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artyandink · 3 months

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amoralism | two

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Blood, firearms, organised crime, talk of drugs, Agent Dean Winchester, sexual tension, wet dream, awkwardness, unsupportive mom, dramatic sister, consensual crime

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: People I Don’t Like - UPSAHL

materialism

Family dinners took the hell out of you.

They were so awkward, and for what? It was a few hours of pushing food around plates, unwanted conversations and criticisms about your home life and job. Of course your mom wasn’t proud that you were FBI. Were they slightly averse because she carries a truckload of deep seated traditionalism? Definitely.

Your mom, Elena, took a pointed bite of salad as she flitted her eyes disapprovingly between you, your slouching and your less than socially satisfactory manner of eating. Practically assaulting your food with a well timed fork stab and shovelling it in your mouth.

You were a federal agent, not a damn princess.

At least your younger sister had gone to deb balls and beauty pageants and gotten married fresh out of college and landed a job as a secretary for a wealthy CEO in Delaware while you apparently ‘slum it’ and put serial killers behind bars.

Putting your life on the line to make your country a better place. Totally something undesirable, a horrible job, only bozos and hobos would do it.

Your dad, Richard (but he had everyone call him Rick, your mom never listened), was proud of you. More proud than he could put into words. He’d once come to visit you after work to congratulate you on a case that you’d solved (confidential, of course), and his heart burst with pride upon seeing his little girl dressed in a formal suit and storing her government approved handgun.

“Darling?” Your mom trilled in her fancy accent and high pitched voice, which caught your attention. You looked up, halfway through a sip of wine, same as your dad. Holding it wrong. Again, not a princess. “When will you be getting married?”

You almost did a spit take, but swallowed so it wouldn’t happen and coughed as it almost went down the wrong way, Rick doing the same at the exact same time. Your sister, Cassie (short for Cassandra), glanced between the two of you with a look of judgement identical to your mom’s.

They were carbon copies of each other. Same with you and your dad.

“M-Marriage?” You spluttered, still recovering from the notes of chamomile that stung at the back of your throat. Chamomile’s meant to be soothing. “I-I’m a federal - ahem - agent, I don’t have t-time to-” You cleared your throat loudly, “- marry.”

Your mom scoffed, waving you off with a manicured hand. “You blab on about this federal agent business, but we have no clue what kind of cases you deal with.”

“Honey, we can’t push her.” Your dad vouched, and you internally cheered him on, swallowing down a sharp retort with a shovelling down of spaghetti that earned you an eye roll from Cassie and an exasperated sigh from Elena. “Her work is classified.”

“Classified from her family?”

“That’s generally what it means.” You added with a clearing of your throat. “A brief overview of my work in Major Crimes is literally the major crimes. Serial killers, mob bosses, organised crime.”

Your mom gave a loud, false laugh. “Hush, hush. Mafias only occur in dramatised television shows and movies.”

“Elena, you should be proud of our daughter.” Rick sighed, pointedly staring at his wife. “She works to keep everyone safe. Debutante balls and beauty pageants aren’t all the glory.”

And now Cassie was throwing a fit, her blonde hair almost torn out by her pink-painted claws. Jesus, if you went into the office with those monsters? You didn’t even wanna know.

While your mom ticked off your dad for saying such an insensitive thing, you nudged his foot with yours as a silent thank you for defending him. And his foot tapped yours back as if to say don’t apologise.

God, you cherished your dad.

“Don’t pay attention to your mother.” He’d told you in a calm, soft voice as you two steadily worked on the dishes, the quiet noise of the sponge spreading soap suds on the plate not the best ambience but alright all the same. “She’s a little dramatic.”

You raised an eyebrow, getting the itch out from just above your eyebrow using the back of your hand. “A little?”

Rick shrugged, then chuckled. “Alright, you got me there. She’s extremely dramatic. But she’s my wife, and I love her, regardless of whether I think she should take up a role in Broadway.”

“Or a soap opera.” You both shared a laugh, but then you subsided into a rather wistful state of mind. “I just want her to understand that even though I can’t talk about it, I still do something worthy of recognising, right? I mean, not everyone can say they’re one of the best agents Major Crimes has to offer.”

“She’ll come around.” Rick planted a kiss on your temple that felt a little scratchy from his stubble. “I’m so proud of you, y’know that? My little girl’s grown up to be an incredible woman.”

Your phone rang, and you shook your hands off, towelling them before taking out your phone and picking up the call.

‘Took you long enough, princess.’ Agent Winchester’s voice came from the other line, and seems like your dad heard a man’s voice, because his eyebrow raised past what was the beginning of his receding hairline. Princess. It took you back to the night you had your first wet daydream of your case partner, Dean goddamn Winchester, three years ago, working the very case you both were heading now.

Except with much higher stakes.

“You’re far from on my priority list, Agent.” You huffed out a breath, mouthing to your dad to behave as you knew he had the strong urge to find out who exactly you were talking to. And if there was a possibility that he’d need to grab his baseball bat and go warn this guy off breaking your heart.

Federal agent or not, he’d do it. He’d do anything to keep his daughter safe.

‘You’re gonna break this young man’s heart.’

“We’re 35.”

‘Exactly. Young.’ His tone sounded like he was holding off laughter, adopting a voice which resembled Mrs Doubtfire. ‘We’re youthful, innocent little whippersnappers-’

“Agent, if you’re just going to waste my time, you better hang up.” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Your dad gave you a look which said damn, don’t do him like that. In truth, neither of you were exactly innocent. You had unholy, R-rated thoughts of each other every time you did so much as think of each other.

You definitely wanted to do him.

You heard Dean clear his throat, getting back on track. ‘Right. Yeah. So, there’s some of our double agents in crime circles that reported back to me after I dropped ‘em a little message. They’re sayin’ that there’s an auction happening at a charity gala in a week, and they’re pawning off this necklace-’

“Yeah, you’re wasting my time.” You scoffed, wondering why he was into getting jewellery. Unless it was to pacify a girl he two timed. Then again, he could probably do it with his panty-soaking, money-winning grin, smooth winks and some cheap pickup line he stole off the Internet.

‘Hey, let me finish. The necklace has a USB chip inside. It contains videos of our syndicate’s work, so if we get a hand on that, we know what we’re dealing with.’ He chuckled at his own brilliance, making you roll your eyes at his ego. ‘And, uh, you’re about to pick apart and criticise my plan by saying that there’s no way in hell that we have the money to buy that thing, so… I talked to Director Singer, and he had a chat with the board and they gave us a pass for as many consensual crimes as needed.’

“So, where do we factor in all this?” You asked, making a mental note of everything he was telling you.

‘That’s the fun part. We got invites to that event, so we’re gonna go together as a doting, wealthy married couple and steal it.’

“It’s not my first undercover gig, so as long as we don’t run into any complications, it could work.”

‘So, I’ll see you at my place tomorrow to discuss logistics. I’ll make sure Sammy- Detective S. Winchester - is out of the house.’

“Alright. Bye.” You cut the call, and spotted your dad smiling proudly at you. His eyes twinkling, and his steady scrubbing hand paused. “What?”

Dean’s back hit the bed, your lips moving up to claim his exposed throat and freckled, exposed chest, making a steady trail to his shoulder and nipping until there was a forming hickey. His breath laboured, mind spinning and body on autopilot. He could feel your nails over his abs, tracing and mapping out every contour, his eyes locking on you, looking like a vision in black lace, a garter and pretty, matching, sheer, thigh-high nylons.

He was always a sucker for a woman in lingerie.

“God, baby, c’mere.” He groaned, hands finding purchase on the backs of your thighs and yanking you forward, settling you closer as his hand teased at the hem of your panties, one sharp flick of his wrist tearing the flimsy material and leaving it beyond repair, drawing a gasp and barely restrained whine from you. He chucked the remains off the bed, that hand, already glistening from having touched your soaked panties, found your cunt, sliding his fingers back and forth before roughly thrusting two up and into your soaked pussy, crooking them just right in order to have you clamping down and already rocking up and down desperately. “So tight. Gonna ride my fingers already, sweetheart?”

“Mmh- mhmm.” Was all you could get out, barely noticing how his free hand reached behind you to unclip your bra, propping himself up so he could latch his mouth onto your nipple and suck, causing you to mewl and let out an even more sinful moan right as his thumb found your clit right as the pad of his index found your g-spot, his third finger joining the party and pressing on it.

Layering and layering and layering until your mind was blank, thighs shaking, mouth open and eyes rolling back until they saw stars and the brief outline of God.

Looks like he does have a beard.

“Dean, g-god-” You were cut off by a moan, biting your lip, and Dean nodded encouragingly, free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, thumbing at your bottom lip to ease it free.

“Waited so long for this.” He murmured. “Gotta hear you. Look so pretty, baby-”

“Dean, wake up!” Dean shot up and spluttered when a glass of ice cold water hit him like a bullet train, finding you to be the perpetrator. No lingerie, just a simple sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a loose rope braid over your left shoulder.

Still hot. Still infuriating.

“Woah, hey!” He raised his hands in disbelief before running one down his face to rid him of the water dripping down it, then onto his grey-blue flannel shirt. “The hell was that?! And- how did you get in here?”

You put the glass down in frustration, the sound thudding against Dean’s oak dining table, partially wet from the thrown water. “Sam let me in.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

“You’d been passed out at that table when I got here. Tried to wake you up fifty ways. You sleep like a rhino.” You scoffed, but your eyes couldn’t help but trail down to the way the water traced his jaw, down to the curve of his neck and beneath the neckline of his shirt, which exposed a hint of defined collarbone. You felt like an eleven year old seeing a man shirtless for the first time. Except you were going feral for a fleeting glimpse of your colleague’s collarbone, watching the way his flannel clung to his frame.

You were beginning to get the tantalising thought of seeing Dean, washing that gorgeous ‘67 Chevy Impala of his. Shirt off, water dripping down his bare torso and giving you an illegal hit of his v-line. And his abs, tracing every contour that you knew was there. It had your body warming up and your thighs clenching and rubbing.

You hoped to God that Dean didn’t see you doing that.

So instead, you took a random kitchen towel and threw it so it hit him right in the face, and he flinched, grabbing the towel off his face and rubbing the water off in a disgruntled fashion as you moved to grab a beer from the fridge. He was irritated beyond belief. He knew you two had unresolved sexual tension that went back in the history books about five years but that was uncalled for. He was your partner on this mole case, and was heading an organised crime case with you, he deserved some respect-

Your ass framed by those jeans. The denim clinging to your legs that went on for days. Goddamn days, ending in sensible lace-up boots. That sweater with a scoop neckline. Your ass in those jeans, the curve of your pretty neck, the pout of those plump lips. Did he mention your ass in those jeans?

Suddenly he didn’t feel so vexed. And… respect? Who needs respect? Who needs… goddamn. Who… needs…

No thoughts. Head empty.

Sweet Jesus.

“What did you say?” Your head turned to face him, eyebrow raised in the middle of sipping your beer, and he realised that he’d muttered that out loud (while also realising he was staring at your lips touching that bottle rim. He’d never wanted to be a glass bottle more in his life.). He snapped out of it, blotting his flannel gingerly with the towel. Missing the way your eyes locked on how it pressed flush against his chest (you’d never wanted to be a plaid shirt in your life, but times seem to change).

“Nothin’, Agent.” Dean cleared his throat, shaking his head to rid him of the bad, bad, unprofessional thoughts clouding his head. But god, did he need you bad.

He might get through a whole box of tissues tonight.

“Kyle, what do you mean, you don’t know how to use a washing machine?” You asked with a scoff, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you spoke to your cousin Kyle, who was in college. Of course, it was the first time he’d ever worked a washing machine on his own and of course, you were the first one he called.

‘It’s not something I’m used to, ok?’ He was scared of your mom, his mom (your aunt Olivia) and Cassie, and you taught your dad and his dad - uncle Tom - how to use the washing machine so Elena wouldn’t go on a rant about men’s uselessness when it comes to household chores.

You took out a paper and pen, writing down a list of instructions as quickly as you could in your nearest handwriting possible, and then you put your phone on speaker, snapped a photo and sent it. “There. All set. I’ll write up a small guide on how to work the rest of your appliances, I’m just knees deep in an investigation.”

‘You’re a lifesaver, I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life.’

“This is a washing machine, not selling your soul. You don’t owe me. Now, see you on Thanksgiving. Bye, Kyle.” You cut the call in time for the doorbell to ring, and you rolled your eyes.

You get no breaks nowadays.

But when you opened the door, you were met with pearly way-too-whites, bouncing ginger hair and shiny blue eyes, complete with what looked like five neon-coloured dress carriers. “Why hello there, babes!” She trilled, sashaying in with her faux fur-trim coat. You rolled your eyes again, but playfully and partially in relief. “I got your message and came as quick as I could.”

“Hey, Dré.” You smiled wearily, closing the door behind her. Andréa May-Reynolds was your best friend since the early days of high school and probably the only person you could tolerate who cared that inexplicably much about their looks. You’d texted her for help with the dress picking for your undercover gig (but you told her it was merely one of your mom’s gatherings as she was a socialite). “Thanks for coming, exorcism I texted you ten minutes ago.”

She waved you off, tutting rapidly. “It’s my job. Whenever a friend has a fashion emergency, I need to be there.” Andréa started rifling through the clothes options she brought. “Ok, so, you mentioned a plus one. Who is he, cause we need to decide whether we want the option Lukewarm, Getting Warmer, Pretty Warm or Smoking Hot.”

You knew that she knew the name you were about to say, so you said it. “Dean Winchester.”

You almost pulled out your firearm with the scream she let out.

“God, Andréa!” You hissed, rubbing your ear while Andréa searched through her selection and pulled out one bright red case.

She just squealed again, giggling. “Dean Winchester? Never thought I’d hear that name again. Smoking Hot ain’t gonna cut it for him, you need the Nuclear option.”

“There’s a nuclear option now?”

“Duh.” She ceremoniously yanked out a dress and held it out for you. “Try it on.”

You took the dress from her with a raised eyebrow and disappeared off into your bedroom upstairs to change. When you looked yourself in the mirror with the dress on, you didn’t recognise yourself. In all honesty, you probably looked ridiculous.

But when you made your way downstairs, trying not to trip on the fabric, you almost did fall when you heard Andréa’s shrill shriek of delight.

Jesus, you thought as you grabbed the railing, she’ll be the death of me.

“Sammy.” Dean had hurried over to Sam’s place, knocking rapidly on the door while holding a lot of tux choices. “Sammy, open up, it’s me! Dean.”

Sam opened the door with a bleary eye, rubbing it. “Dean, it’s ten in the night- Jess, hon, it’s just Dean!” He called back to Jess, who appeared in the doorway with a nightgown on. “I’ll come back in a minute.” Once Jess had returned to bed, Sam turned to his older brother. “What?”

“Which one?” Dean held up the options, looking between them. “I don’t see the difference, but I thought you would. You’re fancy, I just pick what I see first in the closet.”

“You’re hopeless.” The younger Winchester groaned, rubbing his cheek before gesturing to the options. “It’s an undercover gala, you don’t need to properly think about what to wear.”

“I don’t give a damn about the gala, I hate those fancy schmancy, pretentious excuses of a party. They don’t even have beer.” Dean smirked, then chuckled deep. “It’s about who’s going. Agent Hot Chick.”

“We’re still using that code name?” Sam frowned, hands now on his hips. “She’s our coworker.”

“She’s our smokin’ hot coworker.” Dean waggled his eyebrows and dumped the options on the sofa. “Pick one. C’mon.”

Sam browsed quickly through the options, then picked one out with a low groan. “I need to get paid. Here. Two piece tux, can’t go wrong.”

Dean took the tux, examined it, then hummed. “I can hide my gun in here, right?”

“Yeah. Just take it and go, I want to go to bed. With my wife.”

“Sammy, you sly dog.” He clapped his younger brother’s shoulder. “Well, don’t keep the missus waiting, and I’ll be out of your glorious hair.” Before Sam could react, Dean was out of the door and had left the substandard suits on the couch.

“Glorious hair?” Sam muttered, running a hand through said hair.

He didn’t know what had gotten into his older brother, but he didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated.

Probably both.

The gala itself was nothing short of fancy as hell. Almost like out of a spy movie. Marbled floor, cream walls that looked gold in the lighting, tables of hors d’oeuvres that Dean’s stomach instantly felt a magnetic attraction to.

Fancy snacks are still snacks. Back to the story.

A red carpet that made Dean feel like he was walking in the Met or some movie premiere, with everyone dressed to the nines. Eating snacks.

He popped one into his mouth, chowing down on it and finding that the cheese-based delicacy wasn’t so bad, and he swiped a glass of champagne from a server’s tray in order to blend in.

One sip and he was spluttering, putting it back on a tray again, and that’s when he saw you.

He’d call you a snack, but you were the whole damn buffet.

Dean was pretty sure he was looking at a weapon of mass devastation. To his self control at least - there was a smoking crater in the middle of that. And there were some thoughts in his head that definitely wouldn’t be praised by polite society. He’d be damned for it.

You were clad in dark red silk that melded to your figure, almost like waves on your body, like water. Water had never seemed sexier. Your lips were a shade of scarlet, your clever eyes highlighted by the makeup surrounding it. Your knee just poking out from the slit at the thigh, hands clasped delicately at your midsection.

You looked expensive.

And delicious.

It had Dean’s jaw dropping before he picked it back up, straightening the lapels of his tux and trying to think of non-sexy thoughts so he wouldn’t sport a very visible attraction to his fake wife in polite society. He’d gone the full way, even getting a gold-plated ring so he’d look married and expensive but it also wasn’t too costly. He wasn’t made of money.

He didn’t belong in this party. You definitely did, looking like that.

You were in the very place that you’d been trying to run from again. Fancy parties, posh vocabulary and exaggerated accents. Your mother or Cassie would be a social butterfly in this situation. Not you, you were quaking in your borderline painful heels. Feeling all too out of place in the sweeping curtains, silk, satin and chiffon couture dresses and the gales of fake, exaggerated laughter.

Then there he came, Dean frickin’ Winchester, in a two piece tux. Sure, his bow tie was a little wonky (understatement) but the rest of him had your thighs rubbing together. As usual, he donned a suit that stretched over his well built muscles and gave you a good outline of the contours on his chest, powerful thighs looking good to ride in those trousers. Lips pouting every time he chewed on the delicacy he plucked from a side table and forcing thoughts of those very lips devouring you the same way.

He looked expensive.

He looked irresistible.

The image of the normally cocksure and obnoxiously confident Dean Winchester in high society had you swallowing on a dry throat and thinking un-sexy thoughts to rid you of the incredibly unprofessional ones in your head (one of which included him ripping the dress off your body), all of them sending a quiver down your spine. A very, very good quiver. Oh, god, this wasn’t helping.

You felt out of place here. You didn’t belong here, but Dean certainly did in that getup. You were so absorbed in checking out the stretch of the fabric over his biceps that you missed the way he sipped some champagne and gagged on it.

Then you quickly clacked over in your heels, linking your arm with his to sell the act. “Husband.” You said stiffly, and he nodded back.

“Wife.” He replied, swallowing at the adrenaline rush at having Aphrodite incarnate on his arm. Hell, you might just be Aphrodite in disguise. He could never tell.

“Alright, by inside intel, the necklace is kept upstairs in a six inch safe carbon and iron steel alloy safe with a biometric lock. We have no welders on us, and the case is fingerprint security.” You muttered while crunching a breath mint between your teeth. You never know, the locals may demand a kiss and you’d be damned if you got teased for bad breath.

“And how do you propose we breach that, honey?” Dean got out through a forced smile.

You smirked, the plan in your head. “I’ve got a blush compact in my holster. And a tape roll. We can get the print through that easily enough.”

“That holster deserves a medal.” He murmured to himself, then steered her towards a group. “We need to mingle. We’re not single, but blending in and finding a way to go upstairs is best, if you know what I mean.”

Mhmm. You very much got it, and it thrilled you slightly.

You had no time to dwell on the thought as an elderly group of women caught your attention and trilled for you two to come over. “What a lovely young couple.” One crowed, gesturing to the both of you. “Married, I’m assuming?”

Dean drew you closer into his chest, and your hand landed there by impact- a solid goddamn wall. Oh, holy mama. He let out a low chuckle, pumping his eyebrows. “Ma’am, you can’t find a woman this gorgeous and not, to quote Miss Knowles, ‘put a ring on it’.”

“Oh, honey, such a flirt!” You laughed in a posh accent, mimicking your mother’s laugh to the best of your ability while you swatted Dean’s chest. He smirked at the look in your eyes, because goddamn was it obvious that you hated this.

“Darlin’, I can’t help myself around you.” He turned to the other charity goers with a proud smirk, gesturing to all of you. “Can’t keep my hands off my gorgeous wife. Might have to have something off the menu for dessert, if you catch my drift.” He winked at some elderly ladies, who giggled and waved him off.

“Such a charming boy.” One cooed, obviously eyeing Dean up with poorly restrained envy. While you looked around for your target, you missed the way Dean’s eyes travelled down your body in that form-fitting red dress, v-neck, v-back, thigh slit where he knew you had a thigh holster strapped in, all the good stuff. And his eyes were on those scarlet heels.

He was imagining ramming into you with those sexy things on. And that dress, well, it’d be off in second if he had the chance. And that lipstick? Well, it’d be smeared and leaving prints on his neck, chest, abs and- that’s going a bit too unprofessional.

“I’d go as far as to say I had gotten myself a catch.” You affirmed, but inside you were rolling your eyes. You didn’t expect to spend the evening complimenting Agent Winchester of all people. “He’s so firm, ladies.”

Dean laughed deeply, one which you knew didn’t have only your thighs rubbing and pressing together on instinct. “I take immense care of my physical appearance. I’d do anything for my darlin’.”

“And you look handsome.” You straightened his bow tie and made a show of biting your lip and looking him over, which got a sly smirk on his face. All forced, and you knew he couldn’t tell that you actually meant the comment. He looked sexy, not just damn handsome. In fact, words failed you when it came to describing Dean in high society.

Scrubbing your hand with an antiseptic wipe wasn’t an option when he took your hand, lifted to his mouth and kissed your knuckle. Those warm, plump weapons of destruction corrupting your newly purified and professional brain.

Expertly sowing thoughts of them travelling down your neck and sucking on the skin in your dirty mind.

Brain malfunctioning.

Brain.exe has shut down.

Hail whichever deity’s the Almighty because you got the pleasure of feeling this man’s lips on your skin.

You’d felt them on your temple and cheek when you’d last worked a case with him, but after being deprived of his contact for five years now made you like a nun breaking her chastity vow, if they have one.

You had no idea how nunhood worked.

You couldn’t be bothered to find out when this man next to you was robbing you of coherent words or thoughts.

“While you look stunning, my love.” Dean murmured, shooting you a quick wink that would’ve had an average Jane swooning over.

Damn Dean Winchester and his ability to flirt.

Damn Dean Winchester for being a lady killer. Damn him to hell.

“Such lovebirds. My husband Terrance and I were like that once, all over each other. The magic of youth, I dare say.” One lady fawned, but her husband - Terrance - tugged on her arm.

“Edna, we’re in polite and present company, let’s not regurgitate details of our marriage.” He muttered, leading Edna away, which dispersed the other partygoers. You smirked at Dean, fixing the neckline of your dress (which he didn’t waste a moment ogling, which would arguably be in character).

“Shame.” You clicked your tongue, outwardly and inwardly amused. “I liked Edna.”

“I feel for Terrence, if I’m being honest.” Dean snickered, then nudged you. “You ready to go upstairs for a lil’ somethin’-somethin’?” That statement earned a swat to the back of his head, and he shrank away from you in shock. “Woah, hey, not actually going up there to get some, alright? We’re on a federal investigation, I’m not about to bang my partner. Jesus, woman.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Just pretend to be all over me, ok?”

You rolled your eyes, but obliged as Dean steered you both to a guard waiting by the stairs. “Mmh, honey,” You purred, your lips faux-chasing his neck, as Dean veered away from them reluctantly.

“Hey, man, do you have a place where my wife and I can get some privacy?” Dean’s strong hand took a hold of your waist and pulled you flush against his side. “Can’t keep my hands off ‘er. Women, am I right?”

“Upstairs, sir.” The guard let you two through, both of you falsely laughing until you reached the top of the stairs. Then you switched the moment you were out of earshot, dropping character.

“Nice job, honey.” Dean drawled, smirking. “Got a firearm under that dress?”

“Of course I do.” You snorted, shaking your head. Dean smirked at you when your head was turned, with a look that said that’s my girl. “What am I, an idiot? C’mon, we’ve got work to do.” You managed to try each door until you found one conveniently locked, so you took a hairpin, bent it and then your leg, kneeling so you could jimmy the thing in the lock, rotating the chassis (at least it might be that, you never paid attention to lock anatomy) and getting the door open.

“Good girl.” Dean muttered under his breath so you wouldn’t hear, stepping inside and shutting the door quietly. There were no secret triggers (you had to mentally steel yourself so you wouldn’t throttle Dean and his constant use of ‘booby traps’), so you just immediately took out your compact powder case and a blush applicator, evenly coating it in powder and dabbing it on the sensor before unhooking the tape roll, using a canine to rip off a piece of tape before placing it on, which successfully opened the lock with an electrical series of beeps. “Nice one. A’ight, now grab that necklace and let’s book it.”

“Not that easy.” You pouted in thought. That sent Dean to unholy places. All while your eyes were focused on the opal-studded jewellery in front of you. “It’s a weight sensor. We need something roughly the same weight.”

“Your heels?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I borrowed these from a friend, no way in hell am I leaving it here.”

“You have friends, sweetheart?” He snickered, but winced slightly when you sharply kicked him in the shin with the heel of your left stiletto. He had to fight the urge to grab the afflicted area and howl because holy hell, physics wasn’t lying about the pressure equation thing.

Pressure equals force over area multiplied by a whole lot of pain.

You looked around, then saw a small crystalline trophy thing. So you grabbed it, then prepared to make the switch. You took a deep breath in and then out, then switched it. And waited. To your disappointment and shock, the weight sensor must’ve been to a T because the pedestal sank and the room flashed red, an alarm going off.

Dean’s hand enveloped yours, tugging you out of the room at breakneck speed (you figured out in this time that you weren’t a dab hand at running in heels and had to awkwardly hop and take them off along the way), pulling you both into a side room when you heard approaching voices. Doors were being opened and rooms checked, so you had to think quick.

Oh, you were sure to regret this later.

Your hands flew to unbutton Dean’s suit jacket, get it on the floor before getting his bow tie undone and shirt along with it, untucking it and letting it hang open. You tried not to get distracted by the kissable canvas of taut, toned muscle that was his chest, while you reached up to your own lips, smearing the lipstick and then transferring some to his without lip-to-lip contact.

He was flabbergasted.

“Sweetheart,” Dean let out a nervous yet rough chuckle, “I love frisky women, don’t get me wrong, but don’t you think this isn’t the right time-”

“Shut up.” You hissed, then grabbed his hand and put it under the silk of your dress, through the slit and onto your thigh. “Now, act like you’re about to kiss my neck.”

Dean short circuited, and so did you. Hands. On legs. Bare legs. Need a bed. Even a table will do- keep it professional.

His eyes locked on the curve of your neck as you let your head tip back, and his hand went on autopilot, cupping the back of your neck. He leaned forward, and your skin was right there, begging to be kissed, but he hovered right there. Dean’s lips were inches away from your heated skin and it was killing the both of you.

His fingers itched to take the zip of your dress, yank it down and see what was underneath.

But even as he was about to give in, shake hands with the loss of his professionalism and ravish you till the sun came up, the door burst open and in came a guard, who instantly muttered an apology at seeing yours and Dean’s more than dishevelled state.

Ay, dios mío.

Wilkins Street Bank was shut down. SWAT teams surrounding it, along with multiple NYPD vans. An officer made his way onto the scene, flashing his badge. He was tall, with black hair and had clever green eyes, wearing a bomber jacket with NYPD blaring on the back in yellow letters.

Flashing his badge like he was in a movie, but made it ten times better. Ten times sexier, really.

“Detective Sergeant Nick Santiago, 67th precinct.” He introduced, looking up at the bank. “We got ourselves a hostage situation, I’m heading the case.”

“No can do, compadre.” One of the 71st huffed out a breath. “We just got off the call with the suits. They’re sending two of their agents over to head the charge. Something about the boys leadin’ the hostage sitch being their jurisdiction.”

“You kiddin’ me?”

“No, sir.”

“Who are we getting?”

“The best Major Crimes has to offer.”

NEXT UP:

“I’m doing my job!” You scoffed, holding the compress over your shoulder. It hurt to move it, honestly, but you’d rather take a banged up shoulder rather than Dean Winchester scolding you.

“And I’m not?” He retorted, hands on his hips. “We’re working this case together.”

“The only reason you’re even in Major Crimes is because daddy dearest pulled some strings.” You seethed, which had Dean bristling.

“That’s not how it went.”

“Then how?”

I’d appreciate a like, or reblog with feedback! Thanks for reading, lovelies!

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misskattylashes · 2 months

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Just ruminating after @thelastshadowpuppies post about Alex’s t shirt and how Miles and Alex really are opposites....

Alex – wears clothes until they fall apart, seems to have things in his wardrobe that date back to 2009!

Miles – Mr Fast Fashion (I don’t mean in the Primark sense) always changing his style and buying countless new and vintage clothes.

Alex – has pretty much worked with the same group of people his entire career, not just the other Monkeys but people like Zackery Michael, Ben Chappell, James Ford and Richard Ayoade

Miles – has worked with tons of different people like Lana Del Rey, Jamie T, Imelda May, Corinne Bailey Rae, Jaded Hearts Club, Alex (obvs), Jack Savoretti, Yungblud...to name but a few

Alex – when not being ‘Alex Turner’ totally hides from public view. ‘recents’ with fans seem to have a vetting process because they often appear weeks after the event, and even his friends on social media are not allowed to post him (this does not include children’s drawings)

Miles – loves to be visible, sharing a lot of his life on social media, allowing his friends to post pics of him.

Alex – exudes sensual feminine energy and yet at the same time is masculine.

Miles – excudes sexual masculine energy and yet at the same time has a gentleness about him.

On the surface it’s hard to understand why they get on so well, but I guess they bring something to each other, professionally, working with Alex taught Miles how to sing in a softer voice, whle Miles taught Alex not everything has to be serious and to embrace his playful side.

Personally, there is still something of the outsider about both of them. Even today in 2024 as 38 year old men, they remind me of those boys at school people were a bit wary of – Alex because he was so quiet and yet seemed to watch everyone and would have sudden outbursts of strange behaviour, and Miles because he was hyper and never concentrated, and on the surface confident beyond his years, and other kids would find him intimidating. Alex would probably hero worship him because he was the sort of person he wished he could be....and Miles would love little Alex because he had the same weird interests and thoughts Miles did but was too insecure to admit and hid it with cockiness...

And there starts a whole Milex AU YA fic....lol

#feel free to write it if you want #alex turner #miles kane #milex #milex theory

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anhed-nia · 3 months

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R.O.T.O.R. -- AGAIN!

Even ripoffs can be beautiful.

I am writing about R.O.T.O.R., neither for the first time nor the last, because something new strikes me about this startling movie every time I see it. Its amazing premise, which amply rips off THE TERMINATOR and JUDGE DREDD (but not ROBOCOP, oddly, which began shooting after R.O.T.OR., also in Dallas) provides fertile ground for all sorts of useful interpretation. This time I was most struck by the fact that R.O.T.O.R. is all about jobs and going to work.

The story concerns "police scientist" Captain Coldyron (cold-iron) who has invented the Robotic Officer Tactical Operations Research/Reserve, a T-800 type of android made out of a "self-teaching alloy" that can kick anybody's ass. Coldyron resigns in a huff when his boss conspires with local politicians to rush the lawbot to market, and the project races forward dysfunctionally until R.O.T.O.R. inevitably busts lose and starts killing people for minor mischief. Coldyron hooks up with the robot's coauthor Dr. Steel (female bodybuilder Jayne Smith who is like something out of Crying Freeman, which I mean as the highest compliment) to hunt their creation down and destroy it.

Coldyron is played by Richard Gesswein, who was also created in a lab.

That might sound pretty action-packed, but in execution R.O.T.O.R. is heavily focused on the drudgery of daily life. Enormous amounts of time are spent walking through parking lots, traversing the atria of hotels, finding parking, being seated in restaurants, and most of all, spending hours and hours at work, making countless phone calls. You have never seen so many people on the phone in a movie in your entire life. There's work phones, home phones, payphones, and even CB radios. At times it feels as if you may never see more than one person on the same set again. On the phones, people say things to each other that have already been said earlier in the movie if not earlier in the same scene, if not earlier in the same monologue. In the scene where Coldyron learns that R.O.T.O.R. has gone rogue, he delivers this incredible screed during one of THREE calls that he makes in a row:

"Its last program was prime directive... Prime directive to our ROTOR unit is judge and execute. It stops felons, judges the crime, and executes sentence. Justice served, COD. You call the Senator and you tell him ROTOR walked through a busload of nuns to get to a jaywalker, with malice towards no one. It won't stop. It wasn't ready. Its brain functions are incomplete. It can't think twice, can't reason, can't change its prime directive. It's like a chainsaw set on frappe..."

It begins to feel as if he will never stop reiterating whatever he (and others) just said, and this is not the only such example.

Most of these calls, like all of the activity in the movie, are focused on jobs. Coldyron calls his girlfriend first thing in the morning to tell her that he is getting ready for work, and to ask her if she is also getting ready to go to work at her own job. He promises that "if you're a good girl and go to work" then he will grill steaks at her house later. When he goes out to buy charcoal for the reward steaks he stumbles upon two creeps robbing the store and trying to take a hostage--a woman who stops the crime with several karate kicks, to whom he says "Hey lady, you want a job?" Meanwhile at the police robot lab, a scientist slaves away while complaining about the impossible new R.O.T.O.R. deadline as the comic relief security bot whines, sighs, and says "One of these days I'm gonna quit this job!" (Later on he actually does) Once R.O.T.O.R. has escaped we meet the Linda Hamilton of this movie (Margaret Trigg), who is having a vicious fight in the car with her fiance because she wants to get a job; the fiance wants to forgo the "barbaric ritual" of the wedding and just be automatically married to a woman who will not embarrass him by getting a job. Finally he concedes, "Elope with me tonight and I'll help you get a job after the honeymoon," but it's too late for all that because he's speeding and about to get killed by R.O.T.O.R.

For extra job-related realism there is workplace harassment in the form of a guy who tries to fuck his colleague by describing ancient execution methods and who calls her a white supremacist for turning him down (he says he's Native American, she says he's not, I don't know the right answer because this is the actor's only credit--and actually he's uncredited for the role, though he is acknowledged for composing the movie's primitive synth soundtrack which I kind of enjoy). It's also worth mentioning that the comedy droid is a real robot with a job, according to iMDB (sadly there is not a wealth of info on this movie):

"Willard the Robot is played by APD2, a robot purchased in 1986 by the police department of the Town of Addison, a northern suburb of Dallas, for $17,750 (approximately $41,000 in 2018 dollars). APD2/Willard performed public relations duties and was tapped to lead the Christmas parade in Addison that year. His contributions to actual law enforcement and his subsequent whereabouts are unknown. "As quoted from 'theoldrobots' website; 'Officer Willi from 1985 - This 21st Century Robotics robot was operated by remote control, showed videos about public safety, and was used in teaching important safety topics such as stranger awareness, traffic safety, and much more..'"

Coldyron is actually a very good prototype of the modern tech mogul who has way too much time on his hands and whose existence is mainly composed of heroic fantasies about himself, whether he is molding the future face of law enforcement, or dicking around on his enormous ranch where he lamely practices his lasso technique on tree stumps before blowing them up with dynamite. At the office he demands "hydrogenated wheat germ and dessicated liver" which boosts his handball game, and I thought, jesus christ I think I've worked for this guy. Coldyron is *I think* the hero of this movie but I'm never sure how much you're really supposed to like him; when his girlfriend sends him out for charcoal so he can cook her reward steaks, he goes to a mini mart and just starts looking for trouble, harassing minorities and flashing his gun. It's like, this is the reason there are loitering laws, but naturally they don't apply when you're a rich cop.

Someone please make these stickers!

The best way to understand R.O.T.O.R. is through the knowledge that director and co-writer Cullen Blaine worked on a variety of popular cartoon shows during what they call "the dark age of animation". First of all, there are scenes in this movie whose aesthetic, humor, and internal logic only begin to make sense if you imagine them taking place in an episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles--and actually much if not all of the dialog was dubbed by a whole other cast due to problems with getting the stars back for ADR, creating a whole other layer of literal cartoonishness. But the period in which Cullen Blaine created R.O.T.O.R. and designed many children's shows was dominated by what's called "limited animation" which I almost don't even have to describe. It's all in the name, the goal was to do things as cheaply as possible while turning out dozens of episodes per season. Part of the problem was, as with all things, Ronald Reagan, whose deregulation activities defanged measures to make sure children's programming was not just a steady stream of hard sell marketing. Under Reagan, the requirement for some portion of programs to be educational became so easy to meet and manipulate that animation studios were compelled to crank out zillions of Trojan horse toy ads with glib moral declarations tacked on. (I think I understand this correctly, I'm sure @bogleech has better material on the subject) Animators are a historically abused lot with a sad history of failed strikes, and I'm just extrapolating here, but I bet it's reasonable to guess that R.O.T.O.R. reflects the filmmaker's experiences in the grueling cartoon mines. The brutal sacrifice of quality to speed, the hostile work environments, and the endless, redundant calls and meetings, all smack of a script by someone who has had a very bad job.

"We've all got plenty of time to figure out what this means to each one of us," Coldyron sagely concludes at the end of his misadventure. Obviously I am still working on what it means to me, since this is the fourth or fifth time I've seen this movie and (at least?) the second time I'm writing about it. I will say that while the film I have just described sounds intolerably boring--I mean, a whole movie about rat race drudgery with the fewest and least convincing action sequences ever--but believe me, it is not boring. R.O.T.O.R. is constantly surprising and fascinating, with weirdly vivid imagery and pages and pages of the strangest dialog you will hear anywhere. Just watch the movie and let it shock you. You'll have plenty of time to figure out what it means to you later.

#not blogtober #r.o.t.o.r.#sci-fi #science fiction #action #cullen blaine #richard gesswein #jayne smith #margaret trigg

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mscordonean · 1 month

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SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK

The King's most trusted knight, that's what they call him, Vilhelm Richard Albert De Haspran is the King's first choice for any dangerous mission, accompanied meeting and even when his daughter yn needs watching over. What he doesn't know is that his most trusted is absolutely smitten with his daughter and is even in a sneaky relationship with her. Vilhelm: I have a surprise for you. Yn: Oo really? :D. Vilhelm: Look up to the sky, isn't it beautiful? Yn: it is. Vilhelm: but not as beautiful as you. He smiles.

It's 11:55pm and time for your literature classes. You were tired of studying Macbeth, this was your 17th going over how a woman should not emasculate and manipulate their spouses, like it was our fault 🤷🏾‍♀️. Rummaging through your gowns you find an old cloak you could use to escape the palace. "G'day ma'am" one of the knights said to you. "Good day Gus" you say back to him. Suddenly he starts to tower over you. "Only one person calls me Gus..". You thought your cover had been blown until Gustavus starts to laugh. "The princess calls me that, but I obviously know you're not, I mean look at your clothes". You wanted to protest but then he carries on "She's so pretty and all she cares about is that rusty knight Vilhelm, he's literally pushing thirty". You just Pat his shoulder for comfort. "Please tell me you won't tell her what I said, she'll kill me" Gus exaggerates. "I don't need to you already told her yourself" you mumble. "What did you say"? He glances at you. "Nothing Sir Gus!" You wave your hands. "Maybe I could marry you instead, you're pretty and I could provide for you". He smirks feeling proud of himself. "Aaand that's my que to leave" You rush out of his sight. "Wait-". He stares in shock as his ego starts to diminish.

You manage to trick the palace guards to let you out and you roam across the village. You come across a cotton candy stall and stare at it. "Ma'am, would you like to buy some?" A middle-aged man smiles at you from behind the stall. "I don't have any money with me, sir" you smile apologetically. "I'll pay" a hardened voice sounds from a few inches above. It's was Knight Vilhelm! "oh you here" you don't even attempt to play coy because he already knew it was you. "Princess, what are you doing out of the palace, you're father will kill me if he notices you're gone". You pout and play hard to get. "None of your business, sir". He seemed shocked as you normally call him Vyn or Vil or even Baby when you're in private. "Princess," he hands you the cotton candy. "we have to get back to the castle". Vilhelm begged for you to cooperate but you just walk the other way. The expression on his face was priceless, you wouldn't expect such a stoic man to break character so easily. "Okay how about i show you one of my favourite places hm?" You stop in your tracks. You've always wanted to know more about Vilhelm, but you never seemed to be able to break down his walls. You nod and Vilhelm leads you to a body of grass.

"This is my favorite place to come on my days off, my... Dad loved stargazing". He managed to lay down with the thick layers of armor still clung to his body. You lay down next to him and turn to face him, looking into his eyes. " How are we going to explain this to my dad". You say scooting closer to him. "Maybe we could say you stuck out of the house because you were 'bored' and I found you trying to buy some cotton candy". You hit his shoulder and he chuckles. "We should just tell him you were running errands and I wanted to help you out of the kindness of my heart" He looks in your eyes and then at your soft brown lips. "Kindness of your heart?, yeah your heart has been very kind to let me in". He kisses you softly and you savour this moment as it is.

You wish you could have been born a class lower so you could marry this man of great mysteriousness, but then wouldn't want him taking care of any princess other than you.

"Do you see those stars over there?" "Yeah they look like us" "and they seem to be dancing". You get up and pull Vyn up with you. You move his hands with you while you dance. "Don't make me do this" he smiles, admiring the way you move. "You're missing out" you twirl using his limp arm. "Fine I'll join you". He synchronises with your movements, his head layed on you shoulders. "This is nice".

#x black reader #mrscordonean #tears of themis #vyn richter #vyn richter x black reader #spotify #i don't know how to feel about this

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marimayscarlett · 6 months

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Sorry I've been writing to various blogs like a madwoman! I found a screencap of Till where he seems to be in a shower and some woman walks in on him with champagne and it seems like a very old tv bit or sketch and his name was written wrong. The link was attached https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=Hjr2UdSdqeg&t=133s but it doesn't work anymore and I don't know where it's from or how it was called so I can't find it on youtube :(( do you know perhaps?

Hi!

I think I know which clip you're referring to. I found the video here. It's from a German talk show from the 1990s, called 'Wa(h)re Liebe' and was hosted by the German drag artist Lilo Wanders. The show's main topics were different sexualities, sometimes documentary-style clips about nightclubs and erotic fairs, interviews with porn stars, and sexual fetishism.

Here's the clip with Schneider (or the infamous Richard Krospe of course), sadly I can't seem to find the one with Till.

The interaction between Schneider and Till and the women of course is an act/sketch, yet both women seemingly are big fans of the band.

Maybe interesting for the non-german-speaking crown here: The title contains a play of words, since 'Wahre' means 'true', yet 'Ware' (without the h) means 'goods' (as in things you can buy).

Hope this helped a bit!

#rammstein #ask #wahre liebe #lilo wanders #till lindemann #christoph schneider

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 7 months

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🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in February 2024

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

❤️ We Ate the Dark by Mallory Pearson 🧡 The Paper Boys by D.P. Clarence 💛 Skater Boy by Anthony Nerada 💚 Your Shadow Half Remains by Sunny Moraine 💙 A Vicious Game by Melissa Blair 💜 Clarion Call by Cayla Fay ❤️ Relit: 16 Latinx Remixes of Classic Stories edited by Sandra Proudman 🧡 The Absinthe Underground by Jamie Pacton 💛 Truthfully, Yours by Caden Armstrong 💙 Outsider by Jade du Preez 💜 Cross My Candy Heart by A.C. Thomas 🌈 The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett

❤️ An Education in Malice by S. T. Gibson 🧡 The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles by Malka Ann Older 💛 Never a Bridesmaid by Spencer Greene 💚 The Rewind by Nicole Stiling 💙 Good Christian Girls by Elizabeth Bradshaw 💜 The Fox Maidens by Robin Ha ❤️ The Terrible by Tessa Crowley 🧡 Blood Rage by Ileandra Young 💛 Call of the Sea by Emily B. Rose 💙 Sign Me Up by C.H. Williams 💜 Ways and Means by Daniel Lefferts 🌈 Peaceful in the Dark by A.A. Fairview

❤️ We Are Only Ghosts by Jeffrey L. Richards 🧡 Dead Ringer by Robyn Nyx 💛 Somacultural Liberation by Dr. Roger Kuhn 💚 Stormbringer by Erinn Harper 💙 A Saga of Shields & Shadows by A.J. Shirley 💜 Ghost Town by R.E. Ward ❤️ I Heard Her Call My Name by Lucy Sante 🧡 The Night Alphabet by Joelle Taylor 💛 Remedial Magic by Melissa Marr 💙 Bloom by N.R. Walker 💜 Entwined by Alex Alberto 🌈 Queer Newark edited by Whitney Strub

❤️ Tristan by Jesse Roman 🧡 How to Live Free in a Dangerous World by Shayla Lawson 💛 Daniel, Deconstructed by James Ramos 💚 Of Socialites & Prizefights by Arden Powell 💙 Lost Harbor by Kimberly Cooper Griffin 💜 Hannah Tate, Beyond Repair by Laura Piper Lee ❤️ Bunt! Striking Out on Financial Aid by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert 🧡 How You Get the Girl by Anita Kelly 💛 Blackmailer’s Delight by David Lawrence 💙 Tile M for Murder by Felicia Carparelli 💜 Impulse Buy by Jae 🌈 Live for You, Die With You by Kalob Dàniel

❤️ Fairest of All by A.D. Ellis 🧡 Goddess of the Sea by Britney Jackson 💛 A Taste of Earth by Nico Silver 💚 The Moorings of Mackerel Sky by M.Z. Emily Zack 💙 How the Boogeyman Became a Poet by Tony Keith 💜 V is for Valentine by Thomas Grant Bruso ❤️ Crushed Ice by Ashlyn Kane & Morgan James 🧡 When Tomorrow Comes by D. Jackson Leigh 💛 Bugsy & Other Stories by Rafael Frumkin 💙 The White and Blue Between Us by Kiyuhiko 💜 Guide Us Home by CF Frizzell & Jesse J. Thoma 🌈 The Friendship Study by Ruby Barrett

❤️ Infinity Alchemist by Kacen Callender 🧡 Heart2Heart edited by Annabeth Albert 💛 No Time Like Now by Naz Kutub 💚 Bless the Blood by Walela Nehanda 💙 Vengeance Planning for Amateurs by Lee Winter 💜 Who We Are in Real Life by Victoria Koops ❤️ Prove It by Stephanie Hoyt 🧡 Mewing by Chloe Spencer 💛 Awakenings by Claudie Arseneault 💙 Born of Scourge by S. Jean 💜 Disciples of Chaos by M.K. Lobb 🌈 To Cage a God by Elizabeth May

❤️ Greta & Valdin by Rebecca K Reilly 🧡 What Feasts At Night by T. Kingfisher 💛 You Had Me at Merlot by Melissa Brayden 💚 Turning Point by Cathy Dunnell 💙 For the Stolen Fates by Gwendolyn Clare 💜 Season of Eclipse by Terry Wolverton ❤️ These Haunted Hills by Jana Denardo 🧡 Samson & Domingo by Gume Laurel III 💛 Lies that Bind by Rae Knowles & April Yates 💙 We Got the Beat by Jenna Miller 💜 The Diablo's Curse by Gabe Cole Novoa 🌈 Blessings by Chukwuebuka Ibeh

❤️ Out There by Iris Eliot 🧡 At Her Service by Amy Spalding 💛 Green Dot by Madeleine Gray

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heckcareoxytwit · 1 month

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Mad Thinker and his assistant, Primus, spy on the New Warriors and the recruits who are minding their business.

Dagger was briefly recruited as a New Warrior for one-time and she's arguing with her partner Cloak until both of them leave in a huff. Neither Cloak nor Dagger are aware that they are watched by Mad Thinker and Primus disguised as a taxi.

Speedball and Rage are having their dinner and as they leave the cafe, they are spied on by Mad Thinker and Primus who took the form as a dog.

At the apartment, Alex Power's siblings are angry with him for taking their powers without their permission when he went off to fight Sphinx. Alex retorts that he is doing this to "protect" his younger siblings from further harm but none of them buy his claims. Primus who is disguised as Stimpy T-Shirt, is overhearing the argument from the Power Siblings and then, it reports back to its master.

Richard Rider and Nita are having their fun time in the bathroom, unaware that they are watched by Primus disguised as a rubber ducky. Once they leave the bathroom, Primus morphs itself into a creepy anthromorphic rubber duck and it reports to Mad Thinker about what it had heard from the couple.

At the Crashpad headquarters, the New Warriors are discussing with each other until they are interrupted by Mad Thinker who goes on his long-winded speech on TV about their progress and how much New Warriors have grown. After Mad Thinker and Primus leave, Silhouette and Bandit leave the New Warriors for personal reasons.

New Warriors v1 #51, 1994

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fuckyeahfightlock · 2 months

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Hi Poppy! How was your trip? :D

Ooh, lots of fun! It was hub's and my 25th wedding anniversary trip, the first trip we've taken, just the two of us, since our honeymoon. It was my husband's first trip outside N. America (my second; we're so adventurous).

Edinburgh was lovely as always and I got to visit (twice!) my favourite painting of Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus by Gavin Hamilton.

It's so much more beautiful in person, and I could talk about it all day. Just ask my Facebook friends, they'll tell you that's no lie.

"Enbra" was P A C K E D with tourists, shoulder to shoulder every damn where, but that's to be expected in summer. We took a day trip to Rosslyn Chapel (made famous in The Da Vinci Code, but that's not why we went), visited the National Gallery and the National Museum of Scotland (Dolly the cloned sheep is preserved there, and they have a very good Fashion gallery, including a few items by Alexander McQueen), and took a tour of a whisky distillery (with tasting!). I tried Irn Bru and Monster Munch, both for the first time. We went in Boots once, to get an emery board (my nails all decided to crack, peel, and become snaggly/scratchy for the duration of this trip, it was weird), and there was a DJ! Hilarious. Scottish people are lovely and kind, and no matter how fashionable/dressed up an Edinburgh woman is, she wears sensible shoes. I admire this immensely.

We spent a day in Melrose, Scotland, which is south of Edinburgh in what They call "the Borders" area of the UK. Melrose Abbey was impressive, we had lunch in a very British hotel restaurant (like the one in Fawlty Towers), and experienced how truly dog-mad Scotland is; we met about 60 local dogs and only about 40 local people. I swear you must get a dog with the key to yr flat, there. We also visited a small museum of Roman artifacts from the site of a nearby fort.

Spent one evening/overnight in Berwick-Upon-Tweed, the northernmost town in England--it was still light out at 10:15 when we left the restaurant where we ate dinner--which may be a name familiar to you if you are a fan of my fight!lock stories. Solely because it was a long journey by train from London, and sounded quaint, I sent John there to do some doctoring when he wasn't with Sherlock. Turns out it's the closest place to get a train to London, from Melrose.

London was London-y. We did all the things: the Tower of London, walked the south bank of the Thames, Big Ben/Parliament, stood at the fence of Buckingham Palace awaiting a guard change that never happened, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Borough Market, Camden Market/Camden High Street, V & A Museum, National Gallery.

A definite highlight was seeing Richard III performed by a fantastic all-female cast in Shakespeare's Globe theater. Absolutely recommend seeing Shakespeare at the Globe if you go to London; a completely unique experience.

The weather was H O T and if you ever needed proof that first world countries aren't coping quickly or well with climate change, just ride the London tube, or spend time in almost any indoor space in Britain. There is no air conditioning. It's no wonder heat waves have been killing Britons for the last few summers; the infrastructure is not set up to cope with the temperatures they're getting. We stood aside at one tube station to let cops and medics rush by us to attend to someone who had just been taken off a train and left on the platform (as signage instructs passengers to do) because of fainting from the heat.

There is no such thing as a cold drink in the UK! You can go into a shop and buy a can of Coke or sparkling water, and it is cool, but not cold. When servers heard our accents they would put two ice cubes in our glass at restaurants, but that's not enough. The only truly cold drinks I had there all ten days were gin & tonics, Aperol spritzes, and ciders. Alcohol comes iced; everything else--even the tap water!--just doesn't come cold. It was my only complaint.

Thanks for asking! Great to be home, of course, but it was a lovely ten days.

#personal #Ask #holiday in the UK #long post

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amaleu-antmat · 2 months

Text

The case files of Jeweler Richard vol 8 spoiler

Part 4

(Actually, this wasn't really a part I particularly liked, but the piece I like is right after and if you don't know what happens here you won't understand so I will write about this as well!)

The next day, Seigi goes to the market with Catherine, and after putting what they bought in the car, Seigi notice someone following them. While they are inside the moving car, a man with unkempt white hair crammed in a hunting cap, with overalls was running after them. Seigi tells Catherine that, and she looks behind and in the mirror but sees no one. Feeling strange they circle around again but don't see the old man.

Seigi "what was that?"

Catherine "Don't worry it happens sometimes. Rude people chasing after me. I'm just too beautiful"

Seigi tries to reassure her and say that if anything happens, he will deal with it, but Catherine says that she isn't worried.

Catherine acts as if the thing didn't affect her at all, but Seigi thinks about Richard in that moment, about how when he gets nervous, the rhythm of his speech and gesture would change slightly, and the places his gaze would settle on. He thinks that if the same goes for her, then she might be flustered right now and that she wouldn't like to let that show exactly like Richard. Seigi tactfully doesn't point that out. "Sorry, I just kind of got a feeling"

Catherine "You really are a kind boy, Seigi. Merci, Mon chevalier."

(Mother-son really are similar in many ways, even calling him their knight)

When they get back at the mansion, they find a note that said that Richard went to the library, Catherine tells him to not worry, and that he probably went by bike. As you will need a car to actually go to the place where you can rent a car....

Richard left a second note addressed to him in which he said that he finished searching the first floor for marbles, Seigi guesses that Richard made progress with the riddles and that his job now was to do the manual labor necessary to go about their daily lives. Catherine went to exercise her dragonfly acting or something she planned to show them. Seigi is thinking about preparing lamb for dinner, but since it was still early and he didn't know when Richard would be back, he went to the garden with a hand rake and ran in one of the rude neighbours, he think <maybe they came to invite for an aperitif again? Unfortunately, Catherine is busy at the moment>

Seigi "I'm sorry, the owner isn't available right now"

Rude woman "You paint walls?"

Seigi is shocked by the sudden question and doesn't understand for a moment, he thinks that they are struggling to communicate with each other again (they met again when buying things at the market, they were terribly rude and didn't even say hi to him 🙄)

Seigi asks again what does she wants, but she just reapeted again the question in French. Seigi got that she seemed to want him to paint some walls for her, though obviously didn't get why. <Why would she ask me that? Maybe she and her husband weren't native French speakers? > he wonders how to facilitate communication with them.

Rude woman "Can you come now? We'll pay you 30 euros an hour"

Seigi "Is it an emergency? I can help look up the number of a contractor for you"

The woman let out an annoyed-sounding groan. Seigi guesses that the important part was whether he'll come with her or not, but Seigi thinks he should ask Catherine first, so he goes back inside to call Catherine but she brushes him off and doesn't want to be disturbed, as he didn't know what to do he goes outside again and the neighbour ask him again a sudden question "Where do you live?"

"Me? Sri Lanka"

"Will you come for 40 euros? It won't take long"

Seigi grows even more confused and reason she might think of him as some kind of housekeeper? He thinks it's odd as how insistent she is on asking him to do menial labour, he try to think positively, like it will be a new experience...so why not? And goes with her. (It's in a moment like these, you can see how innocent he is....)

The woman came by car. They had a smaller villa with a pool. The couple exchanges some angry sounding shouts in a language he doesn't understand before the woman hands him a roller and a can of white paint. The man is painting blue the wall at the back.

Seigi "looks like a lot of work. Are you sure it wouldn't be better to hire some more people?"

Neighbour "You paint these walls"

Seigi "You mean the entire exterior?"

Neighbour "All of it"

He meant all the exterior walls, which was a huge area, Seigi knew that if you were to ask a professional, it wouldn't even be near 40 euros, let alone doing it in an hour. Seigi finally gets that they want to save money, he simply tell her that he'll do as much as he could but as he has other works to do at home, he'll leave after an hour.

Neighbour "Good" replies and goes back inside to help the husband. Seigi, in that moment, recalls how a friend told him that in an area he lives in where white rice grows during planting season, everyone would help as a group. He positively thinks about his situation as something similar to that and might become a funny story to tell at dinner later. He reason that painting isn't that hard as the windows were already taped, but he can't help but feel discouraged as it is really a huge area, once he finishes the first floor the woman come out with a stepladder to tell him to do the upper floor as well. It was 5 metres off the ground, and if he were to fall, he'd get seriously hurt as there was no safety line as well. But Seigi worries about this couple that were probably in their forties, so decide to do it himself. (He is too sweet for his own good...if it was me, I would've snapped already and told them to do it themselves, no I correct myself, I wouldn't even agree to paint walls)

Seigi thinks he already agreed to do the job and there is only 30 minutes left, so get on the ladder and start to paint but not long after he hears a squeak from the road, he sees Richard on the bike with sunglasses and striped shirt.

Richard already noticed him before Seigi could wave at him, he takes off his sunglasses and looked really shocked.

Seigi "Welcome back, I'm just helping out a bit and Catherine is in the house"

Richard "That's so dangerous! What are you doing up there?!"

Seigi can't explain from there, so start going down the ladder just as the woman comes out of the house.

Richard is furious, with anger Seigi never ever witnessed.

(The reason is now most obvious, but I'll continue in the next post heh heh angry Richard is always a beautiful Richard after all)

#housekishou richard #housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #nakata seigi #richard ranasinghe de vulpian #the case files of jeweler richard #jeweler richard

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years

Text

Half of Each of Us

Day 5: Breeding (Richard Muñoz x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen. The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW: Fluff (engagement); Smut (PiV, unprotected; breeding kink; talk of theoretical pregnancy). 18+ only.

Word Count: 2677

Requested by @isvvc-pvscvl!

It starts because Richard forgets to buy condoms.

He doesn’t remember until the two of you are in his bed, naked and panting for each other. He reaches into the nightstand and finds the empty box, and his heart absolutely sinks.

You let out a laugh that is only tinged with a bit of frustration. You shove at his shoulder playfully, and you laugh again at the pained groan he gives.

“I’m so sorry, hermosa,” he grumbles. “I’m an idiot.”

“Oh, you’re not.” You lean over and kiss him, and you’re both still overwrought, so he wraps an arm around your neck and tugs you down on top of him…

“Richard, we can’t.” You whine and it sounds so pretty, so laced with regret.

“I could pull out,” he replies, lifting his eyebrows hopefully.

“You know what they call people who pull out?” you ask, pushing away from him with a smile. “They call them parents.”

He laughs, and then his laughter dies off when you bend your head near his and whisper that there’s other things you can do for each other, and your comment doesn’t register until much later, when you’re both sated and drowsy in each other’s arms.

Would it be the worst thing, having a child together?

-----

The question bounces around Richard’s head for days. It bubbles to the top of his thoughts all the time: at work, in the car, when he’s walking his dog.

Would it be the worst thing, having a child together?

He never considered fatherhood before, but he also never considered the possibility of finding someone. It was a series of unlikely events: his dog breaking her leash and running into traffic, you jogging from the other direction. You saw the disaster about to unfold, sprinted into the street, and scooped his dog up in your arms like a superhero.

He was so shaken up, he forgot to be nervous. He repaid you by taking you out to dinner, and you both had such a good time, it turned into a second dinner. Then a coffee date, then a walk in the park. A series of lovely dates until he worked up the nerve to kiss you, and now here you are, a year later. You have a shelf in his bathroom, two drawers in his dresser, and he is eager for more.

He’s terrified to ask for more.

He wants it all: he wants you to move in. He wants to marry you. And yes, he’d love a child, would love to raise a child with you. But how can he ask? Even the thought makes his stomach churn in anxious terror.

-----

The two of you are walking his dog together: a leisurely stroll through a nearby park as his dog sniffs at the varied and interesting smells there. Your hand is warm in Richard’s, and every so often you give him a gentle squeeze that he finds reassuring.

When his dog starts to tire, you find a bench and sit down together, allow his dog to lie panting at your feet. It’s a beautiful day; it’s sunny but there’s a bite of winter on the wind, a cold thread that makes Richard shiver. It’s going to start getting darker, colder…usually the winter is a bleak time for him, but this winter, he has you.

You release his hand, but then you wind your arm through his. You scoot closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder, and he smiles at the touch. He turns and kisses the top of your head, enjoys the clean, faintly floral scent of you.

“Richard?” you ask, but you don’t lift your head.

“Yeah?”

“You know, if you are worried about asking me anything, you shouldn’t be.”

“What?” he asks, confused. Stupidly, his mind goes to the mundane: the coming conversation on what the two of you are going to do for dinner, the tame argument where you each end up compromising on the same taqueria around the corner.

You lift your head, but you don’t look at him. You gaze out across the landscape of the park when you say, “if you have anything you want to ask me, but you’re afraid to…I’m saying not to be afraid.”

“Hermosa, I don’t—”

“And if you think you need, like, a specific item to ask the question…I’m telling you not to worry about that either.”

It takes him a long beat to catch on, and his stomach does its usual twist. Richard thinks he might throw up. He has no idea how you’ve figured him out…

“I saw your internet search history.” You squeeze his arm, and now you glance at him. There’s a soft smile on your face. “You asked Google a million questions about it, but the one that stood out was ‘how can I tell my girlfriend will say yes if I propose.’”

“I didn’t mean—”

You squeeze his arm again. “I wasn’t snooping, I swear. I was trying to find that movie we had searched before, and the history just…revealed itself.” You turn on the bench and face him directly. “Richard, I would say yes. If you asked me. So don’t worry about it anymore, okay?”

He feels faint. He feels the edges of his vision wavering as he takes in what you’re telling him.

“Okay,” he replies, hoarse.

Your smile widens, and you nod at him. “And you were searching on…uh, jewelry. So, don’t worry about that either. Maybe…if you wanted to buy a specific piece of jewelry, that is something we could do together?”

“Okay,” he repeats.

-----

He manages to make it home with you, and the sick feeling fades. Just a little.

He still feels sick at heart. He ruined it. He should have been smarter, should have deleted his search history. Or he should have been smarter. Other men didn’t struggle like this, did they? Why didn’t he just know, why did he have to search for it…

“Okay, stop.” You stand in front of him right inside his door. You’re both still in your jackets, but you block him from going further into the house. You fix him with a studious look.

“You’re overthinking, aren’t you?” you ask. “You’re wallowing.”

“I should have done better, hermosa. I should have—”

“Okay then.” You shrug as if to yourself, and you add, “you leave me with no choice.”

He thinks you’re falling, his brain slow to catch your motion until you’re on one knee in front of him, grinning up at him, your closed hand extended.

“Richard Alonso Muñoz, will you do me the honor,” you start to say, but he realizes what you’re asking and cuts you off with an outraged squawk, and then you’re laughing as he tugs you to your feet, tugs you into his arms.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls. “I’m going to propose to you, not the other way around.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” You laugh at his indignation, and you hold out your hand, clasped into a loose fist. “I only had a leftover doggy biscuit in my pocket anyway. No big diamond for you, Muñoz.”

He laughs too, dispels the tension that only he was feeling. “I don’t want a big diamond.”

You reach up and cup his face, force him to look you in your eyes. “And neither do I, Richard.” You say it so seriously, so solemnly. “And know that I’ll say yes, so no more worrying. I mean it.”

He always wanted to do it grander: fireworks, champagne, dozens of roses, in front of the Eiffel Tower or on a beach at sunset. But you’re gazing at him so earnestly, his face held between your warm palms, and the question falls so easily from his lips.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, and you tear up, blink against the tears, and you tell him of course you will.

-----

It happens weeks later, when you finally have a ring on your finger. You spend the day together shopping for it, and you find one at an antique shop. It is an art deco ring, a small diamond flanked by sapphires, and it feels like fate because it fits your finger perfectly.

You celebrate at a nice restaurant that night. You in a dress, him in a nice suit. The lovely ring gleaming on your finger as you get tipsy on champagne, giggling as he loads you into the car and takes you home.

Giggling as he gets you to the bedroom and into bed after peeling you out of your clothing. You are flushed and warm with the champagne but not drunk, and as you lay on the bed waiting for him, Richard can’t miss the soft way you look at him. It always stills him, leaves him stunned that you could love him as much as he loves you.

When he joins you in bed, when he reaches for a condom in the nightstand, you still his arm and ask in a near-whisper, “would you like to not wear one tonight?”

He turns and gapes at you, expects you to be joking. But your face is earnest, and you nod at him encouragingly.

“I’ve never…not used one,” he admits.

“Me either. But we’re both clean, and we’ve both been together for a while now.”

“Yes, but…” The implication leaves him breathless, and the thought goes straight to his erection, makes him so hard he swears he can feel his heartbeat there. “You could get pregnant.”

“I could.”

Richard licks his lips. His mouth feels dry. “Is that something you want?”

“Is it something you want?” you counter.

“It’s not a deal-breaker for me,” he tells you, choosing his words carefully against the thoughts swimming through his head. “You’re my family now no matter what. But I’d…if it happened, I’d be happy.”

You reach out a hand and grasp his erection lightly, but the touch still makes him keen, makes his vision go double for a moment. You lead him to you, and he goes willingly, the condom long forgotten.

“So let’s just try it and see what happens,” you whisper, and Richard is powerless to resist. He wants you so badly, but the sudden thoughts—being inside you with nothing separating him from you, spilling inside of you…the possibility of it taking hold, of his child, yours and his, growing inside you…

The thought must affect you the same. You are so wet already, so slick and ready for him that when he slots himself between your spread thighs, when he nudges against your folds with the tip of his erection, he finds it so easy to slip inside of you.

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. Joined to you, bare, the silky warmth of you that he’s only felt through latex before. Every delicious flutter and pulsing against him. The way your arousal coats him.

You must feel the same way. You moan underneath him, your eyes flutte at what you’re feeling. “Oh, Richard,” you whisper, already ragged and half-way gone. “You feel so warm. I’ve never…never knew it’d be like this.”

Richard is always gentle in bed, but some feral, primal part of him takes hold. He’s still gentle, but he deals you firmer thrusts—slow and deep, burying himself to the hilt in your molten depths. As deep as he can, to give the best chance…

“I can picture you,” he pants against the side of your neck. “Your belly growing round with my baby. Our baby.”

You groan at his words, and he feels the warm wash of your arousal pulsing around him. You’re enjoying his words.

“Tell me more,” you beg. “Please, Rich—”

He’s never been very good at dirty talk. He never wants to call you mean words, even in the bedroom, but this is different. This is primal, it’s animalistic, but it’s still loving. It’s still the two of you creating a potential life….

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he says, and his voice takes on a deep growl he never thought possible. It hardly sounds like his voice at all, but you lift your hips to meet his thrusts when that voice appears. “Gonna b-breed you, mi amor. Fill you up over and over until it takes, until it takes hold and you are pregnant with my baby—”

“Might not work the first time,” you breathe out.

Richard shakes his head, nips at the side of your neck. “Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna keep you in this bed, keep you full of my cum until you’re swollen and round—”

His words are cut off by your orgasm, sudden and fierce with no warning. He thought it was heavenly, making love to you with a condom on, but this is so much more. Romantic but primal, and the connection is so much different with nothing between you. He can feel so much more of your orgasm: the slick arousal that makes it so easy to bury himself in you, the way your core ripples along him, pulls him deeper.

It makes sense, all of a sudden, that way your body pulls him deeper: it has to be some function of pulling his release deeper into you, of giving his seed the best possible chance of taking root…

The realization makes him come too, just as sudden. He doesn’t feel the usual signs; it’s as if his orgasm roars to life out of nowhere. One minute, he’s lost in the feeling of you, and the next minute, his own pleasure breaks around him, sharp and hot as he spills deep inside of you.

-----

Afterwards, when he pulls out and his release trickles out of you (and you give a little grumble at the sensation and the mess), he helps you clean up. He asks, half-seriously, if you want to tuck a pillow under your hips, but you laugh and tell him that’s just a thing people do on TV and it doesn’t really help, from what you’ve been told.

Afterwards, it’s so much better. He feels so much closer to you. A cliché, maybe, but he feels like you’re joined as one, even if you aren’t married quite yet. It isn’t just the lack of condom or the addition of the engagement ring on your finger. It’s just that these moments—like all moments with you, the intimate ones and the mundane ones alike—make Richard more and more certain that you’re his soulmate. And that he’s yours.

The two of you are curled up against each other, still naked. Richard realizes that not all of his release trickled out of you, that he’s marked you, and that makes him twitch at the thought, but he wills himself to behave.

“You know it probably won’t take,” you tell him after a while. “I think the timing is off.”

“I know.” He kisses your forehead and smiles against your head.

“Still fun to try.”

Richard hums in agreement.

“But it might not happen at all. Ever, I mean. My mom struggled, and I heard that my cousin—”

Richard shushes you, kisses you again, this time on your mouth, halting your words.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he replies, and now he’s staring at you, serious and cupping your face so you understand him.

“You’re my family,” he tells you again. “Me and you, that’s all the family I need.”

You smile at him. “I feel the same. I just wanted to warn you—”

“No.” He shakes his head, cuts you off again. “No warning. You’re my girl. You’re all I need. If we don’t have a baby, you are still all I need.”

Your smile turns tremulous at the corners of your mouth, and he knows you’re fighting tears again. “You’re all I need too, Richard.”

He pulls you to him, kisses you softly. “If it happens, it happens. And I’ll be happy because it would be half of each of us.”

“Half of each of us,” you reply. “I do like the sounds of that.”

#tropes-and-tales #tppkinktober2022 #richard alonso muñoz x reader #richard alonso munoz x reader #richard munoz #richard alonso munoz #richard alonso munoz imagine #The Letter Room

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coochiequeens · 3 months

Text

Another freak who the that the gender cult should be distancing themselves from. And everyone should be ensuring he's kept away from kids.

By Genevieve Gluck July 8, 2024

CONTENT NOTICE: This article contains graphic mention of child sexual abuse and child physical abuse. Reader discretion is appreciated.

Reduxx has learned that a Professor Emeritus at California State University and a top consultant to the world’s leading transgender health authority directly contributed to an erotic story featuring themes of the graphic mutilation and sexual slavery of children.

In 2022, Reduxx exposed a number of academics for their role in a disturbing website known as the Eunuch Archive, a long-standing forum which hosts nearly 10,000 “erotic” stories of an extreme sadomasochistic nature. In addition to hosting the fantasy material, a discussion forum exists to provide support and community to men who identify as “eunuchs,” and seek to be or are already castrated.

The investigation into the Eunuch Archive began after it was directly referenced in a document drafted by the World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH), an international body which sets the standards for transgender healthcare. In a draft of their Standards of Care 8, WPATH included a chapter on a “eunuch gender identity,” which it defined as men who “wish to eliminate masculine physical features, masculine genitals, or genital functioning.”

Mentioned as a source in the chapter was the Eunuch Archive and its collection of castration fantasy material.

Though members of the deranged forum attempted to remain anonymous, Reduxx was able to unmask some of the top contributors and administrators, learning that at least three of them were academics with direct ties to WPATH.

One, Richard J. Wassersug, has for over 20 years used the alias “Eunuchunique”on the forum. Wassersug was an Honorary professor in the Department of Cellular and Physiological Sciences at the University of British Columbia, but has also been affiliated with Dalhousie and La Trobe Universities.

Another, Krister H. Willette, who has been active in the community since 1998, uses the screen name “Kristoff.” While a third, and arguably the most well-regarded member of the forum, was revealed to be Thomas W. Johnson, a professor emeritus at California State University-Chico who has lectured extensively on gender dysphoria and “expanding the transgender umbrella.” Johnson utilized the moniker “Jesus” on the Eunuch Archive and registered with the forum in 2001.

While all three men have direct connections to WPATH and contributed to papers and conferences organized by the association, documents provided as evidence in an ongoing court case have recently revealed that Johnson, the chapter lead for WPATH’s “eunuch” update in the Standards of Care 8, had apparently attempted to suppress internal concerns about the promotion of a ‘eunuch gender identity’.

This revelation comes just as Reduxx has now obtained confirmation that Johnson was directly participating in ghostwriting disturbing fantasies about castrating boys under his anonymous screen name.

One notable example is a story titled “Larry,” which is prefaced as being an “original nightmare by Jesus.” The story is written in an imaginary future where the law allows any adult to “sell himself or herself, or any parent to sell a child over the age of 10.”

The story’s narrator is a pedophilic slave trader who buys “attractive” children from destitute mothers following the abolishment of government assistance. While employing heavily racist tropes, the narrator purchases the titular character, a 10-year-old Black child, from his impoverished mother.

The narrator boasts of buying many children, presumably primarily Black, from “the projects,” and suggests the mothers are single parents and drug addicts.

“I marveled at the social disintegration that had gone on in the Projects since the end of welfare and the explosion of drug addiction. I could see the mother planning what she could do with a little more drug money. At least ten year olds were almost always clean,” the story reads from the narrator’s perspective. “When someone brought in a twelve year old, I always had to worry about drugs. After all, getting them detoxed and healthy again for resale was time-consuming and expensive.”

Not even halfway into the story, the 10-year-old child is put in chains and iron restraints before being castrated without anesthetic.

An excerpt from “Larry.”

During a physical examination conducted by the narrator, the child is described as “even more beautiful without his clothes.” The narrator is later described as sharing a bed with the boy and “massaging his little genitals.”

Under his moniker, Johnson also encouraged site members to submit fantasies of castrating children in a dystopian setting wherein eugenics had become enforced by the government. The framework for the fictional world was drafted by a site member who called himself Erik, in a story titled “The Making of the Modern World.”

“Erik and I would both like to encourage readers to create additional stories for the Archive set in this future world. Erik would like first person accounts of boys becoming drones,” Johnson wrote as “Jesus.”

Within Erik’s “world,” an authoritarian government had passed The Eugenics Act, which “required the examination of all children, nation-wide, during their fourteenth year to determine whether or not they were fit to reproduce.” Children who are not deemed intelligent enough are “sterilized.”

But using his real name, Johnson has become known for his influence in the push to normalize “eunuch identities.” But his efforts have not been met without some resistance in the medical community, even amongst the WPATH members themselves.

Newly released internal records show that many WPATH members opposed the inclusion of the “eunuch” chapter in the most recent Standards of Care. The records were presented in the legal dispute Boe v. Marshall, taking place in the District Court of Alabama, which seeks to prohibit the medical ‘transitioning’ of minors.

Heavily redacted emails exchanged between WPATH members and an anonymized individual who claims to be the Eunuch chapter lead – a title held by Johnson – show many questioning the logic behind it.

“I struggle with the concept of ‘Eunuch as a gender identity’, but not with the concept of ‘Eunuch as an identity’; I can understand (I think) ‘someone who identifies as Eunuch and experiences gender dysphoria (or gender incongruence), but struggle with the concept of subsuming ‘Eunuch’ as an identity under TGD,” reads one of the emails, the author of which is unknown.

Another email shows an unnamed individual expressing confusion over two “controversial” chapters of the SOC-8, including the Eunuch category, which “makes no sense.”

“I would really appreciate a chat with you about this before I step up, because I am not letting this go for the sake of anyone other than following logic and reason,” the WPATH member states.

Yet another individual whose name has been redacted wrote in detail about “very serious misgivings” regarding the Eunuch recommendations, stating bluntly that the definition of a eunuch is “a man who has been castrated.”

The writer continues: “There is the creation of a new term, ‘male-to-eunuch gender dysphoria’, which does not exist in any diagnostic health classification system… The majority of published reference works in this Chapter stems from one single person, who – as far as I am aware of, is not a HP [health practitioner].”

“I have been working full-time as a trans health specialist… since 2007. Our Centre has approximately 3000 current patients and we receive in excess of [one] thousand new referrals per annum. I have NEVER met a patient who identified as Eunuch and consequently, I am extremely skeptical about the veracity of this Chapter.”

“As the chapter lead for the WPATH Standards of Care chapter on eunuchs, I was very surprised and disappointed by your very long set of comments about the chapter. Yours was one of the longest and the most negative,” reads the email.

The message goes on to defend the Eunuch chapter of the SOC-8 by citing research conducted among members of an anonymous sadomasochistic castration fetish forum. This research, the email’s author notes, were published by WPATH within the International Journal of Transgenderism.

The first paper, published in 2010, establishes “the development of standards of care for individuals with a male-to-eunuch gender identity disorder.” The second paper, dated 2016, calls for “recognition of gender variants outside the binary in WPATH Standards of Care.”

However, despite the stated objections shared internally, the Eunuch chapter was included in the final version of the SOC-8.

Additionally, when WPATH released the SOC-8 in September 2022, the guidelines had done away with specific age restrictions on medical ‘transitioning’ entirely, and reduced the age at which youth could potentially receive “puberty-blocking” drugs, cross-sex hormones, and surgeries.

#usa #California State University #Eunuch archives #World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH)#eunuch gender identity #Richard J. Wassersug is Eunuchunique #Men recognize that an economicly secure woman is better able to protect her kids from exploitation #The TQ+ and racism #male-to-eunuch gender dysphoria’#Gender identities and exposure to pornographic materials

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