignore the increasingly pressing need to get 1,000,000 American homeowners out of the path of the rising, violent waters coming their way.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/11/bezzlers-gonna-bezzle/#gryft

<img src=”https://craphound.com/images/tumblr_my8teyhd2C1rwjpnyo2_500.jpg" alt=”An ad for Vita Radium suppositories.”>

Here’s another useful concept: “peak indifference.” Peak indifference is the point at which the number of people who admit that there is a problem begins an uninterrupted, continuous rise. Think of “medical radium” as a model for this. Back in the old days, people used to stuff radium — a deadly, poisonous radioactive substance — into every orifice, from asshole to appetite:

https://www.orau.org/health-physics-museum/collection/radioactive-quack-cures/pills-potions-and-other-miscellany/vita-radium-suppositories.html

Eating radium, smearing it on your skin, rubbing it on your teeth and stuffing it up your asshole is a Really Bad Idea. Do it long enough and you will die, in a very horrible way indeed. But people took the radium cure for a long-ass time and swore it helped. Some of them weren’t sick to begin with. Some got better on their own. Some experienced the placebo effect.

All of that meant that, while there were always doctors and scientists running around shouting, “Please, for the love of God, stop putting radium in your asshole!” there were also lots of people saying “Don’t you dare tell me what to put in my asshole!” while others were getting rich hocking radioactive butt-plugs.

Eventually, we stopped putting radium in our assholes. Somewhere in the journey from the first ad for a radium suppository and the last one, people started to self-radicalize as radium deniers. They saw enough of their loved ones develop suppurating lesions and ghastly tumors that they no longer needed convincing. Once that happened, it was inevitable: America became a land of radium-free back passages.

If a problem is real, denial can only last so long. Eventually, the interest on policy debt you accumulate from inaction will overwhelm your ability to service it, and you will end up in policy bankruptcy. No matter how many people are shouting “Don’t look up!” eventually, even the hardest-bitten ideologue will become a believer, even if only as he breathes his last breath:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbIxYm3mKzI

In an ideal world, the point of peak indifference will come before the point of no return. Otherwise, denial can easily become nihilism: “Yeah, I get it now, you were right, rhinos are endangered! But now that there’s only one left, we might as well find out what he tastes like, right?”

https://doctorow.medium.com/what-is-peak-indifference-b7ddb6d92ca5

(Or, more prosaically, “Yeah, you were right, these cigarettes were gonna kill me, but now that I’ve got Stage Four lung cancer, why quit?”)

https://doctorow.medium.com/i-quit-9ae7b6010c99

There is a lot of housing stock that is in floodplains, and still more that is in urban/wilderness interfaces where wildfires are inevitable. We have to do something about that, and we’re past the point where that something is “preventing floods and fires.”

The thing we have to do is “managed retreat.” As Gabrielle Gurley writes for The American Prospect, managed retreat is “simple, if hard-to-accept.” It means ending decades of deference to developers who insist that “beauty spots” on the coast or in the woods are safe for human habitation:

https://prospect.org/environment/how-to-de-develop-in-an-age-of-fire-and-flood/

It’s a lesson that California coastal towns are wrestling with. These are places where “managed retreat” is a curse-word, where politicians who dare to whisper about the risks of literally building a house on an eroding cliff-face is a bad idea are recalled and replaced with politicians who swear that we’re just not putting enough radium in our assholes:

https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2020-02-24/marina-sea-level-rise

Swish resort towns where the residents wake up one morning to find that their driveway and front lawn have disappeared overnight, so that their front door now opens onto a 200' plunge onto sharp rocks and surging seas are spectacular and cinematic, but they’re not representative.

As Gurley writes, the history of “managed buyouts” is typically American, riven by racism that further punishes poor and marginalized people who were shoved into unsafe housing on floodplains by denying them fair compensation for the homes they are forced out of. A Pew Charitable Trusts report details a plausible plan for creating a new agency to manage this:

https://www.pewtrusts.org/en/research-and-analysis/reports/2022/04/property-buyouts-can-be-an-effective-solution-for-flood-prone-communities

We’re already living in the managed retreat. The 2018 California Camp Fire and the 2021 Lytton Creek fire in BC simply wiped away whole towns, poof, gone, literally up in smoke. But there are localized pockets of peak indifference, places taking action before the point of no return.

In Charleston, SC, they’re buying and demolishing houses in the floodplain, and blocking developers from building in low-lying areas.

Managed retreat is not defeat, it’s victory. Managed retreat maintains our wild and beautiful places as buffer zones that are also recreation areas: campsites, public beaches, hiking trails. Just not places where you built a permanent structure that you fill with your every worldly good and everyone you love the most in this world.

During the lockdown, the World Economic Forum asked me to give a speech on AI and technological unemployment. They agreed that I could do a talk on why this was nonsense — not least because “AI unemployment” is a shell-game of bad statistics and hand-waving and sales literature masquerading as futurism.

But more importantly, it’s nonsense because we have full employment for every person alive today and yet to be born. We are going to spend the next century or more relocating every coastal human settlement inland and uphill. This isn’t something that will happen — it’s something that is already happening.

It’s a bezzle. The con artist takes your money but you don’t know it’s a con, so you think you’re rich. The therms we’ve sunk into our oceans are going to melt a lot of polar ice. If you think we can prevent it, you’re proposing that we repeal the Second Law of Thermodynamics. It’s fantasy, not sf.

When I turned in the text of my talk, the World Economic Forum uninvited me from their virtual event. I published it instead:

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

The world I described in that speech is visible in Ruthanna Emrys’s stellar new novel A Half-Built Garden, where one sub-plot revolves around when we should stop taking ever-more-extreme measures to keep the Mississippi from bursting its banks and finding a new course, as it did for millennia. This is something that will happen inevitably, but moving all the people whose towns will drown is not a simple matter technical or social matter:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/26/aislands/#dead-ringers

Fiction is one of the key ways to hasten the point of peak indifference: it’s an appeal to our imaginations, one that warns about how bad the point of no return will be, and also what a victory addressing our problems will be. When the bus is barreling towards a cliff, swerving hard is a happy ending, even if the bus rolls:

https://locusmag.com/2022/07/cory-doctorow-the-swerve/

This is the premise behind my 2024 Tor novel, The Lost Cause, which tells the story of truth and reconciliation with white nationalist militias following a successful Green New Deal transition. In the book’s backstory, the GND is kickstarted by a series of (ultimately) fortuitous coincidences: first, a set of late-breaking electoral scandals results in Canada’s NDP winning a large parliamentary majority in a year that they had anticipated losing badly. The new Prime Minister is a Metis woman who had been picked by party grandees as a symbolic candidate in an election she was supposed to lose.

Instead, she finds herself commanding a bulletproof majority just as floods wipe half of Calgary (a city where unregulated developers have built extensively on floodplains) off the map. Rather than continuing the cycle of rebuilding and reflooding, the new PM commands that the city of Calgary will be relocated off the floodplain altogether.

This is the foundation of the “Canadian Miracle,” which leads to the creation of national high-speed rail, national renewable electrification, and, eventually, an international civilian conservation corps that travels around the world, learning from and assisting in comparable projects everywhere.

Lost Cause is a novel filled with wildfires, zoonotic plagues, internal refugee crises and flashfloods. But it’s a utopian novel — because it’s a novel where we got to the point of peak indifference before we crossed the point of no return. It’s a novel about confronting problems, rather than ignoring them.

Because managed retreat is a victory, not a defeat.

Image: Bdelisle (modified) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Snoqualmie_area_flood.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

Rick Obst (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/discoveroregon/28381003281/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[Image ID: A leafy suburb, flooded to the roofline. In the foreground is a sign advertising a new subdivision, askew and partially submerged.]

[leon-scott-kennedy]

Frostbitten

Chreon, Rated-T

Read on Ao3

Leon had barely kicked off his unbroken-in boots and flopped face-first on his bed when his phone rang. He groaned. Getting called back to the training field might kill him. Every inch of his body ached and throbbed after taking a literal beating for the last ten hours; he couldn’t be bothered to change out of his sweaty clothes, let alone shower. USSTRATCOM training was tough and the instructors tougher, but this was precisely what he had signed up for, a chance to help people, to make sure that Raccoon City never happened again.

The handset slid out of the cradle when Leon smacked it in his blind search. It hit the floor with a clunk, half suspended by the cord.

“Shit.”Leon grabbed the phone and rolled onto his back. “This better be important.”

“Rough day?”

Leon sat up, a lump forming in the back of his throat. “Chris?”

Weeks ago, Leon tracked down Chris long enough to send an email warning him that Claire had gotten herself into some deep shit and needed a hand, and then handily tacked on his new number in a hastily added PS. But, unfortunately, Leon himself was a bit busy with his so-called new job, which so far consisted of him having his ass handed to him on a regular basis, and he hadn’t been in contact with Chris or Claire since Raccoon City two months ago.

Honestly, Leon had hoped the Redfield siblings had found each other and were off chasing Umbrella and saving the world together, but apparently not. Coupled with Leon and Sherry having seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet for weeks, Chris had been a little desperate when Leon finally managed to send an encrypted email.

“How’s it going, rookie?”

Leon snorted and flopped back on the mattress, tucking his free arm behind his head, his fatigue melting away. “Oh, you know.”

“That good, huh. I know you can’t tell me what’s going on, but are you okay?”

Always with the tough questions. Leon sighed, but his stomach gave a funny little flip. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“I definitely owe you one.”

“I think we’re about even.” Leon wasted nights alone in bed thinking about the night he spent buried against Chris Redfield’s chest, arms wrapped protectively around him as he fell apart when Raccoon City was still a smouldering ruin on the horizon. Leon yearned for that level of comfort and warmth. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I found her. But, we lost someone.”

Leon’s chest ached. How many people was that now? How many people had they lost in this war that they hadn’t even been aware they were fighting. Umbrella destroyed so many lives; hurt so many people. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Condolences - apology, solace, commiseration - hung thick in the air between them, so many words left unsaid. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry I left, that I abandoned you when you needed me; I wish you were here.

“How’s Sherry?”

“She’s good,” Leon lied. His stomach clenched painfully at the thought of the little girl he and Claire had managed to save from the city. The one thing Leon had done right.

Except, the first thing the government had done was take Sherry from Leon, separated them, interrogated him for days until they finally held her life above his head like a guillotine. His visitation remained few and far between, but she was alive and well taken care of, and that’s what mattered. Even if she’d traded one lab for another.

“Good. That’s good. Listen, Claire and I are back home getting things in order, but we both want to see you. Without you, I wouldn’t have found her.”

“Chris, seriously. It was nothing. I just passed on the information I had.” Leon twirled his finger absentmindedly in the phone cord. “I couldn’t get to her, but knew you could. I’m glad you found her.”

“You’re in DC, right?”

“What? Yeah. Listen, Chris-” Leon tried.

“We’re going to drive down for the weekend before we fly back to England next week. We’re putting together a team, but Claire really wants to see you. I want to see you. I need to thank you.”

Leon scrubbed his hand across his mouth and stared helplessly up at the stucco ceiling. Chris wasn’t going to take no for an answer, not that Leon wanted him to. On the contrary, he wanted to see them as badly as they wanted to see him.

“The weekend should be fine,” Leon said. “I usually have them off unless they decide to airdrop me into the center of a national park with nothing but a combat knife and a flask. I mean, no guarantees, but, you know.”

“Jesus Christ, Leon. What have you gotten yourself into?”

Leon grimaced. “Unfortunately, that’s classified.”

“I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.” That made two of them, but Sherry’s life hung in the balance.

Chris and Leon hashed out tentative plans for the weekend. Claire and Chris would drive the nine hours down from Franklin County on Friday, which Leon found insane. Nine hours trapped in a vehicle with their sibling for a dude they barely knew, only to be met with disappointment because Leon wouldn’t be whatever they expected. All the same, he’d let them crash at his place for the weekend, and then they’d fly out of the Dulles International Sunday evening.

Warmth blossomed in Leon’s chest; hope. Things weren’t ideal. Yes, he’d been coerced into the service of his country, but he wanted to do what he couldn’t in Raccoon City; save people, make Umbrella pay for their crimes. Maybe he could have done that alongside friends, allies, or Chris. Instead, the acute loneliness tingled in the back of his mind, a constant reminder that he had been abandoned. Not on purpose, no, but his naivety showed weakness.

The call ended with a promise, like their last separation, a reluctance to part, but a promise of companionship, of warmth, of friendship that was almost destined to end in grief. Leon couldn’t help the anticipation that bloomed.

Leon noisily clattered the headset back into the cradle and took stock of his tiny bedroom cluttered with dirty clothes, plates, a half-empty glass of water, and first aid supplies. “Fuck.”

Cleaning the apartment wouldn’t be so bad considering his severe lack of possessions, and he had three days before visitors arrived. Not that either of the Redfield’s would care about the clutter and shortage of furniture. If anything, they would understand. So much had been lost the day Racoon City disappeared in a mushroom cloud. Still, he tidied every moment he had between beatings, lectures, and exams.

Friday morning, the apartment was shockingly spotless except for the freshly used coffee mug in the sink. Loading it into the half-empty dishwasher wouldn’t have been all that difficult if Leon wasn’t already running behind schedule. The commute to the training center took twenty minutes on a good day if he obeyed all traffic laws.

Today likely wouldn’t be one of those days since he was due for roll-call in seven minutes, which seemed pointlessly ridiculous as he was the only agent in training. But the government liked to make him jump through hoops, literally.

Each course they had him run became increasingly complex and ludicrous to the point that Leon failed more than ninety percent of the time. With each fall, one instructor that he didn’t know the name of, only called Sir, yelled “dead” as if it wasn’t already abundantly clear that one mistake would be a death sentence in the field. Something he probably knew that better than the assholes pulling the strings. None of the big wigs had lived the hell he lived, seen what he had seen, and relived what he relived every night alone twisted in the sheets of his bed.

By the time Leon trudged through the front door of his tiny apartment, two hours later than planned, his entire side was mottled blue and purple from the fresh thrashing at the hands of his close combat instructor. His hand to hand had improved the most over the last month with the help of his natural flexibility and agility that earned him a few jokes about how he should have joined the circus. But they were impressed.

Nothing about his training was normal, even he knew that. Nothing like the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team had been formed before, people had never been reanimated from the dead by a virus before, and they were trying to prepare him for the worst. A nightmare they had never experienced themselves, but he had.

The phone rang. Leon groaned, staggering as he pivoted where he had been about to face-plant on the couch, and headed for the phone in the bedroom.

“Hello?” Leon said, almost certain it was Agent Benford with a new brutal assignment. He sagged onto the bed in relief, curling onto his side when the increasingly familiar greeting of ‘hey, rookie” rumbled in his ear. “Chris.”

“Thank god. Where have you been? This is the fourth time we tried calling.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Leon groaned as his side twinged. “Got, uh, caught up at the... office.”

“You sound like you’re in rough shape.”

Leon hummed. “Been worse.” A sad truth.

“We were calling to say we’re an hour out, but now that’s more like ten minutes,” Chris said, and Claire shouted something unintelligible in the background. “Oh, right. Remind me to give you this number. Claire made me get one of those Nokias so she can keep track of me.”

Claire screeched indignantly, and Leon snickered. “I’ve got a pager,” he offered as consolation. All that much easier to be at the government’s beck and call, but if Chris ever needed him, or Claire, or Sherry.

Leon rattled off a few quick directions to get the Redfield’s to his place, then hung up the phone and rolled out of bed to shower. The hot water stung the fresh bruising, his muscles ached, but he felt human the more he scrubbed away the sweat and grime.

The buzzer for the front door rang as Leon eased a fresh t-shirt on over his head; his shoulder twinged, but he limped over to buzz them up.

A few minutes later, since the building’s elevator took years because of the ‘historic’ value as the real estate agent had put it, someone knocked at the door in a frantic staccato. Leon swung the door open, hair still damp, and was immediately tackled in a hug.

Fight or flight kicked in, Leon’s brain came back online in fits and started in time to hug the small woman hugging him tightly rather than throw her over his shoulder. Claire’s mouth ran a mile a minute. Apparently, he had been missed, and Claire didn’t appear to want to release him anytime soon if the creaking of his ribs were anything to go by.

Leon stared helplessly over her head at Chris, who laughed, but pried his sister off Leon so he could drag him in a hug too. Chris enveloped Leon in a bear hug. That level of high alert that itched in the back of his mind for months ebbed, not disappeared, but faded enough that Leon enjoyed the moment, squeezing Chris back just as tight.

“Come in,” Leon said as he stepped back and waved them into his tiny apartment. “It’s not much, but, you know.”

Claire and Chris shucked their shoes and jackets and wandered into the apartment. Claire scrutinized every little detail or lack thereof. Decoration wasn’t exactly at the top of Leon’s priorities. Nevertheless, he had what he needed: a couch, a TV, a coffee table that doubled as his kitchen table, and a mattress in the bedroom. No bedframe, but he wasn’t picky. Clean sheets and a blanket, and he was good to go.

“It’s, ahh...” Chris trailed off as he glanced around the sparse room.

“What are you, a squatter?” Claire cut in. She stood in front of the mostly empty closet she’d opened.

“Okay, I was going to say it’s a bit Spartan,” Chris said. He slapped a comforting hand on Leon’s shoulder. “Can’t be easy to start all over from nothing, again.”

Leon rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders slumped. “I did warn you guys. Not much to do.”

Chris hummed, his hand dropping from Leon’s shoulder as he wandered off to the kitchen. “You got beer?” The fridge was stocked with two six-packs of cheap beer, a bottle of ketchup, a carton of 2%, and eggs.

“I’ll order food,” Claire said, glancing around, but the phone wasn’t in sight. Leon directed her to the bedroom, where his mattress sat on the floor against the wall. “Jesus Christ, Leon, is that a milk crate?” Clearly, she’d found the bedside table with the phone and takeout menus.

Groaning, Leon sank down onto his couch and buried his face in his hands. The cushions sank beside him as a much larger body sat down. Leon peeked out from between his fingers at Chris, who smiled sadly at him.

“If you need anything-” Chris started.

“I’m fine.” Leon ran his fingers through his damp hair and slouched so his elbows rested on his knees. “Not a lot of time to do much these days, you know, between the daily ass kickings and memorizing a million and one protocols.”

Chris mirrored Leon’s posture. “You could always come with us.”

Leon shook his head.

“Leon-”

“I can’t,” Leon snapped in time for Claire to walk out of the bedroom.

For a second, Claire paused, eyes bouncing between the heavy tension that hung between them. “I ordered Chinese. Did I miss something?”

“No,” Chris and Leon said at the same time.

The food didn’t take long to arrive. The delivery guy, already familiar with Leon’s apartment, joked that he had company for once. The restaurant had even thrown in some free spring rolls for one of their best customers. Sad, considering he’d only been in DC for a little over a month.

The three of them settled on the couch together; Leon squashed in the middle of the sofa, pressed against Chris because Claire had claimed one end with her feet up and tucked her toes under Leon’s thigh. They’d settled for a cheesy action movie they found flipping through channels, something with a bus that couldn’t stop, but ignored it in favour of light conversion, mostly Claire. Neither Chris nor Leon were much in the way of conversationalists. Still, Chris offered a tidbit here and there, and Leon hummed along, nodding when need be, and occasionally offered the occasional dry joke that had Chris and Claire in stitches. Chris nearly snorted beer out his nose when he made an off-the-cuff remark about the first day always being the easiest.

Pleasantly buzzed from a few beers and noodles heavy in his belly, Leon began to nod off, his head helplessly bobbing with the weight of fatigue.

Distantly, Leon heard a chuckle. His head plopped down on the closest shoulder, broad and warm, and the last thing he remembered was Claire wiggling her toes under his thigh and giggling.

When Leon woke up to his bladder screaming, the apartment was dark. For a brief second, he panicked when he discovered his mobility restricted, but his foggy mind pieced together the clues to form a complete picture. He was still on the couch, curled into Chris’ side, nose pressed into Chris’ neck. The arm slung around Leon’s shoulder held in him what couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a secure embrace. They were barely covered by what Leon quickly realized was the thin comforter from his bed because Claire, curled up on the other end of the couch, had stolen most of the blanket, leaving Chris and Leon with a tiny corner.

Leon eased himself out of Chris’ protective hold and slipped off the couch, tucking Chris back under the blanket so he could escape to the safety of the bathroom in what was becoming a pattern. Wake up cuddled with a man he barely knew, panic, then flee.

The moonlight through the clouded window lit the bathroom enough for Leon to piss and wash his hands without hitting the light. He stood, hands braced on the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were lighter, and his hair was a wild tangle after falling asleep with it still damp. Even if he looked less tired, he was exhausted. He shivered. DC winters were colder than he was used to.

Shuffling back into the living room, Leon found Claire stretched further out on the couch, having used Leon’s absence to steal the very little room Leon had occupied beside Chris. “That seems about right,” he said, then jumped when Chris’ head popped up from where it had been stretched out against the back of the couch. “Oh! Sorry, I can just...” Leon waved vaguely back down the hall towards his bedroom.

Chris lifted his corner of the blanket in invitation.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Leon argued, rubbing his arm. “I can just sleep in my bed.”

“Isn’t this your blanket?” Chris asked.

Leon shivered in the cool December chill. “It’s not that cold.”

“Leon.”

Leon slunk back to the couch under Chris’ watchful gaze and tried to find space, but Claire’s sprawl left no room for Leon to squeeze back into. He hovered for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed, but the choice was taken from him when Chris grabbed him around the middle and hauled him down over his lap. Leon squawked, slapping a hand over his mouth. His butt nestled between the arm of the couch and Chris’ thigh, his legs thrown over Chris’ lap.

For almost a full minute, Leon stared at Chris open-mouthed, unable to do anything but blink like a startled owl while his attacker shook with silent laughter.

“Cat got your tongue, rookie?” Chris snickered.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Leon snapped his jaw closed, pursed his lips and purposefully flung an arm around Chris’ shoulders before wiggling until he was burrowed tightly into the warmth of Chris’ side like a kitten. Still, it took a few minutes for Leon to relax enough to sink into the heat of the body beneath him, Chris grinning a challenge to him. Leon rolled his eyes and stuck the cold tip of his nose into Chris’ neck.

“Christ, Kennedy,” Chris said as a stilted shudder ran through him, but wrapped Leon in an inflexible hug like the first night they met, the night Leon’s anxiety and doubt demanded the comfort of another person, the night he still dreamt about. “What are you? Part snowman?”

“Popsicle, but thanks for asking,” Leon mumbled.

Tucked under a small corner of the worn comforter he found in a thrift shop his first night in the city, Leon tilted headfirst into the satisfaction and comfort of Chris Redfield. Most men would have balked at even the idea of cuddling with another man, but Leon had never been like other men. He’d learned early in life to take comfort where he could because kindness was often isolated incidents of empathy.

The smell of coffee tickled Leon’s nose. He was hot, a little too hot, and a little sweaty, but he was comfortable, safe. He pressed into the warmth, groaning quiet contentment when the heat squeezed back until a sharp snort and a giggle shocked him into alertness like a splash of ice water.

Leon’s eyes snapped open. Claire grinned at him from the far end of the couch, legs pulled up to sit cross-legged, hand curled around a steaming mug of coffee. “Morning.”

Ao3

[moonagedaydreamohyeah]

Hi!! Welcome back! I saw you'retaking prompts, so I hope it's okay for me to send a lil one 🥺 I have this idea where Bucky has nightmares constantly, and they get so bad he can't wake up. So after a couple of weeks, he's barely holding on, Steve tries something though. And now wherever he has a nightmare, he grabs his hand, to soothe him while telling him various memories of them, their wedding, their childhood. It works, Bucky calms down eventually and then wakes up. Telling Steve his dream shifted at a certain point and stopped being scary. I had this idea but I truly cannot write at all, if you choose to do it (it's totally fine if you don't though) I know you'll do a great job! Tysm

Hii Nonnie! Thank you soo so much for your prompt, I’m sorry it took so long! Here it is though, it turned out pretty long but I hope you like it!!🙏🌼💗

Trigger warnings for some angst and trauma related stuff and a close-to panic attack - I promise it gets fluffy before long☺️

_____________________________________________

The first thing Steve registered as he slowly became aware of his surroundings was the darkness of their room, suggesting that it was nowhere close to being morning yet.

He slowly blinked his eyes open and as he reached his hand out he came in contact with heated and sweat-clammy skin at the same time as he heard the tell-tale whimpering sounds from beside him, which instantly alerted to the cause of him having woken up in the first place.

As he sat up and turned the lamp at his bedside on, Steve looked at the distressed face of his boyfriend, at the way that his hands are opening and closing around the sheet in tight fists as if battling through a pain that was only a memory, but probably felt just as fresh and real as the approaching dawn.

Running a hand tiredly over his face, Steve suspected the bone deep exhaustion which is the product of almost two weeks of sleepless nights, for the fact that he didn’t realise what was happening the moment he stirred into wakefulness.

Steve took a deep breath in a lost effort to gather himself for what appeared to be another sleepless night with Bucky reliving the worst moments of his life while Steve sat helplessly beside him, unable to wake him up from the horror he was reliving and bring him back to reality.

When this specific brand of night terrors had first started, Steve had gone through any and all means that he and Bucky could come up with to wake him up, finding that not one of them was enough to tear Bucky from the deep sleep he was caught up in and the painful memories that came with it.

It wasn’t like nightmares were any kind of new experience for either of them, which of course couldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. They had both experienced stuff that would bring anyone nightmares, and Bucky’s mind especially only had to dig through what seemed like a bottomless pile of more than 70 years incomparable trauma and replay it, whenever it wanted to procure night terrors of the kind that would have most people opt for never sleeping again, if it meant they didn’t have to relive it - which is what Bucky would have preferred too, if it wasn’t for his therapist having put him on a strict sleeping schedule and medication to ensure that he would actually sleep within those set times, in a sympathetic voice ensuring him that the only road to recovery was through.

Usually the other would be there to wake up whomever of them were unlucky enough to run into a nightmare bad enough to wake the other up, and they would be able to hold each other until they could talk it out and eventually go back to sleep, until they were ready to go back to sleep.

They even had a ritual set up for the really bad ones. They would put on a pot of coffee and have a cup each, indulging in plenty of cream and sugar and drink them while watching an episode or two of Steven Universe on the TV.

As none of that was something they’d gotten to enjoy before waking up in the 21’st century, due to rationing and what not, that usually brought them had suffered right back to reality, reminding them that they had both escaped the pain of the past, and were now back together in the somewhat peaceful life they had managed to create for themselves in this new time and place.

But since these particular nightmares had started, none of that had been of use anymore. No matter what Steve tried, Bucky simply wouldn’t wake up and all Steve could do was sit helplessly by his side while the whimpers and cries for help rose in volume,

That didn’t stop Steve from trying though. Reaching out to try and shake Bucky out of it, Steve tried to keep the desperation out of his voice as he spoke.

“Bucky, baby, come on wake up. You’re dreaming sweetheart, you aren’t there anymore, you’re right here with me, all you gotta do is wake up.”

As he’d come to expect though, it was no use. If anything, the nightmare only seemed to be intensifying, if the full body shiver and increasingly loud whimpers of pain was anything to go by. Steve could feel his voice wavering as he shook him a little harder while he tried to speak over the devastating sounds coming from his love.

“Bucky, please. C’mon, baby, wake up. Sweetheart.”

It was when Bucky, still not showing any signs of waking up, let out a loud, high pitched cry of ‘please, no, no more, no more please, it hurts!’ that Steve suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. His breath hitched as the sob he’d been trying to hold back suddenly tore from his throat and without thinking, he was throwing the covers off and leaping out of their shared bed and into the living room where he braced himself on the back of the couch and took in gasping breaths as he tried to control the sobs that kept coming.

As his breathing only picked up the pace, Steve felt himself steer into what would no doubt become a full blown panic attack if he didn’t get a hold of himself. He slid down to sit the floor and placed his between his knees while back and forth to eight in his in a last ditch effort to slow his breathing; ‘breathe in for eight, and then out for eight’ he recited in his head.

Finally feeling his breathing start to even out, he remembered something that Mary-Ann, Bucky’s therapist, had stressed in one of their shared sessions;

‘You can’t cure another person’s pain or trauma, and the minute you catch yourself trying or beating yourself up over not being successful in doing so, you’re only making the situation worse by creating more pain for yourself along side with the pain your loved one is already in. Working through this stuff is only something you can do for yourself. The best you can do is be by their side to support them through it and try to diminish the strain of negative thoughts and other practical stuff that takes energy away from the effort that it takes to get better.’

Bucky and Steve both had trauma to work through, and figuring out to best help each other without putting too much strain on themselves and taking on the other’s struggles as well, had been a difficult balance to achieve when they had first been brought back to each other. But through therapy and conversations they had managed to get into a pretty good rhythm when it came to balancing their relationship and everyday life which all the baggage they each brought into it, by being there for each other in the best way possible.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t still hard sometimes, and these nightmares had taken a serious toll on both of them, so it wasn’t any wonder that Steve was at his limit. Had it only taken out on the nights, that would have been a different thing. But Bucky had been restless and tired in the day too, often staring off into the distance seemingly caught up in his own head. Steve, having been kept up by Bucky’s nightmares, had slowly felt the weight of Bucky’s struggles and the overall gloomy mood in their shared home, become to much to bear with his sparring energy resources.

Reminding himself once again of Mary-Ann’s words, Steve tried to shake off the feeling of inadequacy as he slowly got up from the floor. ‘The only way to get past this is through,’ he thought decisively, ‘and we will get through it.’

Even though Steve suddenly couldn’t bear to not be by Bucky’s side for one more moment, he opted to take a quick detour into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, before he braces himself and returned to the bedroom.

By now whatever Bucky was reliving had sent him into a state of thrashing around on the sheets, throwing the covers halfway off to reveal his sweat soaked shirt, accompanied the sound of pleading, painful sounding whimpers that bordered on sobs.

Sitting himself back on the bed, Steve used one hand to grab a firm hold of Bucky’s that was now clutching the sheet hard enough that it was a wonder he hadn’t torn a hole in it yet, and started rubbing soothing circles over the back while he smoothed Bucky’s hair away from his sweaty face. Steve took a deep breath to collect himself before he started talking in a soothing voice.

“It’s okay, Buck, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere sweetheart” He didn’t know if he was still talking to Bucky or mostly trying to convince himself, when he continued, “I can’t take the pain away, but I can at least be here by your side through it, huh? Just like your Mary-Ann told us: that’s all I can do, and I’ll do it sweetheart, I’ll stay right here. I’m sorry I had to leave for a little while, but I promise I’m here now, okay? Just like you were always right there for me.”

Thinking back to the first of those awful winters when Steve had been so sick that not one doctor dared reassure his ma that he would be sure to pull through, Steve continued in that same, low voice, mostly just thinking out loud by now. He almost didn’t notice that Bucky’s whimpers had toned down a little bit and the thrashing was starting to calm down again into those god awful full body shivers.

“I guess I know how you felt now, going though those winters back then, huh? Oh god, how awful that must have been for you, baby, I get that now, don’t I? Sitting there, unable to do a damn thing but always reassuring me that I would get through even when everyone else doubted it. You always stayed, and I swear baby, that must’ve been what got me through at least the half of it.” Steve had to breath in deep again to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Remember that first winter? We can’t have been that old, maybe nine or ten I think..” Steve mused, caught up in the memories. “Yeah, that must’ve been it. I remember ‘cause we had been playing all day out in the rain and we didn’t even notice how cold it was. Your ma gave us such an earful when we came home, soaked through and teeth chattering. I remember her going at us while we stood in the bathroom, naked as the day we were born and shivering, while she got the bath ready. She had that voice on, the one she used when we’d been exceptionally stupid”, Steve scoffed quietly. “‘You boys, I swear,’ she would always say, ‘it’s barely forty degrees outside and you run around in the rain like that; you’ll get sick, that’s for sure. You boys don’t think we have better things to spent all our hot water on?’ and I remember her voice soften when she told us, ‘you gotta take better care of yourselves, especially you Steve, with how skinny you are.’ I think she was probably more worried than mad though. God, I miss your ma sometimes. She was such a wonderful woman. Always had a thing or two to say about the shenanigans we got up to, but you could always tell she wasn’t really all that mad. She was right too, of course. I spent the entire winter in bed, doing my best to cough up half a lung while you sat by my side with that determined look on your face, like you were prepared to fight off death himself if he ever even thought of bothering to show up.”

By now Bucky was visibly calming down, the only signs of distress being the furrow of his brow and the occasional clenching and unclenching of the fist that Steve wasn’t holding onto, so Steve kept talking in the hope that that was what was finally doing the trick.

“And you never let me go out after that, without being practically bunched up in a hundred layers, even if it meant you had to freeze your balls off.” Steve chuckled to himself, suddenly recalling a very fond memory. “Oh, and then when it finally got hot outside again and we were out playing - we were with that girl, what was her name again..” Steve thought back, trying to remember. “- Laurel? Loraine? You know, the one with the pretty curls you were always pulling at when her family sat in front of us in church and no one was looking. Anyway, you found that penny on the ground and decided you were gonna buy us ice cream cones, but of course one penny turned out to only be enough for one. And I remember the look on her face when you said I should have it, god, she was so disappointed. But I had lost weight from being sick all winter and I was even skinnier than usual, and you were all like ‘look at him, he needs fattening up, it’s only fair, here you go Stevie, you have it’ and you wouldn’t hear any complaints about it.”

Steve was brought back from his reminiscing by Bucky rolling over onto his back and letting out a small sigh, any signs of the nightmare having disappeared from his features. Steve was flooded with relief as he smiled down at him and continued softly. “It was all there, right in front of my face, even back then, wasn’t it? I can’t believe I spent all those years being jealous of all the ladies who were always keen on dancing with you when we went out. You only ever had eyes for me, huh?”

Steve startled at the sound of Bucky’s sleep rough mumble. “‘Course, you punk”

Squeezing his hand, Steve checked to make sure he had heard right. “Bucky? Hey, you awake honey?”

Bucky squeezed back, letting out a grumbled “Mmh.. wha’s going on, why’re you up?” but he seemed to quickly rise from his sleepy state at Steve’s choked “oh thank god”

“Hey, Steve what’s wrong, huh? Look at me, what happened? You have a nightmare or somethin’”? Bucky asked, wiping away a single tear of pure relief that had apparently escaped and was trailing down Steve’s left cheek. His look of worry turned into one of realisation though, when it dawned on him. “Oh shit, it was me having a nightmare again huh? It happened again, didn’t it? Aww I’m sorry Stevie.”

“No no, please don’t apologise,” Steve hurried to reassure him. “It’s not your fault Buck. I’m just so relieved you’re back with me. It’s just hard, you know? Seeing you in that much pain and not being able to do a thing about it,” Steve sniffled.

“Yeah, I know Stevie, I know.” Bucky expression briefly shifted to one of confusion. “How’d you wake me up? I thought we’d practically tried everything by now.”

“I didn’t, at first,” Steve said, “I just starting talking to you and then when it seemed to calm you down a bit I kinda just kept going with like, talking about memories that came up, you know from back when we were kids.”

“Oh yeah.” Bucky furrowed his brows in thought. “I don’t really remember what the nightmare was about, only that it was awful and then the dream sort of.. shifted. Something about my ma giving us an earful and then something about ice cream cones and brown curls?” Bucky’s face shifted, as if he’d remembered something funny. “God, you remember that time I found that penny? And that girl, Loraine I think, she got so mad when I bought you ice cream instead of her,” Bucky chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s the story I was telling,” Steve smiled. “To be fair, that was kind of dick move, Barnes. Ain’t no way to treat a lady.”

“Hey! You were so skinny! You clearly needed it more than her!” Bucky defended himself. “And by the way, it wasn’t exactly her I was trying to impress.” Bucky said, waggling his eyebrows.

Steve snorted. “Yeah, alright, you’re a real charmer.”

“Don’t you know it,” Bucky said. Smiling more softly, he leaned in so his forehead was resting against Steve’s. “I’m really sorry for waking you up honey. It sucks that you have to be here through all that Stevie, I know it ain’t easy on you.”

“Nah,” Steve answered. “I’m right where I want to be. Till the end of the line and all that, remember? Not planning to go anywhere”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed softly, and then in an almost whisper, sounding suddenly vulnerable, “I love you so much, Stevie.”

Sensing that Bucky was finally feeling some of the raw emotion that was left over from the nightmare he’d just endured, now that he knew that Steve was okay, Steve lifted up to plant a lingering kiss on his forehead. Rubbing a hand soothingly up and down Bucky’s back, he noted that his t-shirt was still soaked from sweat. “Me too, Buck. Me too. Hey, why don’t I go make a pot of coffee and turn the TV on and you come join me once you’ve cleaned up a little?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, burying himself a bit closer into Steve’s embrace before pulling away and offering a grateful smile. “That sounds good.”

[spookbusters]

Space Age Love Song

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend is never really easy, but it can be so worth it.

Pairing: Ray Stantz x astronomist!Reader // Warnings: bit of manipulative ex // Words: 2.2k

A/N: The process of writing these over the last few months was so intense, but it was so worth it. It was truly a work of the heart, and I hope you all love it as much as I do.

You met in 1982, almost two full years before Ghostbusters were even a thing, in a hallway on campus at Columbia University. It was almost two in the morning.

You’d seen each other before in passing in the Chem and Physics building, on long nights, but you’d never spoken before.

All you really knew about him was that he had the sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

It was both of your first years out of your PhDs.

You had gotten a job at the school right out of the gate teaching incoming freshman.

From what you knew, he was working in an on-campus parapsychology research lab with two other graduates.

One of whom he had a second, parachemistry lab with.

You were working on some diagrams for the freshman students you’d be teaching that semester.

They were spread all over the wall in front of your office, since you’d run out of space in your tiny broom closet.

You had your Walkman in your pocket, your favorite tape on blast, and flecks of paint on your glasses.

Your budget from the university couldn’t cover largely scaled, full-color pictures of the recent Voyager 2 Saturn discoveries, so you had taken it upon yourself to scale them yourself and paint them for your students to see.

Ray was on his way out of the lab that night, after having worked on developing some negatives and going over some tapes while Venkman (who was supposed to be helping) snoozed in his office chair.

He noticed from across the hallway how frenzied you were working and was genuinely surprised by how much energy you seemed to have.

When he got a little closer, you finally noticed him out of the corner of your eye.

You offered him a smile he’d seen several times before, a little bashful, but ultimately warm and very kind.

You tried to shimmy out of the way so he could get by you and your yellow, orange, and brown paints without much incident.

Now that he was closer, he could see your paintings. He noticed the mess on your hands, the brush tucked into your ear.

And he was in awe.

When he didn’t pass you by as you expected him to, you looked at him.

He was talking!! You hadn’t been paying attention!!

You pulled your headphones off your ears, and his voice suddenly flooded in to replace the music.

“-taken you to do this?”

He must’ve noticed the way your music was suddenly audible, because he suddenly redirected his attention from the painting to you, gave a light chuckle and gestured to your Walkman.

“Sorry! Couldn’t see the headphones, they kind of blended in with your hair.”

You returned his laugh.

You explained your situation to him, and the reasons behind your painting.

He thinks it’s incredible. Not just your artistic skill, but also your dedication to your students.

That is the moment the two of you are formally introduced.

You stand there and chat for a few minutes, and eventually part ways.

But that’s not the last time you talk. Not by a long shot.

You see him a few more times to and from your class, and instead of just offering a smile, you always shoot him a “Hi, Ray!”

He likes seeing you, truth be told. You always have an infectiously positive energy about you.

After a while, he finds he likes it so much, he stops to say hey to you even when he’s just passing by your open office door.

You’re mostly acquaintances, but there are often times you find yourself wanting to get to know him more.

Like when you see him just absolutely gunning it down the hallway past your open office door with a colander on his head. Or the time you could hear a muffled ‘boom’ from the lab down the hall, followed by a similarly muffled cry of “Success!”

The day you’d finally begin your friendship would come a couple weeks later.

When he passed by your office, you were bent over your desk grading quizzes, looking stressed out of your mind. Your students just weren’t getting the material and you were wondering 

The sight stirred concern in him.

“Hey,” he’d said, and you’d look up at him with tired eyes. He looked just as exhausted. “I’m headed out to get a coffee. Do you want to come?”

You accepted.

It was all uphill from there.

He told you some of the best jokes you’d ever heard, and you inspired a lot of dedication in him.

You became close with him, and you’d spend a lot of time in each other’s labs.

It wasn’t until you met the girl he’d started dating after you got to know him that you finally admitted to yourself that you had feelings for him.

It was so hard. Not just admitting it to yourself that you had fallen for him like a boulder in the ocean, but seeing him as happy as he was.

Her name was Suzanne, and they’d end up being together for almost 7 months.

Around Ray you’d think she was the sweetest thing.

But when he’d leave you with her to go grab something from somewhere, she was bitter and catty.

She couldn’t stand how much time the two of you spent together.

You’d often sigh when you thought about them together. How wrong it was.

She didn’t deserve him, and he was such a sweetheart willing to give people the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t notice how thick her façade was.

Part of you didn’t want to tell him about any of your interactions with her. You didn’t want to be responsible for ruining things for him.

But, your better judgement knew that that wasn’t right.

So, you talked to him about how she’d been acting with you during their time together.

He trusted you, and decided to talk to Suzanne about it.

The next day, he came back to your office, and you instantly knew the conversation hadn’t gone well.

His face was sullen in a way you’d never seen before, and it worried you.

You sat together for some coffee to talk it over.

Apparently, she became extremely defensive when he tried to talk to her about it.

As time went on while they were talking, he became increasingly aware of how controlling and toxic she was.

He also realized he really wasn’t as happy as he had thought he was.

They broke it off.

He actually thanked you for taking the time to talk to him the way you did.

It was a bitter-sweet moment, but it reinforced your friendship.

It took a while for Ray to heal, but when he did, he was happier than he ever was.

You were happy that he was happy. Truly happy.

You’d also given yourself time to come to terms with the fact that you were in love with him.

You were hesitant to tell him, afraid of ruining your friendship which was so dear to you. 

But, deep down, you knew you’d have to tell him eventually.

One day he came to you talking about something he’d be working on that weekend.

One of Ray’s friends, Egon, told Ray about a meteor shower that could potentially generate crazy amounts of energy.

“You’re the resident star-gazer,” he said with a kind, eye-twinkling smile, “Would you want to come see it with me? I wanted to get some readings when it’s going on.”

And, God, if you weren’t completely crazy about him before, you certainly were now.

You agreed instantly.

That weekend, you two packed up the back of the 70s Chevy truck Ray inherited from his dad, and headed out to Allegany State Park for the night.

The roadtrip alone would be ingrained in your mind for the rest of your life.

You guys sang along to the radio the whole time, cracking jokes in the afternoon sun, and talking about anything and everything you could think of.

When you got to the park, that sweet, light-hearted energy lived on.

You were pretty much in the middle of nowhere, parked next to a ridge that overlooked the rest of the park.

You spent the first few hours hanging out, having some drinks out of the cooler you’d brought, and setting things up for the night ahead.

You’d brought your best telescope, Ray’s equipment for his readings, a radio, and some blankets for when the spring night began to chill.

You were having such a good time that you barely noticed the way the sun was almost completely below the horizon.

You were really only made aware when your watch alarm started beeping.

“Oh, hey,” you muttered, “It should be starting soon!”

As the sun set further and the sky turned dark, the two of you sat curled up waiting for the first meteors to streak across the night.

At the first sign of a meteor, Ray’s electrical equipment starts beeping off the charts, and you could swear you'd never seen him so excited.

He’s all but jumping between his electronics, noting to himself the various measurements of a form of energy that you didn’t completely understand.

It only takes him about an hour to get what he needs.

“Do you want to go home,” you ask, and you hoped with all your heart that he’d say no.

And he did. “Actually, I was thinking we could stay here a little longer. Enjoy the view for a little bit, if you want to.”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” you’d reply, and when he grinned at you, your heart warmed.

You both retired yourself to the bed of the truck, curled up in the blankets and just watching the streaks cross the sky.

You’d turned on the radio, and were passing a thermos of hot chocolate between the two of you.

You’d seen at least a few dozen celestial events in your life so far, but you’d never experienced one that had made you feel the way you did in that moment.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really asked why you got into all this,” he’d say, gesturing to the meteor shower.

“Hmm,” you mused, “No, I don’t think you have, actually.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, silently urging you to go on.

And, of course, you do.

“When I was little, on a trip to Arizona, my family went out to the middle of nowhere, and I do mean nowhere,” you explained, “And when we got away from all the light pollution, it was still so bright outside from all the stars you could see.”

When you turned to look at him, he was staring right at you. You felt your face flush.

“I just remember wanting to learn everything I could about outer space,” you finished, “I’d never seen something so beautiful.”

When he looked back up at the stars, you leaned over and put your head on his shoulder, and you smiled.

You didn’t want this moment to ever end.

The two of you spend some time quiet, just listening to the songs softly play over the radio.

A Flock of Seagulls comes on and you smile.

You absentmindedly hum along.

He slowly reaches an arm around your shoulders.

He’s hoping you don’t really notice.

You totally notice.

Doesn’t take long for you to start singing under your breath.

"Saw your eyes, and they touched my mind. Though it took a while, I was falling in love.”

But it’s the soft muttered question of your name that really captures your attention.

You lift your head from his shoulder to look at him and you can swear that you’d never seen that look in his eyes before.

“Is everything ok,” you ask, concern tinting your tone.

You brushed your fingers across his cheekbone, and he all but leaned into your palm. The eyes that look back at you are stormy. Conflicted.

“You know I could never ask of you what I want to ask you,” he sighed. “You’re one of my best friends and I never want to lose having you in my life.”

The words nearly made you cry.

“You don’t have to ask,” you sniffled.

When you kissed him, it felt like coming home. It was warm and grounding.

Now you were crying. When you took a breath again you were crying and laughing. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you confessed, your heart about ready to leap out of your chest. It nearly does when you hear him whisper, “Me too.”

The two of you spend the remainder of the night talking about whatever you can think of and giving small chuckles against one another’s lips. 

You feel like you’re on cloud nine.

You decide to head home about an hour later, packing up the truck and watching light streak across the windshield as you drive out of the park.

“This view was really something,” you say, smiling with your head leaning against the window.

And, as he looked at you in his passenger seat, holding one of his hands while he drove, he felt his heart swell with all the love he had for you.

“I had two beautiful views tonight.”

[nerdygaymormon]

I found this article by Nathan Kitchen, president of Affirmation, to be very compelling. 

He identifies 4 generations of gay Mormons that have existed over the past 70 years. Until about 10 or 15 years ago, the Church viewed all LGBT members as having some sort of homosexual feelings that confused gender roles. Consequently, the discussion of generations is going to focus on the treatment of gay members.  

The differences in the generations comes from the Church changing what it asks of the gay member and how it manages the existence of this group in the Church. When current practices are no longer considered acceptable to parents and others, the Church changes, thus creating the next generation. 

Each generation has a different experience with the Church’s prejudice, harassment, and discrimination. 

Nathan doesn’t identify years for each generation, and there aren’t clean breaks between one generation and the next, they bleed into each other, but I’ll put my rough estimate for each generation.

————————————————————

1st Generation (1950~1980) - The Church believed anyone could develop gay feelings and attractions, these were sinful and Church required complete rejection of these attractions. Failure to completely erase these feelings was grounds for discipline and expulsion. The church schools and most LDS families would also eject the queer person from their midst, they feared the spread of these attractions to others. Attempts to remove these “tendencies” included electro-shock therapy at BYU. Spencer W. Kimball’s book the Miracle of Forgiveness dominated Church thinking on queer topics in the era.

This is the generation that spans the most decades and consequently is the largest generation of queer Saints. This generation was taught their attractions could change if they wanted it bad enough. The violence and hostility against these individuals caused a great deal of trauma and many perished. After breaking these people, the Church washed its hands of them by ejecting them from membership, therefore removing the need to deal with the consequences of its actions in those lives.

2nd Generation (1980~2000) - Rather than insist on complete erasure of homosexual feelings (the church thought all queer identities came down to homosexuality), it employed the idea of secrecy and to act like heterosexuals. This is the invisible generation because their bishops told them to never tell anyone else. This group felt isolated and alone, hidden from other members and each other. This invisibility allowed other members to believe there were no gay people in the Church, certainly not in their congregation. This generation was encouraged to enter mixed-orientation marriages, have kids and live like a straight person and everything would be alright. If it didn’t work out, then you weren’t strong enough.

These members served in Young Women’s, as bishops, Relief Society presidencies, on the High Council, and so on. Some of them still exist in the Church, hidden from everyone because the cost of coming out is so high and the shame they have about their attractions (the Church didn’t distinguish much between feelings and actions, so these people feel bad for things they’ve never done). Every so often, we’ll hear about a former mission president or stake president who finally comes out after decades of living as a straight person.

Most of the mixed-orientation marriages failed, the queer person eventually spoke their truth, picked up the pieces of their shattered dreams, and moved on. When it became clear that a straight marriage with a straight spouse didn’t fix them, the Church moved on, usually offering support to the divorced straight spouse and rejecting the queer spouse. 

3rd Generation (2000~2015) - The Church decided gay thoughts aren’t a problem, but gay actions are. The Church encouraged people to use the term “same-sex attraction (SSA)” as a way to avoid queer identities that’s don’t fit in the Church’s view of God’s Plan. Basically, we’re all straight people and some of us are struggling with unwanted attractions. SSA was compared to addictions. Queer people no longer had to remain hidden, so they found each other and attended conferences together and encouraged each other. Members would admire you for your wrestle against SSA.

Being unable to ‘overcome’ their SSA was distressing. Although the Church no longer officially endorsed mixed-orientation marriages, many local leaders still encouraged these but with full disclosure to the straight spouse, even though these couples don’t really understand what they’re signing up for. Many queer people turned to conversion therapy to change (usually not knowing there was no evidence these programs worked or were even based in proven techniques or methods, and resulted in higher suicide rates & mental health issues). 

Because they were trying to make this path work and were admired for it, these queer members mostly didn’t share their struggles & mental health challenges with their family, friends, or other members. Unlike the 2nd generation, they were visible, but largely were kept silent. A generation seen but not heard. 

4th Generation (2015~present) - Instead of being required to change their orientation, or keep it secret, or to nobly struggle against their inner core, today’s generation is told it’s okay to identify as gay, lesbian and bisexual. There’s nothing wrong with your attractions. We want you at church, there’s a place for you here. You belong. We celebrate you by sharing videos and publishing books about single, celibate members who are gay and bi. We reject conversion therapy, no violence, no denying identities, no encouraging mixed-orientation marriages. We celebrate you...as long as you are single & celibate. 

We have many gay couples who think they’re loved enough and belong enough that they attend church together, they sit together, they’re dating and things seem okay. Once they marry, the swiftness & ferocity with which their leaders take action against them is stunning. The couple finds the warm, fuzzy messages of belonging actually hide a structure that’s still as prejudiced and discriminatory as the past. What is their place in the Church...they’re allowed to attend as visitors.

This approach held onto a lot of families, but increasingly it’s not enough. As the queer child grows up and becomes interested in love and relationships, church no longer works. And if church is not welcoming and affirming of their queer child, more and more entire families exit with them. Generation Z grew up with queer friends and many cite the Church’s treatment of LGBTQIA+ people as a reason they are leaving the Church.

————————————————————

As society changes and becomes more accepting, the Church has to change how it treats its queer members. What was acceptable in the 1970′s is now looked at with horror and revulsion. Today’s parents would never subject their child to electrical shocks or induced nausea, how barbaric.

The changes the Church has made is in how it treats the gay member, not in how it views them nor in what it preaches about them. They’re still absent from God’s Plan, or as I prefer to put it, absent from the Church’s version of God’s Plan. Because the Church has not substantially changed how it views queer people, it’s going to continue to find how it treats queer people will fail. 

The Church treats queer members far better than it did in the past, but until it actually embraces queer members, listens to their voices and what they want, the Church will adjust, and adjust again. Not hating us is not enough, the Church must learn to love us. 

[oh-ranpo]

hand in hand, side by side.

pairing: charlie gillespie x reader
an: this is just a little thing based on Owen’s post about Charlie being a nervous flyer. I’m not sure if he really is or not or to what extent though. I hope you enjoy!
word count: 1.8k+

You could tell that he was nervous. You could see it written all over his face before you even stepped into the airport. You had known Charlie long enough to be able to properly read his tells, and while you did notice them, you didn’t say anything to him about it. You knew that this particular fear was one that he wasn’t proud of, and sure, you knew that he was trying to hide his nerves with excitement, but you knew better. You knew better because you were the same way.

You hated flying. You hated the feeling of lifting off the ground, and you hated the semi-weightlessness that you experienced once you were in the air. The mere thought of being so precariously high above the ground sent your stomach plummeting, but it was a necessary evil for the life that you lived. You chose to deal with this anxiety because you wanted to be able to travel, and more importantly, you wanted to travel with him. You knew that he carried the same mindset, and that’s why he never outwardly complained. Neither one of you would, but that didn’t mean that every other part of your appearance wasn’t screaming out the anxiety that you were feeling.

Today, Charlie’s was especially bad. His hands had started shaking ever so slightly as soon as you checked in your luggage. You didn’t say anything then, but instead just reached out one of your hands to take one of his, and he smiled as your fingers laced together. He knew what it was for, but he appreciated you keeping it to yourself. It was a comfort that you both used whenever either one of you was feeling anxious about something, and now, you were ready to lean on one another to get through this experience as well.

Usually, once you made it through security, you were able to feel a tiny bit of peace for a little while before it was time to board. You always made sure to arrive at the airport early, mostly because being late was another thing that heavily stressed you out, but when Charlie reached for your hand as soon as you were through, you could tell that today was going to be different. You still had an hour and a half until boarding, but his palm was sweaty, and his face was pale as he did his best to give you another small smile.

“Did you want to get something to eat?” you asked, squeezing his hand gently as you started walking towards your gate. You were in no hurry with the amount of time you had left, but you knew that walking and talking was a good distracter in times like this.

“I’m not hungry,” Charlie murmured as his eyes fixed on the various little shops and food places as you passed. “If you’re hungry though, I might just grab a water.”

If you were being honest, you weren’t that hungry either, but you knew if you didn’t at least grab a snack, the take-off would mess with your stomach more than your nerves. So, you found a little kiosk that just sold bags of snacks and bottles of things to drink so that you could get something small. Charlie only dropped your hand when you had to grab your wallet to pay, and as soon as you stepped away to continue moving, he took it once again.

“Just think,” you spoke wistfully as you searched for a couple of open seats next to the window, “in just a few hours, we’ll be in paradise.”

The vacation that you and Charlie were taking was one to Hawaii, a trip that you had been dreaming about for years. You had always wanted to visit, but you never had the time, money, or right companion. You weren’t even sure that this trip was going to happen, but Charlie had insisted as soon as he found out that it was at the top of your bucket list.

“It’ll be our next big adventure!” He had said excitedly, and while you knew that he still felt that excitement now, it was hidden beneath the layers of worry that his mind had unnecessarily placed on top of it. He did manage to smile at your words, and once you were sitting down, he dropped your hand again.

“It’s gonna be amazing,” he breathed, putting emphasis on the last word. “You know, once we get there.” The last part was added on with a whisper, but you definitely caught it. Charlie’s eyes were fixed out the window behind him as he sat sideways in his chair, his body facing you. The plane that you would be boarding hadn’t arrived yet, but there was a plane just a few feet away that had just started boarding, and you knew Charlie was watching them. That was your cue for another distraction.

“So, I downloaded these funny videos on YouTube I thought we could watch while we waited,” you suggested as you pulled out your phone and two sets of headphones. You knew that if you didn’t bring them, Charlie would have forgotten his headphones, and when he looked over at you with a sheepish look on his face, you knew that you had been right. Instead of saying, ‘I told you so’, you handed him the headphones and then started up the first video. Humor and entertainment were the easiest things to keep your mind busy aside from wandering the airport which you both had already done a hundred times when you made other trips in the past.

The tension in Charlie’s shoulders seemed to ease a bit as you both became consumed in the videos, and it was almost as if all of your nerves had been completely washed away until you saw the boarding line start to form and you knew that it was time for the part that you had both been dreading.

As you moved to stand, you noticed Charlie’s hand shake a bit as he picked up his bag, and once he had it draped across his shoulder, you reached out to lace your fingers with his once more. You still didn’t say anything, but the same smile appeared on his lips and you knew, without words, what it meant to him.

You talked idly while you waited for your boarding number to come up, and when it did, the two of you separated just long enough to have your boarding passes scanned before heading down the tunnel towards the plane. Once you got seated, with you in a window seat and Charlie in the middle, you reached into your bag for some gum and your neck pillow.

“What’s the first thing you want to do once you get there?” You asked as you rummaged through your carry-on in search of the two items, your eyes no longer looking at the boy next to you. When Charlie didn’t respond, you looked up nervously, and your chest tightened at the look that was on his face.

His eyes were screwed shut and his breathing was shallow and you were growing increasingly worried as you knew it was still going to be several minutes before the plane even began to take off. Thankfully there was no one sitting on his other side, and you sat back up as you reached over to rest your hand on his knee.

“Charlie, it’s going to be okay,” you murmured soothingly. “We’ve done this a hundred times before, and this time will be no different. I promise.” Slowly, his eyes started to slide open, and his dark blue irises stared back at you.

“I know, I know. I don’t know why…” his voice trailed off as his breath caught in his throat and you leaned closer to him, your free hand coming up to cup his cheek. You knew the fear wasn’t one that was easily controlled, and you were fighting your own instincts to breakdown as you tried to hold the both of you together.

“In just a few hours we’re going to be in one of the most beautiful places in the world, and we’re going to have so much fun. For now, we will watch a couple of movies, play some games, and it’ll be over before we know it.”

You weren’t sure if any of your words were working, and you were sure if he was saying the same thing to you, it might have very little affect in holding back the anxiety, but a few seconds later, another small smile turned up the corner of his lips as he slowly nodded.

“Thanks. You’re right. It’ll be worth it.”

The words were simple, but they were enough for that moment, and as you gave him another once-over, you could see him start to relax ever so slightly. His hand slowly slid across his lap and came to rest on yours that was resting on his knee, and you flashed him another quick smile before returning to your search for gum.

When you finally found what you were looking for and had everything ready to go, the plane started pulling away from the building and you knew your least favorite part was coming. Charlie’s grip in your hand tightened as the plane turned down the runway, and you leaned into him, your eyes purposefully looking away from the window as you started to leave the ground. Your breathing was ragged, and so was Charlie’s, but eventually the plane reached its altitude and nothing terrible happened.

You looked over at Charlie as people started moving around the cabin, and you were surprised to see that he was already looking at you.

“Worst part’s over, right?” He teased, his voice smoother and easier sounding than it had before.

“Absolutely,” you agreed, squeezing his hand one more time before reaching for your iPad.

“You know,” Charlie started again as you unlocked your tablet and pulled up the new movie you had purchased for the flight. Once you had it all ready to go, you looked back at him, surprised once more at the now soft look in his eyes, “I’m glad that we can do this together. Face our fears, go on adventures. There’s no one else I’d rather do it with.” Your heart flipped in your chest as you nodded in agreement.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Before you could turn away, Charlie leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, pulling a smile back to your face. It had been a rough start to the day, but now you were closer than ever to your dream destination and you were getting to go there with your best friend. Once again, you had faced your fears together. Hand in hand. Side by side.

[solari-writes-things]

Release

🛑 WARNINGS: Spoilers to Attack of the Clones, The Clone Wars. 🛑

✨ requested by: @tsumethedrifter​

✨ Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

✨ Summary: Boba is having a hard time moving from his past, and the reader is there to help him forward.

✨ Solari Says: I’m already a pretty new writer for Star Wars, so I’ve actually never written for Boba before. Here’s hoping. It’s very brief, as my brain kinda shut off in the middle and I’m sorry for that.

✨ Prompt(s) -

Ocean Jasper - seeing the positive, releasing negativity.

gif credit: to the OP.

MORE BOBA | MORE STAR WARS | > MASTERLIST < |

It was another sleepless night for Boba.

It had become increasingly difficult for him to find the will or the way to fall into a slumber. Something about this recent month has his regrets crawling their way into his head, haunting his mind throughout the night. Those were the days where he would seek out company, the Palace attendants not providing him the solace that he so desired.

So he found you.

Something about the way you were stuck out to him. You weren’t a bounty hunter, someone that had a name whispered amongst the stars. You were just a woman, living in Mos Eisley, minding your own and keeping yourself away from the elicit activities that took place in the spaceport.

He had decided to get to know you. Make a pass at you initially, but the kindness of your first rejection stuck with him. He didn’t try again, and decided to visit you when the degenerates filling Jabba’s palace did not suit him. Gradually, it became more frequent, until finally you had decided to begin a closer connection.

Now he lay in your bed pretty much every night, not that you would argue.

It was just times like these where there was a gentle worry in the pit of your stomach. You knew what Boba had gone through, as a child. In his beginnings as a bounty hunter. His hunger for the fall of the Jedi Order.

You drew circles against his chest, staring blankly as you listened to him breathe. “Boba...?”

“Hm...?” was all he responded with, not being one for much words in this recent month. You didn’t mind, his company alone was enough for you, but you wanted to ensure that he would be okay.

“What is it?” you ask him gently, rolling yourself so you were on your stomach and looking up at him.

His dark eyes looked down to connect with yours, his arm folded behind his head since he had been staring up at the ceiling before. “I’m just remembering things that I shouldn’t be.”

You hummed a bit in reply, sighing. “What is it that’s on your mind?” you inquire, moving so your hand placed gently against his jaw.

He seemed to hesitate at your questions, a hand gingerly rubbing against your shoulder as he sat in silence for quite some time. “I’m remembering my father, and that he was killed by Jedi. How I was found by other Bounty Hunters, and brought into their fold just to be expendable.”

You find yourself frowning at the notion, your thumb stroking against the skin on his cheek. “Boba... These memories. They keep haunting you and... it’s worrying me.”

“It is nothing that I cannot handle, [Y/N],” he answered simply.

“You can’t tell me that...” you quip back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s been keeping you from resting, Boba, I can see it on your face...”

He lets out a sigh, his lips pressed into a slight frown. “I don’t know how to get rid of these memories. I don’t know how to press onward, and live with what I have experienced.”

“You’re not supposed to forget them, Boba...” you begin, studying the details of his face with all the care you could muster. “You’re supposed to build on them. Learn from them.”

You move yourself so that you were now even with his face, pressing gentle kisses against his forehead. “If you must... use other people to ensure your healing. I find that the company of others helps me rest just a bit better.”

He’s silent at your words. his eyes shut as he sank in the little bit of affection that you were giving him. As much as you knew he didn’t want to admit it, it was what he was doing. Using you as a comfort, a way to drown out the sorrows that he had been feeling most nights.

Except that night was when these sort of things grew so much louder.

“Stay here with me... just a little longer this time, Boba...” you ask of him. Your advice being in the air meant that he may consider what you were saying much more thoroughly. Maybe you could begin helping him, healing him. Assist him in understanding that he still had so much more of his life to live though, and that the regrets he held now should not affect him in the future. “Let me help you.”

He places a gentle hand at your cheek, causing you to lean into the touch gently. His calloused fingers ran gently against your skin, causing a ripple of relaxation to roll down your back. “Alright... I’ll stay for a bit longer. I know you’re trying to help me move on... and it’s appreciated much more than you could ever understand.”

“Then don’t make me understand... Just show me the damaged parts of your mind... and I will try my best to help you build on them...” you say to him softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

__

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[vilevampire]

“Isn’t it Love?” (One Shot)

Thank you @ducksoup17 for helping me beta read this :) Rating: General audiences Trigger Warnings: Panic attacks Pairing: Louie Duck x B.O.Y.D Summary: Boyd thinks he might be in love. 1.805 words Ao3 Link

"Dr. Dad?"

Gyro stopped writing in his notebook.

Right now, there were only him and Boyd in the lab.

He dropped his pen to focus his full attention on his son.

"Yes, 2B— I mean… Boyd?"

"What is love like?"

Gyro blinked his eyes.

"Pardon?"

"What does romantic attraction feel like?"

"Boyd, who taught you those words?"

"The internet." Boyd chirped happily.

Gyro scratched his head with a grunt.

"Those are not things for you to worry about. Why would you even want to know this?" He reached out to his coffee mug and took a sip.

"It's because I think that I might be in love, Dr. Dad." Boyd explained a little awkwardly.

Gyro suddenly spat his coffee in a coughing fit.

Startled, Boyd reached out to pat his father's back lightly.

When Gyro could finally stop coughing, he screeched:

"IN LOVE?! With who? How? Since when?!"

Boyd put his hands on his back while looking bashfully at the floor.

"I don't know. It started somewhat recently." Gyro couldn't help but notice that Boyd had avoided his first question. The more his son talked, the more color drained away from his face. "I've been experiencing confusing feelings when talking to and thinking about a specific person. I searched for answers online and the results said that I might be in love."

Gyro massaged his temples with a groan.

Boyd, being the smart kid he is, immediately noticed his father's unrest. Carefully, he approached Gyro and spoke up:

"Dr. Dad?" He hesitated. "Am I… bad for feeling this way?"

Gyro looked down at his child.

Boyd had already grown far beyond a simple robot ages ago. He had surpassed all of Gyro's expectations and, to this day, he was still his greatest creation.

Boyd deserved much better than a grumpy dad.

Alas, Gyro really wasn't cut out for this whole father and son thing.

With a sigh, Gyro pulled Boyd into a hug, which was quickly reciprocated.

"You're not bad for having feelings, Boyd. I was just surprised, that's all." He pushed his son away gently. "However, I don't think I'm the right person to explain more about this subject to you."

Boyd looked at his father with a frown. His Dr. Dad was the smartest person he knew. He always had the solutions for everything.

If he couldn't give him the answer to his dilemma, who else could?

—————

Boyd knocked on the elegant wooden door.

"Doofus?"

…

No response.

He knocked again. This time, he heard a grumble come from inside. Boyd turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

"What do you want, you lousy piece of machinery?" Doofus pierced him with his eyes. He was currently in the middle of… something.

His head was dripping wet and a bucket full of water could be seen in his hands.

Fortunately, Boyd had already learned long ago not to question his older brother's strange pastime activities.

"Brother, what is love like?"

Doofus stopped whatever the hell he was doing to look up at Boyd.

"And why would you like to know that, hmm?"

The corners of Boyd's mouth twitched. A warm blush spread across his cheeks while he fidgeted with his thumbs.

Of course, Doofus noticed all of this.

"Ho-hooo." He eyed Boyd curiously. "Well, what do we have here? It would seem my little brother has been fiddling around?"

Boyd quietly tapped his feet on the floor. Maybe Doofus wasn't the right person to ask about this after all.

"Well, you're in luck. You've come to the right person."

Boyd looked up at him.

"I did?"

"Yes." Doofus got up from his chair to pace around his room, gesturing wildly at his brother. "You see, Boyd, love is like sweet, sticky honey, and the self-sacrificing bees that make it. It's the rush of fresh air you feel after getting locked inside a room for two weeks, it's that moment when you realize chickens can't fly despite having wings."

Boyd furrowed his brows while listening to Doofus' rant.

"I don't think I get it."

Doofus smirked weirdly at him. He patted his brother's shoulder reassuringly.

"Someday you will, brother. Someday you will."

...As it turns out, Doofus wasn't the right person to ask about this after all.

—————

"Huey, can I ask you something?"

Huey looked up from his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook to gaze at Boyd. The two of them were hanging out in the triplet's bedroom while Huey's brothers weren't around.

"Of course. What's up?"

"What is love like?"

Huey seemed unprepared for this question.

"Why do you want to know something like that?"

"...Why does everybody ask me that? Can't you please just tell me?" Boyd pouted while blushing a little.

Boyd was an incredibly easy person to read. Anyone with half a pair of eyes could discern the boy's emotions just from taking one look at his face.

Combine that with the fact that he was Huey's best friend, of course Huey would quickly realize what was probably going on.

"Boyd, could it be... you have a crush on someone?" Huey smiled gently at his friend. "That's adorable. Who is it? Can you tell me?" He poked Boyd teasingly.

Boyd pondered over this.

Huey was his best friend in the whole world.

Maybe it would be okay if he told him?

Boyd shifted around nervously, the soft blush on his cheeks becoming increasingly stronger.

"...ouie..."

"Hm?"

"...I think—" Boyd took a deep breath. "I think I like... Louie..."

Huey suddenly closed his book with a heavy-sounding thud.

He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again:

"You have a crush on Louie? My brother Louie?!"

Boyd nodded shyly.

Huey became speechless. The gears started turning in his head.

Should he tell Boyd how Louie felt about him?

No, no, Louie himself had to be the one to do it.

"Have you considered confessing to him?"

Boyd fiddled with his thumbs as he spoke:

"I have, but... I'm not sure. What if—" He hesitated. "What if he doesn't feel the same way about me?"

Slowly, Boyd's eyes widened and his pupils constricted, tears threatening to escape.

"Huey— Huey, what if he doesn't like me back? What if he doesn't like robots?" Boyd's breath became erratic as he began twisting and pulling on Huey's bedsheets. "What if he actually hates me? Wha-"

"Hey! Boyd, calm down, please." Huey held onto his friend's face forcefully but gently. "It's okay. Look at me. I'm here. Please focus on your breathing. You'll get through this, okay?"

Boyd stared into Huey's eyes without blinking, a single tear quietly running down his cheek. He closed his eyes abruptly and sniffed.

Huey pulled him into a hug.

"It's okay." 

"I'm here for you."

"You're not a bother."

"You're a real person."

"None of us hate you."

"You're more than just a robot."

He spent many minutes saying comforting words to his friend until Boyd's silent cries eventually calmed down.

This wasn't the first time they had done this.

"Boyd, listen to me," Huey spoke kindly but firmly, still holding his friend in his arms. "Nobody hates you, okay? Especially not Louie. He's your friend."

He could feel Boyd give a weak nod under his grasp, so he kept going:

"And you're my best friend, alright? I could never hate you. You're an amazing person who's going through a lot right now." He paused. "You should consider opening up to Louie about how you feel."

Boyd held tightly onto the back of Huey's clothes.

"Are you sure? Do you think it's a good idea?"

"Yes. Your heart will feel much lighter after you tell him the truth, trust me."

"...Okay. I will try."

—————

"So, did you have something you wanna tell me?" Louie crossed his legs.

He looked the same as always: hands in his pockets, nonchalant, peaceful and easy-going, yet also cunning and sharp... everything Boyd ever aspired to be.

Boyd gulped apprehensively.

"Louie, do you hate me?" He blurted out before getting straight to the point.

It was a good start.

Louie stared at him in surprise.

"What? No? Do I act like I hate you?"

Boyd bit down on his beak nervously.

"No... I just..." He looked away, his voice trailing off.

Louie decided to pick it up from there.

"Dude, you're like, one of the coolest people I know."

Boyd looked over at him again.

"And I love hanging out with you. Sometimes it feels like you're one of the only people who really get me."

"Really?" Boyd choked out. "I'm… glad you feel that way."

"Of course." Louie nodded. "I like you very much, dude. You're my friend."

Boyd's heart started racing as he struggled to get his words out.

"Actually-" He paused, opening up his beak to speak, but finding himself unable to do so.

Boyd's selective mutism was a recurring issue.

It had gotten slightly better over time, but there were still many moments where he would be too anxious to say anything out loud. 

Louie was already used to this, so he patiently waited for his friend to find his voice.

However, as more seconds stretched out, the more it seemed like he couldn't. Boyd was unable to get the words out of his throat. He stood completely frozen, except for his trembling beak, silently telling the words-

"—I love you?"

Louie's face flushed red.

He read Boyd's lips and accidentally let the words slip out of his mouth.

"That's what you were trying to say, right?" He tried playing it smooth, but it was clear that he was getting flustered.

After seeing the usually silver-tongued, smug, and overly confident Louie Duck crumble into a flushing mess, Boyd finally gathered enough courage to speak up:

"I love you."

Louie closed his mouth to focus all of his attention on the robot in front of him.

"I'm not sure since when, but... I think this is what I'm feeling" His voice grew increasingly steady the more he spoke. "I'm in love with you, Louie. You're amazing in every sense of the word. You're smart, funny, observant, assertive, loyal, trustworthy, level-headed, you're pretty, you always know what to say, you're compassionate, you pick up on the little details, you understand me, you make me feel better, you're so amazing..."

Boyd stopped for a moment, trying to pry for Louie's reaction.

"Louie?"

The duck's face was completely covered by his hoodie, with his hands covering his eyes.

But even then, Boyd could still tell with the help of his heat sensors that Louie's face was definitely blushing wildly.

"Louie? Are you—"

"BATHROOM BREAK!" He suddenly exclaimed, running away as fast as he possibly could.

"...Huh."

Boyd was very confused.

He was very, very confused, but…

Huey was right about one thing at least.

His chest didn't feel as tight anymore.

[vodkassassin]

My dude, my gal, or maybe nonbinary pal (just to be sure, don't know your pronouns) you gave me the light, you have opened my eyes. All this ships I didn't know I needed and now can't get enough of. Your writing is a DELIGHT. For a prompt, how do SQH's disciples see him? What about the demons under MBJ? That one shot of LQG getting jealous of MBJ in which the underling backs away slowly means this isn't the first time that has happened right?

Thank you so much! It really makes me happy to hear that people enjoy reading my stuff. It’s half of what makes writing it so enjoyable for me. Another part I enjoy is how I seem to be dragging all you poor fools down with me into my shipping abyss of rare pairs. God bless.

I went with the demon perspective! Might do a disciple perspective next time? Idk. @quiensecomioelpie

—

As an agent of the Northern kingdom, Mao Liang is required to attend strategy meetings whenever they are present within the palace. Regardless of whether they had just returned from a long, grueling mission in the field only the day before, or not.

Luckily, there’s never that much attention brought to them, and Mao Liang is never expected to share their opinion or thoughts during the meeting, only directly to his majesty and the advisor afterwards. A relief, because if Mao Liang had to speak to the dozens of generals and high ranking soldiers and fellow agents that stand around the colossal, war room table alongside them… Well, that’s a crowd, isn’t it? If Mao Liang was forced to publicly speak, they might actually die.

Someone who doesn’t seem to ever have a problem with addressing a crowd of demons, though — be they gruff soldiers or generals or a glowering, looming king — is someone that is worth admiring.

Lord Shang pulls his furs around his shoulders more tightly, attention directed almost entirely on the maps sprawled out over the table they’ve all gathered around today. His head tilts toward the side just slightly, like a predator whose eyes have zeroed in on his prey, and Mao Liang has to fight the urge to shiver at the sight.

The odd twitches that they see in their fellow demons tells them that they, too, experience the same unease, so at least they’re not alone in this.

It was an odd thing, at first, to fear a human — much less a cultivator. In the beginning, as Lord Shang was just ascending into his climb for power in the Northern Kingdom, it had been something Mao Liang had been almost offended by. Just as any demon in their right mind would be, faced with such a slight, twitchy little thing, whose eyes rove to and fro as if they are a frightened animal. It screams of weakness, to any demon eyes.

Any demon that doesn’t already know better, at least.

Within the decade, however, it became clear that this feeling did, indeed, have its place in Mao Liang’s heart. That they were not experiencing a falsity. That Lord Shang, despite his diminutive appearance, is deserving of this respect, and not just because his majesty is so fond of him.

Not only is the cultivator powerful — Mao Liang still shudders in remembrance, whenever there is a storm in the sky strong enough to birth lightning — but he is conniving. He is intelligent to a terrifying degree. He is scarily efficient, productive, and reliable.

When Lord Shang says something will be done, it is done.

When Lord Shang says changes need to be made, they are made, no matter how many voices make their dissent known (nor how many idiots have, over the years, attempted something much more underhanded — they all fail, each and every one of them, and eventually the attempts were fewer and fewer, before just completely grinding to a halt).

If Lord Shang decides you are not fit for a position….

Well. In the beginning, he’d have just taken care of it himself. Through varying means, all of them increasingly terrifying, according to the rumors Mao Liang has heard over the years. Now, though…

Now, if Lord Shang decides someone has to go, the king himself is ever so obliging to make sure that it happens, often post haste.

So much power in the palm of a single person, even if he is an immortal master — it’s awe-inspiring.

So, Lord Shang indeed deserves the respect he commands from the heart of every Northern demon, and even those beyond their borders. However long it had taken them all to realize (and then accept), the state of the kingdom in recent years has been thriving more than it ever has in the past. Things haven’t been this good since perhaps the early golden age of the current Mobei Jun’s great and mighty ancestors. And they all know exactly who to credit that for.

“Here.”

Mao Liang startles, gaze snapping down to the map and zeroing in on where Lord Shang’s dainty (and deceptively powerful, mustn’t forget that) finger is tapping on an outlined enemy outpost.

“Eliminate them, first.” Lord Shang says.

“Ah — my lord?” One of the generals hedges awkwardly, tone coming out rather flat in his attempt not to offend — as it happens with most demons, their accents when speaking the common language does not leave a lot of room for niceties and polite speech. It’s caused a lot of scares with Lord Shang, where the demons under his attention are never certain if they’re about to get banished from the kingdom or executed by the king (which would be a mercy, certainly).

Mao Liang winces, covering it up by clenching their jaw tightly and eyeing the general who spoke from the corner of his eye, as Lord Shang turns his attention directly upon him.

The general is standing ramrod straight, shoulders stiff and brow pinched, when the advisor’s aquamarine gaze cuts to him. The demal shouldn’t have spoken up at all.

“What is it?” Lord Shang asks, pleasantly. Mao Liang feels a shiver wrack their spine.

Lord Shang is always pleasant, right up until he isn’t. It’s when he isn’t, that one has to watch out for oneself. But it’s ever so difficult to know when that caution is required, because Lord Shang is unpredictable, in a sense.

It takes a lot to truly and irreparably offend the honorable advisor. The last one who had…

They’re still scraping the poor guy’s innards off the wall of that conference hall, Mao Liang is pretty sure.

“That outpost…” the General begins, haltingly. He eyes the peak lord hesitantly, searching the neutral mask for any sign of displeasure, before continuing. “It’s not very important in the grand scheme of things, my lord. The enemy does not particularly value it. To expend our forces on its destruction would, I believe, be a waste of our resources at this time.”

There. Succinct and to the point. Mao Liang cranes their head around to peer at the advisor, who stands at the head of the table.

In the shadow of his majesty’s great bulk and dark glower (which is currently directed at the silently sweating General, poor demal), Lord Shang looks so much smaller than he actually is. Almost breakable. Non-threatening.

Mao Liang has never heard a more hilarious joke in their life. Non-threatening, their ass.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” And oh, there is cheer injected into the advisor’s voice, now. Mao Liang watches in fascination as the general visibly cringes. “Ah, but that’s where you’d be wrong, General Peng! You see, this particular outpost actually is rather important, especially to our enemy. They’d just like for us to think that it isn’t. The larger outpost, here?”

Lord Shang sweeps his hand across the map to the larger outline that’s much closer to the Northern borders.

“That seems more of a threat to us, just like you pointed out earlier. And I agree, it does seem that way — however, this larger outpost is only a decoy. A red herring, if you will. It’s larger and more heavily manned specifically to distract us from this smaller outpost over here.”

General Peng flinches minutely, having his own contribution to the meeting so effortlessly and nonchalantly thrown back into his face as only an incorrect assumption rather than a logical deduction. He doesn’t speak, though, even to ask the advisor where he’d gotten such information from.

No one ever asks Lord Shang how he knows something. Everyone knows that if Lord Shang knows something, then he just knows it, and you are to trust it, because he is never, ever wrong.

It is frightening enough, having the advisor of the king know your name, personally, without you ever having introduced yourself to him. Small, meaningless facts about you, the names of your family, where your clan ancestral ritual grounds are (something that no demon tells anyone outside their own clan, upon pain of death. And having that just thrown out there in casual conversation? Terrifying.). What you had been doing, while undercover, just the week before….

Mao Liang’s first meeting with the Peak Lord Shang had been memorable, to say the least. They had come out of it with a very, very healthy fear and respect for the man, of course. Ask any demon in the Eternal Winter Palace — hell, any demon in the damn kingdom itself — and they would tell you the same.

“It’s this outpost we have to worry about.” Lord Shang is saying, tapping once again on the smaller outline. “It’s the center of their operations. Everything that actually matters is hidden underneath it. It is absolutely crucial that those of you in the field ensure that it will no longer be a problem. You should take, I’d say, around three platoons.”

Mao Liang glances down at the outline. The outpost is tiny, nestled into the belly of a valley. Just looking at it, they would guess there are only perhaps a thousand demons in total guarding the place. Sending in six thousand soldiers to take it out is a bit of overkill.

But, then again, if the real operations are all happening underground, concealed….

General Peng’s lips thin into a pale line. Then, the demal nods in acceptance. “If Lord Shang says so.”

“I do,” Lord Shang says, quietly, not even lifting his gaze back up from the map, staring down at where his own finger is pressed to the outpost.

General Peng’s entire face goes pale.

Before anything else can happen, like Lord Shang going completely silent and unhelpful (It’s happened in the past, Lord Shang deciding that they no longer required his advice, if they were so certain of their own (always subpar) intelligence on the matter. His majesty’s ire, in response, had been absolutely brutal on everyone even peripherally involved. Mao Liang had been lucky enough to not have been in attendance at that particular meeting, but they’d heard stories.)— before anything like that could happen, the king himself decided that enough is enough.

Mobei Jun shoves off the table and sends them all a sharp glare.

“Well,” his majesty says, powerful voice expanding into the air and filling the cavernous war room like it was something material. “You have your orders. What else do you want? Get out.”

As they all scramble to their feet and head for the door, Mao Liang is at the forefront. They hate tactical meetings. They’d rather be on the field. Or in their quarters, sleeping. Or in their quarters, reading. Anywhere that other people are not. This meeting has already drained their meager energy levels to almost nothing. It’s nap time. It’s nap time.

“Mao Liang,” Mobei Jun’s voice calls, and they fall to an abrupt stop just before the doors. “Stay behind.”

Demons, generals and soldiers and even fellow agents, stream past them, and they quietly despair. Fuck! They’d been so close!

They turn, and step back to the table. They execute a bow, working to keep any expression off their face entirely — especially when Lord Shang smiles at them. Oh, ancestors.

“There’s a mission that requires the best counter-intelligence agent that we have,” Lord Shang begins, as flattering as ever, and Mao Liang knows immediately that they’re in for a lot of work. Dammit. “Here, follow me. There’s no reason to do this in such a drafty, echoing hall. I’ll debrief you on the way to the kitchens.”

Ah! Mao Liang hasn’t eaten since yesterday! And from the glimmer in Lord Shang’s eye as the man smiles, he knows it too.

Another thing about Lord Shang, that Mao Liang particularly admires, is how the man cares, despite everything else. If you ever work directly underneath Lord Shang, you can always be absolutely certain that he will look out for you.

In the Northern Kingdom, there is no place safer.

[akvtsuki-ari]

Be Mean

Warnings: smut, femdom, degradation, sub!spencer, mild masochism, choking, generally mean shit lol 

Length: 5.3k (ik) 

Authors Note: uhh happy valentines day! not the fic anyone was expecting today and extremely self indulgent but valentines day is about self love too right? lmfao anyways, hope yall enjoy

Summary: Spencer was just a little too into the way you cuss people out and it was starting to weigh on him. You’re more than happy to help him out. 

Words were falling from your lips with grace. Your back was straight as you leaned into the table - the unsub just inches away. He was a narcissist, and his hatred for strong women became increasingly clear the moment you stepped into the room. He wanted to prove he was smarter, tougher, and better than you - but the challenge you reproached him with left his knuckles white. Teeth gritted, jaw clenched, and that same grace - analyzing and cold, never seemed to escape you. 

It didn’t take long for the arrest to fall through - his confession leaving him as he tried to express his pathetic anger towards you. He called you names but nothing creative, not as smart as he seemed to be but you couldn’t help but laugh at him. Soon after he delves into explaining his own genius and the pieces continued to fall together - it was a good case and luckily he didn’t get far after his first 3 victims. Not something that the BAU gets lucky with very often, you think. 

Spencer watched you in the interrogation - eyes fading over your body language carefully. You were unnervingly confident - always were no matter whether it was a killer or not. He took notice of many little things that seemed to make the details of your existence culminate further in his mind. You licked the inside of your lip when you were getting close to breaking the unsub, and your eyes would get a little lower when he started to speak. You rolled your shoulders when you watched him get escorted and that warm, sweet version of you returned to you with no trouble at all. 

It was easy for people to call you BAU’s resident sweetheart. You were charming, witty, and intelligent but also kind. When the team needed someone who people can trust, you were always up there on the list. Your skills of diffusion were particularly helpful, you worked homeland security for a long while and it showed. Your capabilities to ease a tense moment as well as interrogate a criminal in a provocative way has proved helpful time and time again - but who you were was always up in the air. It was a valuable trait to be mysterious in that sense. 

On one hand, Spencer really did like plain Y/N more than anything. You were always particularly kind to Spencer - you remembered his birthday and always texted him right at 12 beating the entire BAU, even Garcia. You brought him soup and cold medicine when he was sick because you were close by and he needed some company. You helped him babysit JJ’s kids because you could and you were fond of them. You were never too impatient and you let him work in silence rather than making commentary about his process. You just got him, and it all seemed to come naturally though you knew things someone could only figure out through careful observation. 

Y/N the Agent was different, though. Still you, when she needed to be. Any cases involving young children, or innocent people in general really showed the other side of you. But you had this moment in every case, where your hyperfocus became so sinister everyone in the department could feel it. They were different sides of the same coin, your traits manifesting themselves in different ways but Spencer had a very particular notice of it. For one, it fascinated him a lot. How could anyone not be fascinated by that? 

Of course though, that wasn’t the only reason but the other half of this whole spiel was a lot more embarrassing but - 

Spencer got unbelievably turned on when he watched you interrogate criminals and - listen he knows okay? He really understands how absolutely not good that is but the memory is so burned into his brain he can’t help but think about it every time it comes up. 

The team was in Arizona working on ritualistic killings from a small tribe, native to the area. You and Reid had been assigned to talk to important community members and there was a head elder dude there who was particularly scummy - though not the unsub. He was too cocky to pull off such elaborate and patient murders so he was ruled out early but he was hiding something and you needed to know what it was. When interrogations went on, you confronted the man about his use of testosterone injections - something forbidden in the community since they believed modern medicine was extremely harmful, part of the killers M.O. 

The conversation between the two of you was short-lived but memorable, to say the least. 

“What happened, elder? Were the village girls not working for you anymore so you sicked your friend on them cause you couldn’t get it up? Was it worth it?,” your voice was thick with distaste and the elder lost his shit. He ended up confessing that he had a strong hunch but he’d only tell if they kept his secret and the lead was correct. 

Spencer's mind hasn’t been able to let go of that moment and every single time a case comes up where you have to confront someone he finds himself having to relieve himself in a bathroom stall or strain himself to get it to just go away. It was killing him really. He had a crush on you sure, always has but his body reacting like he was a 16-year-old boy every time you spoke was not going to cut it but he didn’t know what to do either. 

He finds himself in that same position now, on the plane ride home with the thought of you and your demeanor keeping him from focusing. You were asleep across from him, wearing comfortable clothes that slid just over your shoulders. He couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered on his skin and he tried his absolute best to ignore and go to sleep.

_

When Spencer Reid arrived home, he was pleasantly surprised to see messages from you, asking to hangout in his apartment while your kitchen gets renovated. There was no way in hell he was gonna say no to that, so he tidied his things up and ordered thai food while he waited for your arrival. 

It didn’t take long for you to show, wearing black joggers and a tight tanktop that Spencer has never seen you in before. It looked good on you, accentuating the strength in your shoulders in back. He knew you were decently fit but this was surprising, even for him. You smiled wide as you stepped through the door, giving Spencer a tight hug. He can feel your boobs pressed up against his chest and he wants to kick himself for the shiver that runs off his spine as if he were a teenager again. 

“Hey, Spence. Thanks again for letting me come over today, hope I’m not intruding,” you say softly, as you settle down on Spencer's couch, phone in hand. He nods, smiling. 

“It’s no problem. The food should be here in a minute but do you want a glass of water or anything in the meantime? I also have some lemonade, if you want that,” Spencer offers. You readjust and Spencer watches the way your muscles tense. He shouldn’t be noticing something like that yet here he is. 

“Lemonade sounds great, thanks Spence,” you say, laying into the couch as you scroll through your phone. Spencer excuses himself to the kitchen, grabbing glasses from his cupboard and filling them up with lemonade before returning to you. He places the glasses on the table in front of you, before the sound of the doorbell alerts him. 

You get up, retying your hair as the smell of Thai food hits you. You let out an involuntary moan but Spencer just laughs. The food is set up in front of you, but its far too hot for either of you to eat so the both of you sip on your lemonade and chat instead. 

“Everytime we get a few days off, the paranoia of a case hits the ground running,” you complain, gently. Spencer laughs, nodding his head. 

“Oh definitely. I can’t imagine what it’s like not thinking about it all the time, though,” he explains. You nod your head in agreement. 

“Yeah, but time off is still time off so the plan is to spend the weekend alone with a glass of wine and some romantic films and relax,” you explain, sighing. Spencer looks at you curiously. 

“Didn’t take you for the romance type,” he states curiously. You sigh again, looking at him.

“I’m not for the most part, it kinda serves a different purpose for me than most women I’d argue,” you reply to him. Spencers intrigued by your comment and sits up a bit. 

“How so?,” he poses carefully. You place your lemonade down on the coffee table and scratch the back of your neck.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like being wined-and-dined like any woman. Romance itself is nice, love is wonderful - but the way I wanna be romanced isn’t exactly traditional,” your voice is airy when you speak, laughing at yourself but the revelation maes Spencers weak.

“Traditional?,” he manages to squeak out. You notice his shift in behavior, and you slow down for a moment. 

“We don’t have to talk about that kinda stuff, Spence. It’s more of a girls night thing I’d talk about with Garcia and JJ - though they already know about most of it,” you say lightly. Spencer chokes a bit as you continue to reveal details. 

“No, it's not that. I’m… interested?,” he says nervously, chewing the inside of his lip. You tilt your head, surprised by his curiosity. 

“Didn’t take you for a freak, pretty boy,” you comment, giggling. Spencer's face turns hot, but you reassure him you’re only kidding. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t really care for the whole subservient role, especially not in bed. I enjoy seeing someone do what I say, and having things go my way. I’ve always been like that, figured that out with my first highschool boyfriend, hah,” you say, sipping your lemonade. 

Spencer swallows at the realization that you’re probably experienced, very experienced in that department. He shifts in his set again and your eyes settle on him for a moment, neither of you making eye contact but rather observing each other

“I don’t know how to explain it all that well, but I like it when I can be just a little mean, you know,” you say, smiling. Your tone is joking but your words have weight to them. Spencer's throat is closing up as you speak but he smiles back at you fondly. You take notice but hold yourself back. 

“You sure you’re okay, Spencer?,” your voice is different this time. Knowing. Spencer's eyes flutter over to you and he’s aware rather suddenly of your being. The way your chest rises and falls as you speak, the smoothness of your lips around the glass, the way your hair falls over your face. He nods as you observe him. Your lips twitch up into a smile. 

“Spencer, could it be resident boy genius is a sub?,” you say incredulous. Spencers whole face flushes and you find your clit up at attention at the non-verbal confession. 

While he may be oblivious to it, you had a rather massive crush on Spencer. Something about his intelligence was remarkably sexy to you and knowing he was also a good person didn’t make the feelings any easier. Who could blame you for having a crush on Spencer, anway? Most people did - it was part of the reason you never told him. Based on his personality and dating history - it didn’t really seem like you were his type. You weren’t massively intelligent or particularly unique (at least you didn’t think so) so you couldn’t imagine Spencer having a crush on you. You were great, but you didn’t think you were Spencers type, thats all. 

However, that didn’t stop you from thinking about him - really the opposite. Every waking moment you’d catch him doing something absentmindedly you cute - your brain begged to see him fucked out and sleepy. He’d ramble about something for so many minutes and all you wanted to do was sit on his face and shut him up (and then let him continue because he was honest to god so cute like that)

The point was that Spencer really did something to you. You had countless lingering thoughts about him but to know that this was actually something he was into made your head spin. You couldn’t hold your expression back and maybe it was your own masochism that made you want to know more but god did you want to know more.

“How long have you known about yourself, Spence?” you interrogate. Spencer swallows and prays to every deity his mind can manage as he looks at you pleadingly but you can’t recognize what the pleading is really for. 

“How long have you been on the team?,” Spencer speaks before he can really understand the weight of his words, and the second he says the whole room stops. You look at him with delighted surprise and he shuts his eyes at contempt for his own existence. 

“No fucking way,” you can’t help the little inhale you do at the realization. Pure excitement just emanating from your being like nobody's business. You were genuinely going to lose your mind at this revelation. Spencer Reid discovered that hes a sub because of you? Were you dreaming?

If this wasn’t Spencer's apartment he would’ve run away. He just had to look at you instead and face the fact he just revealed his own sins. Your laugh at Spencer revelation made the little nagging voice in Spencers head just a little louder and that meant that - 

“You’re really into whatever you’ve been thinking of huh?,” you say, eyeing the hard-on in his pants casually. Spencer looks down and places a pillow on his lap, wishing to throw his entire existence into a fire and to never ever look back. 

“Shit,” he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s at total wits end with himself and is forced to deal with the repercussions of his horniness. 

On the other hand there was you, eyes full of delight as your mind raced with all the thoughts of what Spencer could be thinking about. Anything was good really, any level of him giving up his control to you was good. It all worked for you but whatever he’d been thinking about specifically had you itching to know. 

“What could it be? I mean - seriously, I have to know what has the beloved Doctor this flustered. You have to tell me,” you say smiling. Spencer just shakes his head. 

“Aww c'mon, do you want me to start guessing?,” you joke. Spencer looks at you that time and you realize that might be key. You look at him in surprise. 

“Okay, well let’s think. It started when we worked together which means it was probably when we were in the field,” you start profiling Spencer, which on one hand he’s not a fan of but on another he’s a little turned on by. 

You chew on your lip as you think for a minute. 

“The work I do on the field sorta depends, but mostly I diffuse situations,” you say softly, really to only yourself. “But also, I do a lot of interrogations, and with the way you reacted to that whole being mean thing, I’m gonna go ahead and place my bets on that,” you conclude. You look to Spencer for approval and his eyes are hazy as he nods a yes. 

You place your glass on the table, and move in front of Spencer. Normally your height isn’t all too important to him but right now your being towers over him and all he can do is look up at you. You wish you had the patience to do a little bit more teasing but you couldn’t hold back too much. Your knee is between his legs as you bend it and lean over him. Your fingers brush his hair back for a moment as you use your knuckle to pull his face up. He wants to refuse but he can’t so he lets you - looking at you tenderly. He’s cute like this. 

“Spence, you know I actually like you right?,” 

“No,” 

You laugh lazily. Your hands on the side of his face, brushing your thumb along his cheek as you look at him adoringly. 

“I like you a whole lot, probably a lot more than like - actually. So whatever we do after this - if you want to do something anyways, it’s because I actually like you,” you say softly. Spencer nods, blush staining his cheeks. 

“I - uh, like you too,” he says warmly. You chew your lip. 

“Can I kiss you, Spencer?,” the way you ask makes Spencer's heart melt. This was you, all at once. No sides of any coins, still kind and warm and thoughtful, but still mean and intimidating in the way Spencer likes. He wants to scream yes, but he nods instead. 

You brush your lips over his for a second, smiling as he moves forwards to gain some contact. You don’t hesitate to kiss him forreal that time, lips pressed to his as your hand lays at the base of his necks, fingers pressing into his throat as he sighs. Your lips are warm, your touch is soft and Spencer could cry with how gentle you treat him. You pull away and brush your nose against his. 

“For someone who kisses like that, I’m surprised you’re so into the idea of being degraded,” you chuckle. Spencer coughs and just looks at you shyly. 

“Yeah, I really am,” his voice is hoarse.

You straddle yourself in Spencers lap and move the pillow. All the sudden contact makes his skin flush and he looks at you needy. Your pants are loose but your tank top is tight, and he finds his eyes looking at your chest before he can think about it. You roll your eyes at him, leaning into his neck to press a kiss on it. He whimpers and you smile - he really is desperate.

“Perv,” you murmur to him.He laughs. 

“Can’t say you’re wrong,” 

“Before we go any further, I wanna give you a safe word. I wouldn’t normally be doing something like this the first time for the purposes of semantics but I want you too badly to wait that long. I want to make sure it doesn’t get to be too much for you, in a bad way at least,” you say softly. Spencer looks at you and kisses you, and you laugh. 

“We can do Red for Stop, Yellow for Slow Down, and Green for Go,” you explain warmly. He nods. 

“Okay,” he says it back to you as he buries his face in your neck. You pet his hair and place a kiss on his head. 

“Tell me what you want, angel,” you say first. Your voice is smooth like silk, the word angel rings out in his mind. It’s too pretty for what he wants you to do and maybe that's why he likes it so much. The juxtaposition to be something so pretty when all he wants you to do is ruin him. 

He wants so much all at once he has trouble verbalizing any of it. It’d come out so incoherent even if he tried but he wants it, whatever the case may be. He feels your hands on his chest while you stare him down. He makes eye-contact and when he tries to look down again your hands force his chin up. 

“Gotta look at me when you say it, baby. Otherwise, I won’t know who you’re talking too,” you say thoughtfully. Fuck - thats hot. Spencer swallows and nods, looking into your eyes as his mind racks itself with possibilities. 

“Wanna fuck you,” he can’t believe how it sounds. He has so much more that he wants - he wants to fuck you while you absolutely take away his ability to cum. He wants to hear your voice when you talk down to him about it - about how hard he is when you get like this, and about how dirty he must really be. He wants to hear you threaten him with the possibility of being blue-balled hanging over his head. He wants you to be so fucking mean to him because he knows it doesn’t matter - he knows all the choice is yours and he really does love to please you and he knows he’s quite the masochist for it. He doesn’t care. 

“I think you wanna do a little bit more than fuck me, Spence,” you giggle. Your eyes turn a shade darker as your hand moves to his throat. His hands are planted to his sides as your grip tightens around his neck - voice cold as you whisper into his ear. 

“I think you want me to fuck you instead, yeah? Watch your teeth sink into your lips while I sit on your dick and make fun of you for how easy you twitch when I move. You’re so easy, Spencer,” the words leave your mouth and spill like wine. The words stain his whole mind with lust - absolutely aching to hear more. Fuck did he want that. 

“Take your shirt off,” you don’t ask. He does so without warning and his eyes beg you do the same. 

“I’ll take mine off when you’ve earned it, unzip your pants,” you reply nonchalant. He holds back a whimper and does so, his cock stiff against his boxer-briefs. You stand up and slide your pants off and your wearing boy-shorts, making Spencer sigh. 

He looks up at you pleadingly, and you smile at him. You walk up to him again and smile, as he looks up at you. You let him lay his head on your stomach as he looks at you, your fingers tucked into his curls. 

You tug them as you force him to look up at you. He groans from his throat as your other hand is placed on the side of his face. His eyes are weary as he looks at you. Your hands threaten to place a hit on him. 

“You should get all that begging under control before there's a handmark on that pretty face of yours love,” you say softly. He looks at you with challenge.

“I don’t think I can, miss,” he says softly. You want to kiss him but you refrain. 

“Color?,”

“Green” 

You lift your hand and place a firm hit on Spencer's cheek. He relishes in the pain, the demand your fingers have in them. You command respect and he knew it deep in him. He groans at the feeling.

“Didn’t take you for the type,” your commentary is sly like Spencer likes it. It’s mean in a witty way, not degrading just to do it. It fits perfect with your demeanor and Spencer adores it. 

You grab a stool from near one of Spencer bookshelves and place it between his legs. You’ve picked up tie from the ground while you sit yourself in front of him

“Stand up and turn around, and put your hands together behind your back,” you say, voice laced with faux boredom. Spencer does as told as you tie his hands together. You stare at him like that, taking note at his figure. He’s slim and it’s cute to you. 

You pull his boxers down and spit into your hand, reaching around to wrap your hands around his cock. He hisses at the feeling, finding his hips rutting into them. He was so desperate for it. 

“There's so much to do with you, I don’t even know where to start,” you sigh. Spencers mind races as your hand moves across him, wrapping around his length tight and letting your thumb run over his slit - just so you could feel how it twitched. 

“I could make you cum like this, facing away from me - too focused on being degraded to care. You’d still get off on that wouldn’t you, angel?,” you say warmly. You stand up and place your hands under his chin. He looks down at it. 

“Spit,” 

He does as told. You drip it across his length and he shivers as you take him back into your pals, fingers curled tightly around his base while your other hand plays with his nipples. Your thumbs flick across them carefully and he whimpers, knees nearly folding at the sensation of pleasure. 

“You don’t seem like one for visuals but maybe it’d be more fun for me if I fucked myself in front you with your hands behind your back. All of what would be on your dick, slick on my fingers instead. If I were nice, I’d let you taste me,” you muse. Spencer throws his head back at your words. 

“Or maybe that type of torture isn’t your cup of tea. What’d you prefer Spencer? You cum so many times you nearly pass out from all the pleasure? At the end of all that, you’d have been so ruined that you’d have nothing to show for it when you came. Your whole body aching pleasure but with nothing left to give,” your thoughts come to you in phases but to Spencer the sound like holy scripture. Dry orgasms sound painful but Spencer was certainly intrigued. 

“I wonder if you’d cry for me, baby. When your dick gets all red and sensitive and it hurts, would I have to wipe the tears off your pretty face? Sounds nice,” your voice is light and makes Spencer want to smile. He didn’t take you for that much of a sadist but he finds himself pleasantly surprised by the revelation

Your grip on his shaft tightens rather suddenly and Spencer whimpers. His voice is shaky, bare chest rising and falling at the feeling of your hands gripped around him. 

“Fuck, please,” Spencer begs you to ease up but he doesn’t really want you too. You sigh, placing a kiss on his back. 

“Please, what? You want me to stop?,” you ask, knowing damn well that it was the opposite. He shakes his head. 

“Please let me fuck you, please,” the need in Spencer's voice was rather nice. You pull your hand off and tell Spencer to lay down on the couch. He does so without question but aches with how much he misses your touch. He moved against his restraints to try and get some friction but no luck.

He watches you as you pull down your underwear, giving him a view to how wet you are. A slick spot just sitting between your thighs, pretty as can be. Spencer's throat is dry, the urge to touch you sending his mind into agony. 

“You talk too much,” your actions speak louder than words as you position yourself over Spencer's face. His neck cranes up to get a taste of you, tongue flatly along your slit trying to get some friction. You groan at the feeling, as Spencer laps at you. Flicking his tongue back and forth along your clit, curling around before sucking it into his mouth for a few seconds at a time. 

“Jesus, Spencer,” you moan out to him, finger gripping in his hair. He wished he could verbalize how grateful he was, but he tried his best to show it instead. He could do this all day if you let him, and if his hands were free he’d wrap them tightly around your hips so you’d lean more weight on him. You could break his neck, honestly. It wouldn't matter to him, the way you had him feeling. 

You grind your hips, rutting against Spencer's tongue as you ride yourself closer to orgasm. The sound of you getting off mixed with the taste of you on his tongue made Spencer feel like he was living off of you and he didn’t mind. You were so good to him. 

“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you,” is the last words you say before you cum all over Spencer face. Riding your orgasm out, you move and look down at Spencer, face flush. He smiles at you, absolutely ecstatic and you can’t help but laugh. 

“I’ll untie you now, you did so good for me baby,” you praise softly, untying Spencer's hands. The first thing he does is sit up and wrap his arms around your waist. He places kisses along your naval as you pet his hair. He looks up at you, your orgasm still clear on his face. You cup his jaw and kiss him, just a little messy. 

“You're soft, baby,” you note. He nods, seeming sleepy already and you wanna coo at him. He looks up at you again and shakes his head. 

“Be mean to me, please,” his voice is shaky. You’re surprised, leaning down to give him a kiss on the forehead before you agree. 

“Sit back,” you demand. He does so without question as you straddle his lap. He can feel his tip brushing back and forth between your folds as you look at him adoringly, face full of affection mixed with an urge to give him what he’s so kindly asked for. 

You wrap your hands around his neck as you sink down on Spencer cock. It stretches you out slowly, wrapped tightly around Spencer. He hits your cervix with ease. His breathing is labored, his hand holding your wrist as you choke him. 

“Look at you, my love. I’m taking your breath away, and you're giving it up to me just like that? You want me to wreck you that badly huh? I didn’t take your for such a slut,” you utter that last word with false confidence but the way Spencer adores every second of it gives you real confidence instead. He could cum right then and there - hearing you call him a slut makes him feel something rather unexpected. It’s an ultimate powerplay, because the both of you know that right now he’s only giving it up for you, but it implies something so much greater. He likes it so much, likes the sound of bombarding him with pleasure and degradation that when he moans, voice strained as the column of his neck gets squeezed - he doesn’t really know how to stop himself from saying again. 

“You like being a slut for me baby?,” you ask, bouncing up and down on Spencer cock, feeling the way he twitches in you. You let go of his throat, and he coughs before looking at you softly. His fingers run over the feeling of your hands. Your mouth moves to his neck instead, marking hickies into it as he holds onto your hips and fucks into you. He nods his head yes at your question. 

“You’re so needy, love,” you remark, pulling back and using your fingers to rub your clit as Spencer fucks into you. You cum again a second time, convulsing around Spencer's length as you moan his name.

“Please, please can I cum?,” Spencer asks politely. You’d love to tease him more, but you figure it may be too much for him so you just nod. You kiss him softly. 

“Anywhere you wanna finish?,” you ask. He looks immediately at your chest. You take off your tank top and bra and get on your knees for Spencer as he finishes on your chest, voice groaning your name. 

“Y/N - fuck, oh my god,” His eyes are shut in pleasure and you can’t help but smile at him. When he comes down from his high and sees you stood up, looking for your clothes - he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and pull you down to the couch. You giggle as he does. 

“You did so good for me, baby. You’re such a good boy,” the praises fall from your lips with ease as Spencer mutters a flushed thank you. You reach to the table for a tissue as you wipe the cum off of your chest, making Spencer snort. 

You turn around to be facing Spencer, naked bodies just holding each other. You play with Spencer's hair pressing constant kisses into his shoulders, or on his forehead. Anywhere you can get them really. 

“It’s time for aftercare soon, but we can sit here a little longer if you like. Just no sleeping until we’ve showered and eaten and you’re taken care of, okay?,” you say lovingly, tucking Spencer's hair back behind his ear. He smiles at you softly, the feeling of being pampered like that holding him close.

“Hey, Y/N,” he looks at you with adoration “Will you please be my girlfriend? Cause I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” he says with sincerity. You can’t help but chuckle as you kiss him slowly. 

“Yes, Spence, of course. I’m in love with you too, by the way,” you say back. Spencer simply smiles, hugging you tight and hoping to never let you go. 

______

taglist: @cynbx​ @skrrrrrrrrrrt​ @zephyr-studiesjp​ @reid-187​

[misssophiachase]

You Make My Heart Smile

So, happy (belated) birthday, Tina @tnapki Your edits make me smile (pardon the pun) and I wanted to thank you for that and everything you bring to the fandom.

I based it on your GORGEOUS EDIT

I also made it about food cause it’s SO you. On AO3 HERE

Also thanks to the gorgeous Kait @an-awesome-wavve for being amazing and my part brainstorm, part beta, part researcher and part undercover partner in crime. 

Renowned Chef Klaus Mikaelson has a bad reputation until he meets food blogger Caroline Forbes and has no idea how to handle her or the unfamiliar feelings she evokes, especially that annoying ability to make him smile. 

3 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 3pm

“I’m not going to do some stupid interview, you know I have other, more important things to do, right?”

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do interviews. He didn’t need to because his accomplishments spoke for themselves. He hadn’t slogged away in kitchens since he was twelve and worked his way through culinary school and some of the best restaurants to waste his time. 

Being a world-renowned chef owning not one, but four, three-Michelin-starred restaurants across the globe meant he could do whatever the hell he wanted. 

But yet here she was running his life. 

Still. 

“Like yell at me? I mean, you’ve been doing that since we were little so I guess it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before. ”

“I knew I should have never mixed business and family,” he snapped. “You always throw our childhood back in my face as an excuse to insult my life choices.”

“Because it’s too easy not to,” she pouted, flicking a stray, blonde lock over her shoulder.  “And, while I am unfortunately related to your sorry ass, I am also your publicist and this interview is good for your career.”

“I don’t need publicity.”

“Correction, you do need publicity,” she argued, her fork now attacking the very veal he’d cooked with more fervour than needed. 

“Easy on the product, little sister,” Klaus growled, his protectiveness for his art on full display. 

“Oh, silly me I thought it was already dead,” she shot back, tartly. “And before you interrupted, I was going to say that, yes maybe you shouldn’t need publicity given your career achievements, but that was before you dropped an entree on the food critic’s lap from the Chicago Tribune, fired your sous chef in front of the entire restaurant and insulted Gordon Ramsey on national television.”

“Ramsey is a sell out, I stand by my comments,” he muttered. “The critic had it coming and, now you mention it, so too did that sorry excuse for a sous chef.”

“You realise people call you the angry chef, right?”

“Better than the naked chef I suppose.” He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Klaus wasn’t in the business for gimmicks or to secure his own cooking program. He took his food seriously and there was nothing wrong with that. 

“At least people like Jamie Oliver,” she replied, arching her eyebrows knowingly. “Anyway, there’s no point in arguing because she’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Please tell me you didn’t just schedule an interview without my permission?”

1717 N. Halsted St, 3:10pm

“What’s with the expression of impending doom, Care Bear?” He asked, lugging his camera equipment as they walked up the block toward Alinea. 

“What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Not to do it but it’s too fun not to, Care Bear.” Given his general maturity level, Caroline decided it was a losing battle and she had more important things on her mind. 

“Anyway, it’s not doom,” she muttered. “It’s just the overwhelming desire not to do this interview but given I don’t want to get fired and also pay my rent, there’s no other option.”

“Is someone afraid of the angry chef?”

“Oh, puh-lease, I’m not afraid. Although, I might not be able to bite my tongue if he decides to insult me like he did Gordon Ramsey.”

Caroline wasn’t one to judge but his indiscretions were well-known and well-documented. Although, chefs with egos weren’t an entirely new phenomenon to the industry or to Caroline given interviewing them was her job.

“You and I both know Ramsey deserved that dressing down, if anything Mikaelson earned my respect that day.” Caroline couldn’t argue with that. 

Although this one was another kind of beast. 

The effortlessly attractive kind. 

For Caroline, this was an unsettling prospect. Until she reminded herself why she was here in the first place. 

Caroline loved food. Sometimes, she thought, more than life itself. 

So, when she became a food blogger after graduating with a journalism degree from Northwestern, it wasn’t a surprise. She was currently the senior blogger at popular food blog Delicious. 

“You love food and writing about it,” Was Enzo reading her mind? “How about instead of focusing on the negative, remember that this will be your biggest interview yet. Think about all of the exposure this will garner.”

The upper echelons of Delicious had decided that an interview with Klaus Mikaelson would be a big scoop. Caroline was all for interviewing chefs about their food and the passion behind it but she knew her editor wanted something less about his craft and more about his bad boy reputation.  

“Yes, but I want to write about food, not produce tabloid fodder.”

“Just think, once you do this then maybe you’ll have enough of a following to start your own blog and write what you want and not what someone tells you to do.”

“Mmmm, you do have a point.”

“Of course I do because Enzo knows everything. Also, take me with you because you’d be lost without me, sweetcheeks.”

“Third person, huh? That ego of yours knows no bounds, Lorenzo.”

“You know it, Care Bear,” he joked, flashing his most dazzling smile. “Well, looks like we’re here.”

“Looks like it,” she murmured, noting the intimidating sign overhead and wondering what she’d gotten herself into. “Here goes nothing.”

3:15pm

“Caroline Forbes?” 

“You must be Rebekah and this is my photographer Lorenzo St John.”

Klaus, who’d been throwing a temper tantrum not one minute ago, found himself looking up into the blue eyes of one Caroline Forbes. Suddenly, all of the white noise of the moment fell away and it was just the two of them in the room together and the blonde in question was looking at him expectantly. 

It was paralysing. 

But good paralysing he decided. 

“Nik?” Rebekah questioned. Now they were both looking at him. Had he zoned out and not realised it?  Well, if so, this was all kinds of embarrassing. “Caroline is the senior blogger for Delicious and she’s here for that interview, you know the one we talked about earlier?”

Yeah, ten minutes earlier, he thought to himself doing everything he could not to bite back in front of the new arrival.   

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Mikaelson, I have to say I’m a big fan of your…”  

“Look, it’s not going to be possible, I have to prep for dinner service,” he lied, although regretted it immediately when he noticed her expression. Klaus wasn’t used to being nice, it wasn’t in his DNA and usually it didn’t bother him. 

Until now. 

Klaus decided to blame it on the foreign feelings she was causing. As soon as he got some distance between them it would be fine, especially that vanilla scent he couldn’t ignore given it was infiltrating his first line of defence.

Klaus liked women, in fact he slept with many when his busy schedule permitted, but that was sex and nothing else. Just the way he liked it, easy and unemotional. 

“Why don’t we multitask then? I’m happy to help. ” Her voice was light and melodic. Klaus was hoping it wasn’t going to sound so enticing. He also wasn’t expecting that response. “I worked in a restaurant kitchen for years, I can do dishes, polish cutlery and peel a mean potato and an onion, well almost without crying.”

Why was he buoyed by that ridiculous statement and increasingly trying not to flash her a goofy smile? 

Klaus didn’t smile. He just didn’t. Ever. 

This wasn’t how he saw his day going at all. He was going to kill Rebekah. Before he could reply, the current subject of his ire spoke. 

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” she grinned. “How about Lorenzo and I make ourselves scarce then?” 

“It’s actually Enzo, darling, you sound a bit too much like my mother and my oppressive boss Care Bear here.” 

Klaus hadn’t even realised there was someone else in the room up until this point but it was clear Caroline wasn’t too impressed by his nickname or the oppressive part. Maybe they had more in common than he thought? 

Care Bear.  Klaus thought it was adorable. Then he could feel it, that idiotic urge to smile again. 

Before he could object again, Rebekah had made a quick exit with the photographer and she was just standing there. Klaus could feel the awkward tension between them and knowing he’d caused it wasn’t helping matters. But he didn’t know any other way to act. 

Then the words he’d struggled with just tumbled out. 

“How do you feel about fish?”

Not the most suave topic or question but this was his ‘uncomfort’ zone. 

“Depends on the context.”

“The context?”

“I mean, if you think I can clean, fillet and debone a fish, you’ve obviously overestimated my cooking talents.”

Klaus had to practically eat the smile that was threatening to appear.  Again. 

“Everyone has to start somewhere and get their hands a bit dirty, otherwise what’s the point?” He advised. “But, if you don’t want to then…”

“Oh, I never back away from a challenge, chef,” she promised. 

Again, the pesky smile was hovering just beneath the surface. 

Leading her towards the kitchen, Klaus told himself that preparing a fish was definitely going to keep his emotions at bay and also block out that perfume which was throwing him off balance. 

4:45pm

“Why do I feel like this was a ploy to distract me from my interview?” Caroline asked, dipping the fish into egg wash and then flour as instructed by her cooking mentor for the day.. 

This was not how she saw her day going. It was surreal to say the least. This guy was supposed to be an ogre but Caroline was realising he was something else entirely. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shot back. “But you filleted that fish like a professional, maybe you’ve missed your true calling?”

“I suppose I had a semi-good teacher,” she admitted wryly. 

“Wow, tell me what you really think, Forbes.”

Caroline was trying not to to get too caught up in the moment but Klaus Mikaelson had challenged every judgment she’d ever harboured about the temperamental chef.  He’d been unusually kind and patient.

The one thing she’d noticed was that his overall demeanour didn’t match his expression. 

He didn’t smile.

Not once. 

A few times, Caroline could swear it was close or maybe she was just imagining it?

“So, why do you like food?” It was a question she wasn’t expecting. Especially seeing as she was the interviewer and him her subject. 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking you?” He was silent for a moment, almost like he was contemplating it. “But I get the impression you don’t like that question much?”

“I’d much prefer to hear your story first, call it a warm-up.” Clearly he was nervous and Caroline was happy to oblige if it helped. 

“My grandmother,” she smiled knowingly, visions of her nana filling her head. ���When I was younger I’d go to her house most weekends and we’d cook together. She could make anything and everything. She died last year and it’s been tough without her but at least I still have those memories.”

Caroline didn’t mean to get personal, especially with the so-called “angry chef” but for some reason she felt nothing but comfort in his presence, even if he didn’t smile. 

“What was her specialty?” 

“Banana cream cheesecake,” she smiled, the taste of it rushing back in all its delicious glory. 

“Hard to beat,” he murmured. “Have you ever eaten a Bananas Foster? My restaurant in New Orleans does a modern version over flame.  According to my maitre’d there’ve apparently been a few proposals over dessert.”

“Over your dessert?”

“Someone sounds dubious. Let’s just say it’s fireworks but without the danger. Well, unless the tablecloth is accidentally set on fire but the fire department down there are pretty good first responders I understand.”

“I just didn’t take you for the romantic dessert type.”

“I suppose there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me then.”

“So, why do you like food then?”

“Well, of course I like food, I wouldn’t be a chef otherwise,” he shared, moving swiftly in behind her and taking the fillets from her hand and placing them in the hot pan, Caroline was trying not to react to his touch or that welcoming and heady mixture of sandalwood, spices and soap . “But one interview isn’t going to even begin to answer that question.” 

He had a point and Caroline knew it. How could you sum up what food meant to you in one interview?  

“So, what exactly are you trying to say? I do have a deadline to meet.”

“How about we schedule a follow-up interview tomorrow morning? Dinner service is imminent and if you stay I’m going to have to ask you to do more than fillet a fish. My pastry chef Lucien is also very needy, requires constant gratification, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

“Not gonna lie I’m intrigued and by that I’m talking about Lucien. Did you insult his choux pastry or something?”

 “Not if I want my patrons to eat dessert this century. But, if you insist on staying, there’s a whole pile of onions there with your name on it and we can call it even.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He raised his left eyebrow by way of response. Caroline was trying to ignore just how good he looked, even if there was no smile forthcoming. 

“Fine,” she conceded. “Tomorrow morning but that’s it otherwise my editor might fire me.”

“Great, let’s make it 10:30, you can poach an egg, right? And I also expect extra crispy bacon.”

Caroline knew she was possibly in trouble and not because he was tasking her with cooking. Enzo would also parrot that particular concern but she couldn’t help herself. 

Today was probably the best day she’d had in a long time and she didn’t want it to end. She told herself that she’d return tomorrow and get her interview, that’s all she wanted from him, right?

4 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 11am

Klaus Mikaelson was in uncharted territory. 

That’s what scared him the most. 

Caroline Forbes was seated across from him at his best, window table in jeans and a cream sweater, her plate empty and a very full but satisfied look on her face. Klaus decided to add that to his favourite expressions file. It was fast filling up and he’d only known her for 20 hours. 

He wasn’t this guy. 

At all. 

But she’d consumed his thoughts since their first meeting and all night through dinner service and beyond. He’d barely slept, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He’d been looking forward to seeing her as soon as she left. 

The only problem? Not smiling because it was that difficult when she was in his presence. He had his reasons of course. 

“So, why do you love food? And no arguments given I poached a mean egg and also let you have a reprieve yesterday.”

“The bacon could use some work, just saying.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to cook itself yourself, Mikaelson. Are you always such a critic? Last time I checked that was my job. Also enough with the distractions. So?”

“My mum,” he admitted quietly, even if it took a minute or so to verbalise. For some reason her opening up about her grandmother had filled him with courage. He didn’t do feelings or talk about them for that matter. “She cooked with me practically from birth until she got too sick last year.” 

Those last words wobbled, it was unfortunate as it was expected. He’d struggled for a long time and losing his mother had been difficult.  

“What was her specialty?” Klaus recognised the question he’d asked himself yesterday, but the fact her hand squeezed his at the same time filled him with the confidence and warmth he needed. 

“Rosemary braised lamb shanks, it was her favourite protein. I’ve tried to pay homage on all my menus since.”

‘So, that explains the Saddle of Elysian Fields Farm Lamb with Babaganoush, Romano Beans and Harissa Jus on your menu then?”

“You’ve done your homework clearly?” 

“That and the fact it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, and I have to say it’s really nice.” 

Klaus didn’t even realise he’d let it slip but suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t want to hide it, not with her. 

“She used to tell me to smile all the time because I was too serious, you could say it’s something I’ve battled with ever since she passed.”

“All the more reason to smile, even just to introduce those dimples to the general public. Has anyone ever told you they should come with a warning?”

“No, but more than happy to discuss further.”

“If only, but I have to get going.” Klaus felt almost deflated that she was leaving as quickly as she’d arrived. Maybe he’d shared too much. “Deadlines and all that. But if you could just consult the email I sent confirming the details of our interview that would be great.”

Klaus felt disillusioned, he’d opened himself up to someone and she was running away.  She was out the door before he could even move from his seat. Checking his emails was the last thing he felt like doing, but his hand went to work on his cell checking it anyway and dreadfully waiting for its contents.

“As of three minutes ago, I no longer working for Delicious. It wanted a story I wasn’t prepared to write. I like your smile and dimples too much and I also want a Bananas Foster.”

His chest constricted as he read each word and his grin was unmistakable.  It didn’t take long for him to reply.

“You make my heart smile.”

Tabloids would report months later that famed food blogger Caroline Forbes married famed chef Klaus Mikaelson in rural England after proposing over a dessert of Bananas Foster in New Orleans. 

[firelxdykatara]

So I wanted to resend an ask because you said to do that if we don’t get a response. I’m sorry to bother you with it, I just like your takes on things because they seem to actually be reasonable. And the more I was sitting with this the more I started questioning my own sanity. But I also know not to let Twitter be my moral compass because they’ve proven to be insane when it comes to other topics. I can’t ever trust their takes on things, I always need a second opinion. Resending in next ask

Going on that ask about Twitter ATLA accusing everyone of “sexualizing minors” They’re also launching a crusade against OG fans making jokes like Sokka being a back bender or casually mentioning x character is their husband/wife. And I’m... just so tired. Idek what to say. Please tell me I’m not crazy for believing none of this is a big deal? I mean personally crude jokes aren’t to my taste and get annoying for me, but I also don’t think the people making them are automatically sex predators.

Honestly, like, twitter is a cesspool that is incredibly difficult to navigate under the best of circumstances, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that all the worst bits of tumblr that left once the porn ban came down simply migrated to new territory, because takes are coming out of the twittersphere that are nigh indistinguishable from shit that’s been circulated around tumblr for years already at this point.

AtLA twitter is particularly vile, and the fact that this uptick in toxic behavior has coincided with the show’s re-release on Netflix is difficult to pin down as a coincidence. The fact is, no, you aren’t crazy--there’s absolutely no reason for these ‘fans’ to go off on people for making ultimately harmless jokes about characters from a show who were in the middle of a war, fighting and dying on screen, but somehow the suggestion that some of them may have had sex is horrible and automatically means the person making the joke is some kind of predator???? Nah.

Like, I agree, those kinds of jokes aren’t to my taste, and I prefer to read smut that has been written where the characters involved are adults, but the fact is, it’s canon that Sokka and Suki were having sex. It’s implied that Mai and Zuko had sex. These are scenes that were deliberately placed in the show by the adults writing it, scenes which younger viewers wouldn’t get because no seven-year-old is gonna watch sokka inhale a rose in surprise and think omg he was gonna have sex with his girlfriend unless something else is very wrong in that household, but the adults would get the reference and chuckle about it and move on, and there’s honestly nothing wrong with that!

Almost the entirety of YA literature is written by adults, and a big cornerstone of the genre is coming-of-age stories, which frequently involve an exploration of sexuality. Alanna had sex with Jon in the Song of the Lioness quartet, after having gone through fairly excruciating puberty growing pains since she was still pretending to be a boy at the time, and it was fairly tame since Tamora Pierce was writing for a young demographic--but it was an important part of her journey, and her story, and the fact that such scenes might get taken out of context by the purity mob on twitter and the author made out to be some kind of sex predator because she wrote a coming of age tale about a young girl who became a woman just... it really bothers me.

No one has to like ‘sokka is a backbender’ jokes--I don’t care for them and I don’t reblog them cause it’s just not my cuppa. But saying that the ppl making them are ‘sexualizing minors’ as if there are real kids being hurt and not fictional characters from a show that ended over a decade ago is just ridiculous, in my view, as is attacking ppl on twitter or tumblr for it! Like, please, get a life! Find something real to worry about and learn how to blacklist content or block blogs you don’t want to see because they post content you don’t like and move on! It’s not that difficult!

And for the love of all that is holy, quit pretending that teenagers are sexless beings until they hit the age of majority (which isn’t even a universal constant) and suddenly develop the Ability to have Sexy Feelings. That’s not how hormones or the libido work. Sometimes teenagers have sex, sometimes that’s an important and formative experience, and sometimes adults will write about it because it’s something they either experienced or wish they had the freedom to experience (see: queer adults who could not come out either to others or even themselves as teenagers, wanting to write about the experiences they missed out on bc of an intensely queerphobic climate), and adults are better positioned to be able to write and publish such works than kids are (and have the perspective of time and life experience through which they can judge the past which actual kids do not have).

Anyway, I rambled a bit, but tl;dr: you are not crazy, twitter is a vile cesspool, tumblr isn’t much better, and people really need to learn the fine art of just minding their own damn business lmao.

[writetorace]

Where Does The Good Go – One Shot Harry Holland x Reader

Summary: your abusive past comes back to haunt you

Warnings: 18+, verbal, mental, and physical abuse, swearing, panic attack

A/N: flashbacks will be in italics. If it needs any more warnings let me know. Feedback is appreciated. I might do a part two where the reader tells the others, I'm not sure.

Happy. You were finally happy, it had taken a long time to get to this point in your life, but with your boyfriend Harry by your side you had everything you had ever dreamed of. It sounded cliché, but it was a love that would last. Not only did he turn your world, but he also kept you safe. Safety, the one thing you told yourself that you deserved. It had taken you a long time to realise it, and when you did, you were able to start living and stop running from your past. 

That didn’t mean that you still didn’t suffer from flashbacks at triggers or that you didn’t still get scared when you were put into certain situations. It took all of your strength; however, you had managed to keep it hidden from Harry. It hurt you not to tell him, except you didn’t want to be seen as the victim or as weak by him. He was the last person you wanted to look at you in that way. Moving in with Harry and the boys meant that it was much harder to keep your fear at bay. They were loud boys. 

The first time you had become scared was when you were in the kitchen with Harrison catching up. He had been looking through the cupboards for his chocolate when he couldn’t find it. You had been stood feet away from him when his voiced bellowed “which one of you fuckers ate my chocolate?” It had made you jump when you first heard it taking a step away from him on instinct, fearing any backlash directed towards yourself. 

“Are you fucking stupid? You really are selfish, aren’t you? You are a greedy fucking pig, now what am I meant to take to work tomorrow?” you knew not to answer that. It had been a rhetorical question, and if you had responded, then you would have been spat at even more. Your silence still didn’t stop your father from raising his hand and bringing it down across your cheek with enough force to snap your head in the other direction. You had eaten the last two pieces of bread at lunch for a sandwich, it being some of the only food in the house.

Knowing better than to cry in front of him, you dropped your head, your cheek throbbing in pain, and walked to your bedroom trying to keep your breaths steady. Once collapsed on your bed, you let the tears fall freely, the words your father spat running through your head faster than you thought possible. It would be one of those nights where you would stay locked away as to not cause any more of an upset for your father. Those were nights when you wished you could disappear, although it never did happen. Forcing you to stay there until you could afford to move out.

The memory had flashed through your mind at such a pace you thought you had whiplash. It took you a moment to recover from it, it all felt so real, too real. Before you could comprehend what you were doing, you found yourself in the room you shared with Harry, you were sure there were tears in your eyes. He was sat on the bed with his headphones plugged in not having heard your arrival, with him still distracted you wiped at your eyes, removing any trace of tears. Moving closer to him, he then noticed you and stretched his arm out, inviting you to lay with him. Obliging you nestled your face into his chest with his arm wrapped tightly around you. His protection all you needed, not that he would ever know.

Then there were the times where all the boys were sat in the front room all playing videogames together. You loved watching them all get along, their own little domestic bubble that they had invited you into. Domestic life with them was the total opposite of what you had experienced growing up and living with them had changed your perspective of what a home should look like, a home where you belonged. Growing up, you lived in a house, with little love, and no belonging. 

Sometimes the bliss would change, and playing videogames was sometimes the cause of it all. One would accuse the other of cheating, and it would start a huge conflict that could split the home for the rest of the day. When this happened, you couldn’t bear the shouts of the boys, the incessant name-calling that ensued. It was all too familiar. 

The same thing had been happening on repeat, you sat and watched your father try to complete the same level on a game for the past 10 minutes; however, each attempt was futile. It was clear to you that he wouldn’t be completing this level with the mindset he currently had, he would be better off turning the game off and trying to do it a different day. Sat on the sofa, your father on the floor his manner changed. With a sudden movement, his shoulders were hunched and his arms above his head, controller in hand. The next thing you saw was the controller being repeatedly smashed onto the laminate flooring. 

With one swift movement, he was up on his feet stalking towards you, “this is all your fault. You stupid little bitch, you are sat there on your phone. You could have googled how to help me, but no. You are an ungrateful whore.” Shaking a few tears rolled down your face as you repeatedly apologised. 

His hand around your throat all that you could feel, constricting your breathing. He climbed on top of you to stop your thrashing, one of your arms secure under his knee, whilst your other was held in a vice-like grip around the wrist. You couldn’t help but think that this is how you were going to die. At the hands of a monster. Your own father. Deciding that he had had enough torturing you, he stood up and left the room but not without turning around and looking at your now crying form, your hands replacing his, and muttering the word pathetic in your direction. You were prepared to die, but it never came.

When it looked like there would be a fight between them, you would always excuse yourself from the room claiming that you had a headache, not that they noticed. When they were fighting, they always became too caught up in what they were doing to realise what was happening around them, so slipping away was easy. Or so you thought. Harry had started to notice, and he was becoming increasingly worried. He saw the little flinches at the raise of a voice, how when the boys would call each other names you would shiver.

Everything came to a head when you were in the kitchen wrapped in Harry’s arms whilst Tom was chopping some vegetables. The two conversed happily as you snuggled into Harry’s chest. Tom waved the knife that was in his hand around as he spoke in between chopping. Then Harry made a joke that Tom took the wrong way and he pointed the bladed tip in yours and Harry’s direction calling him a fucking div in the process. Harry felt you go stiff in his arms as you struggled against him. Once free from Harry’s grasp you had backed yourself against a wall, your arms raised palms facing outwards, not wanting anyone to take a step closer. Tears we streaming down your face and you were sure that you would pass out from your lack of being able to breathe. 

“I’ll kill you, is that what you want you pathetic slut, hmm?” the knife in his hand showed his threat was not empty, the tip of the blade pressing against your throat. One wrong move and you could be dead. You didn’t doubt that for one minute that your own father wouldn’t kill you. That was something that you were sure of. His temper always got the better of him, and he was a monster, there was nothing to stop him from killing you, this was not the first time he had held a knife to you like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The last time he had threatened you with a blade it had been from his Swiss army knife, and he had tried to stab your arm as you reached towards him. 

Then he would make you feel guilty and give you the silent treatment if you shrugged off his arm around your shoulder or when you didn’t reciprocate his hugs. If you didn’t silently forgive him, then he would make living with him worse, if that was even possible. 

“(Y/N), baby, I need you to focus on my voice please.” It sounded as though Harry was far away, but in reality, he was in front of you, stopped at your hands, respecting your boundaries. Your vision was starting to focus on your surroundings.

Shifting your gaze between both the boys you noticed the frantic look on your boyfriends face and the knife that is still in Tom’s hand. Harry follows your eyes to lock on the blade still in his brothers’ hand. Looking between the knife and your gaze Harry comes to the realisation that the object is taking up your attention, the look of fear that covers your face haunting him. “Tom put the knife down!” Harry screams at his older brother as Tom comes to the same realisation as Harry. Placing the knife on the countertop, you let out a breath that you didn’t realise you had been holding. 

“Shit, I am so sorry (Y/N). I am so sorry for scaring you.” There is was that look on his face, the one that you never wanted to see from any of them. It was plastered on Tom’s face, along with concern. He shouldn’t be concerned though because as your father had once said “Do you know what you are? You are nothing!” these words were ringing in your ears, laced with venom and suddenly you couldn’t breathe. 

All the commotion coming from the kitchen had Harrison leave the front room to see what was going on. When he had assessed the situation and saw you cowering in the corner, he tried to do the most logical thing and limit the number of people in the room. Ushering Tom out of the room he noticed your hands drop as Harry took tentative steps towards you, afraid that any sudden movement would have you running from him in fear. 

“Love, can I hold you?” concern laced his voice, consent being one the things that attracted you to Harry. He always wanted to make sure that you were comfortable. You nodded your head at your boyfriend's request, the second you did his arms encircled you. “take deep breaths love, copy mine. I’ve got you; I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.” You had every trust in Harry to protect you from the outside world, but what if he couldn’t be enough to save you from yourself? 

After your breathing returned to normal you still didn’t speak, afraid that if you opened your mouth, then all the horrors would spill out. It seemed obvious to you that Tom had figured out your little flashbacks, but you were sure that he would tell his younger brother as soon as he had the chance. 

Harrison used his experience with girls from his sister to draw you a bath upstairs making sure to put lavender and chamomile essential oils in to help you relax. Harry was ever grateful for his best mates experience with his sister. Leading you upstairs, you still hadn’t said a word to Harry, but you clutched at his hand as it was the only thing keeping you in the present. 

“Stay, please.” Your voice cracked as you spoke the words to Harry, not wanting to be left alone. You struggled to undress your shaking body as Harry stepped closer to you, his hands replacing yours, his touch soft and gentle. Helping you into the tub, Harry sat on the edge, keeping close to you. His hand occasionally running the length of your arm as it held your knees to your chest. The tears were now falling at full speed, and your thoughts were scattered.

It physically pained Harry to see you this way, the girl who stood strong by his side, crying in the bathtub completely broken. He wanted to know what was wrong but didn’t want to pressure you to say or do something that you would later regret. “I’m here for you love, whenever you are ready to talk; I’ll listen.” He truly was the best, but in your current state, you couldn’t say anything to thank him. Instead, you opted to shift your body closer to his, hoping he understood. As a response of you moving closer, he placed a small kiss on your shoulder, trying to pour as much love into it as possible. 

When your mental state started to recover, you made a move to stand up, Harry grabbed a towel and opened it up for you to walk into. Once wrapped up the both of you made your way to your shared room. Sitting on the bed, you let Harry rummage through the drawers until he came across your favourite lounge set. Helping you to dress, Harry made sure to make his movements known, using only delicate touches. Cradling your face in his hands, he placed a kiss on each of your cheeks where tears now wash away, stained them.

“He hurt me. My dad.” Your confession quiet. Unsure of whether he heard you or not. He did, and the moment the words left your mouth he held you close whispering promises to not let anyone hurt you again. 

That night was filled was tears on both of your parts as you spilt your darkest secret to your boyfriend. He cried for you, on behalf of you, and with you. When you explained that you didn’t want the looks of pity, he told you,

“You are not a victim. You are a survivor.”

[favefandomimagines]

I Never Planned On You 1

AN: Chapter 1!!! I plan for this series to go all the way to Deathly Hallows and probably a few years after in an epilogue, so I have A LOT of things planned!

Kendra Black didn’t have a conventional childhood. She was just a child when her mother was killed and her father taken away. Imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. 

Her entire life was met with scrutiny. Being a Black didn’t come with the best reputation. A family full of pure bloods who would do anything to keep their bloodline pure. 

Kendra thought it was the old generation but her generation was kinder, more accepting. With the exception of an occasional Malfoy. 

She was sent to live with her aunt Narcissa and her cousin Draco. But the second Remus Lupin, her dad’s best friend from Hogwarts, caught wind of the news he informed Andromeda. She was quite aggressive with making sure Kendra went to a good home that wasn’t filled with her family’s blood supremacy motto. 

It was the first time Andromeda and Narcissa spoke since Andromeda was cast out of the family. 

Kendra was always meant for greatness. That’s the one thing she remembered about her father. He’d make sure to tell her that she was going to do amazing things. And blood purity wouldn’t change that. 

Her first four years at Hogwarts were filled with two things: teasing and mocking for being the daughter of a convicted killer and keeping an eye on Harry when he arrived. 

Remus made sure Kendra knew the stakes if any of the Dark Lord’s followers or sympathizers knew of Harry’s enrollment at Hogwarts. 

She often thought back to the first time she met Harry. It was the first quidditch match of the term and she could tell he was beyond terrified. She did the best to ease his nerves but she was her father’s daughter after all. 

Kendra found herself at the Leaky Cauldron the day she was set to go back to Hogwarts. She descended the staircase and noticed the Weasley’s plus Harry and Hermione. 

“Kendra Black! Wonderful to see you again my dear!” Mrs. Weasley greeted the young girl. “Hello, Mrs. Weasley.” Kendra smiled at her. “Have you got all of your things? Extra robes, all of your textbooks?” She questioned. “Yes, they’re all in my trunk. Even a few extra in case I want to get head start on lessons.” Kendra said.

“Good girl, now go get some breakfast in you! You’ll need it for the train ride.” Mrs. Weasley instructed her. 

Kendra happily obliged, knowing not to disobey Molly Weasley’s orders. She walked over to the long table and sat in between Fred and George Weasley. 

“Hello, Weasley’s. How was Egypt?” She asked. “Ask Ron, he’s been going on and on about it. Telling every bloody person he’s seen.” Fred answered. 

Kendra laughed lightly as she grabbed the paper from George’s hands and went to look at the picture. “Have you not seen the paper yet?” He asked. “No. I’ve been in America with Andromeda and Ted. I got back a couple days ago.” Kendra answered. 

“Why?” She asked. “Take a look at the front page.” Fred said. Kendra furrowed her eyebrows and flipped over the newspaper and her face fell. 

Fred and George saw the girl grow white as a sheet against her dark hair. Her father’s mugshot adorned the front page of the Daily Prophet. 

“Escaped?” She questioned out loud. “I’m sorry, Kendra. Where do you think he’ll go?” George added. “I have no idea.” She answered quietly. 

But she knew of her father’s plans. And she knew he was going to be coming to Hogwarts. 

“Let’s not worry about my father. We’re starting our fifth year, we’ve come so far!” Kendra said, quickly changing the subject. “Considering you hated us first year.” Fred commented. “I did not hate you! You just weren’t my two favorite people that’s all.” She rebutted. 

“Well, now you love us. Couldn’t survive a day without our charm.” George added. “In your dreams, Weasley.” Kendra teased. “You show up there quite often, Black.” The youngest twin teased back. 

The dynamic between Kendra and George Weasley was quite complicated. At first, it was clearly just innocent teasing but once puberty became a factor, the tone became less innocent. It became murky what the meaning and intent behind the otherwise innocent teasing was. Kendra didn’t know how George felt but to her it was very confusing. 

The rest of the Weasley clan plus their three strays, made their way to King’s Cross Station to board the Hogwarts Express. It was customary, almost tradition, for Kendra to sit with the twins and their other friends Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson. 

Kendra didn’t have many friends but they were the small few who didn’t see her for her last name. House Black had a very grim reputation and most students couldn’t see past the rumors and its unfortunate history. 

“Kendra! I can’t believe your father escaped Azkaban! He’s the first to ever do it!” Lee commented as the five got comfortable. George nudged Lee at his comment, not wanting Kendra to feel uncomfortable. “Well, us Blacks are quite ambitious.” She said with a breathy laugh. 

“I’m sure he’s nowhere near Hogwarts. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Angelina said, trying her best to make her friend feel at ease. But it was hard to feel at ease when Kendra knew of her father’s plans. Well at least she thought she did. She hadn’t seen her father since she was all but two years old. A lot can change in 12 years, people can change. 

Kendra was afraid she would see her father and not recognize the man. George could sense something was wrong with the girl by the way she looked out the window. Her eyes moved with the rain drops that slide down the window of the train, head clearly anywhere but with them. 

“Are you alright, Kendra?” George whispered to her. Kendra looked at the redhead but was unable to speak when the train came to a grinding halt, the lights flickering. “What was that?” Angelina asked. “Maybe it was a malfunction.” Lee answered. 

The lights went out completely and the whole compartment became increasingly cold, the windows frosting. To them, nothing was going on but the windows getting cold and the lights going out. But to Harry Potter, he experienced something else. And it wasn’t long until words made its way to the cabin of five. 

“Did you hear? Dementors were on board, Potter fainted. Apparently, they were looking for Sirius Black.” A second year told them. Kendra’s face fell before she stood. “I’ll be right back.” She announced. “Where are you going?” Fred asked. “Going to make sure Harry’s okay.” She answered, as if it were the most normal occurrence in the world. 

Kendra made her way down the narrow passage to where she knew the trio would be sat. She noticed the compartment door open and peaked her head inside. “Harry, are you alright? Word travels fast.” She questioned. 

Harry always found it quite strange that Kendra was always so worried about his well being and if he was okay. He asked her about it once and all she said was that she knew his mother and father. They were nice to her and she wanted to make sure that Harry would be out of harm's way. 

“Yes, I’m okay. Just fainted is all.” Harry answered. Kendra’s glance moved from Harry to the man sitting next to him. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. We should be arriving at Hogwarts soon.” The girl said before making her exit. 

She waited outside for a moment until Remus exited the compartment. “They think he’s coming to Hogwarts, don’t they?” She asked the man. “They have suspicion. His daughter and godson both in attendance. It wouldn’t be that far off.” Remus answered. “Do you think he will?” Kendra questioned. 

“After your mother died, you were all he had. He’ll want to see you, innocent or not. The Ministry knows that.” The man answered. “And we can’t tell Harry?” She further questioned. “Tell him what?” Remus retorted. “The truth. That my father did not kill his parents.” Kendra answered. “He already knows that I knew Lily and James, he’s going to start asking questions.” She added. “And you will say you knew them through Andromeda and Ted. We cannot shift suspicion on to you, Kendra. Your father will not want you getting hurt.” Remus said. 

“Now, I’m going to have a word with the driver. Make sure we do not stop for anymore Dementors.” He added before walking away. Kendra huffed before walking back in the opposite direction. 

“Oi, Black! Heard your lunatic, blood traitor of a father escaped prison.” A voice called. The way Kendra could describe Draco Malfoy’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. 

And that was after his voice dropped. Living with the Malfoy’s for about a year made her hatred for youngest Malfoy grow even more. 

“What’s it to you, Malfoy? I thought we were done with the whole ‘we’re family, let’s be civil’ thing?” Kendra questioned. “Aw come on, Kendra. There’s still time to accept your family.” Draco said. “I’d rather die than be a part of a legacy filled with hatred and ignorance.” She sneered before pushing past him roughly. 

Kendra despised Draco Malfoy more than the entirety of Hogwarts. But the problem was she has also seen the way he was treated at home. Lucius Malfoy was the cause of Draco’s most loathed qualities. He was trapped in a family that didn’t see anything other than blood purity and that was ingrained in his head long before he started at Hogwarts. 

And an ideology like that was very difficult to get rid of. 

Kendra arrived back at the compartment with her friends and sat down with a huff. “Uh oh, someone does not look happy.” Fred said. “Just my usual run in with Malfoy.” Kendra said. “How you’re related to him is still a mystery to me.” Angelina said. 

“I’d say the only relation is the family tree.” Kendra added. “Thank Merlin for Andromeda Black for falling in love with a muggle born.” George joked. Kendra sent him a grateful smile, as he was always able to make her feel better after any and all rough interactions. 

The train stopped at the Hogwarts station and they quickly climbed in the carriages to make their way up to the castle. 

Kendra thought of Hogwarts as more of a home than her actual home. She of course loved Andromeda and Ted for giving her the best life given the circumstances. But she felt a sense of comfort being at Hogwarts. It was her safe place. 

All anyone could talk about, however, was the fact that Sirius Black was on the loose. She couldn’t blame them though. No one knew the truth, even Harry didn’t know so she felt she couldn't be upset with anyone.

She sat down at Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, making light conversation with her fellow housemates, as the choir gave their annual performance.

“How are you really feeling about the news of your father, Kendra?” George asked her quietly. “Honestly?” She questioned. George nodded his head with a soft smile before she answered.

“It feels strange. The staring has gotten worse but nothing I can’t handle.” She said. Their conversation was cut short by applause and Dumbledore beginning his usual start of term speech.

“Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Now, I’d like to say a few words before we all become too befuddled by our excellent feast. First, I’m pleased to welcome Professor R.J. Lupin who’s kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Dumbledore started.

Kendra overheard Hermione and Harry discussing their own interaction with Remus in regards to the Dementor attack. She wondered why Remus really took the position. Was it to protect both her and Harry? Or just Harry?

“Our Care of Magical Creatures professor has decided to retire in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs. Fortunately, I'm delighted to announce that his place will be taken by none other than our own Rubeus Hagrid,” He continued.

Hagrid was always a favorite of Kendra’s. Mainly because he knew how it felt to get rumors spread about you that were so far from the truth.

“Finally, on a more disquieting note at the request of the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts will, until further notice, play host to the dementors of Azkaban until such a time as Sirius Black is captured,” The older man said.

Kendra physically and noticeably stiffened at the grand announcement of her father’s escape. She felt the eyes of everyone on her, teachers included. She just wished she could apparate away and never be seen again.

“The dementors will be stationed at every entrance to the grounds. Now whilst I've been assured that their presence will not disrupt our day-to-day activities.” Dumbledore continued.

“A word of caution. Dementors are vicious creatures. They'll not distinguish between the one they hunt and the one who gets in their way. Therefore, I must warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. It is not in the nature of a dementor to be forgiving. Given the circumstances of Sirius Black’s own child here at Hogwarts, there will be no hexing or jinxing of any kind tolerated until he is apprehended. But you know, happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light.” He finished before the feast commenced.

Kendra could hear the whispers from not only the other houses but those of her own housemates. It made her wish that Dumbledore wouldn’t have mentioned her in the first place. She could take care of herself and she doesn’t want to be seen as weak to anyone.

“I love being the center of attention but this is not what I had in mind.” Kendra muttered. “Ignore them. Like you said this is our fifth year, we’ve come so far let’s not impede our progress now.” George told her.

Kendra smiled at him before they continued with the feast.

When they had finished their food, some having bigger portions than others, Kendra and the twins made their way back to the Gryffindor common room. Of course the Fat Lady was more concerned about her voice than letting the students in but that was common at that point. 

Kendra made it to her dorm, the one she shared with Angelina, Alicia and Katie and began unpacking her things. 

“What do we all think about the Ministry sending Dementors to school?” Alicia asked. “I think it’s a terrible idea. What are our parents going to think?” Angelina answered. “I think it’s not safe. Especially for you, Kendra. They know you’re his daughter, what if they hurt you?” Katie questioned her friend. 

“I hope they don’t. I didn’t do anything and I definitely do not know my father’s whereabouts. Though the entire school seems to think so.” Kendra answered. “We don’t think so. Your friends wouldn’t think that.” Angelina added. “I was hoping this was going to be a good term but with all of this going on, I can’t help but get the feeling something bad was going to happen.” Kendra muttered. 

Of course her friends wished they could help her but given her situation, it was very difficult to make her feel any better. 

Later that evening, Kendra was sitting next to George on the couch while Fred sat on the floor facing them. It was like any other evening with the Weasley twins despite their usual need to get into or cause trouble. 

“Kendra, Professor Dumbledore would like to have a word with you.” Percy said entering the room. “Why?” She questioned. “He didn’t say. He just told me to send for you.” Percy answered. “Oooo Kendra’s in trouble.” Fred teased. “How can I be in trouble on the first night?” She asked. “You have a knack for getting into trouble, darling. Why do you think we’re such good friends?” George added. 

Kendra rolled her eyes and exited the common room towards Dumbledore’s office. 

It wasn’t every day you were summoned to the headmaster’s office but she had no doubt it had to do with her father. 

She had only been to Dumbledore’s office once before and yet it was still just as magnificent as the last. She stepped inside carefully, not wanting to disturb any of the artifacts that were inside. 

“You wished to see me, Professor?” Kendra asked. “Ah, yes, Ms. Black. I sincerely hope you do not take what I’m about to ask personally, but do you know of your father’s whereabouts?” Dumbledore questioned. 

“With all due respect, Professor, I only found out about my father’s escape this morning. I don’t know anything about where my father is or how he escaped.” Kendra answered. “I figured as much. The Ministry has been very interested in your knowledge of his escape. I will write to the Minister and tell him there is no reason for his suspicion.” The man said. 

“Thank you, Professor.” Kendra smiled at him. “Now, get some rest. I have taken a peek at our classes this term and you will need the sleep.” He instructed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Goodnight, sir.” She said. “Goodnight, Ms. Black.” Dumbledore replied. 

Kendra walked down the corridor back towards the Gryffindor common room, her mind reeling with thoughts and theories. 

The Ministry thought she was behind her father’s escape? Now the teachers find her suspicious? If it wasn’t bad enough that her peers whispered about her in the halls, now so will her teachers. 

She sighed as she slowly approached the portrait and sighed. She was already fearing that this was going to be a very long year.