#police with no authority who also have the power to shut down anything

[isntsure]

skizz and scar being police on HC was a fine line of RP for me but them being on pigs has solidified this as hilarious imagery

like its so funny its perfect

[biggie-chcese]

Why I think Yomi Hellsmile should've died in Chapter 4

(this essay isnt what you think it is. spoilers for the whole game btw)

Alright so let me preface this by saying that this is not a Yomi Hellsmile hate essay. I like Yomi. He's my favorite peacekeeper. He's funny, he's entertaining, and he makes for a very effective antagonist. So why have him die? Well, for the same reason I wouldn't have Yakou live: I think it makes for a better story.

So here's the true title of my essay: A Critique of how Rain Code's Narrative Handles the Peacekeepers (and by Extension, Yomi) and their Downfall

Let's start with Yomi's downfall in canon. Yuma and Vivia find out his role in Huesca's murder and, ultimately, Yakou's death, and are angry beyond belief. But they're also helpless to do anything as they escape the labyrinth with vengeance on their minds. Of course, this gets shut down immediately, and then Makoto ex machina comes in with Martina in tow to arrest Yomi for his money laundering and bribery. And right then and there, in one fell swoop, the peacekeepers are completely eliminated as a threat in the story to be replaced by Makoto.

But okay... isn't that super underwhelming? The peacekeepers and Amaterasu corp have been the main driving force of the game's primary conflict, and yet somehow they are completely eliminated as a threat because Makoto grabbed a few files off screen. And also, this brings me to my first major issue I have with this ending:

Part 1: Why the fuck do they care?

No I'm serious. Why do the peacekeepers care? So what if Yomi bribed his way to the top? You mean to tell me that the cops who spent the entire game assaulting and antagonizing civilians give a shit? They're never shown to have any sort of problem with their corruption. They send people to be executed on whims and knowingly, regularly falsify evidence on murder cases. At best the peacekeepers are indifferent to the suffering they cause, and at worst they are gleefully complicit in it. So, again, why do they care about Yomi's money schemes? In fact, they only benefit from Yomi's rule because he gives them the power to freely instill fear in Kanai Ward's citizens. The game never, at any point, has an "are we the baddies?" moment from them nor does it ever even try to have at least one peacekeeper question Yomi's authority, even when he's throwing them under the bus. Throughout the whole game, they stand as a completely one-note, cartoonishly evil representation of police corruption.

So why the sudden heel turn? The resolution of chapter 4 feels so jarring to me because the game has zero buildup to it. This also applies to Martina's return. Actually let's also talk about her.

Part 2: So... Martina's return lowkey is kinda lame

Don't get me wrong, I was pretty hype when she came back. But also, the magic wore off pretty quickly for me because I didn't understand why she was suddenly a whole different character. I suppose her brush with death gave her some time to contemplate her actions, or perhaps she felt indebted to Makoto and asked him what she should do, or maybe Makoto held her life over her head and told her to change her act or he's letting her get cubed. Who knows? We get nothing expanding on this so it could be anything.

I feel like people kinda forget that Martina was just as corrupt as Yomi? Like, she is not his helpless victim. I'd even argue that their relationship isn't abusive. Martina is in it with her own interests in mind in addition to just being a massive sadomasochist. I cannot stress this enough: whatever tf she and Yomi had going on, she was completely into it. Even at the end of chapter 2, she was drooling over him and the idea of punishment... until Yomi crossed a line.

Y'see, Martina thought she was special. She thought that whatever punishment Yomi had for her Aetheria Academy blunder, she'd come out of it alive, because she's his beloved right hand. Yomi then showed her that she's just as disposable as the rest of his underlings by ordering her to be brutally executed. That is when she becomes a victim.

Anyway, I'm saying all this to make a point that Martina hasn't shown any interest in being an honest cop until chapter 4. It's completely out of nowhere, just like with the other peacekeepers.

"But Biggie," you may be thinking, "why would Yomi dying fix these issues?" Well I'm so glad you hypothetically asked!

Part 3: We love missed potential, baby!

Kodaka sometimes does this thing where he introduces an interesting concept that plays with the rules of the game... and then doesn't commit to it. Think like the double murder clause in Danganronpa V3 chapter 3, where they mention that if two separate murderers act in the same day then only one of those murders counts. Then they do nothing with this, and instead create a very weak chapter.

This is a similar problem I have with the tail end of chapter 4's mystery labyrinth, which is a really amazing labyrinth that introduces a really amazing concept: taking down a secret mastermind. After reaping the culprit's soul, they have this cool, brand new secret area that... does nothing. No, I'm serious. Nothing happens. All it does is piss Yuma and Vivia off and waste everyone's time. They find out Yomi's involvement in the case, but they still don't do anything with that. Sure it brings a whole new feeling of hopelessness, but doesn't that make Yomi's downfall literally five minutes later through the mundane actions of someone else off screen seem all the more underwhelming? From a gameplay and storytelling standpoint, I think this is just... a cop-out. I think it'd be cool if he was involved enough in Huesca's murder to count as an accomplice, then with Vivia and Shinigami at his side, Yuma reaps Yomi's soul. It's a decent payoff for the NDA and the player while supporting the game's message about the importance of finding the truth. And god does the game need support in that regard, because the Mystery Labyrinth almost never helps and Yuma instead gets saved by someone else (which would've been nice to expand on if we go this route bc there's something interesting about Yuma calling for the labyrinth to kill people for ultimately no reason, but they don't do anything with that and that is a WHOLE other essay lol).

But this is not my main reason that Yomi should've died here. I wouldn't feel so strongly if that was the case. No, my problem lies with a character that isn't Yomi, and what is part of the entire reason Rain Code's plot exists.

Part 4: Is Makoto fucking stupid?

"/lh" by the way. Makoto is my second favorite character in this game behind Yuma, and I adore him. His story, his motivations, his undying will to be a protector of a people that no one else will protect, by any means necessary... he is such an incredible character and antagonist and I genuinely adore him. But I have one eensy weensy, teeny weeny little issue with him:

Why did he need the detectives to oust Yomi?

Makoto claims in the ch 5 labyrinth that the reason the detectives were brought over was to oust Yomi, which leads me to believe the command for the detectives to come to Kanai Ward was his work, not Number One's, then Number One simply caught onto this and took advantage of the situation to sneak in. Though, that's just a guess on my part, mind you. So I suppose he was just desperately hoping at least one of them would take care of Yomi, but isn't that weird?

The detectives don't ever find the evidence of Yomi's money laundering and bribery. Makoto does. The detectives don't ever bring Yomi's corruption to light. Yomi... already does that without their help. Actually, why didn't he secretly team up with the Resistance for that? Too busy ignoring Dohya District's glaring issues, Makoto? Too busy turning a blind eye to your people's suffering?

Uh. Anyway, the only detective that actually does something beneficial for Makoto and kills Huesca is Yakou, who was already in Kanai Ward. And don't tell me that Makoto accounted for Fubuki and Desuhiko's fortes here because that part of the plan was all Yakou's idea. If Makoto could've predicted this, he would've just called the detectives necessary to this plan instead of luring in a bunch of them at once to get slaughtered.

Tons of detectives died coming to Kanai Ward to do... what? Distract Yomi? Could the World's Greatest Mind truly never come up with a better distraction for a guy who didn't even realize his Martina Cube™ order never came in? Yomi isn't shown to be some sort of hypervigilant supergenius nor is he nearly on Makoto's level. Could he truly not have outsmarted Yomi and led him astray long enough to grab a little binder of paper?

So, once again, you may be wondering how Yomi's death would fix this. Well, Yuma, a detective, is the one who kills Yomi.

Makoto is well aware of Yuma using the Book of Death at this point. So what better way to get rid of Yomi than to carefully manipulate the detective who has the Perfect Criminal Murder Tool™? Makoto can't just assassinate Yomi himself- that would make him the main suspect and he'd have to do a lot of PR maintenance to get the rest of Amaterasu Corp off his back. But Yomi mysteriously dying of a heart attack while Makoto isn't anywhere around... well, that's different.

"But wait," you may be thinking, "doesn't Makoto want to keep Yomi alive because he's a Kanai Ward citizen, and he loves Kanai Ward?"

Good point! But doesn't that also apply to Yakou, whom he also had a hand in manipulating into that crazy sui-homocide of Dr. Huesca? Or, what about Fink? Remember him? Makoto killed him for "knowing too much." I know that information is missable, but it's there. And don't tell me it's just because he's a hitman and has killed other Kanai Ward residents, because Yomi has sent many residents to their deaths without trial... not a huge difference. So a body count isn't really on Makoto's "should I kill them" conditions, it seems.

If Fink gets killed for "knowing too much," then Yomi shouldn't be exempt from this, especially when he was leaking homunculus information to the outside world. That goes far beyond "knowing too much." It just doesn't make sense.

But you know what does? Makoto actually using the detectives to wipe his hands clean of Yomi's mess. Yakou is used to take care of Huesca, Yuma is used to take care of Yomi, and Makoto gets to sit back, relax, and watch everything play out just as planned.

And later, in the next chapter, when Yuma learns about Makoto using him like this, he realizes that he's truly been had.

Part 5: How I think it should play out

I'm not being a hater. In fact, I deeply love this game and have a lot of respect for Kodaka and the writing team, so please don't take my little rant as some sort of effort to bash on my favorite video game because that's not what this is. I'm not gonna prop myself up as a better writer than anyone on the team because I'm not, but I'll still try my hand at rewriting this scene to fit my personal taste. So I would like for you to imagine with me, the end of chapter 4...

Yuma and Vivia find the secret area of the labyrinth and find out that Yomi has been masterminding Huesca's murder. Shinigami points out that, hey, that's why the labyrinth is falling so slowly: we haven't finished it off! Vivia stands by Yuma's side, and all of them, driven by their rage and desire to see justice be done, reap the soul of the true mastermind through one final strike of the solution blade. Labyrinth collapses, snap back to reality, oop there goes gravity, oop there goes Yomi, who collapses on the ground.

The peacekeepers are surprised and approach the body. They find that Yomi is dead. They're shocked, and as this is happening, Yuma isn't sure what to feel. Is he glad that he managed to avenge Yakou? Not quite, because Yakou is still gone, the hitman is still out there, and everything still hurts. But a part of him feels... vindicated. Vivia seems to have equally complicated feelings about this. For once, it was... kind of worth it to find the truth, even if a bit messy.

Well now the peacekeepers confirmed Yomi is dead, but now they're accusing the detectives of this. And they're honestly kinda right. Yuma and Vivia realize that they're in kind of deep shit, but the sound of Martina's voice comes from off screen asking what on earth is going on here, making everyone freeze.

Enter her, Makoto, and Seth (I'll say why he's here too in a moment). They're surprised at the sight before them, but Makoto only pretends to be. Then you see it... Martina and Seth go from visibly suprised... to relieved. And there's something oddly triumphant, yet a bit chilling about Makoto and the two people we've witnessed Yomi throw under the bus standing over his corpse. It feels thematic now, as if righteous judgement has come. And... it also solves the "what happened to Seth" question, lol.

Makoto shakes his head and sighs, stepping over the corpse and approaching Yuma and Vivia as he comes up with an excuse: "I always told him that those temper tantrums weren't good for his blood pressure. I guess his heart couldn't take it anymore."

He then nods to the others. Seth instructs the peacekeepers to clean up the body, as they rot quickly in this city. There's this foreboding feeling in the peacekeepers' obedience and efficiency, and Yuma begins to wonder if he did a good thing. Did his actions change the peacekeepers for the better, he asks himself, or did he simply shift the power over to someone worse? Shinigami tells him she doesn't know.

Makoto approaches them with good news: they found and arrested the hitman! Yuma, frightened, does not address that and instead asks him why the other high ranking peacekeepers are here. Makoto says that they... owe him a favor. Martina expresses her gratefulness for him stopping her execution order and asks if they can do anything else, to which Makoto replies telling her no, they're doing an excellent job. After some more conversation, Seth, Martina, and the peacekeepers then leave with Yomi's body to let Makoto talk privately to Yuma and Vivia. Makoto apologizes for their loss of Yakou and offers some faux sympathy. They're both... still conflicted about this conclusion, but Makoto tells them they're free to go, so they'll think about it later. Oh, but before they leave, he gives Yuma a little gift: a suspicious black box. Of course, Yuma can't open it just yet- it's a surprise!

Then the rest could play out pretty much normally (though an encounter with zombie Yomi chapter 5 seems inevitable and also awesome).

I think this alone would solve every issue I addressed before. The peacekeepers do not change out of nowhere. They simply reallocate power and there's still this feeling of them being a threat as they're now directly connected to the game's true antagonist. There's now a theme to Martina's return with Seth's presence as well. There's now a narrative purpose to that final section of the mystery labyrinth with proper payoff. And, most importantly, Makoto's motivations to use the detectives make more sense.

By the way, if any Yomi lovers think that he should stay alive for a potential return in the sequel... isn't it such a blessing that Yakou's DLC introduced this pretty neat little pill that could still make that possible? Just saying.

So yeah. Yuma, for the sake of narrative payoff and character writing consistency, please kill this clown. Thanks for reading <3

[postmodernbeliever]

lifetimes and lifetimes - fox mulder x fem!witch reader

not every witch needs spells and stones to relive the past, or predict the future. in your opinion, the craft is much simpler than that- what is meant to be yours comes to you, at the right time. and the right thing does come, in the shape of a tall, curious fbi agent. it doesn't take long to learn just who fox mulder is to you- and that it seems you two always find each other, in every lifetime.

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this one is dedicated to @spookybasementboy bc they asked for it :))  i took some creative liberty because i’m not much of a witch myself- i was inspired by the past life situation in the season 4 ep “the field where i died” but also wanted to make sure i made it mystical, so i used a sort of invocation/prayer and vision experiences. but really i wanted to have an amalgamation of a witch and a regular person, who truly is a product of “coincidences”, run into our handsome little fox. i think it came out kinda cool. unlike anything i've written. ok ill stop explaining and let you read. <3

my ao3 | word count: 5,041

content tags: wicca, not too witchy but has spiritual experiences, mentions of bodily blood/gore, past lives, flashbacks, idiots in love, stress, fear, anxiety, slow romance, you both fall hard FAST but it’s gotta be slow!!!!!!!!!!

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special agent fox mulder believes in everything. he doesn’t know how not to, not with everything he’s seen in his lifetime. because of this blind faith, he gets himself in constant trouble. it was the first thing you noticed about him as he handcuffed you to the chair in the police station bullpen, that he was trouble, but in a good way. in the way that without having said a word, you felt he could turn your life upside down. even in a state of shock, you could sense that.

you sat like a prisoner, eyes shut as agent mulder settled into the desk chair opposite you. behind your eyelids, you relived flashes of moments from not even an hour prior. there was blood and bullets; you tasted wood, glass, screams, more blood. you remembered the red eyes, and the way bodies flooded beneath the pews, the sound of skulls cracking against the cold tile. you remembered reciting the only prayer that you could remember, the first one you learned when you left the church at 18. you felt the wiry carpet burning your elbows as you crawled away. you heard their voices repeating, “baruch hashem, baruch hashem, baruch hashem…” you remembered being chased, and after that, nothing else. as you awaited what surely was to become your interrogation you began to pray again, because it felt like you had no other means of safety. the earth is my mother, i shall not want…

“so, you like to run, huh?” the man teased, easing into his questioning. 

agent mulder’s authority was practically dripping from him- tailored suit, slack tie, blue and white badge screaming from his pocket. the print of his gun pressed against the black holster which flashed enticingly behind his coat. you saw power in his eyes, and a boyish attitude in his smile as he awaited your response. he was an understated kind of handsome. the kind that snuck up on you.

you winced as you shifted in the chair, and the man watched you tremble, suspicious of your state. maybe it’s drugs, he thought, but he quickly rescinded that. you just didn’t seem like the type. to the naked eye, you were healthy; plump arms and legs, round cheeks, secretive eyes. you were an intriguing sight, and not just because of your clothes. chained to a chair, your curling tendrils of hair and berry lipstick looked so out of place in a dirty, bustling environment like the one in which you both sat. he saw a girl adorned in earthy colors both muted enough to communicate a soft darkness, and bright enough to draw people to it. the beat-to-shit brown boots on your sleepy feet showed how long you’ve been drifting by, living alone. silver ornamented your neck and ears and poised hands, and agent mulder liked how it contrasted the tarnished handcuffs. you were battered from the events of your evening, with deep cuts in your hands and knees, and bloody scrapes all over your body, taking turns sharing skin with the bruises. you were a dichotomous girl, giving him every reason to be curious; yet all personal inquiries aside, agent mulder had a job to do. he had caught you fleeing a crime scene, after all. 

something in his gut wanted to release you, to let you float right out the front door and back to wherever you came from; but in his chronic open-mindedness, he couldn’t be sure if you weren’t tricking him some way into feeling that. so he kept you locked tight and facing him, eagerly awaiting your statement. 

“running is for the guilty, agent mulder.”

“well, i had to chase you down, didn’t i?”

“who says you decide what i’m guilty of?”

the agent turned to the computer and opened a statement file, deciding to take yours himself. “what’s your name, miss?”

“which one? i have a few.”

“whichever one i can find in an official file somewhere in this pigsty,” he grinned. 

“well, that’s not gonna be much help,” you shot the man a wink, “they know me by a handful, too.”

“well, come up with one, then.”

you sat for a moment, already settled on the name you wanted to hear him repeat, but wanting to tease anyway. when you offered it up, the sound rang in his ears like angel’s bells. 

agent mulder simply couldn’t stifle his curiosity. as he typed your chosen name out, he asked, “what does it mean?”

“well, my last name is an old name. for us wiccan, it means old friend. and i like to think of myself that way- familiar, constant, when the world is always moving.”

“and your first?”

“my favorite shakespeare character.” you admitted. the man’s face flooded with color, and you could hear him thinking, is she fucking with me? so you tacked on, “you know, just because someone’s a witch doesn’t mean they’re an isolationist. i read.”

“i didn’t say anything!” agent mulder chuckled awkwardly. your intuition had him drawing nervous breaths. “so, you’re a witch. is that why you were at the church? did you plan to invoke, or just poke fun?”

“i’m not that kind of witch, agent mulder. not all witches are mean-spirited. i was there because i had walked past the church a few days ago, and i saw the stained glass windows from outside. they were so beautiful, i wanted to see them up close. i’m not a fan of what happens at churches, but i do love their art.”

for an accepting person, agent mulder didn’t realize how many preconceived notions he held. sat before him was a girl who pledges to be a witch, but visits catholic churches in her free time like museums. a girl who chose her name according to the day. in what little he knew, there seemed to be not one solid fact on which he could build a realistic profile. tight-lipped, the man asked for your age, place and date of birth, and address.

“i’m not sure exactly how many lives i’ve had, but in this one, i’m 29. arlington, d.c… um, october 31st, 1964… oh, and right now, i’m at 2632 hegal place, alexandria. apartment 42.” 

as you spoke, a wind blew through the station. it ruffled the papers on agent mulder’s desk, and it whistled through the links to your handcuffs. the hair stood up on your arms as the wind whispered, and you knew what he was going to say before he said it. you felt it in your gut. 

“2632?” agent mulder swallowed thickly, his curious pupils inflating almost cartoonishly. you saw his goosebumps and smiled.

as if you’d known all along, you asked, “you live in the building next door, don’t you? 2630?”

agent mulder didn’t respond, but the blood in his cheeks did for him. you shifted in your seat again, feeling a burning in your stomach. you hadn’t felt that hot intuition for a long time. there was a haunting quality to his face that was drawing you away from your defense; you couldn’t keep up the mysterious act, because something about him made it impossible to hide.

“s-so, what were you doing at the church?”

“you already asked me that, sir.”

you were surprised that even in the chaos of the police station, you weren’t alone. you felt alone. agent mulder seemed to look at you like his eyes didn’t recognize another thing, like the world was unfamiliar to him aside from your face, your eyes. and all those years of sitting in meditation, of attempting to regress, to see who you were before and who your soul was tethered to were useless. you should’ve known by now to trust in your world, in its karma. it always comes when it’s meant to. 

 “you can call me fox, if it’s easier. sir is so… formal.”

fox’s eyes sparkled. you’d seen that shimmer before, but in water, and in shifting light. you looked into him, and wiped your clammy palms against your pantyhose-clad thighs. for the first time all night, you felt your barrier coming down, the shield you raised back at the church, against the cops and the world. the fear you stifled to survive was finally flooding through your veins, and the tears in your eyes followed like dominoes. 

fox instinctively abandoned the report and took your palms in his own, passing his calloused thumbs over your trembling knuckles. “hey, hey, it’s okay,”

“i-i”m sorry,” you hiccuped, struggling to speak. “i’m- m’over… overwhelmed,”

“catch your breath,” he whispered, running his palms up and down your arms. his touch was seraphic, and by it, you knew you’d felt it before. lifetimes and lifetimes of it. “take it easy, i’m here.”

when you calmed down, he began again, “can you tell me what happened?” 

“well… i went into the church. to look at the windows, like i said. i was alone, it was maybe around six o'clock by then. they were just finishing mass, and everyone stood up to leave, a-and then they came in,” you stuttered, “the, uh, the shooters. they were- they were in all black, and wore red masks, like ones from the halloween store. they were chanting, they said, baruch hashem. it sounded like hebrew, but i think it was different, i’m not sure. it sounded old. and they were chanting, and they knocked so many people down in the aisles to get to the alter. they fired a few rounds off at the windows, glass fell on my head… i saw a lot of people fall, so i dropped to the ground and pressed my face to the wall. i prayed over and over, to the earth, it’s the only prayer i could remember. i just wanted to hide, y’know? a-and when- when they got up to the altar, they-”

the agent stopped you to ask, “what prayer?” 

“why does it matter?” you sniffled. 

“because it might have been what got you out in time.” 

his eyes were so pleading, and the fire curling around your bones stood to remind you he was to be trusted. so you recited the prayer, a slightly juvenile one that in your newness you cut down to the meat of: “the earth is my mother, i shall not want. she restores my body and awakens my soul. although i walk in the shadow of changing seasons and passing time, i will not fear death, for the essence of life is within me, the peace and beauty of earth comfort me. as i look to the skies with wonder at the immensity of the universe, i know i am blessed beyond measure to live all the days of my life in the bountiful house of gaia.”

the man marveled at how the words spilled from your tongue, so ingrained in your muscle memory that they were second nature. you kept a cadence, and each word was its own. he saw now you were not one to sit surrounded by potions and symbols to cloud your focus; you simply let the power of the world pass through you, and hoped to harness it and be protected as you yielded to it. you repeated that mantra like it was all you had left- he could tell. he’d never met such a modern witch. to him, you were a brand new kind of x file, with subtle powers he has yet to comprehend. 

“that’s beautiful,” he complimented as he squeezed your palms. “alright, now breathe. you're safe. keep talking.”

shutting your eyes, you tried to reimagine the horror. you’d never dreamed of seeing anything so inhumane, but maybe these details would be useful. you can’t have just seen them for nothing. 

“they, um, they took the priest. one of them shot him, and then another laid him on the table, and- and he used a knife to cut him open. there… there was so much blood,” you swallowed thickly. “they took his… y’know, his uh, insides. they dragged them out, and they chanted, and anyone who stood up was shot. i- i watched them take it all and, uh, they put it in the tabernacle, of all places… and their eyes glowed under the masks, bright red, and they never stopped chanting. once they started taking people from the pews with knives, i crawled out the side door, because i had th-this feeling, like, like it would be me next. i felt it everywhere. and when the cops showed up…”

“you didn’t want to get stuck. and you thought i was one of them, coming to take you, so you ran from me.” fox finished your thought, a resonant pain shaking his ribcage at the thought of making an innocent girl just try to outrun the danger. “you saved yourself, you know. i don’t know how your prayer worked, but you did something, summoned something that saved you long enough to get you out.”

“and it made you follow me.” you sighed, wiping your tear-stained cheeks. “why?”

fox’s eyes traveled across your face, inspecting every detail, wishing he had a microscope. his hand raised deliberately to brush a lock of hair from your face. “i don’t know.”

“what is your gut telling you?”

“its…” the man felt like his lungs were going to pop, two balloons over-inflated, under siege by a swarm of butterflies. “i wanted to follow you. to find you, not arrest you. but you kept running, so… y’know, logic took over.”

fox took a moment to fish the handcuff key from his pocket, and he unlocked your wrists, rubbing softly at the red marks. the agent winced, guilt-ridden for fastening them too tight. “does it hurt?”

“no, m’okay,” you muttered. your head was pounding, and when his fingertips grazed your pulse, you felt somewhat weak. 

fox let you rest for a few minutes while he typed up your account. he remembered every word. as he worked, his leg consciously shifted out to knock against your knee, and the two of you sat that way for a while, touching bones. when he was done, he leaned back in the borrowed desk chair and sighed, dragging his big palms down his face. 

“can i ask why you’re investigating this?” you brought one leg over the other, suddenly a bit conscious of the length of your dress. you saw his eyes follow, and you flushed. 

“oh, well, my partner and i- scully, you met her- we’re, uh, we’re investigating a string of ritual murders. we’ve followed these guys through the state, they shoot up masses and do what they believe to be sacrifices to jesus himself. that- that chant you mentioned, baruch hashem, i recognize it. it’s aramaic, the language jesus spoke. means “blessed be the name”. we’ve gathered they chant that over and over and they, uh,” the agent paused, seeing the discomfort on your face, “you don’t want to know the details.”

“no, i do! it's just a little raw is all,” you flashed a meek smile, gesturing with a nod for him to continue. 

“well, they seem to be taking people’s… entrails, the priest’s first, and offering them up by putting them in the tabernacle. my theory is they seem to think that if they offer holy blood, and let it be anointed with the eucharist, it'll reward them with god’s love and immortality. as far as we know, they belong to a cult that moves across the country, sacrificing lives to win god’s favor. and what you saw tonight- what you suffered- it’s going to help us stop them.”

“really?”

“yes, really,” he grinned. “listen, i’m not going to hold you here. you’re a victim, you don’t deserve to keep reliving this. you need to go home, get some rest.”

there was still that fire in you, churning and hissing within your throat, reminding you not to ignore it. you never did. in your practices, you always bended to the will of your fire. every invocation, every motion, was deliberate. it all came through you. you didn’t adhere to the rules of everyone else who believed like you did; you belonged to no wiccan circle, no congregation. you just made your way in the world, a ritualist by nature, working with this life and world while understanding your diversion from it. you let your selves be your guide- every version of you that has lived wisely for your benefit. 

thinking of what you are, and what you’ll become now you’ve met fox mulder, the flames licked your tongue, making you honest again. “i’m scared to leave. i… i don’t want them to come for me.”

fox’s comforting grin fell. he saw how you made yourself small in the chair, and he wished he could switch places. in an instant, he’d be the one interrogated, judged, the one seeing guts and blood when he closed his eyes. he couldn’t let that be what you turned into.

“i can bring you. i can get you security, protective custody, anything you need. i’ll protect you myself if i have to,” fox swore, “i won’t let them get to you, okay?”

a sad little laugh bubbled in your throat, and you reached for the hand that rested on the computer mouse. you adored the feeling of his tired skin beneath yours so sensitive. “i guess i don’t really know what’ll feel safe just yet.”

“then let me take you home, at least,” fox offered. “i do live next door.”

“you do.”

you stood up, feeling a bit achy in the knees. fox offered you his arm and you wrapped your palm around it gratefully. you watched him motion across the station to the pretty redhead you’d met in cuffs, who nodded softly. his partner. there was a smart look in her eye, and you knew she had the answers- to what, you couldn’t be sure, but she held a truth within her. it glowed golden against the pink of her skin.

the agent ushered you to a small car outside the station, opening the passenger side for you to slide in. you giggled at his old-fashioned ways, enamored by how he shed his suit jacket and laid it across your nearly bare legs in the car. “so you don’t get cold,” he explained, but you couldn’t care less about why.

the drive was silent. fox went slowly, although you had the feeling he tended to speed. his hand rested on the gear shift out of baseless habit, even though the car was automatic. he was tense, anxious, aware; the muscle at the curve of his jaw clenched and unclenched like it was keeping time, and a stubborn slice of hair kept falling against his forehead no matter how many times he blew it away. you admired him from your side of the car, seeing how traffic lights reflected in his eyes. all it took was for fox to deal a soft glance your way, with just a slight tilt of the head, for you to feel yourself in this car before, within this exact moment some other lateral time. a second wave of goosebumps riddled your body. 

show me, you begged in silence, willing to be heard by whatever force was showing you new versions of the man behind the wheel. show me who he is. show me who he is to me. 

a sudden burst of rain smacked against the windshield of the car, causing both of you to jump. there was no storm following- it was as if a squall came down, just momentarily, to rinse the car. when you blinked, you saw fox driving a first-edition ford in a tweed coat and flat cap, a cigarette bobbing between his lips as he asked you about your day; then, he was jostling atop a cart, hands on worn horse reigns, singing some folk song you’d never heard. another blink revealed him as a boy, holding your juvenile hand and speaking middle french as he passed you a flower, with that same concentrated head tilt and gaze as all the other visions. you’d been here so many times, protected by him, going towards a life with him. you knew he felt it, too, because the beat of his heart was loud enough to hear how it synced with yours. not a piece of you both was out of time, now that the world had removed its wedge. you rested your hand atop his on the gear shift, and the muscle in his mouth loosened. 

when fox pulled up to your building, you waited for him to come around and let you out with a teasing smile. he took your hand gingerly and led you down the sidewalk. he helped you through your building’s door, up the stairs, and he swiped the keyring from your shaking hands and unlocked your apartment for you. the familiar smell of cinnamon air freshener eased your nerves as you switched on the lights, and you saw fox get a glimpse of your life for the first time. he smiled at your home where you lived in the same room, on the same floor, in the same layout one building away, as him. your living room window looked like his. your television was in the same place. you had far more books, and your desk was littered with drawings, but everything was reminiscent of his apartment. and you saw his home now as you looked around, like you had three-dimensional lenses on- you in the blue film, and him in the red. he had no trouble finding the sink and filling a cup for you while you drifted to the couch and sat down. after having time to settle, your body ached. 

“i can't believe this,” was all he could say. 

you took the glass from him and sipped it greedily, falling out of shock and into need. you patted the cushion beside you, and he took a seat.

“you’re familiar with past lives, right?”

“well, yeah,” he confirmed, “i know different theories and cultural views of reincarnation. it's an interesting concept, to be born again but always the same, an amalgamation of the people you were before.”

“i think so, too.”

“but you’re wiccan, so you know all about that already, right?”

“well, i think you should know that things for me are different, fox. i mean, i tell people i’m wiccan, so they call me a witch, and i go with that. i guess i’m spooky to other people. i lean into it because it does them less harm to simplify me and me less harm to just live how i want in private. if i could create a whole new kind of practice, i would, but sometimes its easier to just let people see you how they do and move along,” you elucidated. “what you might think wiccans believe isn’t always what i believe, y’know? it’s just the closest label. works better than deist or freak or whatever. and being here with you, and all these visions, these memories i’m having… i don’t really know what i’m getting at. this is all to say that yes, i believe in past lives, and i’m not so much wiccan as i am just myself.”

“i get it. you follow your own rules. you have an instinct, just something that kind of… burns in you, right?” 

all the words he could’ve used, and he chose burn. because love burns, pain burns, life burns. this entire night has burned you. and he’s burned, too, branded with the belief you share.

“yeah.”

“so, did you know me in your version of past lives, then?” the agent inquired, bumping your knee with his knuckles playfully.

“i know i did, because i asked the world to show you to me, and now i see every version of you. four, maybe five of you, in the same exact moment. you don’t change. and you’re always with me, always a force. this gentle, ferocious thing, keeping me to yourself. and i think in each one, i love you.”

fox’s brain was swimming in confusion while his body buzzed with want. distractedly, he wondered, “how can something be gentle and ferocious?”

softly, you recited, “it’s astounding the first time you realize that a stranger has a body. the realization that he has a body makes him a stranger. it means you have a body, too. you will live with this forever, and it will spell out the language of your life.”

fox beamed, “if beale street could talk. you are well read.”

you set the glass of water down on the coffee table that looked just like his, and you said, “i know you, fox. not in this life yet, but i’ve known you in every one before. coincidences aren’t just coincidences.”

“i never thought so,” the agent nodded thoughtfully. you couldn’t tell what was in his head this time, and you wanted so badly to know. when he did reveal a question, you didn’t expect it. “what was the part of that prayer you said for me earlier? something about the universe?” 

quietly, you recanted: “as i look to the skies with wonder at the immensity of the universe, i know i am blessed beyond measure to live all the days of my life in the bountiful house of gaia.”

fox’s face burst into a wild smile, one that used every tooth he had. he thought of how his entire life, he looked up to the stars, worshiped them; hoping they’d be benevolent enough to bring his sister back, to save his life, to make all of his pain worthwhile. and there they were, divine within your oldest prayer, the very same prayer that guided him from the church in your direction in the first place. you could believe it was the earth, or the spirits you confided in all you liked, but to him the stars had made it all possible. maybe he was a witch in his own way, too, if he played by your rules. 

fox sat in silence with you for a while, refilling your glass while you collected your nerves. the man offered to patch a few of your cuts just so he could pick apart the details of your life in the apartment. with the cover of looking for a first aid kit, he flipped through your books, searching for your copy of james baldwin. he admired your records, finding music he’s loved for years and some he’s never heard before. he studied your little jars of herbs that coexisted alongside tylenol bottles. he saw the parts of your window that you colored with magic marker, because of how you longed for true stained glass. he frowned, thinking what a shame it was those bastards destroyed the art you’d gone to admire tonight. 

as he looked, he learned again what it is like to feel your presence, to be surrounded by you. he felt a sudden gap mending in the space within him, and he didn’t need magic to know why. falling in love was magical enough. 

you spent some time allowing fox to nurse your bumps and bruises (once he stopped fake-looking for the first aid kit), and admired how he childishly placed bandaids all over your arms and legs as if they’d heal all. it was more about letting him care for you, and feeling his hands in places you’d only hoped they’d touched before. he hummed softly to himself all the while, and you were a puddle by the time he finished; when you were the center of his focus, he was nothing but a big sap, muttering soft praises and showering you with smiles. you couldn’t believe it took you so long to find him, or rather that the world took so long to bring you his way. you had so much to make up for now.

when it was time for him to go, you followed him to the door like a puppy. you didn’t feel the discomfort anymore, or the fear of your death. you only felt the doting hands of karma, proving to you the night was simply a means to a much greater end. (un)coincidentally, karma’s hands felt just like his. 

fox leaned in your doorway, his tie undone and his authority stripped. “i’ll come by to check on you in the morning,” he assured. 

“i’ll be here.”

“where do you work?” fox asked, and when your lips melted into a helpless grin, he pushed, “come on, where?”

“i’m a receptionist at the national archives.” 

the believer before you fell to the mercy of his faith, picturing the building on the same street as his job. he imagined how many times you must have walked past him to go to work, all those days spent believing in a love he was missing. his ageless eyes folded on themselves with disbelief, and his laugh rattled deep in his chest.

“jesus. are you sure you’re not something else? a genie, a spirit? an angel?” 

“nope. just a witch. and a bad one, at that.”

you pushed onto your tip-toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, finding his scruff so familiar to your lips. he sighed softly at the touch of your hands, feeling embers sparking in their wake. 

like it was a secret, he murmured, “i have one more question.”

“hm?”

“why do you choose me? if you’ve lived all these lives, why me?”

you settled back onto your heels and smiled. your palm rested against his jaw as you replied, “you know, i don’t think i ever had a choice.”

he wanted to kiss you, but you both know he’s too much of a gentleman. so he only gazed at you for a while, pressing your hand flush to his face, before letting it fall and stepping into the hallway. and as you watched him leave, you imagined every time he’d come back to save you, to love you, to tilt his head and realign himself as the lover you’ve kept for lifetimes.

“you know where to find me,” you called after the man, and he looked over his shoulder with enough love to shatter the sky.

“i guess i always do, don’t i?”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

prayer altered for story, sourced from this website

quote used from novel if beale street could talk by james baldwin

[spicybylerpolls]

From someone who doesn’t even read E rated fics (my AO3 preferences are SFW enough to make a geology textbook seem risque) I can appreciate this account. It is terrifying how quick people are to shut down conversations and resort to censorship. If you ban everything that makes you uncomfortable, eventually anything can be justified as being worth banning, and that is power that you can’t allow the wrong people to have. There is also the question of who gets to decide what’s worth banning. Why does your unease get to decide what is or isn’t allowed? There is also the issue of practicality. This kind of content doesn’t go away when you ban it. It never does. All that happens is that authors move to other sites, it becomes harder to block or tag, it becomes impossible to moderate, and that’s when it becomes a serious problem. It’s much better that we have dedicated places for it (AO3 and other fan-fiction websites) with moderators who know exactly what does or does not cross a line legally, and the ability to tag fics, and keep them contained, rather than having them floating around anywhere on the internet. AO3 does that. you can block fics that make you uncomfortable. Tumblr lets you block tags. And if you think something crosses the line legally, you report it. Otherwise, block and move on.

yup, all very good points! And thank you for the support!

(All this talk about banning things and censorship and policing thoughts is also deeply ironic given the show we all stan and its main themes, especially in S4 re: Hellfire Club and the Satanic Panic).

There are a lot of people who believe Byler itself is creepy, so...

[xandriagreat]

The Adventures Of The Shapeshifter And Golden Rebel

Chapter 1: What could have been/Lab breakout

First chapter | Next chapter

Summary: After about a couple decades, Nimona, after moving to another part of the labs, dreams of what could have been with her and Gloria. But to her surprise when she wakes up, she sees Gloria again, who plans to help her out of the orb that traps her.

Author's note: this is a prequel of Modern Nimona. It’ll be in Nimona and Gloria’s POV. It will do a few jump forwards and backwards a bit, but we will keep you informed. Also, Redrose Is referenced to my story/fic: Ballister. It was one of the last names I was picking out for Nimona.

Notice/warnings: Abuse, shocks, CAPs, breaking out, crying, kissing

▪▪▪

8 years ago

Nimona was following some guards though the lab because she is getting transferred to another part of the lab.

She was wearing a shock collar and was in chains, extra strong ones electric as well so she won't do anything like escape or bite the guards like she did last week.

Nimona looked at the guards, 

"Since your powers are getting stronger and for biting one of the guards last week. We are moving you to your new home in the lab." one of the guards said, looking down at Nimona.

Nimona was silent and looked away

Although she had grown a bit this year, she was still the same age as she was when she escaped with her girlfriend (- well, ex-girlfriend), Gloria.

The guards greeted the others and immediately started pressing a code taking her to a big room. That is a lot different than the other cell but it was different.

It was huge with a lot of new weaponry then she was taken to some sort of orb. 

Nimona was shoved into the orb and she watched the guards shutting it and locking the door with the code.

"While you may not be in charge anymore, you're not getting out of this orb! UNDERSTAND?!" the guard shouted at her.

Nimona nodded.

"The testing will start tomorrow." the guard said before leaving the room.

Nimona didn't say anything as she was left alone.

She sat down, hugging herself and began to sob.

She felt alone.

It had already been a couple decades after trying to leave the lab and city with Gloria. But they failed and when she got back to the lab, she received massive punishments. No food, double shockings and a shaved head which she grew back along with a shut down in her tube, flooding with needles and tubes sucking all over her body.

All she had to think about is her family and what could have been with Gloria as Nimona cried to sleep.

The Shapeshifter started to have a dream that could have been the life that Gloria and her could have had if they didn’t get caught…

☆

“Nimona? Nimona…” a voice said, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Nimona mumbled she slowly opened her eyes, to reveal to see Gloria, in her 20s, with a smile. 

They were in a very comfortable bed and rays of sunlight entered the room from a sort of medieval window, which had a beautiful view.

“G-Gloria… What happened? Aren't we-?” Nimona started to ask, but she sounded a little different. Like a bit older, like in her 20s. She sat up, noticing her hair long and loose and she noticed that she was wearing a long blue nightgown before looking at Gloria again. “I thought we got caught by-”

“By What? The police, the wall guards? No.” Gloria guessed before shaking her head. “We managed to escape and arrived at the village safely, remember?”

Nimona just stares at Gloria, feeling tears starting to form in her eyes and start to fall down her face.

“Awww… hon…” Gloria cooed softly as she touched her face to wipe away the falling tears. “It’s ok.”

Nimona nodded, sniffing softly.

Gloria held Nimona close as the shapeshifter calmed down.

“Feeling better?” the blonde woman asked.

Nimona nodded.

“Good. Now, come on, we need to get up and get dressed.” Gloria said, playfully hitting her arm before getting out of bed, “Or we're gonna be late.” 

Nimona chuckled softly before she stopped, for she got confused. “For what?” she asked as she got out of bed.

“Our wedding, silly.” Gloria said, going to leave the room. “It's today!” 

“Wedding?” Nimona asked, confusedly.

“Yes!” Gloria said with a giggle, turning around and smiling softly at Nimona. Then her smile faded when noticing Nimona’s confused look. “You ok?” she asked, concerned.

Nimona looks at Gloria for a moment before smiling at her.

“Um… yeah. Yeah! I’m ok. Just… a nightmare memory that felt too long.” she started, feeling some tears coming up again. “Ya know?”

Gloria nodded. “I know. But, hey. Everything's going to be alright now. Everything’s great now.”

Then Gloria gently kissed Nimona, which caught Nimona off guard and made her blush but then the shapeshifter kissed the blonde woman back.

They pull away after a good moment.

“Now, let’s get ready.” Gloria said, gently squeezing Nimona’s hands and guiding her out of the bedroom.

Nimona looked around as they walked down the hallway. They were now standing in front of two dressing rooms.

Their wedding clothes were set up in each of the two dressing rooms of each of the brides.

Nimona looked at Gloria as the blonde woman went to one of the dressing rooms. She was about to follow her but Gloria closed the door so Nimona didn’t peek in.

“No peeking on the bride before the wedding! It's bad luck!” Gloria said through the door. 

“Aw, come on!” Nimona exclaimed with sass.

“It’s bad luck!” Gloria sassed with a laugh.

Nimona sighed and went into the other dressing room. She looked around as she entered the room.

The dressing room looked almost like a sort of powder room or even a Renaissance dressing room.

Her outfit was sitting on a wooden chair. Nimona’s wedding outfit was a suit dress mix.

It was designed beautifully. A dark pink suit and light pink dress shirt. The suit coat was long enough that it looked like a skirt and was embroidered with gold.

She smiled softly when seeing it.

As Nimona started to get dressed, she looked in the mirror and she gasped softly.

In the reflection, she wasn’t a teen, she was her propper age, in her 20s.

Nimona looks different in her 20s. 

Her shoulders are a bit wide, she was a bit taller now with some muscles, and her red and pink hair was to her middle back while the back of her hair was shaved. 

Not to forget to mention her face. It looked almost heart shaped instead of being almost circle shaped.

Also her skin was a good healthy mix of tan and white instead of very sickly pale skin tone when she was in the labs. You could see her freckles better now.

And her body, aside from the scars that she got from the labs (or the muscles in this fantasy), she was curvy.

She looked beautiful.

Nimona smiled at her reflection as she continued to get dressed.

She looks at her reflection after getting dressed. She smiled happily at her reflection.

Then, for a moment, everything was like a blur. 

One moment Nimona was in the room. Then the next moment she was at the village's altar, standing in a gorgeous green arch with the officiant (or the chief leader as she remembered when she was a child). The weather outside is a bit warm and cool at the same time, blooming flowers, bird chirping, and the sun felt bright with white puffy clouds.

Nimona looked around to see that everyone in the village was there, both old and new faces. 

Of course it's a sort of tradition in the community to have the whole village celebrate the wedding since they were like family. But usually the parents of the soon to be wedded couple would be front and center, left and right on both sides of the marrying partners.

Then the wedding march started with a chorus and a band.

Nimona smiled as she and the village watched as Gloria appeared and walked down the aisle.

Gloria was in a beautiful white dress that was embroidered with red and gold. Her hair was done in a low bun with a flower placed in it, along with a veil, and her makeup was natural. She held a beautiful bouquet filled with roses and daisies.

Gloria smiled as she made her way down that aisle to the altar.

“Hi.” Nimona said softly when Gloria got to the altar.

“Hello.” Gloria said softly back as she faced her.

They looked at each other's eyes, lovingly, as the ceremony started.

Then everything was blurred for a moment again.

The sun was almost setting. Almost 30 minutes have passed by.

Soon it was time for the “I dos”.

Gloria handed the bouquet to the bridesmaid, so the brides held each other's hands.

“Do you Nimona take Gloria Goldenloin as your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asked Nimona

“I do.” Nimona said, nodding with a smile.

The officiant looked at Gloria and asked, “Do you Gloria take Nimona Redrose as your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I absolutely do.” Gloria said, smiling tearfully and gently squeezing Nimona’s hands with her’s.

It was sweet.

“Alright, may we have the rings?” the officiant asked, looking at the ring bearer

The ring bearer walked up and presented the rings to them, handing the rings to the brides before going back to their seat.

For Gloria, a beautiful silver and gold ring. 

For Nimona, a rose gold ring. It was similar (or at least what she remembered) to her mother and father’s rings before they were taken away from life.

The two brides slip the rings on their ring fingers before they hold each other’s hands again.

“By the power invested by me, I now pronounce you both wives! You both may now kiss the brides!” the officiant said proudly before stepping to the side.

Nimona and Gloria smiled at each other when hearing those words.

Then they leaned in and kissed.

The whole village cheered when they kissed.

It was perfect.

Nimona felt so happy as she held Gloria close. 

She never wanted this moment to end as the newly wedded wives pulled away and looked at each other with happy smiles.

Then, as the wedding bells rang, some sort of red mist in the distance started to come over them and it was coming over fast.

Everyone looked at the mist and began screaming, getting out from their seats and starting running while the mist grew bigger as the wedding bells continued to ring. 

Nimona and Gloria just stood at the altar, unable to run like they were paralyzed by fear.

The wives held each other close as the mist went over them.

It all went dark…

That's when Nimona began hearing her name outside the dream.

☆

“Nimona? Nimona.” a voice said, “Nimona, wake up. Please… Wake up…”

Then Nimona woke up with a groan. She looked at herself to see that she was in her teen form that she’s been in for a couple decades with the new scars and bruises. She looked up to see who came in, first thinking it was some of the scientists.

It wasn't the scientists.

The shapeshifter was shocked when seeing her (ex-)girlfriend in the room and in front of the orb.

Gloria looked like she was in her mid 30s. She had changed a bit over the last couple decades. She had a couple of wrinkles. Her appearance was different because she had grown up. 

She had her blonde hair in a loose bun. Gloria was also wearing some type of black hoodie, gray work gloves, black pants, and brown boots. She had a black satchel with her.

Nimona sat up from laying down, her eyes wide as she looked at Gloria for the first time in a long time. "Gloria?" the shapeshifter breathed, not sure if this was real.

Gloria gasped softly as she looked at the state of Nimona. “Oh, Nimona…”

Nimona was completely tired, wearing one slip of her hospital dress. It shows nearly her scars and even some bruises from the shock collar and chains.

Nimona looked at herself and put her hands over herself, trying to cover up. “I…” she started but didn’t know what to say.

"Don't worry Nimona, I'm going to get you out of here." Gloria reassured her as she went to the code pad.

Nimona’s eyes lit up when hearing that and watched Gloria.

Gloria guessed and tapped the passcode but an error sound came from the keypad after putting in numbers.

The blonde woman glared at it, knowing it won't work when she put it in. So, she punches it, destroying it in an explosion in sparks and the door to the orb unlocks.

Nimona looked at the open door before she carefully got out of the orb.

Gloria helped her down off the orb and took her to a nearby seat before she went to the desk where the key was. "Now, let's get that collar off of you." Gloria said, getting the collar key from the desk. 

Nimona nodded and tilted her head to the side to let Gloria unlock it. When Gloria unlocked it and got it off, Nimona felt like she could breathe and be herself.

"Now let's get out of here." Gloria said, putting the collar on the desk.

Nimona nodded and started to stand before starting to walk a few steps before she fell to the ground. Gloria quickly caught her before Nimona collapsed to the floor.

“It’s ok. I got you.” Gloria reassured her as she held her.

They start to step away from the prison and head to freedom. But first they need to do something to make Nimona unrecognizable. 

"Think you can shapeshift?" Gloria asked, still holding her.

Nimona nodded before she began trying and testing out her shapeshifting.

She could only change her hair from pink to light brown.

She was sort of injured out of having her arm sore from the guards holding her too tight along with the chains.

Nimona panted as she leaned on Gloria. “This is the farthest shapeshifting that I can go for now…” she panted, looking at Gloria.

Gloria nodded. “It’s ok, Nimona. You did good. And it’s ok, I got spare clothes with me.”

Nimona watched Gloria put her back down on the chair again before pulling out a gray hoodie, brown pants, and along with a pair of cotton underwear and even a sports bra.

“Sorry that this isn’t the greatest but it’s what I got…” Gloria said, sounding guilty.

Nimona looks at her before looking at the clothes before taking them from her and putting the clothes on the table.

She took off her hospital dress and first put on the undergarments.

Her body shows even more scars as she got the undergarments on.

She felt staring as she started to get the hoodie and pants.

She looked at Gloria, who just looked away. Nimona could see the worry and guilt on Gloria’s face.

Nimona stared at Gloria for a few seconds before continuing to get the hoodie and pants on.

Nimona couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of real fabric on her skin again (The last time she felt the fabric was when they both tried to leave the city.)

She looked at Gloria and held her hand, making the blonde woman look back at her. 

“It's perfect.” Nimona said, smiling softly.

Gloria stared at her before smiled back.

Then they heard a red alert going off.

“Let's go.” Gloria said, pulling her hood over her head before carefully picking Nimona up and starting to run out of the room. Nimona clings onto Gloria as the blonde woman runs.

They ran away to the shutting doors, apparently using whenever she can find the whole door Midway before sliding through the floor just in time before the stalls break lean to the door being closed.

The shapeshifter held onto the blonde woman, both panting for a moment to catch their breath while sitting in the hallway.

Nimona looked at Gloria as the blonde woman stood up and helped her stand up on her feet.

“Here we go, there we go.” Gloria said softly as she held Nimona up right.

They left the hallway when they were ready to get moving again before any guards walked by, with Gloria holding Nimona close to help her walk.

When they got out of that part of the lab, the sky from the windows indicated that it was now night time. When Nimona arrived at the orb it was around afternoon.

They looked around to see if there were any officers on guard. There were some in the breakroom but they were distracted by a show.

Gloria got a can of sleeping gas out of her satchel. She pulled the pin and threw it in the room before closing the door to fill the room with the gas.

The guards fell asleep after a few seconds.

"We're good. Come on. Let's get to the exit." Gloria said when all of the guards were asleep.

Nimona nodded and they quickly went through the labs to get out. 

Then they got to one of the exits, quickly opening the door, and ran off of the lab grounds and into the woods. 

They ran further into the woods until they made it to the wall.

☆

When they got to the wall, Gloria took Nimona to a part of the wall.

“I know it’s around here somewhere…” Gloria muttered under her breath as she looked around at the wall and patted at it.

Nimona watched her, confused until Gloria found the spot of the wall and opened to reveal a secret door of the wall. 

“Whoa.” Nimona breathed as Gloria got out a flashlight from the satchel.

She turned it on and they went through the secret door.

The blonde and shapeshifter walk down the passage with Gloria’s flashlight’s light guiding them through the darkness.

They were quiet as they walked.

Nimona began to look at her formal girlfriend with one question on her mind.

“Gloria?” Nimona started at one point as they walked, getting close to the exit.

Gloria looked at her. “Yes?”

"Why are you doing this?" Nimona asked, still looking at Gloria as they got to the door to the outside.

The human was quiet for a moment before looking back at the shapeshifter. "Because I still love you." Gloria answered, smiling softly.

Nimona was surprised by that.

"And I wanted you to be free," Gloria continued as she opened the door and walked out with Nimona, “even if it’s not with me.”

Gloria began to reach into her pocket and pulled something out, giving Nimona the thing in the palm of her hands.

Nimona looked at the thing in her hands.

It was a yellow gold ring.

“What is this?” Nimona asked, looking at Gloria and the ring.

“It’s a locket ring.” Gloria said, pressing a small button to show that it opens.

Of course, Nimona opened it to see a picture between her and Gloria when they were teens. It was on the night of Gloria’s 15th birthday, their last night together before they failed to run away and she got taken back to the lab while Gloria was taken back to her life.

Nimona gasped softly when seeing the picture and started to sob a little, holding it close as she closed the locket with a soft click.

"I want you to hold on to it, with all your life." Gloria said, wiping the tears away. “But you need to go…”

Nimona looks up at Gloria with wide eyes when hearing that. "But…what about you?" Nimona asked, worriedly.

Gloria held Nimona's hand, rubbing her hand. “I’ll be ok, Nimona.” she said, nuzzling her. Then she took the ring and put it on Nimona’s finger.

It fit perfectly.

Then they began hearing a sound in the distance.

It was a officer on patrol checking if there are any noise

Gloria looked at Nimona, who looked scared. “You need to go.” the human said to the shapeshifter.

“But-" Nimona started but Gloria lifted a finger to Nimona's lips.

“Go…” Gloria whispered worriedly.

Nimona eventually let go of her hand before running away.

She couldn't turn into an animal yet, for she still felt weak due to her experience.

But she had no other choice. Nimona had to run away.

She ran away deep into the woods.

Gloria cried softly as she watched her run away before leaving the scene, going back into the passages, closing the secret door and going back to her life in the city.

▪▪▪

Author's note: The dream is almost based off of this comic (this post). I hope you all enjoyed this!

[shouts-into-the-void]

Dear Endless Expanse of Space,

I keep seeing people compare the protests in France to the U.S., mostly to tear into the U.S. for being too lazy, racist, and bigoted to fight for rights.

Those things are very true, but I think that it's short-sighted to say that those are the only things at play and completely blame the average citizen for simply not trying hard enough.

It's very important to consider that the state the U.S. is in didn't just suddenly happen all at once.

For starters, there's the decades of propaganda spread by media companies in the pocket of politicians and businesses that broadcast events in a way that serves their personal interests by gaslighting and fear mongering the citizens, rather than being an accurate depiction.

From birth, most Americans are fed an isolationist mentality and pitted against each other with the belief that everyone else is "competition" in the way of them being successful, the only acceptable form of affection and emotional bonding is sexual or romantic, and that displaying genuine emotion is an inherent weakness, which prevents any sort of real unity between the citizens; not helped at all by the fact that some of the states are larger than Europe and each is more or less under the authority of separate governments.

Then, there's the difference between the corporations. From what I've seen, France's protest of the later retirement age was backed by a major electric company/union. U.S. corporations actively do the opposite, making it more difficult for people to protest, because they directly benefit from the citizens' lives being worse. Many of them hold a complete monopoly over their industries, which also gives them a lot of power when it comes to politics (because lobbying is really just bribery when you're a rich CEO) meaning a lot of the policies being implemented are things they wanted in the first place. Unions on the other hand have been so thoroughly demonized by the aforementioned propaganda that a lot of citizens would never go to them for help.

And last of all, Americans do protest. And every time they are met with excessive violence, even when protests are peaceful and there are laws specifically granting them the rights to do so. Police forces have literally been seen manufacturing riots to excuse using violence to shut down protests. Even when they don't shoot, gas, or arrest people, local governments will cite "noise violations" or "disturbance of the peace" in order to shut them down.

And the entire time, we're fed these skewed images of the rest of the world and told "You're lucky to be here. It could be so much worse. You should be grateful we treat you as well as we do."

This has gotten to be a very long letter, so I'll leave it at that. I hope I've managed to get my point across. I'm not saying that anything that I've seen said is entirely wrong or that other countries don't also have these problems, I just think that it's difficult for people who haven't lived in the U.S. to comprehend just how nonsensically fucked things are here and the state of the country is something that particularly irks me.

[douxlen]

How U.K. Immigration Lawyers Became a Target of Far-Right Riots

New Post has been published on https://douxle.com/2024/08/10/how-u-k-immigration-lawyers-became-a-target-of-far-right-riots/

How U.K. Immigration Lawyers Became a Target of Far-Right Riots

On Monday, Harjap Singh Banghal got an unexpected call from the police, who warned him that he had become the target of far-right activist groups amid ongoing riots across the U.K. A renowned immigration lawyer whose offices in London and Birmingham regularly assist asylum seekers with their claims, Banghal’s work landed his name on a list—which includes up to 60 names of individual lawyers, law offices, immigration centers, and refugee shelters—being circulated on social media platforms with the phrase, “no more immigration.”

The 49-year-old lawyer from Romford, Essex, says he shut down his offices on Tuesday after the police advised him to stay home. “It’s been a mixture of anxiety and concern for my employees because our company feeds 15 families,” he says. “There’s also concern for my clients, who are coming into the office with their children, so I didn’t want anything happening to any of them.” 

The U.K. is facing its worst riots in 13 years as far-right groups lead anti-immigration uprisings across the country, sparked by the spread of misinformation that a Muslim asylum seeker had stabbed three young girls in Southport on July 29. A U.K. judge eventually revealed the suspect as Axel Rudakubana, who is not a Muslim, but by Monday night, a Telegram group had grown to 15,000 members, with the lawyer hit-list reposted several times since.

Read More: How Online Misinformation Stoked Anti-Migrant Riots in Britain

More than 400 rioters have been arrested in connection so far. On Tuesday, authorities braced for more violence with police chiefs saying they would deploy an extra 2,200 riot-trained officers to combat any unrest spreading across the country. Those targeted on the list have been offered extra security measures to prevent potential attacks, particularly in instances where offices are based inside residential homes.

Immigration has become a heated debate in the U.K. after it was reported that almost 45,000 people crossed the English Channel in 2022—the highest number since the government began collecting data in 2018. In response, the Conservative Party-led government under former Prime Minister Rishi Sunak engaged in a prolonged but unsuccessful battle in the courts and in Parliament to pass legislation that would allow the country to send asylum seekers to Rwanda. The plan cost nearly £220 million, but no migrants were ever deported to the East African country.  Since coming into power in July, Prime Minister Keir Starmer has stated he plans to curb small boat arrivals to the U.K. by taking tougher measures to “smash” criminal people-smugglers. 

Read More: How Online Misinformation Stoked Anti-Migrant Riots in Britain

Banghal, the immigration lawyer, says that comments made by members of the last government have nevertheless contributed to the far-right threats he now faces. Last August, former Home Secretary Suella Braverman vowed to “root out” “crooked immigration lawyers” in response to reports that some law firms were offering to submit false asylum claims for a fee. 

“The last government was very clear that it was anti-immigration lawyers, and when you start validating that, it becomes an unsafe zone,” says Banghal. “I’m just doing my job, just like doctors, nurses, and teachers are doing theirs.”

One immigration lawyer on the hit-list was repeatedly threatened and eventually forced to take her website down and cancel all her face-to-face appointments. “People have been calling up my office to threaten and insult me,” she told the BBC.

The Law Society of England and Wales said it was continuing to support any members on the target list to ensure their safety after its president, Nick Emerson, wrote to Starmer, Lord Chancellor Shabana Mahmood, and Home Secretary Yvette Cooper to express concerns. 

“These threats against our legal profession were an attack on our democratic values,” Emmerson said in a statement to TIME. “Now is the time for our country and our leaders to reaffirm their commitment to the rule of law. They must ensure that all those who have committed crimes in recent days face swift justice.”

Another professional association, the Law Society and Immigration Law Practitioners’ Association (ILPA), released a statement saying it had personally contacted all the organizations on the target list to make them aware of recommended safety measures, including working from home where possible.

“The planned targeting of immigration lawyers, and the individuals they represent, is the natural inheritance of a climate of hostility fuelled by divisive, anti-migrant, and populist rhetoric from senior politicians in previous Governments and certain parts of the media, upon which the far-right have latched,” ILPA Legal Director Zoe Bantleman said. 

On Tuesday, Starmer convened a second Cobra crisis response meeting to take “all necessary action” to end the unrest spreading across the country after the government set up overnight courts to deal with the flood of cases arising from the riots. 

Banghal, who reopened his legal offices on Wednesday morning, says the riots seem like a way to “play off marginalized people against each other to suit a narrative.” But he adds that he has also received a wave of support from the local authorities and his community. “I’m cautious and alert, but I’m not going to live my life in fear for doing my job,” he says.

[sa7abnews]

How U.K. Immigration Lawyers Became a Target of Far-Right Riots

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/09/how-u-k-immigration-lawyers-became-a-target-of-far-right-riots/

How U.K. Immigration Lawyers Became a Target of Far-Right Riots

On Monday, Harjap Singh Banghal got an unexpected call from the police, who warned him that he had become the target of far-right activist groups amid ongoing riots across the U.K. A renowned immigration lawyer whose offices in London and Birmingham regularly assist asylum seekers with their claims, Banghal’s work landed his name on a list—which includes up to 60 names of individual lawyers, law offices, immigration centers, and refugee shelters—being circulated on social media platforms with the phrase, “no more immigration.”

The 49-year-old lawyer from Romford, Essex, says he shut down his offices on Tuesday after the police advised him to stay home. “It’s been a mixture of anxiety and concern for my employees because our company feeds 15 families,” he says. “There’s also concern for my clients, who are coming into the office with their children, so I didn’t want anything happening to any of them.” 

The U.K. is facing its worst riots in 13 years as far-right groups lead anti-immigration uprisings across the country, sparked by the spread of misinformation that a Muslim asylum seeker had stabbed three young girls in Southport on July 29. A U.K. judge eventually revealed the suspect as Axel Rudakubana, who is not a Muslim, but by Monday night, a Telegram group had grown to 15,000 members, with the lawyer hit-list reposted several times since.

Read More: How Online Misinformation Stoked Anti-Migrant Riots in Britain

More than 400 rioters have been arrested in connection so far. On Tuesday, authorities braced for more violence with police chiefs saying they would deploy an extra 2,200 riot-trained officers to combat any unrest spreading across the country. Those targeted on the list have been offered extra security measures to prevent potential attacks, particularly in instances where offices are based inside residential homes.

Immigration has become a heated debate in the U.K. after it was reported that almost 45,000 people crossed the English Channel in 2022—the highest number since the government began collecting data in 2018. In response, the Conservative Party-led government under former Prime Minister Rishi Sunak engaged in a prolonged but unsuccessful battle in the courts and in Parliament to pass legislation that would allow the country to send asylum seekers to Rwanda. The plan cost nearly £220 million, but no migrants were ever deported to the East African country.  Since coming into power in July, Prime Minister Keir Starmer has stated he plans to curb small boat arrivals to the U.K. by taking tougher measures to “smash” criminal people-smugglers. 

Read More: How Online Misinformation Stoked Anti-Migrant Riots in Britain

Banghal, the immigration lawyer, says that comments made by members of the last government have nevertheless contributed to the far-right threats he now faces. Last August, former Home Secretary Suella Braverman vowed to “root out” “crooked immigration lawyers” in response to reports that some law firms were offering to submit false asylum claims for a fee. 

“The last government was very clear that it was anti-immigration lawyers, and when you start validating that, it becomes an unsafe zone,” says Banghal. “I’m just doing my job, just like doctors, nurses, and teachers are doing theirs.”

One immigration lawyer on the hit-list was repeatedly threatened and eventually forced to take her website down and cancel all her face-to-face appointments. “People have been calling up my office to threaten and insult me,” she told the BBC.

The Law Society of England and Wales said it was continuing to support any members on the target list to ensure their safety after its president, Nick Emerson, wrote to Starmer, Lord Chancellor Shabana Mahmood, and Home Secretary Yvette Cooper to express concerns. 

“These threats against our legal profession were an attack on our democratic values,” Emmerson said in a statement to TIME. “Now is the time for our country and our leaders to reaffirm their commitment to the rule of law. They must ensure that all those who have committed crimes in recent days face swift justice.”

Another professional association, the Law Society and Immigration Law Practitioners’ Association (ILPA), released a statement saying it had personally contacted all the organizations on the target list to make them aware of recommended safety measures, including working from home where possible.

“The planned targeting of immigration lawyers, and the individuals they represent, is the natural inheritance of a climate of hostility fuelled by divisive, anti-migrant, and populist rhetoric from senior politicians in previous Governments and certain parts of the media, upon which the far-right have latched,” ILPA Legal Director Zoe Bantleman said. 

On Tuesday, Starmer convened a second Cobra crisis response meeting to take “all necessary action” to end the unrest spreading across the country after the government set up overnight courts to deal with the flood of cases arising from the riots. 

Banghal, who reopened his legal offices on Wednesday morning, says the riots seem like a way to “play off marginalized people against each other to suit a narrative.” But he adds that he has also received a wave of support from the local authorities and his community. “I’m cautious and alert, but I’m not going to live my life in fear for doing my job,” he says.

[hewholivesinhisname]

Secular Hell

People have this idea that it's god who sends you to hell. a place of eternal suffering. You know, god is this big bad emperor figure and if you don't do what he says he is going to punish you.

I doubt it, that's the secular way of doing things.

In the secular world, there is no particular center in authority. There's lots of people who all want to be more powerful and because they all want to be more powerful they all come up with the same idea:

"obey or I torture you"

I mean, there's also money of course. you can bribe people too, but money is really a measure of how much social power you have accumulated based on participation in the devil's system of rulership. Rome was this way and the church which uses Jesus' word is like this.

-forever wars

-social services that never fix problems

-everything running on money with huge concentrations of money at the top

-lack of responsibility for anything anywhere

-reversal of the

-breakup of families

-images instead of reality

-poisoning the food

-destroying the environment

-addictive products and drugs

-technical progress leading to bigger and bigger weapons of mass destruction.

-prisons and concentration camps everywhere

-land ownership based on slaughter of indigenous populations and charging people high rents just to have a place to live.

-building ridiculous and enormous vanity projects for the rich.

-Usury and government bailouts for the most corrupt biggest usurers.

-child sacrifice, secret societies which abuse children

-violent gangs everywhere

-celebration of "althernative lifestyles" where people don't have children.

-pornography and weaponized sexuality meant to make people so sex crazy they can't think.

-official looking bureaucracies that make life miserable for the poor.

-MKUltra and other tactics meant to try to create invisible slaves out of everyone.

-so many laws that no one can pay attention to them all.

Therhavee are churches out there who have endeavored to try to help the homeless for example, but the secular authorities. The secular authorities destroyed all my stuff. The local police and authorities shut down the house that

In the past, well you know, you can imagine that each ethnic group might carve out it's own little space and live in peace. However, as John Carter points out "on each planet it is the same, the population increases, disagreements break out and war tears things apart" In particular all the wars lead to the advancement of bigger and bigger weapons and worse and worse tactics.

In order to try to avoid being taken over and invaded by larger powers, many smaller nations are turning to nukes such as NOrth Korea which became the ultra-dictatorship it is today thanks to the twice being invaded by Japan and America.

No one pays attention to the UN. they actually have really good ideas such as everyone working in brotherhood and ending poverty. However, thanks to overpopulation and the unwillingness to police the money system or the rich, that doesn't happen.

Ever since I've been alive, there has been nothing but conflict, chaos and the promotion of things that should not be promoted. The police who are supposedly there to protect the people are some of the worst offenders and teachers are basically there to brainwash children into being obedient to the system.

However, there's a lot of effort put into making things look nice, at least on the surface and to make things feel good as well. "if it feels good do it", in the thomas covenant chronicles, Lord Foul has 3 "ravers" who go possessing people. There's maybe a connection, honestly between excess partying all the time and evil because of course that's what evil wants you to think life is all about. Partying hard and not thinking about the consequences.

Evil rules this world, but even if it didn't quite honestly there would just a chaos underneath which evil could easily spring as people don't really seem all that interested in forming cohesive moral communities that make sense.

What's worse is that people always seem to be finding ways of shifting responsibility over to something non-human and you get the sense that all this "singularity" stuff is going to be a shield for cerateing some robot or other which the authorities will establish for ruling over everyone while the ultrarich escape to some elysium like place where they can live in "heaven" while the rest of us suffer down here.

The truth is that everything about the secular world stinks. There are endless secrets, endless complications, endless cons, endless people trying to get the better of each other. Endless fighting.

It's always going to be this way and the reason is that there's no agreement about who should be in charge and why.

You an turn to god though.

Of course, it's hard to know whether or not I am god. I freely admit that. I have a sense that I am and Anastasia Egorova, Paul Duncan and William Ho have all said that it's true without me telling them. William later retracted after he attacked me and we had a falling out, but he said he found me by opening up his ability to sense auras somehow. Even I don't know how it works.

Even if I'm not though, you can always just find a guy like me or Kevin Annette or, really any preacher who are interested in creating some kind of political community. In video games you have old dudes who will give you quests. I'll give you quests if you want them and I already have a sense of how things actually ought to be rather than the shitty way they are. If anyone else wants to work with me on that, well bully for you. If, instead you want to follow the ultra-shitty way of the secular world that's your call but don't be surprised when you find out that it's endless hellishness.

I am god though and i know deep inside that everyone is meant to obey me. It's an inner sense that I can't quite get rid of and that this obedience is a based on a form of freedom from other forms of coercion which are endless if you stay in the current culture.

They will talk endlessly about "freedom" for instance, but then give you endless ways by which you can spiral out of control, perhaps with porn or drugs or movies or whatever it is, then offer a solution which puts you deeper into the shit.

many people probably think that they will try to get to "heaven" or maybe find their own heaven, but let me tell you, if heaven was a place, then it would be constantly at war in the same way that Israel and the holy land are constantly at war. It might be nice to occupy heaven or the holy land, but if you get it through force, it's only going to be more trouble since someone else is going to steal it from you by force. Heaven is not a place, it is a state of being that manifests around me naturally.

Your purpose is to obey god, the only question you need to ask yourself is how to figure out and find who the real god is.

[shammah8]

3. AUTHORITY AND POWER ARE JURISDICTIONAL Third, we must remember that authority and power are jurisdictional. In chapter 1, we discussed the word jurisdiction in regard to God’s original mandate for human beings in the garden of Eden, as well as in reference to the legal rights of evil spirits to our lives when we give them an invitation or opening. Let’s review the meaning of the concept of jurisdiction: “the official power to make legal decisions and judgments” and “the extent of the power to make legal decisions and judgments.” All authority in the kingdom of God operates according to the divine principle of jurisdiction.

To use an illustration from the earthly realm, an individual police officer does not have authority in every location in their community, state, and country. The officer is authorized to exercise theirdelegated authority within the specific precinct or jurisdiction to which they have been assigned, under the supervision of their superior. As believers, we have jurisdictional authority over demons and over the devil himself. However, we do not have authority over another human being’s will. God Himself does not infringe upon the human will.

It is also important to note that there are levels of spiritual authority. When Jesus declared, “All power is given to Me in heaven and in earth” (Matthew 28:18), He acknowledged that the authority and power He possessed were granted to Him by His heavenly Father. The Greek word translated “power” in this verse is exousia, which is often translated as “authority.” The Father was always the Son’s source of life and power. Jesus also acknowledged the jurisdiction of His authority: “in heaven and in earth.” He sent out the apostles with the same authority that He had. And if they had the same authority, it would stand to reason that the authority had the same jurisdiction. As Jesus’s followers, we, too, have been given authority “in heaven and in earth.” Hallelujah! That ought to be good news to somebody!

This principle has powerful implications not only for individual believers but also for the church as a whole. In Matthew 16:18, Jesus said, “I will build My church.” The Greek word translated “church” is ekklesia, which, among many meanings, refers to a “gathering” or “legislature.” The church is a spiritual community endowed with heavenly power and authority; we have been given the ability to legislate spiritual atmospheres. God has given the body of Christ authority over regions and territories. But when the church collectively concedes its spiritual authority, it can make room for the operation of demonic spirits.

If we come into agreement with the plans of the enemy by making compromises and concessions, our towns and cities will be deeply impacted. Years ago, I was living in a crime-ridden and drug-infested neighborhood. There was a crack house across the street from my home. The people who occupied that crack house were engaged in trafficking and prostitution as well. One day, my mother-in-law asked me if I knew what was going on in that house. Of course, I knewwhat was going on, but I told her that we couldn’t do anything about it. She quickly exclaimed, “I thought you had the authority!”

I was both shocked and challenged by her reply. I said to myself, “She is right! I do have the authority in Christ.” That same day, I went to the edge of my porch and said, “In the name of Jesus, I declare that this house is shut down!” and then went back into my home.

Two weeks later, the crack house was abandoned, and it was eventually condemned by the city. We never called a single governmental agency about the problem, although there is nothing wrong with calling the authorities. Instead, we dealt with the problem spiritually. Imagine what would happen if churches all over America began to declare with authority that the trafficking and prostitution and crack houses in their various cities would cease and desist!☕️Kynan Bridges

[wat3rm370n]

I just want fancy people to stop lecturing us. I'm not the one listening to right-wing tech bro stuff or rubbing hands together about guns. I'm not fangirling any killers, no matter how tragic or even relatable, but I'm also not interested in the veneration of some rich guy who ran an company that makes people's lives miserable and shortens them.

I'm not the one saying I want violence, I'm the one warning people that others are planning violence that's not really being reported by the media - and I'd like it to be prevented. I'm writing my reps and telling other people to write their reps. And I do this and push through like I've been told, through decades of being shamed into never speaking up against the "job creators" and pushing through.

So these fancy people need to shut up and stop telling me I have to feel bad about some fancy person I never even knew. I'm just not going to tune into any of it. I already unsubscribed Wendell Potter's substack immediately after seeing the phrase "violence has no place in our society" - not just because it's clueless, it is clueless - but because frankly I don't need these lectures and Potter shouldn't insult his audience like that. I also tuned out on a lot of others who felt the need to keep repeating violence is not the answer or violence has no place etc etc.

I get that some of these people are doing CYA, but seriously guys. The altar of politeness is a weapon you're turning on yourself. This genuflected curtsy that everyone does like they've been brainwashed is really terrible. I see it everywhere on a number of issues - people feeling the need to pre-undermine anything they're going to say by first embracing the opposition's shitty framing. If you are required to state something before you make a comment, you're already making the opposition's case for them. Am I the only one who sees this undermining everywhere? Nobody needs to address some crime in order to speak about the horrors of the private health insurance system in the U.S.

And besides, it is really easy to say violence is never desirable, while allowing that it absolutely is a part of every day society, and all of human history. You don't have to gaslight yourself and others, you really don't.

I keep thinking about the unhoused widow who had her belongings rousted and authorities took her late husband's ashes and threw them away and now she doesn't know where her husband's remains are - they said maybe he was taken to the dump. I have the ashes of 4 beloved cats and I can't imagine that. That was the remains of her husband. And I am haunted by this woman's story and the idea of that woman and her late husband being disrespected by people given such power - it makes me feel like I need to vomit at the violence of such a thing - and in a civilized society? Really?

The violence that is considered in fact completely legal to bring upon random people from merely suffering misfortunes - that rarely gets highlighted by the media hype machine because homeless people and others disadvantaged don't have PR teams. And that reality means that to say that "violence has no place in society" is incredibly preposterous, because the people saying it would absolutely say that the police have the right to violently restrain someone, and that people have right to fight back against an invasion from foreign military forces. When someone doesn't pay their rent, someone with a gun shows up eventually. What is that if not violence? Violence is absolutely given a place in society.

I'm sick of hearing this nonsense doublespeak frankly.

At almost the same time as the health insurance CEO was gunned down 2 children were shot in a murder suicide in California, and the day after in New York City, a migrant teen was stabbed to death by a group of men on the street. I did not hear about these things in the mainstream media or even the general discourse. I heard about one on Brittany Page’s youtube and the other on Robert Evans’s podcast.

Leave me alone about who or how or if I should grieve anyone. I just lost my 19 year old cat and I'm grieving my cat, and I don't have to grieve some rich guy I never knew and who wasn't nice to a lot of people. Give me a break. I just don't have to do that. And neither do you.

I really don't need to be lectured by fancy people about who I should grieve and what I should care about. I also don't need to be lectured about how "violence has no place in our society" (... war, executions, home evictions, homeless encampment demolitions, law enforcement use of force, medical decisions...??)

[pagesfromthevoid]

False God | m.m. | 32

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: Violence. Language.

Author’s Note: So close, yet so far. Gif from @spidey-boyy

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me! | Buy me a coffee?

As Maggie led them through the bowels of the church, Matt listened carefully for the police and the FBI. She was still hiding Karen, who was slipping out the backdoor of the church. A little further, and Karen would be able to get away without detection. Maggie motioned for them to follow them through another door, which led through to what looked like a tomb. She looked around, trying to keep tabs on Karen while also masking their presence in the church. Doing both was a bit more difficult than one would expect, even with her experience. 

“They’re getting closer,” Matt whispered, looking around for a moment. 

Suddenly, she cried out in pain, covering her ears. At first, it was a violent ringing in her eyes –like someone shot a gun right next to face. But then, it was like a drill was being shoved through her ear canal; hot and searing. Dropping to her knees, she ground her teeth and held her breath. Matt’s eyes widened as Maggie and him stopped, rushing back to her as she held her head tight between her palms. It was like everything was on fire in her head, interfering with her abilities and ripping them from her very DNA. 

The FBI was doing something –tamping her powers down. Keeping her from being able to manipulate the scene around them. It was like when she was in the Raft, only so much worse. It was not simply confined to a cell –this was everywhere. It was all over the church, spreading and pulling her apart as she gritted her teeth together. Matt could feel something was wrong; the air around them changed. Like it was sparking, but he couldn’t place why. 

“We need to keep going,” he whispered to her, trying to pull her up. 

“I-I can’t get up,” she insisted, shaking her head. Her legs felt like mush, and her head ached like she had run head first into a wall. “They have whatever Ross used on me in the Raft. T-the thing that shuts my powers down.”

“Is that what that static in the air is?” He asked, looking around them. Footsteps were getting closer, louder, as they sat on the floor.

She nodded frantically, biting her cheek now until it bled. “Get out of here,” she insisted, closing her eyes tight. Anything to fight off the pain. 

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“They’re coming,” Maggie hissed, “You need to hide if she cannot hide you two!” Matt looked around frantically as Maggie pushed him towards a cement tomb. “Go, get in here.”

Matt hesitated, feeling the top of it for a moment, before he slid the lid open. Then he moved to lift her up, taking most of her weight on to him as he climbed into the tomb. Once he secured the lid over them, he listened as the agents –including Dex –stormed into the room. She pressed her forehead against his chest, trying to bite back the pain in her head. One of Matt’s arms wrapped around her instinctively, holding her against him as he held his breath. 

The proximity should have been a red flag; the reminder of how much he enjoyed feeling her pressed against him was distracting. She could feel it too; the warmth of being in his arms again. Even when telling herself she didn’t need him, she had to admit that she missed it. But the agony she was in was almost palpable, and the imminent danger they were in was just as bad. Maggie was covering –and doing a damn good job at that. 

Dex ordered Maggie to show the team where Matt and her had gone, disappearing back up the stairs. Matt hesitated, waiting several minutes before he allowed any sort of movement to be made. Finally, when the sound of footsteps had left the building, Matt reached up and pushed the lid of the coffin open. She took a breath, feeling the effects of the dampening device wearing off. Slowly, he helped her climb out of the coffin and stand again. She swayed some, rolling her shoulders to bring herself back to a functional being, then looked up at him with a deep frown.

“You good?” He asked, hands on her arms as he held her steady.

She pulled away from his grasp, nodding some. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. We’ll need to get that device from them –”

“We don’t have time for that, we need to get out of here.”

She hesitated for a moment, unwilling to part knowing that the FBI had something that could render her useless. That made her vulnerable, and she was damn sure that she wasn’t going to be vulnerable again today. Or ever, for that matter. 

Matt called her name though, looking at her pleadingly. “Please.”

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “How many times have I asked you to please come with me, and you chose not to?” Matt’s brow furrowed as he opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. “I’ve seen this movie before. I’ve seen how it ends. You are not my home anymore, Matt. And I have no reason to defend a man who would rather be dead than be with me.”

There was silence that filled the air, lingering between them as Matt took half a step forward. She waited, watching him closely.

“I know I’m the one that burned us to the ground,” he started, putting his hands up. “I’m sorry that I hurt you; I’m sorry I took advantage of your love. That I pinned your hands behind your back, and ruined everything. But I am asking you, because I love you, because I know you love me –come with me. Help me finish this.”

Her eyes narrowed, watching him still. Of course she still loved him. There would be no one else that could fill the hole in her soul like Matt Murdock. But she wasn’t going to let him in anymore.

“No.”

And just like that, she walked away from him.

                                         *****

Snagging the device was a little easier than it probably should have been, but she soon discovered the only reason it was shut off at all was because of Jimmy. He had shut it off “on accident,” having knocked it off the stand it was on. When she snuck into the FBI set up, it was easy enough to grab. Jimmy was standing a foot away from it, blocking it from view. But she knew what he was really doing; he was making sure to think about it for her. So she was able to pick it up, let him see her and mask them both from the rest of the world, and grin at him.

Thank God for Jimmy Woo.

“You better get a promotion for this,” she said, patting him on the back.

“So where’s Murdock?” He asked, looking her over for injury. 

“Don’t know; don’t care. He’s not my problem.”

“I’d say I’m glad you finally figured that out, but now was probably the worst time to do so.”

Her brow furrowed as she started yanking out the wires of the device. “What do you mean?”

Jimmy motioned around them. “They think he’s a murderer –they think you are a murderer.”

“Tell something I don’t know,” she countered, looking around now. 

“What I’m telling you is that he might be in actual danger with both the law and his life. Are you really going to let him handle it alone?”

For a moment, she just stared at the agent. There were a million thoughts racing through her head, considering each outcome for Matt. Either he killed Fisk –which, truthfully, didn’t seem like something Matt could do –or Fisk would kill Matt –which did seem like something Fisk would do. 

“Goddammit,” she finally concluded, groaning. “I have to go fucking stop him, don’t I?”

“It might be in your best interest, yeah.”

She cursed again, propping the device against her hip. “I’m taking this with me.”

“Do you need back up?”

“I’m not putting anyone else at risk. Keep them distracted.”

                                           *****

“You make it really hard to fight with you when you’re agreeing with everything I say,” Foggy quipped as she rounded the corner.

“Good. Because I don’t…I don’t want to fight anymore,” Matt admitted, though he looked up as he heard her approach.

She dropped the device at his feet, crossing her arms over her chest. Karen and Foggy looked between each other, then between her and Matt. Waiting for some sort of explosion between the two. Instead, though, she stomped the metal contraption into the dirt with her boot, destroying it. Everyone sort of looked at the ground, watching as the metal pieces clanked at their feet. 

“Fighting is all you know,” she commented idly, finally looking up at them all.

Foggy shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, frowning some as he kicked a metal scrap to the side. “We’re trying to make this work. Is that what you want or are you here to be a smart ass?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then glanced at Matt and Karen. “I can do both. What’s the plan?” She finally asked.

“We’re going to take Fisk down –the legal way. I think we can get Agent Nadeem to testify against him,” Foggy explained.

“Can you organize a witness that quickly?” She countered, dropping her arms to her sides. 

“Foggy has some connections to the district attorney’s office,” Matt pointed out, eyes blankly trained on her. “He’s going to offer to withdraw from the race for Tower to help us.”

“Ah yes, ruining someone’s life to benefit your need for revenge. Makes perfect sense.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes.

“It was my idea,” Foggy quickly argued, frowning deeply. “I only ran to keep Fisk from killing me anyway.”

She looked at Foggy with a frown of her own now. “What does that mean? Why didn’t you tell me Fisk wanted to kill you?”

“You sort of stopped talking to me,” Foggy pointed out. “Rightfully so, of course. I don’t blame you.”

“Jesus Christ,” she groaned, running a hand over her head then over her face. Matt could hear the blood rushing to her face, as she became angrier. “If you’re in danger, I don’t care how pissed off I am at you –”

“That why you’re here now, then?” Karen interjected. 

The two women’s eyes met, and she nodded once. “Yes, actually. I wasn’t about to let you idiots get yourselves killed. You all have a death wish, and I wouldn’t be a very good superhero if I let you do this alone.”

Something fluttered in his chest. Matt was surprised she had come; she made herself clear in the church. He was no longer her problem, and she didn’t need to be involved. But there she stood, offering her help once more. Throwing aside her hatred and anger at Matt to do what was right. She wasn’t going to let any of them get hurt if she could be there to stop it.

It was why he loved her.

He should have known better all along.

“Is this actually going to work?” She asked, looking between the three now. “Like, genuinely, do you think this will work?”

“It’s going to have to,” Matt said. His tone suggested that if it didn’t work, something even worse would have to happen.

They both exchanged a weary look before she nodded once in understanding. “Whatever it takes, then.”

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @thebisexual-disaster @chims-kookies @ferxaniti @heybabyshae @notalxx @gothicxbarbie @dark-night-sky-99 @blacxk-moony @celestialissues @pinkybee926 @bex-tk1 @jasontoddthezombie @killthebutt4fly @softieekayy @tremendoushearttaco @cbloodmarch @ammiddlechild @venusriver @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @yikes-buddy @buckyspetal @baconlover001 @flimsysquid @reh-llik @messagesinthesky @dreamypanda @happyfern2 @svft-cas @andiforgetaboutyoulongenoughh @deafeningnightcollection-things @milf-murdock

[pleasantanathema]

Sinful Hymns

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Hair pulling, some rough sex, sex on a desk, religious allusions, a dash of authority kink, no spoilers past early season 1

Word Count: 4k

A/N: In celebration of Season 4 of Attack on Titan airing today, here’s a fulfilled request for Commander Handsome 💕 Thank you so much to the anon who requested this, I had so much fun writing this!

           You couldn’t sleep. There was a nagging in your mind, shadowy visions of titans ascending mountains, climbing walls—the same nightmares that plagued you ever since you joined the scouts all those years ago. You found yourself in the showers, all alone scrubbing away your sins and torments. But even a cleansing couldn’t seem to quell your thoughts, so you roamed.

           The meandering halls of the old scout regiment headquarters were cold, musty, unwelcoming even with Levi’s cleaning. Glimmering lamp light under a cracked door caught your attention, the only light you’d seen while on your stroll.

           The Commander was still awake.

           You weren’t sure what compelled you to stop, to bring your knuckles to rap against the wood of the door. You’d once been quite close with Erwin, back when you were both cadets and working your way up the ranks, but he’d become quite elusive since becoming the Commander. You’d always been interested in him, found your gaze lingering on him a little too long when was around. There was some kind of irresistible, seductive pull towards him, like if you got close enough, he might let you explore the man under the armor. You wondered if he felt it, too, or if your lust was one-sided.

          You were just too curious about what would keep him awake at night. Maybe he struggled with the same miseries you did when the nights felt too dark.

          Tentatively, you slid past the open door.

          Blue eyes caught your movement, his handsome face tilting towards you from where it was seated in his palm.

          He whispered your name, smile tugging at his cheeks.

          “Commander Smith,” you acknowledged, “you’re up quite late.”

          “Seems I’m not the only one.” There was an amusement in his voice that you couldn’t quite place.

          He leaned back in his chair as you stayed in your place, a sudden rise of bashfulness making you bite at the inside of your lip. You were sure you were pestering him; you should’ve just wandered back to your room. Your feet were ready to move, heels pressed against the floor to turn and leave at his behest.

          “Is there something I can help you with?”

          “I—no, I just couldn’t sleep. Apologies, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

          “No, you’re no bother. Rather, you’re quite a pleasant distraction at the moment,” he gestured to his desk, littered with paperwork and books opened to forgotten pages, “come in, shut the door behind you.”

           You did as you were so kindly told, clicking the door into place behind you before moving in closer. His office was warm, bathed in dim candlelight from the lamp on his desk, shadows being cast from the bookshelves that lined the walls. You noticed he was in only a white button-down and trousers, his ODM gear placed neatly on a chest behind where he sat.

          Your hands came to rest on the chair that was placed in front of his desk for his visitors. You remained standing, not quite ready to be so familiar as to just sit and talk with him. There was humor in his eyes as they scanned your figure, undoubtedly surprised to see you dressed so casually as well, simple pants and shirt being all you brought to wear after taking your late-night shower.

          “Tell me, what keeps you awake?”

           There were many answers to his question, but you erred on the side of simplicity.

           “Nightmares. What about you? What’s kept you awake tonight?”

            Erwin sighed, deep and heavy from his chest. You observed how his long fingers gripped at the armrest of his seat, knuckles white.

           “Letters. Demands from the Military Police to hand over the boy who turns into a titan, demands from royalty to execute him. But also my own curiosities. I’ve been reading to see if there are any records of anyone else like him.”

           “I see,” your tongue clicked behind your lips as you recognized the heaviness bound within his broad shoulders, “anything I can help you with?”

           He smiled fully then, white teeth curving against his pretty lips.

          “Like I said, you’re a welcome distraction. How have you been?”

           Again, there were too many ways to answer his question. But you couldn’t bring yourself to bring your burdens to him, not when he was already carrying the weight of the world upon his back.

          “Life isn’t as simple as it used to be,” not that living in this world had ever been easy.

          “No, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

           You caught an etching of the walls on his desk, details of Sina and Maria partially obscured by a leather-bound book, penciled in lines and notes scribbled around the paper’s edges. Something about it drew you in, had you moving to perch on the edge of his desk, one thigh crinkling pages of ink as your fingers deftly plucked at the drawing.

           He watched you with curiosity, eyebrows lifted as he brought a hand to his chin.

          Your nail traced against the charcoal lines, gaze scanning the comprehensive sketch of the rounded walls and the cities held within them.

         “My father used to think there was some kind of power within the walls; believed there was some unseen magic lingering within the stones to keep us safe…” you trailed off, the rest of your thoughts caught within your throat, “...I’m glad he wasn’t alive when the walls were breached, would’ve ruined the mystery for him.”

         “Was he a believer in the Church of the Walls?”

         “No,” you hummed softly, “just someone who thought there was more to the story.”

          Quite like yourself, you wanted to say, but left the words unspoken. You set the yellowing paper back on his desk, arms crossing.

          He rolled his shoulders in a quiet stretch, running a tired hand through his blonde undercut as he looked up at you. You’d always found him overwhelmingly handsome, the kind of man who changed the atmosphere of a room when he walked in. But there was always a warmth to him, like there was always something brewing, churning inside that enticing mind of his.

          “I never could understand how people could worship the walls,” he mused, shifting his weight forward, getting a little closer to where you were perched, “not when there are other, more...beautiful things to praise.”

          Heat crept up the back of your neck, your too-close proximity to him becoming all too apparent. But he kept getting closer.

          His hand found your knee, fingers trailing over the tight threads of your pants.

          The act seemed endearing, harmless, but the simple touch had your desire rearing its sordid head again. You felt emboldened, confidence swelling in your chest.

         “Then what would you worship, Erwin?”

         “I’m a man of too many sins, I doubt there’s any kind of faith that could bring me absolution.”

          Your fingers ached to touch him, your hand reaching toward his face before your mind could stop the movement. His cheek was warm, skin soft under the brush of your thumb.

          “I don’t believe that. There has to be something beautiful for you to admire…” you felt his fingers tighten against your leg, drifting higher up your thigh, pulling you in, bringing you closer.

          “I could start with you.”

          The tension snapped, splitting like a tightly strung cord between you. You heeded the call to be nearer, moving your hand to rest against his shoulder for balance as you took the initiative to settle yourself in his lap. For a moment, you worried that you pushed too far, that you’d invaded his personal space and made him uncomfortable. But those fears were battered quickly when eager hands took hold of your waist, palms spread wide as they trailed up your back.

          “I’ve always admired you from afar,” he was hushed, breath fanning over your neck, “but you’re much easier to worship up close.”

          You kissed him without a second thought. Years of attraction, of adoration, fueled your lips, your hands grasping at his jawline as he met your passion. His mouth slanted against yours ardently, impatient hands slipping under your shirt.

          You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose at the feel of his warm fingers ghosting up your skin, now suddenly very aware you hadn’t bothered to wear anything below your clothes—you thought you’d be returning to your room, not wandering into your Commander’s lap. You moaned into his mouth, his tongue slipping past your parted lips to taste you. You were overcome with too much, all your senses now flooding with Erwin, his scent, his touch, his entire being smothering you with all the attentions you had ever craved from him.

          His thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, a groan leaving his chest when you settled lower into his lap, your thighs draped over his own and your core pressed against his hardening cock.

          This wasn’t real—this couldn’t be real, surely you were caught up in one of your dreams again, but his lips against yours felt real, felt hungry, his large hands now cupping and holding the weight of your breasts within his hands. Your fingers carded through his hair, nails delicately raking through the roots to remind yourself that it was him, that this was real.

          “You taste like sin,” he praised, peppering kisses down the column of your throat.

          Any thought you had of replying disappeared when strong fingers pinched at your nipples, causing a heavy moan to fall out of your mouth as your head tilted back, allowing him more access to your neck. He plucked tenderly at your sensitive flesh, a noticeable smirk growing upon his lips as each tug and roll of your breasts had you gasping, whining. He quite liked that, it seemed, to be able to play you so easily.

          You mumbled curses into the air, eyes fluttering closed. You experimentally rolled your hips in his lap, an attempt to get a similar rise from him. He bared his teeth against your throat, canines nipping into your skin before pressing his lips down more forcefully, sucking and lapping at your neck. Heat bloomed from where his mouth met your body, a telling sign that you would have a mark there to remember him by. He was careful, choosing a supple spot below where the collar of your uniform would cover you tomorrow.

           Erwin’s hands released your aching breasts, moving down to grasp at the hem of your shirt.

          “Take this off,” he demanded, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to your neck.

           You dropped your hands from his hair, trailing down his broad chest before meeting his hands and pulling your shirt up over your head. It fell to the floor carelessly, the chill of the room making your skin pebble with gooseflesh.

           You took note of how his cheeks were flushed pink, blush faint across his elegant aquiline nose.

           His intimidating, icy eyes flickered up to you, making your own flush spread across your body. You felt like he was looking through you, reading your thoughts, hearing your internal screams for more. Then, his gaze fell back to your heaving breasts, hands greedily taking them again, lips wrapping around one of your nipples and making you whimper.

           You could feel his cock pressing against you now, harder and thicker than before, the ridge of it nestled against your throbbing cunt. You rolled yourself against it, delighted sounds leaving both of your mouths at the contact. His tongue swirled around your puckered nipple, teeth just barely daring to drag against your flesh. You buried your fingers into his shoulders, feeling his muscles tighten and then relax at your touch.

          “Oh-oh fuck, I—,”

          “You’re dripping,” he interrupted, one of his hands unclasping from your breast and drifting down your belly to rub at the damp spot between your legs, “I can feel you against me.”

           You shivered at the wanton touch, thighs clenching against his legs.

          “Did you come here tonight to seduce me?”

           He mumbled the words against your breast, tongue flattening against your nipple with a few long, heavy licks as his eyes flashed up to you, waiting for your response.

           “No, sir, I promise that wasn’t my,” you moaned as a thick finger slid against your clit through your clothes, “that wasn’t my intention.”

           His wet lips left your breast, coy smirk painting his face.

          “Shame, that was my plan the moment you stepped into my office.”

           You always did fall for his tricks; if only you’d known his hand against your thigh earlier wasn’t so harmless after all.

          “And how did this plan of yours end, Commander?”

           It still felt strange to call him by that title after so many years of calling him by his name, but there was something sensual about it, something alluring about his newfound authority.

           His hands were pushing at your hips, fingers crushing into your skin as he lifted you to move back.

          “With you bent over my desk.”

           It didn’t take him long to wrangle you into the position he so desired. His hands were unhurried, purposeful as he pushed you to stand, peeling your pants down your legs before pressing your face into the pile of papers on his desk. You felt so exposed, what with him being able to see your pussy on display from behind you while all you could focus on was his touch and the way the flame at the edge of his desk flickered.

           Erwin’s fingers spread the folds of your cunt, an appreciative hum sounding from his throat. You mewled at the touch, thighs shaking in your anticipation. The button to his pants popped softly, then you finally felt him, felt his hard, thick cock nudging at your entrance.

           Your hands crumpled a few pages as you searched for something to cling to. Your heart was pounding in your ears, suddenly all too aware that the Commander was still fully clothed, while you were laid out across his desk like a naked whore. One of his hands pulled at your hip, the other trailing down the expanse of your back.

           There was a boldness coming to life inside you at the realization that he’d wanted you the moment you appeared within his room.

           “Worth worshipping, Erwin?”

            You ate your words as he shoved himself inside you, stretching you to your limits as your body burned to accommodate his size. You cried out against the mass of papers, eyes blurring as pleasure burst across all of your nerve endings.

            He groaned at the feeling himself, both hands now digging into the meat of your hips.

            “Fuck,” you heard him breath in deep as he slid is cock out of you before slamming in again, “oh absolutely, darling.”

            You hadn’t heard Erwin curse before.

            But you didn’t have time to dwell on your thoughts, not with him now moving ruthlessly inside you, hips snapping against your ass with every sharp, deep thrust. Little sounds left your lips with every plunge, blissful tingles stemming from where your bodies were conjoined. You loved how you could feel the head of his fat cock dragging along your walls, thick veins throbbing under silken skin.

             You were far past believing this was a dream, now convinced you were actually in the sweet joys of a paradise beyond life.

             A coil of pleasure began to tighten within your lower stomach, hot and mean, like it was ready to tear and erupt with a rush of ecstasy. You moaned his name like a prayer, eyes closed tightly as you focused on the intensity of his cock thrusting inside you.

             You wouldn’t last long, not with the sinful hymns of his grunts and praises resounding behind you. His sounds were faint, but they were there, little rumbling of “so good, so tight,” kissing at your ears.

             God, you could die. You could die and live a happy, full life from this moment alone. You felt so whole with him inside you, felt coated with desire and praise like never before. There were bruises already forming from his grip, you could feel them, skin sore and burning beneath his massive hands.

             “You’re beautiful wrapped around my cock,” he voiced, tone deep and praising, brawny arm sweeping up your spine to fist in your hair. Your head jerked with his action, back arching as he pulled at you. You gasped at the discomfort, a dull ache forming from his too-tight grip. But the pain was overshadowed by the rivers of rapture running over your skin. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, your whole body rebounding like snapping elastic from his brutal behavior.

             The new angle had his cock slamming against that spot inside you that had your body going almost numb from the pleasure, white hot heat spreading over all your limbs, making your toes curl against the floor. You felt like you were fracturing, that thrilling tendril tightening in your belly to its breaking point. You could feel your walls sucking in his cock, your body pleading on its own.

             “Oh fuck, Commander—Erwin,” you were completely lost to the delirium, mind ruined.

            “I know,” he grunted, fingers stiffening in your hair, craning your neck back farther, “I feel you, you’re so—you’re so fucking tight.”

            You crashed down around him, your cunt clenching and pulsing in waves of euphoria, each crest making your lower muscles spasm. Your chin fell, your head only being held by the might of his hand, your brain so foggy with lust and release that you felt as if you had ascended the walls too quickly and fallen back down again. A fresh, euphoric jolt splintered down your body as he sheathed his cock fully into your depths, making your eyes flutter as your mouth opened in a glorious, blissed out state.

           Your body threatened to crumple against the desk, but he held you; the space between his palms and strong fingers was one of the safest places in the world, nothing could touch you if Erwin had you beneath his touch. The fierce tightening of your body sent him over the edge. Hot cum poured inside of you, making you cry out at the captivating feeling of being completely filled by him, the Commander’s seed pooling within your pussy. Your snug walls struggled to flutter around the girth of his cock, prolonging your orgasm and leaving you gasping for breath and basking in every dull thump of his cock inside of you.

           He gently let go of your hair, letting your spent body rest against the desk as he caught his breath. He smoothed his hands over your hips, a tinge of regret in his chest as he noticed the dark prints of his fingers etched into your skin. Erwin wasn’t used to letting go, to letting lust overtake him so mercilessly.

           You stirred after a few moments, straightening your back and finding your balance between your legs. Erwin enveloped you in his arms, hand against your cheek as he trailed his lips up your neck, capturing the side of your mouth with a fervent kiss.

          “Are you alright, darling?” Concern laced his tone, hand smoothing over your belly. You shuttered at the gentle touch, your skin cooling from sweat as you leaned back against his chest, cum sticky and crawling down your thighs.

           You still felt lost, like you were waking from the dark depths of slumber, his hands calling you to him. One palm wrapped around your neck, stroking at the column of your throat like he was helping you to find your breath.

          “Yes, yes I’m…,” you couldn’t think of the words to describe just how you felt. It was like you’d finally been cleansed, every grievous thought expunged from your mind, but also like you’d fallen back into the past, back into your daydreams of wishing Erwin would press you against the barracks wall and smothering his name from your mouth.

         “It is yes sir, to you, don’t forget I’m your superior now,” he teased between nips and kisses, a smile brushing against your skin.

         You turned in his arms, pressing your naked chest against his wrinkled shirt, the cotton soft against your breasts. You stood on your toes to try and match his height, molding your lips to his, stealing his grin and making it your own.

          “I could never forget, not with such a display of power,” you affirmed, seriousness apparent on your tongue. You knew he could take anything he wanted from you, and you were more than willing to lay yourself bare for him whenever he pleased.

          You expected there to be a stillness between you, a moment of reflection after such a callous coupling. But Erwin’s hands were greedy, selfish, cupping and kneading at the soft flesh of your ass, of the side of your breast. You were small in his shadow; a miniscule frame being devoured by a starved predator.

          “I want to see just how well you obey orders. Go to my quarters and wait for me, I’m not finished with you yet.”

           Your head nodded accordingly, your knees ready to kneel to the floor and gather your forgotten garments. But Erwin kept his fingers in your flesh, preventing you from moving from his hold when you tried.

           “Ah, I don’t think you need your clothing, not when you’ll just be shedding it again so soon.”

           There was a playful glint in his eyes, his eyebrows thoughtfully pressed together as he tried to gauge your response.

           “Erwin,” his hands cinched around your body, an acute reminder, “sir, I can’t...walk to your room naked.”

           He patted your backside before he sat back into the chair behind his desk, cock tucked neatly back into his pants. There was still a pretty blush tingeing his cheeks, his lips plump and dark pink from all their time spent sucking at your skin. You almost wanted to cover yourself under his scrutinizing gaze, icy irises roaming your body like a piece of art bought and hung on a wall for his viewing pleasure.

           “It’s late, there shouldn’t be anyone to find you,” he relaxed, arms crossing across his chest, “but, if you happen to be unfortunate, remind them that you are under your Commander’s orders.”

           Erwin took a sick delight in watching your eyes narrow at him, your lips pursing in slight irritation; but he knew you wouldn’t dare disobey him, you’d always been too good of a soldier for that, and now a promising plaything.

           He couldn’t help but survey your body as you walked towards the door, delicious curves and marks from his skin on an alluring display, his cum still flowing down your thighs. You’d be a blessed sight to anyone who got the privilege to see you on your journey to his sleeping quarters, a goddess floating down the corridors.

           You looked over your shoulder at him when you opened the door, catching his diligent gaze and matching it. He always thought you’d be amusing to toy with and you’d proven that with how easily you could match his intensity.

           “You shouldn’t be up so late, Commander Smith, nothing good happens after midnight.”

           He hid the smirk behind his hand as you left his office the same as you entered, only bare-skinned and with a new, more suitable destination.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

De(railed) +18

Summary: The canon episode "Derailed" reimagined where Reader is sent on the solo interview and Spencer, recklessly, decides to save her. Plus, the aftermath.

CW: mommy kink sub! Spencer x dom! female (she/her) reader, cum play, penetrative sex, light degradation, praise kink, light choking (mentioned), edging, calling him a slut (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 6 K (this is the longest thing I've ever written!)

Author's Note: Special thank you to @shemarmooresfedora for reading this for me because I was very nervous about the smut portion. And a very special thank you to @notanotherreidgirl for inspiring this idea! this was my ask so yeah, this is a little out there for me so be kind (*dips into the shadows*). Also I either really hate or really love this title :)

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De(railed)

Sitting on the train, headed towards Virginia for the custodial interview, you tried to remind yourself what Spencer said to you the previous night when you dropped him off at his apartment. You had his hands in yours and you could feel him shake with nerves when he spoke.

He told you that he believes in you. Even when you think that Hotch and Gideon are sending you out to the solo interview too early, Spencer believes in you. If only you’d believe a little bit in yourself, then maybe you’d be able to figure out a way off this train, but an armed man and innocent passengers proves that a little challenging.

The man passes the train up and down and you tell yourself to relax. In hindsight, it seems like a horrible series of events that lead to the man shooting the train attendant. You’ve done your best to keep him calm until the police can see him off the train. Looking outside, you see SWAT, local PD, and FBI lined up 50 yards from the train.

Continuing to wave his gun around the train, the unsub rants about wanting to talk to a higher authority. To yourself, to wish that Spencer was here with you. He’d have figured out exactly what was wrong with the man by now. For less than professional reasons, you’re forever grateful that he’s not here- that he’s safe on the other side of the train.

“He’s out of his mind,” the man holding a bottle of whiskey says, “You gotta do something, lady,” he says, taking a swig of his drink. Your eyes dart to him and back up the doctor, the unsub’s psychologist, looking for a way out.

You breathe deeply, hoping that the BAU would come up with a plan. Knowing FBI protocol, you expect them to try to initiate a line of communication. Glancing over at the unsub, you think that he’ll want to talk to someone who looks like they are powerful. That would be either Hotch or Gideon. Selfishly, you’re grateful that Spencer still looks like an underpaid TA with a toy gun attached at his hip.

“No! Please, don’t hurt me!” the young woman screams, trying to release herself from the man, Ted’s, grip. He releases her, throwing her to the ground when his phone rings.

Gideon.

On the phone with Gideon, the man demands for something to be removed. You can’t hear what he’s saying to the unsub, but you place the little faith you have left into hoping your team can save you.

***

His vest is much too big for him.

That’s all you can think of when you realize Spencer is the “technician” that they’re sending in. His tie and shirt stick awkwardly and there is a gap in his shoulders around the vest. The straps are pulled so tight that they nearly fold over. His hands aren’t shaking when he carries the small black box, but his eyes look terrified.

You want to reach out to him, maybe hold his hand or brush the strands of hair that have fallen into his face, but you can’t. You have to sit there and pretend that this is the first time you’ve met him. It’s excruciatingly sick and mildly amusing in an equally twisted way. The first time you’ve come to terms with loving Spencer, you both can very well die.

“I’m here for the chip,” Spencer says, holding his hands up, “the higher authorities sent me,” he claims, feeding into the unsubs delusion. You shield your glance, unable to trust yourself from launching yourself in between Spencer and the man with the gun.

“That’s far enough and drop your weapons,” Ted says, holding the crying woman by her neck, “and take that vest off. I want to see you,”

“I don’t have any weapons. They don’t authorize them for-”

“I said take it off!” the man shouts, throwing the woman to the ground.

Spencer complies, taking off the much too big vest and tossing it to the ground. He holds his hands up, playing the part of the unsuspecting underling well. He reaches out to Ted, showing him the tools that he’ll use to take out the “chip”. You wonder how Spencer will pull it off, but you know he will in the end.

Spencer digs into the man’s skin with the scalpel. You can’t catch the sleight of hand, but you know that’s what he used.

“I have to leave, the higher authorities need the chip-”

“Turn it on,” Ted orders, “Turn it on!” he screams, his voice booming in the small train.

Spencer’s eyes dart to yours thinking of ways that he can get out of here. He looks almost sorry, and you feel a wave of intense regret. The thousands of times you could have said those little words seem so simple now.

“I can’t turn it on,” Spencer says, “I can’t turn it on,” You hate how scared he sounds, and you hate even more how you have to pretend that you don’t know him.

“Why!” the unsub yells, thrashing the gun around, “You’re one of them!”

Thinking quickly when you see him point the gun at Spencer’s face, you jump to your feet. You push Spencer out of the way, terrified that he’ll do something rash. You can’t lose Spencer, not when you’ve hadn’t had the chance to have him yet.

“It needs to be implanted to be activated,” you say, “I know this stuff Ted, I’m a Fed. Only me. Everyone else,Ted is just innocent. Just let them go, Ted,” you plead, “Just let them go,”

“No!” he yells, shooting up into the ceiling of the train, “no!”

The windows are closed, but you suspect that Hotch and Gideon have the train surrounded by now. Spencer moves closer to you, staring at the man as he scratches his upper arm. He drops his hand towards yours and squeezes, like he’s saying sorry and saying goodbye all in one touch. You don’t realize this before it’s too late.

“Doctor Brier,” Spencer says, standing up with his hands near his head, “you’re right, there’s more-”

“Just make it stop!” the desperate man pleas, “Make it stop!”

“I know what it’s like, Ted. The voices, they’ve been talking to you since you were a kid. They don’t stop. I know what it’s like Ted,” Spencer says, inching closer and closer to him, “Leo? Why don’t you let him think for himself?” Spencer says, trying to use the man’s delusion against him.

“Don’t! Stop, you’re trying to trick me!” the man begs, whipping the gun around too close to Spencer’s face, “stop!”

You always listen to Spencer. Whatever he talks about, you listen. From Russian cinema to Star Trek to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture, you listen to him. It’s not that hard and it’s easy to get lost in his eyes or the way his hands move when he talks. But the seconds leading up to when the gunshot goes off, you’re not listening.

Because without Spencer, there isn’t much worth listening to.

***

Your eyes are squeezed shut so when a large hand hovers over your shoulder you jump at the touch. It takes you all of ten seconds to realize it’s Spencer. You look him over, searching for signs of mortal wounds that will rip him from your clutches, but there isn’t any.

“You’re okay,” you say, wanting nothing more but to kiss him or yell at him, or maybe a mix of the two, “you’re okay,” you repeat, not fully believing it the first time.

“We’re okay,” Spencer says, hugging you tight as you collapse into his arms, not caring if the rest of the team watches.

“I haven’t been fair to you, Spence,” you say, breaking from the hug to caress his face. You stop, holding his face in your hands, soaking him in, “you’re not someone who gets strung along, baby. I fucking love you and you-you mean so much to me. And I hate-I hate that it took you almost dying for me to realize that,” you cry, unable to care anymore.

“You love me?” Spencer whispers, unable, himself to care that they have an audience, “You love me back, but I’m, I-I,”

“Spencer,” you tell him, pausing to kiss him fully, “I,” you plant another kiss, on his right cheek, “love,” left cheek, “you,” forehead.

“You do, don’t you?” he says, looking at you with a proud smirk, “I guess that’s good because, I love you, Y/N. I don’t go risk my life just for everyone,”

“Watch yourself, baby,” you remind him, channeling the surge of pure life that runs through your veins, “you’re in for it later, my darling,” you tell him, whispering into his ear so only he can hear.

***

You didn’t even give him time to breathe before you pushed him up against the wall. Spencer’s hands still held yours, you don’t think that he dropped them since you two safely exited the train. He whimpers through the kiss, his breathy moan only serving to spur you on. His hands broke from yours, clinging to your waist. Spencer tries to peel your clothes from your skin, but he's much too distracted by your lips that travel across his cheekbones and down to his neck. He’s breathless and panting, but you don’t let up. If he’s breathing, he’s alive and that’s all that matters now.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Spencer pleads, the desperation in his voice causing you to pause from your attack on his neck, “I-I, Y/N,” he stutters, feeling empty without your kisses.

“I’m not mad, sweet boy. I’m not mad at you,” you say, laying on a sweet voice as your fingers skim through Spencer’s hair. He’s shaking slightly and closes his eyes, looking like he’s grateful to be alive.

“You’re not, but I wasn’t good,” he whispers, “I wasn’t good for you, Mommy,”

You do everything in your power to keep your composure, but after a day like today, you’re ready to melt into him. He might be the one begging at your feet soon, but there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s you who's wrapped around his finger. He looks up at you, with his back leaning against the wall; his face flushed pink and marks littering his neck.

“You scared me, Spence. I thought- I just let me take care of you,” you request, dropping your hands from his hair and grabbing onto his hand as you lead him to your bedroom. You’ve made it a habit to go to your place after cases; Spencer claims that the sunlight that dips into your bedroom in the morning is more pleasant than his view of the street, but you know he just prefers your bed and the attention he gets at your place.

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, following you into the bedroom. He’s at your heels and burrowed deeply in your heart, exactly where you want him.

You drop his hands, guiding him so his knees hit the edge of your plush bed. He kicks off his shoes and starts to undo his tie and shirt, but you stop him before he gets the chance.

“Let me do that for you, baby. I’m taking care of you tonight,” you say, feeling your heart swell as he looks up at you adoringly, “Mommy’s got you, my brave boy,” you tell him, your fingers grazing over his cheekbones, his nose and eyes. His eyes close as you continue to draw shapeless shapes over his skin.

“Thank you,” he mutters, saying it like a pray as he relaxes for the first time today, “thank you, Mommy,”

You smile at the name, enjoying how pliant he is as you unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie. His flushed cheeks lead down his equally flushed chest. You place both your legs over his body, hovering over him as you straddle him. The proximity eggs him on and the minimal friction near his pants causes him to buck up words. Mercilessly, you chuckle at his attempt to get off. You want nothing more than to put him out of his misery, but watching him squirm for the tiniest bit of affection— your affection makes you nearly as desperate as Spencer.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you tell him, harshly pulling off his shirt as you nibble on his ear. He whimpers out in desire, already unable to form coherent thoughts even though you’ve so much as kissed him.

You stop touching him, sinking down to your knees before him. Spencer looks down at you, his pupils blown and his hair messy from being pushed up against the wall. His breathing is erratic and unmeasured, but he’s heart is still beating. You smile, unafraid and not caring that it breaks character as you give his thigh a squeeze. You bring his hands to his buttons, motioning for him to unbutton his pants for you.

“I can’t do all the work now, can I, baby?” You question rhetorically, quite self satisfied that he nods eagerly. He quickly undoes his pants, kicking the heavy corduroy trousers near your bathroom door. If the moment wasn’t so tense and erratic, you probably would have teased him for his excitement.

“I want to touch you, please? Mommy” Spencer starts, his hands holding your face as you kneel. He holds your face so delicately and gently, it’s a contrast to the sinful way he’s squirming above you.

“Not yet,” you tsk, slipping your finger under the waistband of his boxers. The bulge in his underwear looks very uncomfortable, but Spencer clearly tries his best to behave under your strong stare. You peel back the underwear and let it drop to Spencer’s feet. His cock, now exposed, is painfully hard. He concentrates on his breathing and trying to remain composed as your fingers travel up his leg and towards his groin.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you coo, grabbing Spencer’s jaw and making him look down at you. He lets pitiful whine at your words, “Come on, make my fingers nice and wet,” you order, sticking out two fingers that he sucks enthusiastically.

“What a good little slut I have, you’re sucking Mommy’s fingers just as if it’s my strap, aren’t you sweet boy,” you say, gently resting your other palm loosely around his neck. You don’t apply any pressure, but let it serve as a reminder of what could happen.

Happily, Spencer sucks your fingers, moaning around them and bucking his hips up in frustration. Marred by impatience, you remove your fingers from his mouth and kneel back down on the floor. Loosely, you grip his cock with your wet fingers. Spencer whines at the friction that’s nothing close to enough.

“Tell me how that feels,” you demand, “Tell Mommy how I makes you feel,”

“I-I feel,” Spencer starts, concentrating intently, but unable to truly articulate the passion you ignite in him, “Mommy, you make me feel so good,” Spencer says, finally finding the words, even though they barely scratch the surface.

“That’s all I want, baby. You deserve to feel good. So let me take care of you, my love,” you tell him, watching as he simpers at your words.

For a second there you let yourself think that maybe it’s calling him my love that prompted his reaction, not the promise of his cock in your mouth. You know after tonight there’s no tip toeing around it anymore: you’re unequivocally in love with him and you’re a little disappointed that it took the pair of you nearly dying to figure it out finally.

Looking back up at him, you abandon your plans for a moment. You kiss him hard. Normally, you’d hate the way your teeth clash against someone else’s and how the kiss isn’t really a kiss. It’s hard to pace yourself when he’s whimpering below you as you grind down hard on his crotch. The fabric of your pants provides much needed friction, causing Spencer to cry out in a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. He paws at your work short, silently begging for you to shed your layers as well.

“Good boys wait,” you tell him, kissing his forehead and sinking back down for the last time. You’ll never be done teasing him, but for now you intend to put his needs first.

“Such a pretty cock that only I get to see,” you coo, running a finger up his length, relishing in how he shudders at your touch. You’ve touched him so many times, yet he reacts each time as if it’s the first. He’s leaking precum as his breathing becomes more and more strained. This is far from your first time with Spencer and you’re well aware of the signs of his release.

Smiling up at him, you lazily wrap your hand around him, giving him the smallest bit of friction and attention that he needs to come. You drop him once he’s close to the edge, his pleading, begging eyes turning glazed over when he realizes you’re taking off your shirt. By the way he’s looking at you, you’d think you’d be wearing your best lingerie. Quickly, you’ve learned that with Spencer you could be wearing your ratty college tee shirts and he’d still look at you like you were dripping in gold.

“Mommy,” he pleads, “I’m a good boy,” he says, no trying to convince himself to hold back from his release, “please Mommy. I’m gonna-“ Spencer says, the flush on his face deepening as he throws his head back in ecstasy. However, he summons enough energy and will to reach out and palm your boobs. You don’t hide your moans as he rolls a nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger. It only encourages him, but nowhere can you find in yourself to care.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Spencer whimpers, unable to hold himself up anymore and collapsing on the bed. His chest heaves up and down as he tries to collect himself. He comes all over your chest, staining your lavender bralette and looking very proud of himself. Spencer learned quickly as well that coming before you’ve even touched him earns him quite the praise.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, choosing to ignore him coming without permission, “such a messy boy though,” you chastise, squeezing his thigh and crawling your fingers up his chest.

“Mommy, please, I want to make you feel good too. I love you,” Spencer begs, his eyes droopy with exhaustion from the long day and glazed over with his orgasm. His words slur together as if he's drunk off something potent. His eyes meet yours, but flit down quickly. He scans your soiled chest, licking his lips unconsciously as his eyes rank over your breasts covered in the lavender lacy and stained with his cum.

“Do you know what good boys do?” You ask, expecting Spencer to answer the question without hesitation.

“They clean up their mess, Mommy,” he says. In a moment of bravery, he grabs your hand, guiding you to lay down on the bed. He twists his hands around your back, unlatching your bra from your body and tosses it on the ground.

Above you, Spencer lowers his face so his chin barely grazes your chest. His tongue darts out onto your skin, licking up the messy cum that fell on your chest. You place your hands in his hair, gripping firmly. It’s not hard enough to cause any pain, but it’s tight enough to remind him to stay put. Spencer hums contently, lapping up your chest, but keeping his eyes trained on yours. You pull him up by his hair, pieces fall over his blissed out eyes. He smiles up at you, his chin glistening with cum, but looking pleased with himself.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. His tongue swirls around in yours and his large hands cup your face. You can feel him moving in your lap, more and more desperate for attention and friction as you continue to hold him off, “I love you, baby,” you say, hoping that he’ll hear enough times for it to stick and for him to start living his life like he wants to stay alive.

“Just for you, Mommy,” Spencer mumbles, already sucking and marking the valley between your breasts, “Can you? Please?” Spencer asks, still embarrassed, after all these months to put to words his desires.

“What, baby? You need to use your words,” you tell him, scooting up in the bed and smirking to yourself as Spencer practically chases you up the headboard, “You need to tell him what you want me to do, baby,” you say, talking slowly as you rub circles into his skin. He’s still hot to the touch and flushed all over.

“I want to make you feel good,” Spencer begs, licking his fiery red lips that are swollen and bitten from your earlier treatment, “I want you to feel good,” he says, attempting to buck his hips against your legs.

“Are you sure about that, Spence?” you ask, teasing him with your wandering hands. One stays latching in his hair, exposing his criminally bare neck and the other sneaks down to his cock, but hardly satisfies his burning need, “Because it seems like you’re an insolent little slut who only cares if he gets off. Do I need to remind you that I have needs as well,” you chide, increasing your grip on his hair as your lips nip the sensitive skin of his neck. He shudders in response, unable to fully articulate a sentence.

“But you’re lucky, you’re beautiful, Dr. Reid,” you say, dropping his hair and letting his head fall onto your chest. Knowing your expectations, Spencer doesn’t hesitate to kiss and nip along your skin. You feel your panties dampen at the sight of him: his hair wild and messy, his neck marked with evidence of your mouth, and his chest is bright red, somehow still flustered and embarrassed by your affections. You find it bizarre that he still doesn’t fully believe just how head over heels you are for him. He’s too good and pure for this world, and you’ll happily spend the rest of your life reminding him just how deserving of goodness and pureness he is.

“I love you,” Spencer whimpers against your skin, his breath is hot as he pants, “but please fuck me,” he begs, flipping around on his back so you can be on top.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy, Mommy will take care of you,” you remind him, balancing yourself so you can hover over him, “Now, I’d normally want you to be quiet, but I want to hear everything. So use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me how you feel, sweetie,” you instruct, maneuvering yourself so you’re lined up with him.

“Give me a second, please,” Spencer asks, pushing himself up so his back rests against the headboard, “You make me crazy, I just need a moment to think,” he says, quietly, staring off nothing in the bedroom. You take the opportunity to grab his hand, that’s gripping onto your floral patterned sheets, and kiss his scars on his knuckles. Some are new and fresh, while others are old, from longer ago than working at the BAU. You kiss them over, as if your lips are able to help the evidence of his physical pain.

“You make me crazy too, Spencer,” You say, growing more and more unhinged as he moves underneath you, “I love you so much, darling,” you tell him, kissing his eyes, lips, nose, anything you can reach.

Slowly, so slowly, you sink down onto Spencer. You watch his microexpressions, but you know how he’ll react. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s willing himself to hold off. He breathes in and out, teetering on the edge. You wait for his nod, for his sign of approval that you can move. He whines and peeks open his eyes. Spencer’s hands dig into your waist, his strong, large hands searching for any skin to grab onto.

“Please move, Mommy,” Spencer begs, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he starts to plead with you to have mercy on him, “I need it, Mommy,” he moans.

“Don’t be greedy, darling. You’ll take what I give you, but don’t you want to make me feel good too, baby,” you ask, guiding his nimble fingers to your slick core. His thumb and pointer finger begin to rub quick circles around your clit. You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you feel the pressure build. Between the heightened tensions of work and Spencer's hot breath against your neck, you know that you’ll come soon. Spencer’s breathy moans get more and more desperate.

“Are you already going to come again, love?” You ask, increasing your pace. His other hand grips your thigh, drawing shapes into your soft skin. Following suit, you match his sweet movements on his cheek. His breath is his shaky as you stroke his cheek lovingly, “Make me come first and then, maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you come inside me,” you promise, already knowing that you’ll let him come inside you.

“Watch you disappear inside me, baby. Watch your pretty cock slip inside my pussy. It’s just like you were made for me, darling,” you cry, your voice getting slightly breathy yourself. You watch yourself as his cock goes in and out, red with overstimulation. Spencer’s eyes, littered with small tears, looks transfixed.

“Fuck,” Spencer says, “I’m so close, Mommy. I-I, you make me feel so good. You’re so beautiful, I-I-”

“So needy, you’re so fucking needy,” you say to him. You can tell he’s growing more and more impatient by the moment. His hands lurch towards your chest, pawing at your boobs. Spencer’s sloppy movements bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“So good, so good,” he repeats, his sweaty forehead rests on your collarbone. You pull him up again his hair, relishing in the pitiful moan that he lets out. It’s raw and pure sin, it should make you want to fuck him more, but it only makes you want to love him more.

You’re drunk on him. Drunk on his moans and whimpers of pleasure. You’re drunk on the way his skin sticks to yours and how his hands roam around your body, always finding a spot on your torso and legs that makes you approach the edge closer and closer. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being too hard on him. If you should just whisper that little sentence and let Spencer feel the wave of pleasure.

“I need it, Mommy,” Spencer pants, kissing lined up your chest and collarbone. His face is pressed up against your face and moves up and down as you continue your pace, “I-I, Mommy, I want you to-”

“What do you want, baby? Hmm? Tell Mommy?” You ask, your voice sounding sickly sweet. The noise of moans fills the room, Spencer’s moan akin to whimpers and whines and your’s more like praises and words of approval, “you’ve been such a good boy, baby I’ll give you want whatever you want, my love”

“Please, please let me make you come, Mommy. I need you to come, Mommy. I need it,” Spencer whines, looking up into your eyes and latching onto them in the darkness.

It’s sinful how the filthy words contrast with his sweet, shy tones. He looks so innocent, but enthralling with his face between your hands, but his own hands rubbing small circles on your clit. His moans grow more high pitched. You kiss by his ear, ready to whisper the words of approval that you’ve neared your release.

“Oh god, Spencer. God. You have no idea what you do to me. My sweet boy,” you murmur, pressing Spencer’s face further into your chest. You can feel him heave and his breathing grow more and more unsteady, but he still has enough sense to continue rubbing your clit.

You kiss him, wanting to feel him everywhere when you come undone. Kissing him is desperate and full of gasps of air. His skin is so soft as you slide across his mouth, up his cheeks, and over his jaw. His helpless moans spur you on, giving you the strength and energy to thrust down on him another time before you feel yourself come undone.

“It’s your turn, baby. Come on, sweetheart. Come inside me and maybe I’ll have to call you daddy? Hmm?” you chant, halting your movements to torture him a little longer.

“Please, Y/N. Please let me fill you up,” Spencer begs, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being so vocal, “I’m yours. I love you so much,” he calls out, wrapping his arms around you so your chests are pressed up together. He holds you sweetly and you kiss his shoulders and his neck, choosing to leave a large red welt as a reminder for him.

“You like that? Hmm you like if I call you Daddy and let you fill me up? Come on, Spencer. You can come. Don’t you want to be a good boy for Mommy?,” you say, giving him the permission that he’s been desiring all night.

He tightens his grip on your upper half as he meets his release. Spencer’s strangled moans turn into sweet whimpers as he looks down into your laps. Quietly, you ride him through the rest of his orgasm, letting him come down from his high peppered with light pecks along his freckled shoulders and sharp jawline. Spencer smiles into the kisses, his eyes are shut and his cheeks are dusted with a light pink flush. For the first time today, he looks relaxed and safe.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Spencer says quietly, mirroring your motions and kissing your shoulders and neck as you slow your pace, “Can we stay like this. Just for a moment,” Spencer asks, burning for the feeling of being inside you for even a couple more minutes.

“Of course, baby,” you tell him, squeezing him into a tight hug, “you did so wonderful for me. Such a good boy. I love my sweet boy,” you tell him, brushing the stray hairs from his face. His neck is marked by your mouth and his eyes are glazed with sleep and desire.

“I love you,” Spencer says again, his forehead falling against yours and his breath hitching as you move slightly with him inside you, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry about today,”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart and then we’ll talk about it,” you suggest, taking the opportunity to kiss his lips as you pull yourself away from his lap.

Spencer doesn’t say much in response, but nods silently. He groans slightly as you separate your bodies and he tries to chase your lips with his as you climb out of the bed and into your bathroom.

“Please come back,” Spencer says, sounding like he wasn’t sure if you’d keep your promise.

“I’m right here, Spence,” you reassure him, returning from the bathroom dressed in an old tee shirt and carrying a warm, damp washcloth and a pair of clean underwear for Spencer.

“Can you please hold me? Please, Y/N. I need you,” Spencer says, reaching out to you in the dark. That’s one request you know you’d never deny.

“Of course, Spence. Just let me clean you up and I’ll hold you,” you tell him, gently dragging the warm towel over his skin. He’s quiet as you clean him up, but his soulful eyes look lost and sheepish, making him look smaller and more vulnerable than he actually is. You drop the towel to the floor, not caring that the water isn’t good for the floor.

You lay back down on the bed and Spencer, like a magnet to another magnet, crawls in close. He’s still undressed, except for the underwear that you gave him. His eyes are droopy and his breathing is still shaky, but steadies out as your hands draw circles on his back. You pull the covers up to his chin, making sure he’s covered before you start what you know all too well is a difficult conversation.

“Spencer,” you croak, “Why did you do that? Why do you think that’s okay?” you ask, still trying to make sense of why Spencer would risk his life like that so recklessly. You hold him tighter, squeezing his arm as he breathes out, ready to tell you what he’s never told anyone before.

“Bec-, because- I don’t matter,” he says, the words choking out between cries of years and years of pain, “because it doesn’t matter to anyone if I don’t come home. I don’t have anyone to come home to,”

“You’ve always had me,” you say quietly, “I’m your person to come home with, Spence,” you tell him, hoping with all the faith in your body that he’ll believe you. You hold his hand, weaving your fingers in his. Looking at your hands intertwined together, you’d think that your hand was made for it. It’s a little cliche, but Spencer is the kind of man that makes all those cliches seem like wonderful possibilities.

“I-I, I never had someone before,” Spencer says, “I mean, I had my mom, but it’s gotten harder. But then, then, I met you. And I never thought you’d like me like that, Y/N. I never thought you could love me,”

“Spencer,” you say, twisting around so you can hold his face in your hands, “Spencer, I love you. You are so much more than your job. You’re worthy of being loved, Goose. And I’d spend the rest of my life making you realize this”

“You want to spend the rest of your life- the rest of your life with me?” Spencer asks, sounding like he can’t believe the words that you say.

“Spence, I’ve loved you since I’ve known you,” you say, dragging your hands through his curly hair that’s matted against his forehead, “You would have realized that if you weren’t too carried away with making me your future history,”

“I think I have a habit of doing that,” Spencer confesses, kissing your forehead sweetly, “You’re- I’m sorry that I worried you like that, but for so long, for so long this is all I’ve had. And before that it was school. I throw myself into academia or work because it’s all I had,”

“Had,” you repeat, “as in the past tense. You’ve had some much more than too, Spence. We all love you. Elle and Derek. JJ and Hotch. Penny and Gideon. We all love you, but I love you the most,”

“Good,” Spencer replies, turning his head down to kiss you, “because I love you the most,”

His lips glide across yours, moving slowly at first and faster as he grows more urgent. There’s no sense in rushing through. You could kiss him lazily in your bed all night and continue until it gives way to morning. There’s no time limit, no buzzer that’s going to go off and force Spencer to whole himself back up into his past. He smiles through the kiss, knowing well that there’s more to come tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. His lips were warm and soft, maybe still a little tender from before, but still eager to feel your lips against his. Breathing together, savoring that you both are breathing, you smile yourself, fully ready for whatever comes next.

***

Taglist (not my usual taglist because I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable bc this is smut. You can join the taglist here!)

@shemarmooresfedora @just-another-persona123 @folkreid @idonotexiste @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @spencersrose @strawberryspence

[iamsuggestingthatcoconutsmigrate]

Episode 3

~ Apparently the recap is always on, and the recap on/off feature just determines at what second marker the video starts at. This doesn't really matter, I'm just disappointed in myself for not having noticed that sooner.

~ Mick, why are you just watching the door waiting for her to work up the courage to knock? Don't you have literally anything else you could be doing? How did you decide how long to wait to answer the door? Do you time how long it takes people to answer their doors?

~ Mick, looking down his always deserted hallway that he literally walked down, half-dying, and holding several bags of blood for people that may have heard. "Maybe you should come in." What eavesdroppers are you worried about? I'm pretty sure there's only one unit on this floor that isn't yours and I'm also pretty sure it's empty

~ a few hundred vamps in a city of about 4mil; the real reason vampires live in places with bad weather for them, it's where the food is.

~ Mick trying to balance being calm, honest, and 'you cannot fucking say shit' while Beth is trying really hard not to show how terrified she is

~ I don't know a lot about ptsd, but I feel like these easily triggered flashbacks combined with him just completely shutting down and or panicking might be a sign, like yeah they also show us normal memories as flashbacks because it's a tv show, but the flashback to how Coraline turned him seemed different than the memories from last episode.

~ Moonlight joining the food =/= taste battle on my side of the argument; I have a very damaged sense of smell but can still taste things; vampires apparently can't taste food but have supernaturally good sense of smell. Oh god, someone gets turned but don't know it and think the lack of taste is because they have COVID... I see potential for a great comedy of errors in the modern era

~ They're trying to blame this on a pit bull. How much of the pit bulls villainous reputation is actually because of vampires in this universe?

~ Carl knows Beth all to well. Hmm, is Carl his first or last name?

~ They have rules, do the vampires have a sort of government? Are the rules international and set? Is this like VTM or is it just a common sense thing agreed upon by a handful of super powerful vamps who will enforce their... views

~ Mick knows full well the police are treating this as a dog attack, yet for some reason seems really upset that Beth is treating this as a dog attack; like, it is her fault that she discovered you're a vampire, but also you're the one who didn't close the door.

~ They keep oscillating between whether Beth is new at her job or been there forever. I think I've decided that she had been a research person that recently got promoted to anchor when Julia from last episode (who they reference knowing the Buzzwire people well, and imply she used to work there) left to go be an author

~ Mick learning very quickly that he's not going to win any arguments against Beth

~ Just noticed, in the newly turned Mick memory, he's literally smoking in the sunlight; is sunlight a thing that hurts less over time, or less when full (he's just been drained and turned so he's probably hungry)

~ Coraline, he might have appreciated the "gift" a bit more if you had told him literally anything before turning him.

~ The relationship between Mick and honestly all of the Cleaners is super weird. Like, I feel like we narrowly avoided a harem trope.

~ Josh is absolutely right to be concerned, but I'm not sure that I like how easily he accepts Beth's statement that it isn't about him or them and therefore doesn't matter.

~ Do vampires in this have a heartbeat? Stay tuned as I'm sure they answer this question later, but for now lets be amazed at the ROCKET SCIENTIST VAMPIRE WHO CAN HEAR A HEARTBEAT ACROSS THE ROOM whose best guess for whether something is alive or not is "Well he wasn't moving"

~ Who's this new camera guy that we only see once and where does Buzzwire (and by that I mean CBS) keep getting all these 5'6" but look super short guys from? No, before you ask, 5'6" is not super short it is a normal height for people to be

~ Carl knows Beth way to well, she absolutely would give a serial killer a nickname if she thought such a thing would be helpful for catching, avoiding, or spreading awareness of them

~ Time for Mick to be mad that Beth still hasn't given up on the official theory of guy with attack pit bull (this dog really does get blamed for the faults of bad dog owners and it's sad)

~ How many people did Coraline make Mick kill when he was trying to starve himself to death? Did she ever mention to him that you don't have to kill people if you just don't starve yourself?

~ Mrs Pollack seems to think her husband is having a psychotic break, which makes way more sense than being turned into a vampire, but wouldn't save him from hypothermia, or the fact that refrigerators are air tight. Like, lady, you don't need to be reasoning with him, you need to be calling 911 before he dies on you, except not really because he's a vampire now and that will just get more people killed, but like, you don't know that

~ The complete change in Pollack's demeanor when he realizes that his wife is made of blood

~ Mick talking about Coraline "She's dead. Period." Beth "Okay, I'm sorry" Mick "You're not, trust me." Sir!

~ Mick is so awkward talking about himself, and vampires in general.

~ Gerald wants a friend so bad, I'd almost feel bad about it if he wasn't dead set on Pollack

~ While we're on the subject of Gerald, he said earlier that he had never had any luck siring before, does that mean they left him? Or they died? Or he thought they died, and he abandoned them? How many rogues is he responsible for?

~ Also Gerald has to know Beth is there, does he just not care? Or is he particularly oblivious?

~ Beth why are you so afraid of taking the stake out?

~ Beth why are you not more afraid of yelling at this random vampire about making a feral vampire in a VERY PUBLIC PLACE WITH LOTS OF WITNESSES????

~ Really Gerald? He's out of control and can't be stopped because he hissed at you? He identified you as having no backbone and he was right. He's about to be way nicer to Mick, not that it'll matter, and then way meaner. again not that it will matter.

~ Mick so angry he almost breaks into vampire face; Dr Pollack really going against the Hippocratic oath here hua

~ I like how Mick tries to reason with him, to see if he's too far off the deep end or if he just hasn't figured out how to feed without killing or know that it can be done. Makes you wonder how long he thought you had to kill to feed.

~ "You can't just kill him" Beth says to the serial killer who's already exhausted all other options.

~ Mick's unofficial kill count is up to 4

~ Mick just real quick shows up to Beth's apartment to tell her the one minute tldr of the story she's been asking for all episode, then leaves before she can ask any follow up questions, except to say that he trusts her

Re-re-re (xinfinity) watching Moonlight (2007) and

~ Joseph asks Mick if he's been working out. and we see in later episodes that Mick does indeed workout. So we can assume that unlike other vampire media, they aren't static, they can actively change their bodies, just not age. We also see Mick with longer hair in the 80s than both when he was human and in the present.

~ His PI License is only good for three years. How has he been renewing this every three years for the last 25 years (at least) without anyone noticing he doesn't age. It's not like he could do it online. And it has his picture on it, wouldn't that have been a bit of an issue for him prior to digital cameras in the 90s?

~ "You know, some people even find [vampires] attractive" Beth, with scrunched up nose probably thinking of Nosferatu "really" Mick, the vampire, getting the most disheartened look on his face. Dude, what? If she had said yeah me too were you gonna confess?!?!

~ Beth legit held Micks hand for a good 6 seconds, which doesn't seem like a lot, but surely if it was long enough for her to realize it was awkward it was also long enough for her to realize he was cold. And she thinks nothing of this?

~ I hope the vampire study group gets regularly checked for blood-borne diseases.

~ Mick just made a Spinal Tap reference

~ Maybe my college was unique in having bare classrooms because every room was a multi-purpose room, but why are there so many masks and posters and skeletons? Are all of the classes meeting there leaving their stuff and hoping it doesn't overlap too badly? Is Christian bringing all that and setting it up before every class for ambiance? Is he making Daniel do it???

~ Mick legit just appears in this man's office and starts closing his blinds and playing with his stuff.

~ The way Joseph is just in Mick's apartment when he gets home. Like I get that it's his best friend and Mick probably gave him a key, but I also think it would be funny if Joseph actually owns the building and is abusing his landlord powers

~ Mick it's going to take more than lemons, apples, and coffee to convince people you're human. Like I get that coffee and lemon water are probably things you offer clients, but please tell me you're not just giving people whole ass apples while they cry about their missing person to you.

~ Stop looking so surprised that Khloe's dead, you knew that already.

~ Love how Sophia Myles can't hide her British accent around fellow Brit

~ Christian how many girls have you felt up that you know the difference between an underwire bra and an under-bra wire?

~ I love how this episode ends in My Immortal which samples from Moonlight Sonata, which is also the name of the last episode. Something something it ends where it all began.

[jeriafterdark]

813 - The Reprise - BIG NEWS for ZZH! Part 5/?

Masterpost here

Big news on X-mas Eve! LONG POST!! So much has happened for ZZH, let's start with some memes to lighten the mood:

Love this meme. “Someone saying their timeline looks like this now - all jzps and GJ waiting for the news from Uncle Li”

Let’s get right to THE BIG NEWS.

1. Dec 24 - ZZH’s case is accepted by the Beijing Chaoyang Police!!!

^^^That's Hanhan's hand btw, and signature!

This means that they’ve found his case has standing and will do a criminal investigation. It will also lead to multiple civil suits that Uncle Li says are underway! All of Weibo is out of their coffins now lol, MULTIPLE tags are being flooded with joyous comments. Weibo is constantly shutting them down though, but people keep making more.

ZZH told Uncle Li that he tried to file a case before, but they wouldn’t accept it? And/or he was too afraid of the massive cyberbullying to step out of the house :( (I would be angry but this is no time to be angry, I’m happy he’s finally getting justice underway). Thanks to Uncle Li and many legal experts, they’ve encouraged him to file a police report, which has finally succeeded!

2. Dec 24 - What next steps could there be?

This user translated a CN lawyer’s perspective. Basically, the police will make a prelim. Investigation to establish the basic facts and whether a crime was committed.

“Typically if the police feels a case doesn’t meet the criteria to establish a criminal matter, they will tell the complainant to just go file a lawsuit themselves, they won’t bother to accept a report.”

Once all the facts are defined, they’ll send it over to the public prosecutor, who will refer the case to court. Then the victim can sue for secondary civil lawsuits for damages (fingers crossed). This process might take awhile, so let’s all celebrate the small steps and wait patiently, justice is finally happening!!!

3. Dec 24 - Uncle Li posted a video explaining everything

Amber did a wonderful translation of this here. He basically reiterates that ZZH did nothing wrong, and if he did, Li would support his punishment. He’s not whitewashing anyone, just standing up for what is right. Uncle Li’s been so active these past few weeks, slowly plugging away at all the lies that have been written about ZZH, and turning public opinion so much so that ZH could finally file a police report. What a guy, I’m so very grateful for him. Uncle Li further questions CAPA about how they don’t even name the people on their very own “Moral Self-discipline Committee,” so why should they have the ability to make a boycott list? CAPA even tried to ban Uncle Li, but ofc he’s not afraid bc he’s not actually done anything wrong.

>>> “The power of justice is powerful. it may be late, but it will never be absent. We should repay the society with warmth and gratitude.”

A note from OP on this… I can see why Uncle Li always stresses to thank the authorities, thank the public, and thank the multitude of platforms for being on the side of justice. Because if you want someone to do something, you can thank them for doing it first, and then they’ll go along with you (even if they haven’t done anything yet, or they’ve done the opposite of what you want). It’s a useful persuasive tactic. I interpret it as thus: he recognizes that the public, the platforms, CAPA, etc all have their hands in what happened to ZZH. But calling people out specifically won’t really help. So if one looks to the brighter side, and just assumes that betterness in people exists, then it looks better publicly and still accomplishes his goal. But make no mistake, it was BECAUSE of these platforms, CAPA, the public’s ready willingness to be whipped up into a frenzy over fabricated photos and antis and water armies, it was BECAUSE of these things and these people, that this all happened in the first place. Forgive, but don’t forget. How else will we learn lessons for the future?

And justice being late… justice is only capable at all because one citizen, with the perfect background, prowess, age, circumstance, decided to step up for ZZH - Li Xuezheng. Uncle Li. For many others, justice never came. No one stood up. Let’s remember that Uncle Li is an aberration; he is setting the precedence for everyone to come (in c-ent). Walking first so others may walk after. After this is all over, I hope people will follow his example and stand up for what’s right. Given that they have the power to, that is. This isn’t to put a damper on the celebrations, it’s just to keep in mind, justice should be a right, but it’s really a privilege. It is easily stripped from our most vulnerable. I hope that Uncle Li’s example will inspire more people to stand up.

4. Dec 23 - National Radio/TV Admin (NRTA) and Ministry of Culture and Tourism (MCT) set forth statements denying ever censuring ZZH

From this user, Uncle Li posted the letter from NRTA responding to a citizen’s request if they agency:

>>>Add him into immoral entertainers list

Deplatform

Take down works

Take down his products

Initiate industry wide boycott

Asked CAPA to release statement against him

NRTA wrote back that such information doesn't exist because their agency never created such content.

Uncle Li posted a video on this. Essentially, they denied ever labelling ZZH as an immoral or illegal artist. They denied requesting that the platforms take his works down. They didn’t do shit to ZZH. So they’ve effectively punted the ball back into CAPA’s court. CAPA has been claiming that it has gov. authority in its decisions, but now that the actual relevant gov. branch said they didn’t have anything to do with it, they swear, now CAPA is in extra hot water.

This is the NRTA/MCT letter they’re referring to.

5. Dec 23 - Hashtags including ZZH’s name and LLD are now searchable

Langlangding, the cp name for ZZH/GJ, Junzhe, and WKX/ZZS, is now searchable again on Weibo. Small steps forward!

You can also now search his name in Douyin (the tiktok equivalent in CN).

6. Dec 23 - Local Russian Newspaper writes a small article on ZZH - cited his Ma’s letter, positive, even a local band wants to support by recording a song

This is cute, I didn’t realize there were that many fans in Russia??? More power to them!

Final Note for the day:

Happy holidays, sweet celebrations for all today! Especially our dear Hanhan. I’m so happy that he’s finally got justice on his side. I’m happy for Uncle Li, the hero who decided to stand up for him and for everyone in c-ent. Let’s take this as a victory everyone, and carry it into our holidays. I will update if any more big news happens :)

Thanks for reading, have a safe holiday!