#which common and not as prohibited/warned against

[florallylly]

modern au steve harrington would vape.

#it's true #we both hide in the bathroom #i've seen it with my own eyes #steve harrington #i think he'd choose a really dumb flavor like matcha #when i tell you that some of my friends' favorite is MUNG BEAN ICE.... #this is not advocating for vaping #just that he literally smokes cigarettes #which common and not as prohibited/warned against #but face it... he would vape

[otherkinnews]

Republicans introduce a 7th anti-furry bill and work to undermine student freedoms on a wider scale

(This blog post was written by Orion Scribner and N. Noel Sol, originally posted on February 18, 2024 to the Otherkin News Dreamwidth, at this link.)

Content warnings: Rated G. An urban legend that describes an unsanitary situation. Sexism against transgender people, including attempts to prevent them from participating in sports and using facilities like everyone else, and attempts to stop them from transitioning.

Summary: In 2023, Republicans began to propose laws (bills) in the US that would be against people who identify as animals. They base these on an urban legend that says schools provide litter boxes for students who identify as animals. Republicans made up that legend in parody of transgender students asking to use school restrooms (Scribner and Sol, 2024). The newest of these bills is Missouri House Bill 3678 (MO HB 2678). It’s the third such bill in 2024, bringing the historic total of these bills up to seven. This bill was written as part of a Republican effort to undermine public schools (which can’t ban transgender students from using the right restrooms, and students have First Amendment rights) in favor of religious charter schools (where students aren’t protected in those ways). The following blog post is a seven minute read.

What the Missouri bill says

Missouri House Bill 3678 (MO HB 2678) has the title “Prohibits students from engaging in ‘furry’ behavior while at school.” You can read this bill and see the latest actions on its official site, the Missouri House of Representatives, or on a third-party legislation tracking site, LegiScan. This bill was introduced this week, on February 13th, and read a second time on the 14th. It would add a law into the Revised Statutes of Missouri (RSMo). It would go in the part of the state laws about education, in Chapter 167, titled “Pupils and Special Services.” It would say:

“A student who purports to be an imaginary animal or animal species or who engages in anthropomorphic behavior consistent with the common designation of a ‘furry’ while at school shall not be allowed to participate in school curriculum or activities. The parent or guardian of a student in violation of this section shall remove the student from the school for the remainder of the school day.”

The same as the other bills like it, this bill is based on an urban legend, not on anything that was done in real life by students, furries, and/or people who identify as animals (McKinney, 2022a). This bill's wording looks like it was based on a bill from another state, Oklahoma House Bill 3084 (OK HB 3084), or its predecessor last year, Oklahoma Senate Bill 943 (OK SB 943). It shares their inaccuracies: though there are real people who identify as animals, surveys show that most furries don’t, and the dictionary definition of the word “anthropomorphic” means resembling a human, not resembling an animal (Scribner and Sol, 2024).

Who wrote the bill, and what is its context with that author’s other motivations?

The Missouri bill’s only sponsor (writer) is Cheri Toalson Reisch (she/her). She is a Missouri Republican who has supported anti-transgender bills in the past. One of those is MO SB 39, which would ban transgender students from participating in their gender’s sports division (both in private and public schools, up to and including in colleges and universities). Another one is MO SB 49. It would bar minors from accessing gender transition related surgeries or medications, removes adult coverage of hormone replacement therapy and any gender-affirming or transitioning surgeries from the Missouri Medicaid program, and denies prisoners and inmates access to any surgeries related to gender transitioning. She described both these bills as a “great move in the right direction,” and has been vocally critical that they were not harsher (Central MO Info, 2023).

Reisch is familiar with the urban legend started by conservatives of students using litter boxes in school bathrooms. She has posted about it on Facebook, telling her constituents that it is actively happening in Missouri and accusing the Columbia school district of taking part in it, stating “This is happening in Columbia Public Schools also. Yes, the janitor has to clean the litter box” (McKinney, 2022a). That's never happened. Schools say they have not been providing litter boxes to students in this way, and even deny that they have had any students identifying or behaving as animals, according to reliable fact checking resources (Reuters, 2022; Palma, Snopes, 2023).

Reisch has a history of being especially critical of the Columbia school district, which is one of the largest and most successful school districts in the state (McKinney, 2022b). She’s used this urban legend to attack the district’s legitimacy. This may be because Reisch prioritizes independently-run charter schools over standard public schools. Earlier this year, she sponsored MO HB 1941, which would allow for charter schools to operate within the Columbia school district without the district’s sponsorship.

Why are Republicans criticizing public schools and favoring charter schools?

In the US, the normal types of schools for children up to about age 18 are called public schools. Families don’t have to pay for their children to attend them. They represent the ideal that everyone growing up in the country should have equal access to school, regardless of income, class, race, religion, or ability. Because public schools are government establishments, the US Constitution protects the students’ rights there. The First Amendment of the Constitution protects the freedom of speech and religion of everyone, and that’s for students in public schools, too. In the landmark 1969 case Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Community School District, students sued because they had gotten suspended for wearing black armbands to protest the Vietnam War. The Supreme Court decided that it would be as tyrannical to prevent students from expressing political opinions within public schools as it would be in any other government establishments. The Court said students don’t “shed their constitutional rights to freedom of speech or expression at the schoolhouse gate.” In 1948, McCollum v. Board of Education had decided that public schools can’t give religious instruction during the school day. In 1962, Engel v. Vitale decided they can’t make students pray (Pew Research Center, 2019). Public school dress codes often aren’t as fair as they should be, but for the most part, their students can wear what they want and what their parents allow.

In contrast, what are known as charter schools in the US are privately owned, so they’re allowed to have requirements or education goals which would be considered a violation of the First Amendment. Some of them have religious affiliations and may be owned or operated by religious organizations. This can affect the way the school is run. For example, Oklahoma charter St. Isidore of Seville Catholic Virtual School has planned Catholic religious instruction classes, and the school’s active and intentional participation in what it refers to as “the evangelizing mission of the Church” (Fitzpatrick, 2023). Charter school dress codes can be much more strict. They are often segregated by gender stereotypes, forcing girls to wear skirts and boys trousers, no exceptions. This has been challenged in some places against specific schools, such as in North Carolina earlier this year in a lawsuit against the Charter Day School Inc (Chung, 2023). These challenges are the outlier and not the norm, however; gender-segregated dress codes are still a very common practice for charter schools overall. Charter schools also require applications and choose students based on random lottery systems. However, studies find that charter schools are more likely to ignore parents inquiring about the enrollment process if the student has a disability or other special needs (Darville, 2018). Unlike public schools, they don’t welcome everyone.

The freedom of expression in public schools is important for transgender students. In 2020, the case ​​G.G. v. Gloucester County School Board decided in favor of transgender-friendly restroom policies in high schools. This precedent helps protect transgender students’ rights in public schools, but doesn’t apply to charter schools. During the course of the case, the Conservative Legal Defense and Education Fund told the Court why to decide against transgender rights. In an effort to invalidate transgender people, the Fund compared transgender people to otherkin. The Fund used the word “otherkin,” and described them at length, mostly accurately but derisively (Brief Amicus Curiae, 2017, G.G. v. Gloucester Cty Sch Bd). This case was part of what inspired the Republicans to later make up the litter box urban legend. We don’t know if that particular brief inspired the legend too.

Republicans may be promoting charter schools because this would give them greater control over impressing their views about gender, religion, and politics on young generations. They may be undermining public schools because the separation of church and state limits their power to do so there. The urban legend and these bills are part of that.

Background about all of the furry bills and the urban legend that inspired them

To learn about this year’s first two anti-furry bills, read our post about them from last week (Scribner and Sol, 2024). That post also summarizes the four anti-furry bills last year, and the litter box urban legend. For further information about those aspects, you can watch our lecture about last year’s bills and what you do about bad bills (Chimeras, Scribner, and Shepard, 2023), and watch Chimeras’s lecture about the litter box urban legend (Chimeras, 2022).

What happens next with Reisch’s anti-furry bill?

The bill is at 25% progression toward becoming a law. The House heard the bill twice, but it hasn’t been voted on. At the time that we write this blog post, they haven’t scheduled the bill’s next hearing.

About the writers of this blog post

We are Orion Scribner (they/them) and N. Noel Sol (she/they), a couple of dragons. We never write articles with the assistance of procedural generation or so-called artificial intelligence (AI), and that type of content isn’t allowed on Otherkin News.

References

“Brief Amicus Curiae of Public Advocate of the United States, U.S. Justice Foundation, and Conservative Legal Defense and Education Fund in Support of Petitioner.” Gloucester County School Bd. v. G. G. ex rel. Grimm, No. 16-273, 2017 WL 192454 (Jan. 10, 2017). http://files.eqcf.org/cases/16-273-amicus-brief-public-advocate-et-al/

Central MO Info (May 19, 2023). “Representative Toalson Reisch Disappointed in Senate’s Version of Trans Bills.” Central MO Info. https://www.centralmoinfo.com/representative-toalson-reisch-disappointed-in-senates-version-of-trans-bills/

Chung, Andrew (June 26, 2024). “US Supreme Court turns away case on charter school's mandatory skirts for girls.” Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/legal/us-supreme-court-turns-away-case-charter-schools-mandatory-skirts-girls-2023-06-26

Darville, Sarah (Dec. 21, 2018). “Want a charter school application? If your child has a disability, your questions more likely to be ignored, study finds.” Chalkbeat. https://www.chalkbeat.org/2018/12/21/21106398/want-a-charter-school-application-if-your-child-has-a-disability-your-questions-more-likely-to-be-ig/

Engel v. Vitale, 370 U.S. 421 (1962). https://caselaw.findlaw.com/court/us-supreme-court/370/421.html

Fitzpatrick, Cara (Sept. 9, 2023). “The Charter-School Movement’s New Divide.” The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2023/09/charter-schools-religion-public-secular/675293/

G.G. v. Gloucester County School Board. 972 F.3d 586 (4th Cir. 2020). https://casetext.com/case/grimm-v-gloucester-cnty-sch-bd-8

House of Chimeras (Aug. 12, 2022). "Litter Boxes in School Bathrooms: Dissecting the Alt-Right’s Current Moral Panic." OtherCon. https://youtu.be/WVjXOmN2IlU

House of Chimeras, Orion Scribner, and Page Shepard (2023). “Litter Box Hoax 2: Legislature Boogaloo.” OtherCon 2023. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsXy_ctC4Jc&t=1425s

Legiscan. MO HB 2678. https://legiscan.com/MO/bill/HB2678/2024

Legiscan. MO HB 1941. https://legiscan.com/MO/bill/HB1941/2024

Mccollum v. Board Of Education, 333 U.S. 203 (1948). https://caselaw.findlaw.com/court/us-supreme-court/333/203.html

McKinney, Rodger (Aug. 25, 2022). “State Rep. Cheri Reisch criticized for 'unwarranted' claim that CPS students use litterboxes.” Columbia Daily Tribune. https://www.columbiatribune.com/story/news/politics/elections/local/2022/08/25/state-rep-cheri-reisch-criticized-for-unwarranted-claim-that-cps-columbia-students-use-litterboxes/7895082001/

McKinney, Rodger (Feb. 6, 2022). “State Rep. Cheri Reisch states 'Columbia sucks' when referring to public schools in education hearing” Columbia Daily Tribune. https://www.columbiatribune.com/story/news/education/2022/02/06/cheri-reisch-states-columbia-sucks-when-referring-to-cps-in-education-hearing-mo-leg-basye/6662719001/

Missouri House of Representatives. MO HB 2678. https://house.mo.gov/Bill.aspx?bill=HB2678&year=2024&code=R

Missouri Senate. MO SB 49. https://www.senate.mo.gov/23info/BTS_Web/Bill.aspx?SessionType=R&BillID=44407

Missouri Senate. MO SB 39. https://senate.mo.gov/23info/BTS_Web/Bill.aspx?SessionType=R&BillID=44496

Palma, Bethania. (January 30, 2023). “How Furries Got Swept Up in Anti-Trans 'Litter Box' Rumors.” Snopes. https://www.snopes.com/news/2023/01/30/how-furries-got-swept-up-in-anti-trans-litter-box-rumors/ Archived on March 30, 2023. https://web.archive.org/web/20230330232007/https://www.snopes.com/news/2023/01/30/how-furries-got-swept-up-in-anti-trans-litter-box-rumors/

Pew Research Center (Oct. 3, 2019). “Religion in the Public Schools.” https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2019/10/03/religion-in-the-public-schools-2019-update/

Reuters Fact Check (October 18, 2022). “Fact Check-No evidence of schools accommodating ‘furries’ with litter boxes.” https://www.reuters.com/article/factcheck-furries-rogan-litterbox-idUSL1N31J1KT Archived February 13, 2023. https://web.archive.org/web/20230213110524/https://www.reuters.com/article/factcheck-furries-rogan-litterbox-idUSL1N31J1KT

Scribner, Orion, and N. Noel Sol (Feb. 9, 2024). “Will Oklahoma Call Animal Control on Students?” Otherkin News. https://otherkinnews.dreamwidth.org/92680.html Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Community School District, 393 U.S. 503 (1969). https://openjurist.org/393/us/503

#furry #otherkin #nonhuman #alterhuman #OK HB 3084 #urban legend #fact check #Missouri #long post #otherkin news #transphobia #rated G #MO HB 2678 #screen reader friendly #unsanitary

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The Hermit (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: There is a blonde kinslayer in your bathroom. He appears to be your soulmate. It's worrying.

Warnings: It's Aemond. Sexual thoughts, mature language, canon character death. Yes! I killed Luke again.

A/N: Halloween celebration. Part 1 here.

There is something to be said about women with shrill voices. Perhaps, if Aegon were here, he would know the perfect jest to make. Not Aemond, though. Aemond only manages to groan and rest his forehead against the cool and humid surface underneath him.

“Who the hell are you?” The woman shrieks. Aemond is not sure exactly where he is, or how he got here, but it doesn't mean he will tolerate disrespect. He turns on his side and starts to get up. His head pounds more than it does on his bad days, when the migraines will start like icicles stabbing at his eye.

The woman is scantily clad, body wrapped in a towel that leaves little to the imagination. With how little modesty she displays, and those terrible manners, she can be nothing but a commoner.

Aemond tries hard to not stare. He is not like Aegon, panting like a dog after a pretty maid. All the thoughts of your beauty must be put aside, no matter how arousing the sight of your naked, soft body is to him.

“How dare you, peasant.” Aemond says, getting into a crouching position before standing. The floor feels slippery under his boots, which reminds him of Cole's teachings. A good swordsman must always be aware of his surroundings. Notice the ground under his feet, the enemies around and the allies near.

He is not sure what you are, enemy or ally. By the smell and looks of it, he seems to be in a bathing room. Your features are half drowned in darkness, the candlelight illuminating just the barest hint of scared eyes and a quirky mouth. You don't look like an enemy, but nor do you look familiar.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen.” You blink at him. Then, you blink some more. You offer your name in response, still a bit dazed. It's not one he recognizes, but at least, your shrieking has stopped.

“There was something in the bath.” You say, voice shaky. You do not seem to acknowledge his rank, which starts to irk him a bit. “I was drugged, and now I am hallucinating.”

Ah. Well, that's a bit more like it. If you say it figuratively, of course. If you are so impressed by him you think you are hallucinating, Aemond can forgive for it. He had heard tales of how much Targaryens impressed the common folk. It was not your fault that you were so impressed by royalty.

You step around him and grab your clothes. Aemond cannot help but admire the smooth expanse of your back, and how gracefully your shoulders flex and move when you pull a shirt over your head. It's an odd garment, probably made of linen, but in a loud color.

That thought makes him wonder if you are truly a peasant. Dye is expensive, and especially in the amounts needed to achieve such a garish color.

“That's not very proper.” He comments, as he watches the towel drop from your body. The faith of the Seven prohibits men and women watching each other in such a manner. But Aemond is unable to avert his eyes from the sight of you changing. The low light contributes to preserving your modesty and making him feel less guilty about looking at you in such a manner. His breath hitches at each new piece of you unveiled, from the soft curve of your breast, to the way your stomach moves when you bend.

“You sound so real.” You marvel, turning back to face him. You have managed to put on the shirt, which barely covers your thighs. Aemond wonders whose garment it is. A lover's, perhaps? Or a husband's? The thought angers him like no other, hands fisting by his side. The idea of another man having you does not sit right with him.

“I am real.” He is a tad offended. If this is someone's hallucination, it is his. Aemond cannot fathom a reason why he would be here, in such a strange bathing room and with an unknown woman. The idea of this being a dream has some merit.

One second he had been fuming in his room after making a particularly nasty toast to his nephews, the next he had appeared here. He must have fallen asleep over his desk. It would not be the first time.

“No, you are not. You are a figment of my imagination.” You reply, almost echoing his thoughts. Aemond fails at fully suppressing his amusement, the corners of his lips barely twitching upwards.

“Am I? I would think, if life was no more than a fantasy, it would not be one of someone as unimportant as you.” The concept is one he is familiar with. His long studies of philosophy have made him realize there is much he doesn't know about the world. The topic of differentiating reality from fantasy and the lack of a free will was one he was well acquainted with.

After the loss of his eye, Aemond had found little solace in the Faith, despite fulfilling his duties as a devout Prince. He often wondered if fate existed, and if that moment had been planted by the Gods to allow him to serve a purpose he had not yet discovered. There could be free will, everyone writing their destinies. Perhaps, nothing existed at all.

He didn't like pondering on that too much, though. It would make existence meaningless.

“Rude.” You mutter, hands going to your hips and making the horrible shirt you are wearing tense delightfully around your figure. “So the figment of my imagination has read Calderón de la Barca.”

Aemond blushes slightly. He has not read Calderón de la Barca. He prides himself on being well-read, but this particular author he had never heard of. It's interesting, though. If you know of an author Aemond doesn't know, it means that not only do you know how to read but that you are also highly educated.

Why? He wonders. What is so special about you, and your little peasant ways, to merit being more educated than a Prince?

“I do not know what Calderón de la Barca is, peasant.” He explains, feeling a tad embarrassed over the whole affair. Studying is his thing, after all. Aemond takes pride in excelling at all sorts of princely traits, and being well-read is one of the most important of them all. “But I am an avid reader.”

“My name is not peasant.” You give him an angry little huff, and step outside the bathing room. Aemond follows you. He figures, if he is in a strange place, it might be best to stick near. This feels too real to be a dream.

“I never said it was.” It comes out stunned. He can't help it, too busy staring at his surroundings. Now out of the bathing room, Aemond realizes this place must be your chambers. There is a love seat, some padded chairs, and even a small dining area. Odd appliances clutter the entire place, like a strange gray box that almost looks like an upright coffin and a black and sleek rectangle over a table. He is either dreaming, or in a foreign place.

He sticks very closely to you. You walk towards the door, grabbing some strange keys from a tray. They look much smaller and shiny than what Aemond is used to.

“Should I drive?” You muse aloud. The question is clearly not meant for him, since he has no clue what you mean. “No, best not. I need help. I doubt that's safe.” You put the keys down and yet again, open another door.

Aemond is starting to marvel at the sheer amount of space your chambers have. This is rather uncommon for a peasant. That, combined with your education, must mean you are something more. A courtesan, perhaps? One of the expensive ones, like in the Free Cities. Not something so crass as the dancer his Uncle had kept, though.

You step outside, Aemond still following. At that, you scowl.

“Of course he follows, he is a hallucination.” You mutter, and Aemond cannot help but laugh a little. It seems you have yet to let go of that particular theory. The two of you step into a hallway of some sort, where numbered doors stand. You knock on one of them, still in your flimsy clothing. Now that he realizes you are about to see someone else, he has the strange impulse of covering you up.

“Here.” Aemond says, taking off his outer layer and wrapping it around your shoulders. “You are too undressed.”

Another woman, much older and dressed in even stranger clothing, opens the door.

“Oh, dear. Have you locked yourself out again?” She says, before you even get a chance to speak. She ducks back inside her chambers and appears again with a key and a handful of brightly colored papers.

“No, I… I think…” You start saying, but the woman ignores you and turns towards him. She clearly senses his importance or recognizes him.

“Here.” The woman says, thrusting the bright papers that seem to have something tiny inside, in Aemond's hands. Some sort of tribute? Aemond has seen how the commoners shower Helaena and his mother in flowers when they get the chance to see them. “These were meant for the children, earlier, but your costume is very nice. You are dressed as the guy from that series, aren't you? My granddaughter is all over him.”

Aemond gapes. He is not sure if he has ever heard a sentence as nonsensical as that, and he speaks with Helaena daily.

“You can see him?” You ask, sounding alarmed. You step backwards, nearly colliding with him. Aemond takes the chance to grab you by the waist. He is starting to get the feeling something is very wrong. Costume? Series? What in the Seven Hells is going on?

One thing is clear. He is not letting you leave him alone now.

“Of course I can.” The older woman says, turning towards you with a worried frown. “Are you alright?”

Your face crumbles. Aemond squeezes your waist. He hopes you get the unspoken signal.

“She is.” Aemond quickly says. He has never been good at lying, dammit. “She is going as that… “

“Oh, the one in the movie.” The woman says. Aemond is not sure about what a movie is, but it seems to make sense to her, even if she is embarrassed by it. Perhaps, she doesn't know what movie he is referring to, and frankly, neither does he, but does not want to embarrass you.

Aemond lets the woman open your chambers' door with her key, keeping you in place with a tight grip. You squeak a bit, but otherwise remain quiet, too shocked by your realization. It helps that his arm on your waist squeezes harder each time you are about to spout some more nonsense.

“Am I dreaming?” You ask him, when he gently leads you back inside. You are shivering a bit, either from the shock or the cold. Aemond looks at you, barelegged and barefooted, and frowns.

“I understand your occupation must have ridden you of your modesty, but it does not make you immune from the cold.” He says, in a disapproving tone.

“My occupation?” You echo. Your eyes narrow. Aemond coughs, awkwardly.

“You know.” Suddenly, the artwork displayed on your walls is very intriguing. It's a very well achieved rendition of the countryside. He wonders who painted it. They must be talented.

“I do not know.” Your voice is firm. Aemond wishes you didn't make him say it. “This is bizarre enough as it is. Tell me.”

“That's not a way of speaking to a Prince.” He barks because he might find you fascinating, but you are getting ahead of yourself. Aemond is not about to tolerate being disrespected, not even from a pretty face. “A courtesan such as yourself should know better.”

You make a wheezing sound, as if you are being strangled. It's rather attractive.

“I am no courtesan!”

“To me, you look like one. These chambers are filled with rare artifacts and instruments.” Aemond walks towards the strange love seat you own and sits on it. The seat is much more plush than what he is used to, but to his disappointment, not made of real leather.

“So?” You arch an eyebrow and go sit in one of your chairs. His cloak parts slightly as you draw your knees up, allowing him to see the bare skin your shirt does little to conceal.

You level him with a strange look. Your head is tilted to the side, as if curious, but your eyes seem wary yet.

“You are pretty and lack modesty.” Aemond watches right back. It's evident many powerful men would offer just anything to have a night with you. Ever since that incident when he was thirteen, he has avoided whores. Courtesans, though, are something he could be interested in. Taught in the arts of conversation, they served as companions as much as bed warmers. It would not be strange if he were to become your patron. “And are oddly cultured.”

“Because this is not Westeros.” You yawn. Your eyes are exhausted. Aemond is not sure of the hour, but he finds commendable the fact that your chambers are so well lit, without a fireplace in sight. The thought distracts him from the fact that you are not a courtesan, and he will be unable to have you as he had hoped for.

“I had supposed I was far from home. But that far?” He asks you.

“That far.” You smile at him. It does not reach your eyes, expression troubled. “So we both abandoned the theory of this being a dream.”

Aemond hums, thoughtfully. Then, another thought occurs to him.

“There were many candles in your bathing room, and it smelled like herbs. Are you a witch?” A witch could also be hired. Useful, too.

“No. But I knew one.” Your smile turns a little strained. Aemond frowns. No witch, no courtesan, then what? Just peasant? You look too unique to be part of the common folk. Not to say, too healthy and clean.

A witch. You had hired a witch, and a good one, considering Aemond was here. That was not commoner's behavior. They were too fearful of the Faith of the Seven to do so. Besides, it was expensive.

“And this witch of yours, she brought me here? For what purpose?”

“She is not my witch.” You answer, before hesitating. Your lips move, but it takes a while before you make any sort of sound. “And the ritual, it was not to bring you. It went wrong.”

“Wrong?” He tries prompting you, but you only scowl at him. “Answer me. Answer your Prince.”

“You are not my Prince.” You say, resentfully. Aemond had not thought he would like his women a little defiant, but he is quickly figuring that a little fire can be nice. He wonders if you are that assertive in bed, too, and cannot help but smirk. That must be why his uncle loves mouthiness. “It was supposed to bring love into my life.”

“That's interesting.” That makes Aemond peer up. He looks you over, with new interest. While a bit too immodest for his liking, you are pretty and educated. You would make a good wife, once he taught you proper behavior. Your lack of good breeding, though, that was an issue. “You are bright. And gorgeous, too.”

“Thank you?” You ask him. Aemond beckons you over with a gesture, curious to see if you obey.

You get up from your seat and walk towards him. You stand in front of him, hands twitching and rumpling the fabric of his cloak. Nervous, Aemond thinks, and smiles a little. You are a twitchy thing. It makes him feel better about his nerves when faced with such a pretty woman.

“Do you think, perhaps, your witch mended the bridge between us?” Boldly, his hand goes to your waist once again. You do not fight his grip. Instead, you lean into it. Aemond brushes his thumb softly near your ribs, making you shiver.

He understands now why Aegon likes women so much. Your body is soft, and you go pliant in the most delicious way. You don't feel threatening, either, like the whores at that godawful brothel. Aemond is clearly the one in control, and he delights in it.

“Bridge?” You say, swaying a little. It might be the exhaustion he detected in you earlier, or you might be made weak by his touch. Aemond finds it interesting regardless.

“The distance. If you are meant for me…” He doesn't finish the thought, but he caresses your waist again, this time moving possessively to your hip. You are so soft, wearing his cloak and smelling of him. So vulnerable and small, despite how smart you are. How could you not be meant for him?

“Dubious.” You frown, and Aemond does not like that answer, so he jerks you slightly forward. You stumble into him, between his spread legs. “Hey!”

Aemond ignores your protest, pulling you in until he has you nearly on his lap. You struggle, but quickly fold, letting him do as he pleases. He wonders if you would let him pull you until you are sitting on his thigh, but does not dare try.

“This is not normal, in my world.” It's far-fetched, even in a world with dragons. Aemond knows magic exists, but he has never seen such a powerful display. A spell so powerful to bring him to another world, just using herbs and candles? It sounds unbelievable. He has always been a rational man, a calculating one. But there is something in his gut telling him that you speak truth.

“I realize.” You place a hand on his shoulder, steadying yourself. This time, he does pull you to sit on his lap. If Aemond were not paying so much attention to your face, he would miss it. This close, though, he notices how your eyes flutter closed in delight at the touch. It only lasts a brief moment, but Aemond can tell how much you like it.

He wonders if you are like him. Lonely and unused to touching another for the sheer pleasure of it all. He feels strange. Never before has Aemond felt such a strong urge to touch a woman, much less one he barely knows. Yet, there is something about you that makes him feel like throwing rationality out of the window.

The smell of your hair is intoxicating. He can't help himself, he has to take a deep breath of it. Gods, you smell good enough to eat.

“Do you think we were destined to meet?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Aemond knows he has ruined it. Your body tenses up, and you nearly fall off his lap. He wraps his arm around your waist, but you jerk away.

“I have to show you something.” You say, getting up. Whatever it is, it makes you uncomfortable. It's all over the tense line of your shoulders, the furrow of your eyebrows.

You take a small artifact from one of your many tables. It's a slim rectangle that lights up when you touch it. Your thumbs press it at an alarming speed. Noise starts pouring out of it, voices and music.

“… AT JUST 9 DOLLARS AND 99 CENTS…”

Aemond scrambles back on your love seat, scared by the sudden onslaught on his senses. You do not seem worried, though, merely making an annoyed face.

“Here.” You say, as you do something with your artifact and turn it to face him. It displays a storm. Aemond pays close attention to it, fascinated by the fact you seem to own a pocket sized window.

Then, he sees something he recognizes. It's Vhagar's body, she is flying somewhere. His eyes leave the artifact to meet yours in disbelief. You purse your lips and gesture for him to keep looking. Your face is oddly anxious, and your hands keep squeezing his cloak.

Aemond focus back on the device. He sees himself, chasing his nephew. He sees Vhagar opening her mouth and… Aemond throws your artifact against the wall, getting up in a hurry. He is filled with rage, stalking towards you.

You move back, as if sensing the danger in the room. Aemond grasps you by the arm, his grip so punishing your skin goes white under it.

“What sorcery is this?” He snarls, towering over you. You look at him, all big innocent eyes, and it only angers him more. “Huh? What is this, you wench?” Aemond throws you to the love seat, making you fall into it with a yelp.

“It's… I…” You hesitate.

“Answer my question!” He barks at you, making you flinch. You hug your knees to your chest, making yourself smaller. He regrets handling you so roughly immediately, and tries to smooth you over, running his hands over your arms. You slap his hands away.

“Your future.” You finally speak, face dropping into a sad frown. Your voice is barely a whisper. “It's your future.”

Upon hearing it, Aemond feels like he is losing his mind. He has always known his anger is destructive, but had never truly grasped the bounds of it. His mouth hangs open.

Turning into a kinslayer is turning into the most accursed man in Westeros. Killing his own blood is a crime that not even the most dishonorable common criminal would dare to attempt. It is something only the truly wretched are capable of.

For someone so smart, Aemond can surely be foolish. How could he let himself be blinded by his anger so? His hate for Lucerys might be strong, but he can't believe he had lost control of Vhagar in such a manner.

By the Seven. What would it mean, for his family, if he did this? War, surely. His mother would never hand him over to the justice Rhaenyra would surely demand, and that refusal would cost them their lives. That, in turn, would cause a war.

A war. Hm. Was it really that wrong, though? There would be a war anyway, once his father passed. There was no way that Rhaenyra was going to take the throne without a fight. Aegon was a much better option to rule the Seven Kingdoms, if only by the fact he was a man.

Women were not made to rule. Just look at you. No matter how smart and educated, you had been reduced to a frightened, quivering little thing after getting screamed at. What prevented from the same being done to Rhaenyra? His uncle had an even worse temper than him, he probably decimated his wife daily. It would be him who truly ruled. And no matter how skilled a swordsman, Daemon was not fit to be King.

“I killed him?” Aemond asks you, eerily calm. His tone is even. It feels as if the words are coming from someone's else mouth.

You shrink more into your seat.

“You did.” You say, quiet as a mouse.

Aemond could not help but feel the smallest satisfaction over it. Lucerys had it coming. He had ruined Aemond's life, after all. And not only had he taken his eye, but he was also a bastard. Bastards were put to the sword, everyone knew that. Aemond had just accelerated the inevitable.

It had been a matter of time. Truly. His lips curl into a smirk.

“Good.” He answers, with a viciousness that surprises even him. “Good.”

“I do not think…” You start saying, in a brave attempt for such an easily frightened little thing. Aemond brushes your hair back from your face. Your next words die in your throat.

You tremble. Poor thing that you were, all tangled up in morality. You surely read too much philosophy books, it got you all confused. It didn't matter. All theories crumbled after their first brush with reality. You would learn.

“You will learn.” Aemond sits down next to you, pulling you for a hug. “You are mine, after all.”

You struggle. He squeezes you slightly harder, and you go limp.

“You are my woman now.” Aemond explains, patiently. He is willing to teach you when the two of you go back to Red Keep. But not before he gets as much useful information as he can extract out of your pretty little head. “And you need to be good to me.”

He kisses your temple. You look up at him, eyes all shy. Aemond leans down and kisses you. You are terribly pale, lips barely moving against his.

“You are never letting me go.” You say, as if in a daze. Aemond smirks. It is a show of your intellect, that you realize all on your own that you have doomed yourself.

“Of course not, wife. You are all I need.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd aemond #asoiaf fanfic #hotd fanfic #asoiaf #threads of fate series

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[23.15]

― pairing : Changbin x fem! reader ― content warnings : slight angst, fluff, smut, wolf au, enemies to lovers, reader is a witch, soulmates, medieval settings as always, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ― word count : 3.559

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🐺🔮 WOLVES! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris part one | part two // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho part one | part two // Felix // Jeongin

As if your day couldn’t get worse, the cold feeling of a sharp blade suddenly tightly pressing against your neck made you immediately halt your movements.

First, some stupid villager exposed your secret of being a witch, and being the kind people they were, they offered you a choice: you could either leave or they would have burned you at the stake.

Magic, along with anything commoners could not rationally explain, was severely prohibited, and so you – and the other ones like you, were forced to hide the fact that you had magical powers in the first place.

You shut your eyes close, since now was definitely not the time to digress; you were about to spin around and cast a quick spell to make your mysterious opponent fly away from you, but he acted much faster than you did. Your eyes flashed golden so that the blade’s handle would become incandescent and impossible to hold, but your opponent quickly dropped it on the floor, as if he already knew your tactics. You scoffed; there was only one person who would know you so well.

As you quickly spun around, fist bared and ready to hit the man – the wolf, in his pretty face, much to your frustration, he acted quicker than you yet again and before you realized, your back was pressed against the soft grass, and Changbin was hovering above you with a smug smirk on his face.

«You’re in the pack’s territory.» Changbin’s raspy voice warned you, tightening his grip on your wrists, which were now sinking into the soft terrain next to your head. 

You tried to shift under his grip, partially to free yourself but also not to think about the fact that Changbin was pushing you on the ground while casually laying between your legs, but much to your dismay, you already know that the boy was much stronger than you were, and he could easily prevent you from moving. On top of that, Changbin understood quickly that you were not in the mood to joke, since the two of you could feel each other’s emotions due being mates.

«What’s wrong, doll?» Changbin’s voice quickly shifted, and you felt showered by the worry he was feeling. His hold on you loosened, and he inched back so that now he was sitting between your legs, his eyes glancing to the two leather bags you were carrying along with yourself, containing a couple change of clothes and your magic books. You did not move and instead, you kept staring angrily at the sky, which was gradually becoming increasingly cloudy by each passing seconds.

“Great time to start raining,” you thought to yourself, before abruptly sitting up, your nose almost brushing against Changbin’s.

«They found out.» you admitted, without meeting his gaze. «I’m headed to the next village.»

Changbin’s forehead met yours, and for the first time since you found out you were mates, you allowed such an intimate contact without complaining.

You and Changbin found out you were mates few years ago, his pack moved in the forest next to your village and quickly claimed it as their territory. They used to come in your village in their human form every now and then and you had to admit, they were nice and friendly people. Needless to say, in the same way you could tell they were wolves as soon as you saw them, they found out you were a witch as soon as their eyes landed on you.

Being a daughter of the moon, you often stayed out at night, but hanging out in the woods alone was never a good idea, especially late at night, and most of all, in a territory claimed by wolves during a full moon. Due to your concentration and your being so focused in your night meditation, you did not realize the presence of a big, black wolf with dangerous red eyes inching towards you until it was too late, and sadly, you found out you were Changbin’s mate in the rough way.

He had you pinned on the floor with a growl that made you petrify in fear when your gaze finally met, red eyes meeting golden - since you quickly casted a somehow defensive spell around you, but it was too late, since one of his paws was unintentionally scratching your neck. You suspected something was different as soon as your heart picked up pace not in fear but in anticipation, and you felt a wave of confusion - which definitely was not yours, pervade your senses. Changbin immediately shifted back into his human form, and quickly apologized to you.

«Sometimes our senses get clouded during full moon, I didn’t realize I was hurting my mate.» he said back then, regretful eyes staring at the bloody wound on your neck.

That’s how your love-hate relationship with Changbin begun. Over the years, you realized that it was stupid to hate him because of a scar he left on your body when he was not in full control of himself – since you know him well enough to say he would never hurt you, but still, you never brought yourself to forgive him, or yourself for being so engrossed in your naivety. You never officially refused the bond, both because you didn’t want to refuse him in the first place, and also because you knew that it would affect both Changbin and yourself; so, you spent your days pretending to be rivals. Meeting Changbin in the forest meant him sneaking up you and it inevitably lead to the both of you having playful fights where you’d always ended up pinned on the floor with Changbin’s warm body flushed against yours and as the both of you would hide your smitten smiles.

«I’ll walk you,» Changbin said, breaking the silence that fell between you. «I don’t want you to walk alone, it’s almost sunset.» You nodded, letting the realization of everything that happened slowly sink in, and Changbin quickly stood up and effortlessly picked up your bags, offering you a hand to get up. You looked at him, and took it.

Clearly, luck was definitely not on your side, since as soon as you were about to reach the village, it started raining. What started out as a light drizzle turned out to be a heavy downpour, and Changbin tightly held your hand as the both of you ran as fast as you could towards the first inn, trying to avoid crashing into other villagers which were as well running home, seeking shield from the rain.

The inn did not seem to be too big; a comforting warmth welcomed you as soon as you entered, due to the fireplace being lit. In the middle of the room, there was a small wooden counter, and on its left, there were wooden stairs leading upstairs. It definitely seemed to be a warm and cosy place, you thought.

«Excuse me, Sir.» Changbin politely addressed the innkeeper, a gruff man with a thick black beard. «Could we spend the night here?»

«Are you married?» the man’s deep and wary voice immediately asked back.

«What? No!» you chimed in, outraged by the question. How could he even think that you could be married to, well, Changbin?

«Too bad, then.» the inn-keeper scoffed. «We only rent our chambers to married couples. Find somewhere else to-»

«Forgive her, Sir.» Changbin chimed in with a gentle voice. «Me and my wife happened to have a small fight on our way here, and now she’s playing this game,» he said, wrapping  one of his rain-drenched hands around yours to cover the fact that neither of you were wearing a wedding ring, and you tried not to flinch at the sudden touch of his still warm hands, «where she pretends she doesn’t know me.»

The man eyed the both of you suspiciously, before directing his suspicious gaze to you. «Is he speaking the truth?» With the hint of a nod, you confirmed Changbin’s version, and the innkeeper placed a golden key on the counter few moments later.

Without hesitation, Changbin took it, and quickly lead you upstairs, even if the both of you could distinctively hear the man mutter a quiet «these fucking perverts, nowadays.» making you tighten your hold on Changbin’s hand in reflex with a surprised gasp, and making Changbin almost choke on a suffocated laugh.

With difficulty, both you and Changbin managed to get rid of the wet clothes sticking to your skin,  hanging them in order to dry and opting to use the soft, spare towels in the room to cover your bodies. You were so focused with checking if the spell you casted on your magic books not to drench worked that you didn’t hear Changbin coming back from the bathroom, so you didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself for the incoming vision of Changbin closing the door behind himself with only a white towel hanging loose around his hips, the white fabric in contrast with his honey coloured skin making him look like a god. You unconsciously licked your lips, tightening the towel you were using around your chest as your eyes followed few drops of water travelling from his collarbones, all the way through his toned chest, his abs and downwards to-

«Are you enjoying the view, doll?» Changbin asked with a smug grin, probably feeling the wave of embarrassment that pervaded you as your cheeks turned red.

«I was thinking you’re an exhibitionist.» you muttered, as you slowly walked towards the double bed in the middle of the room. Realization hit you, and your heart picked up pace at the thought of sharing a bed with Changbin. Of course, the little stunt you put earlier was made for the both of you to spend the night safe and shielded from the rain, but the realization that you didn’t think that married people actually shared a bed hit you in the face with full force.

«If it makes you feel better, I can turn into a wolf and sleep on the floor.» Changbin mumbled, feeling your emotions. You sighed, noticing once again how despite your stupid rivalry, he had always been thoughtful and considerate about serious topics. And here he was, once again, putting your needs above his.

«Don’t, please.» you walked towards the left side of the bed, feeling Changbin’s surprise at your words. «Just stay on your side of the bed.» Changbin’s amused chuckle was the last thing you heard before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, laying naked under an unnecessary amount of blankets.

The bed was not particularly big, your elbow brushed against Changbin’s anytime you would shuffle due to the fact you were embarrassed for being stark naked next to your mate, which you conventionally decided to hate.

«Do you feel it, too?» you whispered, staring at the ceiling. Changbin chuckled, the bed quietly shaking in the process.

«What? The pull? The longing?» He turned on his side, so that he could face you. «The feeling that you’re so close to me and still, I can’t touch you in the way I would so desperately love to do?» Changbin propped himself on his arm, his head laying on the palm of his hand, the faint lights of the candles you have created to keep the bedroom illuminated were perfectly kissing his skin, making him look ethereal.

«Do you always feel like that, too?» you mumbled, your eyes locked with his dark ones. Changbin nodded, now partially almost hovering above you.

«It’s even worse when I’m in my wolf form,» he explained. You listened closely, since for the first time you were actually talking about the bond that connected the two of you without running away from it, «there are some days where my soul begs me to come and see you, with any stupid excuse to talk, so that we could be together.» Tentatively, Changbin’s hand brushed against the scar on your neck, and you shivered at the almost non-existent contact. «Or touch you.» he added, you were sure that if you hadn’t been staring at his lips, you wouldn’t have hear that last part.

You knew exactly how he felt. There were days where you felt like your soul was going to rip your body apart if you did not see Changbin within few hours, or touched his skin, or heard his voice; you also felt like you wanted to be intimate with him – not completely because of the bond, and the most you ignored those feelings, the worse you felt. Sometimes you wondered if you would still hate him if you had not been so stupid and naïve that night; sometimes you wondered how it would have felt to share your life with Changbin from day one, instead of falling in a routine where you both needed to pretend to fight just to have an excuse to touch each other.

«Technically,» you mumbled, your heart hammering in your chest, aware that Changbin could hear its wild rhythm, «we’re married, for tonight.»

Changbin’s eyes locked with yours, as if he was searching the confirmation you and him were on the same page. His eyes seemed to soften, as soon as the two of you started to feel each other’s emotion in addiction to your own. Changbin’s face inched closer to yours, your noses brushing against each other.

«Can I kiss my wife, then?» you could feel Changbin’s strained mumble against your lips, and your answer came in the form of you reaching out to capture your mate’s lips, with your hand delicately caressing his cheek. Changbin kissed you like thanks to you, he was breathing once again after he had been underwater for too much time, and you made sure to kiss him with equal fervour, as the kiss quickly turned passionate and your limbs tangled together in somehow a messy way; you were sure your knees bumped against each other’s a good amount of time under the blankets, but Changbin’s hands were all over you and his lips were desperately praising your skin so you didn’t mind it.

Both of you gradually got needier, and what started out as a timid kiss in order to quench your aching souls, slowly turned into you and Changbin passionately making love, one hand intertwined together and his other hand desperately gripping your thigh as he tried not to be too rough with you. Butterflies soared in your stomach as he softly kissed along the shape of your scar as his length made its way inside you, rhythmically, slowly and deeply, making it almost impossible for you to catch your breath due to the fact you could perfectly feel every inch of his shape moving in and out of you anytime you clenched around him.

«At least during our first time, I don’t want to ruin you.» You felt Changbin’s smug smirk against your skin, and you instinctively scratched his back, drawing red lines in his honey coloured skin. Your rough and unexpected action caused Changbin to moan right against your ear – a new wave of wetness pooling into your abdomen due to his raspy and deep voice, and his harsh thrust caused the bed to slam against the wall.

«Again, Changbin, please.» you whimpered, you hand delicately scratching once again from his shoulders to his waist, and you felt Changbin’s skin erupt with goosebumps anywhere you touched. «There’ll be countless times to be soft, in the future.» you pushed his waist closer to yours, even if he was completely buried inside you, in the needy desperation to feel him even closer. 

Changbin looked at you, swollen lips and eyes blown with lust, and all the promises to be soft flew out of the window as soon as you nodded at him with a kiss to seal your silent approval. Changbin’s pace was so rough and intense that you started feeling on cloud nine even before you felt the sensation of your orgasm approaching; you loved how he could not keep his hands off you, and you loved how the warm sensation of his touches lingered on your skin even if his hands were already somewhere else; you silently blamed yourself, because you could have done this for years. Changbin’s arm slid under your thigh just to bring it higher, in order to reach even deeper, his pelvis occasionally brushing against your clit and making you see stars every now and then, the mattress slamming against the wall in a quicker pace. Feeling your orgasm approaching, you tried to sneak your hands on your clit, in a desperate attempt to feel his twitching length buried even deeper, but your wrist was quickly blocked and harshly slammed next to your head.

«How can my mate be so greedy? Isn’t my dick enough?» Changbin’s cocky and raspy voice mixed to his harsh thrust made you whimper, and you saw his eyes flashing red for a second. You quickly shook your head, mumbling incoherent phrases about how he was perfect, and you wanted more, more and more.

«Good, doll. Because you’re not allowed to touch yourself unless I say so.» Something in Changbin’s dominant and arrogant tone triggered your orgasm, and you closed your eyes in a loud, desperate moan of your mate’s name as you held him close to your body. Changbin came few moments later, his cheeks flushed red as he released while being buried deep inside you. You came back to your senses with a loud sigh, feeling Changbin’s sweet kisses all over your face, making you giggle and slightly shake your head.

«It tickles!» you smiled, and Changbin kissed your forehead, before slowly sliding outside of you, trying to be as delicate as possible. Clenching around nothing, you silently wondered if the two of you would have been able to do it again before leaving the inn and, much to your shame, you realized too late that Changbin felt your emotions once again.

«Anytime you want.» he simply promised, as the two of you re-adjusted your positions in order to cuddle together.

«I’m really sorry for that scar, doll.» Changbin said few moments later, and you felt your drowsy state dissolve. Your heart clenched, because you realized that he had probably spent these years blaming himself for your behaviour.

«It’s not your fault,» you explained, without giving him the possibility to interrupt you. «I had been stupid, I knew your pack was around and still underestimated the risks.» you raised your head, to meet his glance. «I’m sorry that I took it out on you.»

Changbin sighed, shaking his head and hugging you even closer, your head once again laying on his chest so that you could relax by hearing his calm heartbeat.

«Come live with me.» he said, kissing your hair. «You won’t have to hide your powers. Chris’ mate - my Alpha, is also a witch, so we are used to magical powers. Plus, we wouldn’t have to cross the entire forest just to see each other, anymore.»

You nodded immediately, and erupted into a wide smile as soon as you felt Changbin’s heart rapidly pick up pace.

You expected a den of wolves would look like a lot of things, but honestly, you never expected to find a row of eight well-ordered and separate wooden cottages surrounded by trees. Changbin’s pack was rather friendly, and they all happily greeted you, recommending not to hesitate to ask if you needed anything.

«We can go and get the remaining of your things in the afternoon.» Chris said, as you finished telling him how you have been kicked out because of your magic powers. You nodded, thankful and low-key nervous to shop up at the village once again, when two arms suddenly wrapped themselves around your shoulders. Chris’ mate was hugging you, with a soft smile on her face.  

«You don’t have to worry anymore, you’re home now. We’ll protect you.» she offered, and you timidly smiled back, returning her hug.

Contrarily to what you believed, Changbin’s house was not messy, but neat and clean. He quickly made some space for you to place your belongings, and proudly pointed to an almost empty bookcase.

«You can put your magic books there, if you want?» Changbin said unsure, nervously scratching his nape. «I believe you have more books in your old house and I tho-» you interrupted your mate sentence by standing on your tiptoes and pecking his lips.

«Thank you.» you smiled, Changbin’s relief pervading your senses and your gratefulness pervading his. He smiled, before pulling you closer to his chest by his strong arms wrapped around your waist.

«So, about that thing you thought at the inn…» you giggled at Changbin’s quick change of mood, and let him effortlessly pick you up and carry you to your shared bedroom.

��I’d say we have a lot of catching up to do.» you answered, tangling your hands into his hair as he laid the both of you on the bed.

«We’d better get started, then.» Changbin’s voice dropped at least an octave, as he was busy leaving open-mouthed kisses on your skin, and your legs tightened around your mate’s waist.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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#fanfics #stray kids au #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x y/n #kpop fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids series #stray kids wolf au #kpop fantasy au #kpop x reader #kpop series #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #stray kids x you #kpop smut #changbin smut #changbin x you #changbin x y/n #changbin x reader #changbin x female reader #changbin fantasy au

[macaroonff]

Taste- Lee Minho (Part 1)

Genre: Undercover detective x gang leader; the roaring 20s Paring: Minho x fem reader Content Warnings: Spice (no smut),mentions of alcohol, inaccurate historical representation, not intended to be factually correct, please forgive any inaccuracies. Word Count: 2957 words Suggested Songs: Taste- Stray Kids Whatever Lola Wants- Ella Fitzgerald Fall in Love With Swing- Trio Manouche Smooth Operator- Sade

↪click here for part 2.

Refer to this for context regarding specific terms in bold

No one would ever fathom how utterly guilty Lee Minho felt with his tongue driven down your throat in one of the many dressing rooms the jazz club contained. He hated how his sweaty palms digging into your lower back barely managed to keep both of you steady against the rough wall.

He despised how desperately you held onto the lapels of his tweed suit, as the cold pearls around your neck jingle against his watch with every turn of your head. Every jingle was followed by a gasp, and together they seemed to override the perky jazz coming from the stage. 

He hated how he was stuck here, unable to release himself from his hedonistic urges, to the point where he neglected his work, the reason he entered this shabby club. 

Priv. Detective Lee wasn't supposed to be here today, not in your embrace, not under your enchantment, not under the influence of something he was prohibited from. 

Alcohol.

Despite his deceptive actions and seemingly careless attitude towards alcohol at parties, Lee Minho had a restrained regimen for himself. Especially when he’s working, which is almost everyday.

He only let himself go when it was necessary in social gatherings, in  those crowded salons where everyone had their eye on him, where he had to follow skewed norms to strengthen his reputation as an owner of a winery acreage in Pomerol, France. A false identity pasted on him to get any sort of tip-off in this industry.

The industry where smuggling had become as common as a nuclear family buying a car.

Last Sunday, when he happened to be at another one of these parties, he was invited by his neighbour Mr Brown to a different wine tasting session at a strange, albeit new jazz club, rumoured to sell cheap booze. And of course he’d go.

Not because of the alcohol, but because of the fact that any place selling cheaper goods meant that it was smuggled. Not necessarily, and not always; but in this day and age he was sure it could be nothing else.

So he enters this somewhat run down club behind the busy streets of downtown Chicago, surprisingly packed with locals, a pungent smell of alcohol immediately welcoming him. A smell he thought he was used to, but clearly not enough to refrain from wincing, his eyebrows furrowed at the chaos and the crowd; at the suffocation he felt walking in.

At the centre of this chaos stood, in all her glory, the lead singer, her sweet voice accentuated by the saxophone, trumpet and piano quartet. She stood below the dim yellow chandelier hung above her as a spotlight, in her white satin, semi beaded dress which fell just below her knees, rather provocative.

He doesn't look away until Brown reminds him of the wine testing and ushers him towards a VIP booth.

He makes his way through the crowd, pushing against bodies dancing the Charleston, a recently popular dance that Minho found amusing. All this while, he probes the ins and outs of the club, looking for all entry ways through which big cartons could arrive, as well as places for them to be stored.

All he found was a door that appeared to lead into the dressing rooms. That didn't deter his ambitions though, because he knew that behind this lively exterior, there had to be secrets involved . He would do whatever he had to in order to uncover the operation.

If he had any flaws, it would be this, that he was too stubborn to give up on what his intuition said. He was hard headed, but in no way was he stupid. He'd be devious if it was necessary, he'd lie if he had to. He'd also seduce if it was extreme.

Well, it wasn't his first time trying. He'd done it before, at least six attempts, and maybe five successful ones. The last one was into girls, and he hoped, fairly desperate that this one wasn't.

After a while, he uses needing a trip to the toilet as a somewhat acceptable reason for leaving the now boring session. The drunk men weren't their most reasonable, and paid no heed to the poor excuse. Apparently being a connoisseur meant taking proper breaks. He shrugs it off with a smile, promising to come back in some time.

Lies.

He was long gone to meet his mysterious flapper who he surveyed every corner for.

Under the new frosted light bulbs bought for the bar, you found yourself in the company of many men and women alike, all desperately trying to sink their teeth into your precious minutes. All of whom you appreciated but wanted nothing to do with. Most of them were here to sign record deals from new radio channels wanting to capitalise on the upcoming modern woman movement. All of which you supported but didn't see yourself working as.

Not because you liked working as the main singer for a rundown jazz club. But because your actual work meant that you were never supposed to find fame. Fame meant prying eyes, and nosey neighbours; something you'd have none of in this lifetime.

Why risk it for fame, when you had important business to take care of here?

You had to make sure that not a single thing was out of line and that not a single person would ever find out of the secret second business run here.

So far, you've done a good job at pretending to be the club's owner's sister. And although it was true, the story behind renovating your grandma's old house into a jazz club wasn't. There was no grandma's old house, there was no renovation, no grandma either. This was always a place for trade.

Your kind of trade. Where you’d find the good dupes and sell it at a higher price, and the actual bottles would be shipped out for a lump sum.

The excess or the bad bottles would be sold in this club, at a discount. It was pretty simple actually, and it made you money.

Sure it was illegal. But sometimes you needed the money, no questions asked. This was how your family knew to fend. This is how you'd continue to fend for yourself.

The risks you took were calculated, and you weren't afraid. While your brother looked after the actual shipments, you'd deliver intel.

You were in control of all the information passing through here. Nothing happening in town would ever slip away from your grasp.

So what if it was a jazz club?

Most people from different backgrounds always ended up at your 'Charmer Club'.

Most people let themselves go. They always ended up telling the bartender about their business, the dirty dealings that they've also been up to. The fact that most were more grey than the white that they appeared to be.

It was no different for you.

And if there was any difference, it was that you'd never let yourself slip-up. You weren't stupid. You weren't a na��ve little Tomato like most believe. Even if you did find yourself faltering, you'd know how to convince others into changing their mind about you.

The same way you knew you could convince Mr Brown that you were interested in the specificities of wine when he almost caught you switching bottles from the basement. You barely convinced him, saying that true wine from France would have plum and black cherry aromas, which it did have. Lucky for you, Mr Brown had no idea that dupes could have chemical fragrances added to them too, because he'd never had to collect wine right from the port. Defeated, he said he'd ask his "very dear friend" to figure out the truth.

At first, you were shocked that there was another wine connoisseur you didn't know of, but after asking your people to investigate, you realised why Mr Brown was so confident. Why he was after your tail.

You knew he was new to this part of town; an insanely handsome, Big Cheese foreigner who wasn't yet used to life in America.

That his speciality was French Wine, and that if he was rich here, he was even richer back home. That he might even be a scofflaw, since he hung around in as many alcohol parties as he could, including the ones for the middle class. This piques your interest, and in a long while, you haven't been as excited to unearth someone's mask.

Now, all you had to do was wait. Because you hoped, no, you knew he would come to find you tonight, regardless of never having spoken before. Because most people do the first time they visit this club.

Most people come looking for you when you're done singing. Because they're enthralled, curious, or physically attracted to you. Because you're almost too beautiful for them to admire from a distance. Because you had "eyes like an angel that drew everyone to paradise".

These weren't just based on what you heard, but accounts from your members, beyond tired of regulars ravishing about you. But that wasn't enough for you. You needed beyond sensuality to tempt and guarantee clients. Sure your circle of customers had grown over the last five years you took over, but that didn't mean the risk had dissipated.

So while your confidence was with justification, your anxiety insisted on you keeping things tight-lipped. You had to know everything that occurred in this paltry but pertinent place.

Maybe that was why you were grateful when your target approaches you of his own accord. His deep brown eyes intent on yours, his long hands embellished by his expensive Rolex oyster, an uncommon wrist watch that very few would dream of affording, an orange tie loosened as though he had drunk the daylights out of himself.

He was perfect. Handsome and tipsy, what else would you want out of a person who had the potential to figure out that your French wine happened to be local American?

"Stunning performance," you hear a deep voice say, in a slurred accent, you can't tell if it was because he was French, or just drunk.

"Thanks, first time here?" you ask.

He nods, leaning ahead. "Mr Brown told me, you have some really good wine down here, something I might be familiar with."

"Ahh you must be the foreigner Mr Brown keeps raving about... Mr?"

"Just call me Claude," he replies sweetly.

You raise your eyebrow. Was he so private as to not let his last name slip? You call the bartender over.

"A bottle of our finest Cheval Blanc." you look back and smile at him.

Claude smirks. "I'm familiar with this wine you know. It's made from the labour of my vineyards."

You examine his face, looking for any sign of deceit. You'd come across many con artists, most of whom didn't have adequate expertise in alcohol. Nobody knew the real in a world where fake was deliberately greater. But here's someone who claimed to be, here's someone who you were sure was lying, despite no hint of deceit.

Why would a rich French billionaire come down personally to your shabby store, instead of asking someone else to collect it?

Unless he had something to prove.

Soon the glasses are laid out, and half a bottle poured. You wait as he swirls the glass in his hand. Despite the loud jazz, you hear nothing but the sound of ice clinking in his glass, and the aroma of plum piercing through, making it difficult for you to breathe. You realise, that after a long time, you're nervous. You see him smell the alcohol briefly.

The cup reaches his lips, and he closes his pretty eyes. You watch him gulp a miniscule sip down. It is silent as his eyelashes flutter slowly as his mouth twitches in slight distaste. Just as anyone else would frown, but for some reason his seemed deliberate, and somewhat dangerous.

Dangerous was what Lee Minho thought you were, with the real thing in the glass in front of him. Somehow, he knew it wasn't a dupe. It had the same percentage of alcohol as he knew it should, and not one flavour felt out of place. But then again, he couldn't be sure; he wasn't actually the person he claimed to be. He wasn't an actual connoisseur. If this was the real thing, then it made no sense for you to sell it at a discount.

"Why is one bottle so cheap?" he asks carefully, leaning against the counter. This time, he looks at you in search of deceit. Instead all he reads is a hint of surprise on your face, along with a little bit of glee, he couldn't be sure.

"You should know after tasting them shouldn't you?" you ask, eyebrows raised, a small smile on your lips, as though you had it all figured out.

Lee Minho falters, suddenly unarmed. What did that mean? Did you admit that it was fake? Or were you trying to gauge his identity?

A wrong answer now, and he'd give himself away.

"Of course I know why, but I'd rather hear from you." he avoids, to which you don't reply.

He needs to draw everything from you. "The discounts are unreasonably low, especially for a Cheval Blanc. It almost hurts my pride," he playfully pouts.

He sees you shaking your head in slight disappointment, an amused smile along with it. "You shouldn't worry about that, you're not losing any money here," you whisper close to his ear.

He tries so hard to ignore the smell of may rose and jasmine that accompanied your Chanel no. 5 parfum, and he tried to ignore how some of the others gaped at him, envious of how close he'd gotten to you.

"How can I be sure?" he questions his breath slightly arrhythmic.

How would you know rather, whether a rich business man would have lost his money? Really nobody would know unless they went through the ledgers. Something you were sure didn't exist in his company, or else he'd know just how much he'd lost.

Everything he said pointed to him being a careless business owner, something you thought would never be possible for a man so rich. You scan through his appearance again, his suit looked genuine, the tweed proper. You even gently caress the back of his broad lapels to confirm. He was rich, but was he anything close to the person he says he is?

Out of all the people you met in this small place, there was one thing you knew too well. If something or someone is too good to be true, it probably was. He was no vineyard owner from France, foreigner maybe, but not someone who knows business.

Something about the way he tried so desperately to gauge your business instead of you meant that he wasn't here to play, nor was he here to strike a deal. Most businesses that advertise their brands try to get their way into you, instead of the business. They usually came knowing you were a snake charmer, someone who could sell all the bad ones for better prices. Selling rejected alcohol ended up being a way for them to reduce net losses.

The man in front of you, "Claude", could be one of two things. An embalmer like you, jealous of the profit you're making; or someone here to investigate your business. A situation you were familiar with.

Multiple cops had come to investigate before, all of whom were easy to shut up. However the person in front of you didn't feel like a cop, he didn't try to exert power, nor did he try to undermine yours. A man so hard to read, you weren't sure how to make head or tail of who he really was.

"Hmm, I'll tell you why I sell it for less, only if you tell me why you don't think it should be sold for less" you offer, laying out your cards in front of him. His response would determine if he was a tremendous, or poor master of deception.

"It is indeed the real thing; however the aroma feels diluted, although the drink's concentration seems correct, I understand that it is from a batch of wine of secondary quality made from bad grapes. However the year it was made in, suffered from excessive rain, and the waterlogged condition meant that production had reduced that year. It would make sense for you to sell it for a higher price due to excess demand."

You smirk, as he got the question right. Somehow, he knew his stuff. The details however did feel as if he had thoroughly prepared for an interrogation.

"Unfortunately the people who buy here don't care about a particular year, they care just for the alcohol. It matters to only a few, such as Mr Brown and your friends who care enough to investigate, Claude."

"We're just curious, after all we're linked to the industry at some level. You don't need to feel offended young lady, if I may ask for your name?"

"My name is a secret for those who I meet for the first three times, if you return after our third meeting, I'll tell you. For now, goodbye; I have other patrons to meet."

With that you leave hastily, already unnerved at the fact that he somehow picked at your disguise. Annoyed yet excited.

After a long time, you had something vaguely resembling a challenge, and the following meetings would ensure that you get every second worth of thrill from him. You'd make sure that Claude, or whatever his handsome name was would only tread carefully from now.

Hey there! This took me too long to write, but I tried something extremely different this time.

Please give me feedback, I'd appreciate it a lot!

Love Macaroon 💖

#stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #lee know imagines #lee know fanfic #lee know fanfiction #lee minho x reader #lee minho imagines #lee minho fanfic

[beardedmrbean]

Muslim pupils who expressed outrage after their teacher presented a Renaissance painting of nude women in class will be disciplined, France’s education minister has said.

A French teacher at the multicultural Jacques-Cartier college showed students the painting Diana and Actaeon by the Italian artist Giuseppe Cesari, which portrays a Greek mythology story in which the hunter Actaeon sees the goddess Diana and her nymphs bathing.

The work, which depicts a naked Diana and four female companions, is held at the Louvre museum in Paris.

Sophie Vénétitay, secretary general of the Snes-FSU secondary school teachers’ union, said: “During a French class, a colleague showed a 17th-century painting that showed naked women.”

“Some students averted their gaze, felt offended, said they were shocked,” said Ms Vénétitay, adding that “some also alleged the teacher made racist comments” during a class discussion.

A pupil’s parent sent an email to the school director saying that his son was prevented from speaking during that discussion and that he would file a complaint.

“We know well that methods like that can lead to a tragedy,” Ms Vénétitay told BFMTV news. “We saw it in the murder of Samuel Paty. Our colleagues feel threatened and in danger.” Teachers at the Issou school said that pupils admitted lying about events in their art class but that the damage had been done. “We’re dealing with vindictive parents who prefer to believe their children than us,” they said. Gabriel Attal, the education minister, visited the school in person on Monday and later said that a disciplinary procedure would be launched “against the students who are responsible for this situation and who have also admitted the facts”.

A team would also be deployed to the school to ensure it adhered to the “values of the republic”, he said.

Staff at the Jacques-Cartier middle school in Issou, west of Paris, refused to work on Monday, saying they feared for their safety given the recent murders of two teachers by jihadi terrorists.

Dominique Bernard was stabbed to death by a Muslim man in his school’s playground in the northern town of Arras in October.

In 2020 a civics teacher, Samuel Paty was stabbed and beheaded by a terrorist in Conflans-Sainte-Honorine, 12 miles from Issou, after he showed his pupils a caricature of Mohammed in a class on free speech.

In an email sent to parents on Friday, teachers said they were exercising their right to stay away from classrooms over the “particularly difficult situation” and “an increase in cases of violence” as their daily reality.

Deteriorating discipline at the school

The school’s head teacher recently asked the education ministry for more staff and resources to deal with deteriorating discipline at the school, saying that fights and death threats and threats of rape had become common among pupils.

“We feel we are clearly in danger. We are supported by our direct superiors but not from higher up. This is a real call for help,” said one teacher.

Last week a Paris court convicted six teenagers over their role in events that led to the beheading of Mr Paty, who was their teacher at the middle school in Conflans when he was killed by Abdoullakh Anzorov, an 18-year-old of Chechen origin.

In another sign of school-religion tensions, the state this week said it would withdraw funding for the country’s biggest state-subsidised Muslim high school. In its teaching of Muslim ethics, the Averroes school, in Lille, was found to be violating French republican values.

On Tuesday, Jordan Bardella, leader of the hard-Right National Rally party, warned that “freedom of expression is under threat in France from an all-conquering political Islam that is imposing on our society its laws, its way of life and its prohibitions”.

#nunyas news #good

[vavuska]

Stephanie Meyer in her“The Twilight Saga: Official Illustrated Guide” wrote that vampire pallor is part of the transformation new vampires undergo that beautifies them as their melanin drains away, resulting in their white skin.

In fact, in the first chapter, in which she describes the physical characteristics common to all vampires, Meyer wrote:

In the Twilight universe all vampires were originally human. As vampires, they retain a close physical resemblance to their human form, the only reliably noticeable differences being a universal pallor of skin, a change in eye color, and heightened beauty.

More orver the typical vampire pallor is not attribuite, as traditional thrope impose, to the fact that vampires are dead, recalling the repulsive look of a corpse, but to an element of crystalline, supernatural form of beauty, which is described as following:

The common factor of beauty among vampires is mostly due to this crystalline skin. The perfect smoothness, gloss, and even color of the skin give the illusion of a flawless face.

So, dark skinned or deeper skin toned people will have very light olive skin as vampires. In fact the only creature who keeps a natural dark-skin is Nahuel, the vampire-human hybrid (born to a white European vampire and a indigenous woman), who is described having “dark brown skin”, while his Aunt Huilen, a full-indigenous woman has “an olive tone to her pale skin” due to being a vampire. Let's see more examples in the book where this “white washing” effect of vampirism is more explicit:

Vampires in Stephanie Meyer's books are white and pure because Mormons believe people who are not white will be white in heaven. I can't 100% remember the reason or events but during some event they think God turned some people black because they either betrayed him or Jesus. So when you are a good person and go to heaven he will remove that. If you look into what Mormons believe it's almost as crazy as scientology.

Ok, apparently, Mormons think black and dark-skinned people are in some way descendants of Cain, who was banished from human community and condamned by God to a nomadic life. However, God was pleased by blood sacrifice (God favored Abel who killed animals for God, while Cain offered the products of earth he cultivated) and gives Cain a mark, known as “Mark of Cain” (Genesis 4:15). This mark of Cain is God's promise to offer Cain divine protection from premature death with the stated purpose of preventing anyone from killing him. Bible does not identify the exact nature of the mark God put on Cain. Whatever it was, it was a sign/indicator that Cain was not to be killed (but also a warn that helped others to spot him as a murder to not trust). Some propose that the mark was a scar, or some kind of tattoo (Maybe this is the source of Tattoo Prohibition in Leviticus 19:28). Whatever the case, the precise nature of the mark is not the focus of the passage. The focus is that God would not allow people to exact vengeance against Cain. Whatever the mark on Cain was, it served this purpose.

However, Brigham Young, one of the founders of Mormons and one of the earliest leader, described black people as cursed with dark skin as punishment for Cain’s murder of his brother. “Any man having one drop of the seed of Cane in him cannot hold the priesthood,” he declared in 1852. Young deemed black-white intermarriage so sinful that he suggested that a man could atone for it only by having “his head cut off” and spilling “his blood upon the ground.”

For more information about the racial question among Mormons, I suggest this article of New York Times:

#vavuskapakage #twilight #twilight saga #the twilight saga #stephanie meyer #edward cullen #the cullens #racism in twilight #Racism in novels #mormons #Mormon cult #Tw: racism #white washed #white washing #cullen coven #Egypt coven #vampire aesthetic #vampirism #twilight vampires

[fictionkinfessions]

I'm super new to this community in general, so sorry if this is an obvious question, but by personal tags do you mean the emojis people use to identify themselves?

the custom tags page https://fictionkinfessions.tumblr.com/customtags

An abridged and easier to read version of this page can be found here: http://fictionkinfessions.tumblr.com/ct

#1 What is a custom tag?

Custom tags are meant for tracking a series of confessions, or checking if a confession has been posted yet. They are only for anonymous confessions. If you send a non anonymous confession with a custom tag, it will be private replied. Please feel free to resend it.

Custom tags will go in the third tag placement if you wish to track your tag in the search index.

Custom tags will also be used in a person’s Ask Response, provided they do not go against Custom Tags Guideline G1 [See below]

A custom tag can be almost anything, such as: 

a word or short sentence [eg #GreenCatMage]

a random jumble of characters and numbers [#EonGame99]

a single or multiple emoji [#⭐★⭐]

a mix of emojis in addition to words [#six⭐s], and so on. 

I would suggest something short because the ask box has a character limit.

Here is a few examples:

1) Anonymous asked: When I was a young baby, I went to the city to see a marching band. 🔥🐍🔥

2) Anonymous asked: But it’s just the price I pay. Kintypes are calling me, Open up my eager eyes. ‘Cause I’m Mr Brightsidekin -💚TwinkleStar💚 #custom-tag-1

3) Anonymous asked: Well the world starts kinning and it don’t stop kinning. I made like a AU and hit the ground kinsidering. Hey now, you’re an starkin, get your game on, go play. [#customtag-1 #suggested-tag1 #suggested-tag-2]

The first example has a signature and no custom tag. The second example has a signature and custom tag, which will go into the tag used for the kinfession. The third example has no signature, one custom tag, and two suggested tags which will be used for the kinfession.

#2 How do I use a custom tag?

Please place a custom tag at the start or end of an ask message. A custom tag needs a #hashtag at the start of the custom tag so we know it’s meant to be a tag. 

Some words aren’t permitted for custom tags. Before using a custom tag, please check:

if a custom tag is not already taken by someone else

if it’s not a blog url

if it’s a fandom tag - eg character name, ship name, source name, etc

if it’s a slur or derogatory word or variations thereof

if it’s a common search term - blanket, full moon, landscapes, etc

These are not permitted to use in custom tags.

#3 Why was my custom tag rejected?

Most commonly because it was someone’s blog url. Otherwise it could be something from the above list of prohibited words. 

If a custom tag is unusable, it will be posted as a Text Post and given the tag #customtag. If you don’t see your confession appear within 3 days, please check the #customtag tag. If you don’t see it in that tag, please send a message with the customtag so we can try tracking it down.

Additionally, please only use only one custom tag per confession. You may use multiple custom tags for your kintypes or source, if your System members want their own custom tags, and so forth.

#4 Can I reserve custom tags?

No, sorry, we don’t allow reserving, hoarding, or earmarking custom tags. If you want to use a custom tag, please check if it’s available, and please go ahead and use it in a confession.

#5 What’s the difference between a signature and a custom tag and a suggested tag?

Both custom tags and signatures consist of a name, emoji, word, or combination thereof that is used to sign off a kinfession. The difference being a hashtag is used at the start of a custom tag to indicate it should be used as a tag. If there is no hashtag, but I won’t know to use it as a tag.

A suggested tag is a tag recommending the use of specific source, name, Content Warning, or other tags. 

Such suggested tags aren’t required, but are appreciated if it’s about an obscure source, or specific Content Warnings that may not be apparent. 

#6 What if I want to change my custom tag? Can you delete my customtag confessions?

I would suggest simply using a new custom tag. If you want to make sure anyone familiar with your custom tag, send in a few kinfessions with the new and the old tag, then start using only the new tag. Please do let us know if you’re switching a tag.

Sorry, I can’t. There’s no way for me to know if it’s actually you requesting it to be deleted, or someone pretending to be you. 

#7 Wait, I forgot to add the hashtag to my custom tag! Can you add a custom tag to this confession?

If you do, or aren’t sure, please send a message in as soon as you can with keywords so we know which is your confession, and what custom tag to add. The follow up message will be added to the confession to indicate why a confession has a custom tag despite the lack of hash tag.

We don’t add custom tags to posted confessions that do not have the hashtag symbol. Both because we don’t have time to track down every confession, and because it people get confused how custom tags work, and why we didn’t put a custom tag on their confession that doesn’t contain a custom tag.

#8 Can you check if I can use this custom tag?

No. Other than checking to ensure it’s not someone’s blog url, we do not check if custom tags are free to use. Please personally check for yourself.

Changelog: page created 8/14/2018 by mod party cat! Updated 9/2/2018 by Mod Party Cat! to add in the amendment to #7 and introducing the use of the generic tag of ’#customtag’. Added #11 on 7/18/2020

Update: rewrote the entire page on 8/28/2020! update 8/31/2020 added the #s 7 and 8 questions

#mod response #mod party cat

[pep-the-artemis]

AutoMemoriam (part 1)

It is with deep sadness and reluctance that I am today writing this journal, I hope someday it may bring me solace. The idea of putting this into writing is wicked; it brings absolution to the events I wish to deny but it must be done for thinking all this to be delusion will mean I will be truly forgotten, even by myself. Last week (March 15, 3071)—while searching through the deep catacombs of Exo-planet Copper9—I Tessa James Elliot, daughter and lone heir of Sir James Elliot, died.

I am not a spectre nor do I believe in such frivolities but I must assure you that I have in fact experienced death. Now I shall bring forth the events that transpired, no matter how much traumatic pain it may induce. Underground, in the mines, we (myself, two of my allyship, and one friend) arrived at a cathedral; gothic in design yet inhuman in its details—its creation still eludes me. Out front, in the graveyard, ensnared in thick metal chain lay resting two sentinels with their jagged teeth tightly wrapped around a dismembered arm. It was best if they were left unbothered. The front door, locked, or quite possibly too heavy in its heavy oak build to be moved even with the support of my strongest allies; Carved into the hardened wood read the message:

non est locus iste honoris. Diabolus hic dormit.

We took it to find an alternate entrance, I prohibited damaging this relic believing we could find a secondary entrance or broken window large enough to allow myself and my allyship to climb through. Outside, the harsh scent of incense burned, my allyship unaware at the time but I found it utterly dizzying  and soon I lost all sense of direction or awareness collapsing to the ground. I assure the reader at this point this was not my near death experience, that was still to come. Eventually I did awake, much later than anyone would desire as I felt myself to be well rested and my companions had set up a fire—what were they burning, I hope nothing of importance. The stench of incense had now at this point died down to a manageable extent but that wasn’t the last of my bothers, the once resting guards now were howling aggressively pulling against heavy chains relentlessly. If they could not kill us, they’de give us no peace. Did they forget that I, as a human, am there superior?

Examining around I found I was connected to the emergency ventilator, it seems my respirator had broken (or tampered) leading me to intake the more harmful chemicals in the air, the incense smell was ever hallucinogenic or coincidental to the cause as I had been to many chapels before without much of a reaction. My vibrant energy reassured that I'd suffered little permanent damage although that was still an impossibility. Continuing my line of good fortune, that friend I mentioned earlier had found a loose rock, engraved with vivid imagery of burning angels, which when moved uncovered a small tunnel seemingly leading into the heart of the cathedral. They made sure to wait for me before advancing to which I was grateful but I can still not trust that girl; her eyes have the glimmer of a demons, in the corner of my eye I’m sure she transforms. If the devil lays dormant, it is within the girl—but I cannot kill her, she has caught the fancy of my allyship and has a mind unlike anyone else.

Being the most nimble and disposable, I made sure the girl took the lead with myself following behind alone; my allyship too large in stature to fit in the crevice so told to stay behind. The crevice was—to put it lightly—a cesspit for rats, not that any of those vermin had been down here in decades, the droppings had notably whitened from age but remained sludgy from the incessant moisture. The tunnel was impossibly long or witchcraft was afoot, again I am not one for superstition but I must say the warning Diabolus hic dormit began eating away at my most common of senses. Things only gotten worse when I fear hallucinations were coming over me, the sounds of a organ echoed around (slow and rhythmic with subtle errors implying the ill-practised hand); it wasn’t until the girl, who to put it light—who being polite only in the contemporary forms of media—began to complain. Her whining had never made me want her dead more.

Soon, we had made it free, entering the central hall we found the central floor had collapsed into a deep cavern below full of thick black stalagmites which in the flickering candlelight appeared to be pulsating like the entrails of a suffering beast. I truly felt that I was staring into the depths of hell. Across, on the other side of the cavern, sitting at the organ slumped was a person I recognised immediately, the local one eyed foreign girl, a native of this planet. When I first landed, it was she who first found me and my allyship, she speaks not a word of English even though her understanding is superb; I took aid from my allyship who were far more polylingual to keep translation. Bleeding out of her shoulder where once her arm was attached, she seemed to be in great pain yet continued to play; she made no indication that she had seen us but for reasons which will be made apparent shortly, she was well aware of our presence.

Not yet. 

I had a job to do and even Heaven would not deny the fact that this girl, the spawn of satan she is, was valuable; more so that if Doll (the strange character mentioned earlier sitting on the chasms other side—I speculate Doll is a cruel nickname relating to the button strapped over her missing eye) was to attack me alone, I would have no chance. The girl lives for now.

“Don’t stand too close” I warned as she approached the edge.

What was my duty here? That girl wished to learn the truth; Doll wished to know her mother; my allyship were down here on my command alone; in truth not one knew why we were here. All I knew was something here was desired by the Sin and so I was here on a path of destruction, the Sin cannot win again. Said object (or perhaps it was a place or even a metaphor) could be activated with a key, said key last seen being in the possession of Doll… what is she doing? Had she found what the Sin was looking for? Was she disappointed?

#writing #short story #fan fiction #murder drones #my first fan fiction :3

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Monica Harris

Published: May 21, 2023

Recently, I was reminded of just how easy it is to be silenced in America now.

Two few weeks ago I published an article on Medium (linked here on my blog) about the impact of transgender inclusion on the rights of women and lesbians. I felt it was a timely and topical subject, and as a gay woman of color I obviously have a vested interest in this issue.

So, you can imagine my shock when, less than 24 hours after the article appeared, Medium’s Trust & Safety team removed it for violating community rules. I was further warned that repeated violations would lead to possible suspension of my account. My crime? Posting “hateful content.” (before continuing, I would encourage you to read the article yourself).

For perspective, I have more than 1,000 followers on Medium and have published nearly 70 articles on this platform. I’m a Harvard educated lawyer and am on the Board of Advisors of the Foundation Against Intolerance and Racism. I’m also a published author and a TEDx speaker. In fact, much of my writing focuses on bringing people together around our shared values and interests. In my entire career, I’ve never been accused of using hate speech or advocating hateful positions. Yet now I was being silenced for expressing my legitimate concerns about an issue that affects me and others in my community.

This incident is laced with many ironies, not the least of which is that I’ve spent much of my life feeling invisible and not having a voice. Growing up black and gay in the 70s and 80s was an alienating and often heartbreaking experience. Thankfully, as America has been forced to reckon with its insidious legacy of racism, sexism, and homophobia, the landscape has changed. Barriers have crumbled and hearts and minds have opened. I now enjoy a thriving legal career in the entertainment industry. I have a white partner and a biracial son. We happily live our alternative lifestyle in a red state that is overwhelmingly white and Christian. The past two decades have empowered me and helped me find my voice.

But now I fear that I’m in danger of losing my voice again. I worry that I and millions of other women are becoming invisible — not at the hands of right-wing extremists, but by people who promote tolerance, inclusion, and equity.

Medium’s content curators purportedly removed my article because it “disempower[ed]” and excluded others based on “protected characteristics,” i.e. biological men who identify as women. Yet they had no qualms about disempowering and excluding me — a member of not one, but three “protected” groups — from their online community.

Further, I was silenced for expressing my belief that inclusion of biological men in women’s sports and prisons, and other historically protected spaces potentially undermines the rights and safety of biological women and lesbians. Yet the act of deplatforming my article was, itself, proof of the marginalization I lamented in my article.

When I shared the incident with a left-leaning friend, she cautioned that conservatives, Nazis and right-wing extremists have created a dangerous environment for transgender Americans. While this is undoubtedly true of some fringe elements on the Right, I’m neither a Nazi nor an extremist. Why should my legitimate concerns be conflated with fringe elements with whom I have nothing in common? If an article that raises thoughtful questions and concerns on behalf of other protected groups can be characterized as “hateful content,” then what is the threshold for hate?

You don’t have to be gay, female, or a person of color to appreciate the danger this poses to all Americans. If the boundaries of prohibited speech keep growing, then we can effectively be silenced by anyone who disagrees with us or is offended by our opinions. All they have to do is call us “hateful.” But if we live in constant fear of offending others, then how long will it be before we’re too afraid to say anything?

Freedom of speech is one of our most cherished rights. While designed to protect us from censorship by our government, it’s indelibly woven into the fabric of American society. The free and open marketplace of ideas is what makes our country unique. It’s enabled groundbreaking innovation and thought and empowered historically disenfranchised groups.

Given my unique background and experience, freedom of speech holds a special place in my heart. After all, where would I be today if voices that made others uncomfortable had been muffled? Moreover, what will the future hold for all Americans if we continue on this path? Without unfettered freedom of speech, attempts to foster inclusion become illusory and performative.

Protecting this sacred right is neither easy nor painless; it demands our constant effort, vigilance, and above all, our selflessness. What we safeguard for ourselves we must also be willing to safeguard for others, even those with whom we vehemently disagree.

Unfortunately, Medium and a growing number of platforms and legacy media outlets aren’t willing to do the hard work. They’ve decided that freedom of speech should be sacrificed if it makes others uncomfortable — even if the people expressing themselves have lived in discomfort most of their lives, and in many cases still do. They’ve elected to trade one of our most fundamental rights for tolerance that’s often selective.

These well-intentioned guardians of “safety” fail to see that true tolerance must be expressed not just by our words, but also by our deeds. The noble goals of inclusion and equity become meaningless if we arbitrarily sacrifice these principles when it suits us or those with preferred agendas. Selective tolerance isn’t progressive; it’s regressive.

True tolerance also requires that we be on the same page about the rules of free speech. We’re entering an era of increasing social conflict, but we can’t navigate this challenging landscape and resolve our differences if the boundaries of free speech keep shifting, often without warning.

For now, I write with a giant question mark over my head. Will I be branded a TERF on Medium if I continue to advocate for the rights of women and lesbians? Will I unwittingly offend others with the subject matter of my next article? Will it be “the one” that terminates my account?

The only thing I know for certain is that this is no way for anyone to live in a free society. If we can spend billions of dollars to fight for the freedom of people in a country 5,000 miles away, surely we can find the courage to defend this precious right at home. Let’s spend less time talking about inclusion and more time practicing it.

==

No one is immune to the ministrations of the puritans.

#Monica Harris #censorship #free speech #freedom of speech #criticism of ideas #authoritarianism #woke authoritarianism #gender ideology #queer theory #biology denial #biology denialism #wokeism #cult of woke #wokeness #woke #wokeness as religion #religion is a mental illness

[scp-foundation-official]

*You get a weird phone call.

Do you have any files on a fae-dragon-squirrel hybrid? Goes by the name of Mysti?

- @literary-squagon

While weird is the norm at the Foundation, it is particularly peculiar to be receiving strange phone calls due to the secure nature of the phone lines used. An internal inquiry has subsequently been launched into all Foundation personnel’s phone usage. Suspicion has been especially placed around Dr. Bright, who has previously warned about using foundation communication channels for his own amusement.

As for the anomaly in question, a file has been built of which contains the following information:

Item #: [REDACTED]

Clearance Level 3: Secret

Object Class: Archon

Disruption Class: 3/Keneq

Risk Class: 4/Danger

Special Containment Procedures: Neither SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ nor its companions are to be treated as hostile at any point in handling. In the event of a “Void-Depression”, O5-[DATA EXPUNGED] is to be notified immediately. All locations commonly visited by SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ are to be quarantined, with MTF [REDACTED] deployed to manage civilian casualties. With approval from O5-[REDACTED], hostile containment of [REDACTED] forest is authorized to coerce SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ away from large population centers.

All personnel exposed to SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ are to receive psychological evaluation upon return from expedition due to cognitohazard posed by SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜’s telepathic communication methods. Any personnel that are shown to exhibit symptoms such as total disorientation or greatly decreased situational awareness are to end communication with the entity and return to Site-[REDACTED] for immediate psychological evaluation and treatment.

Description: SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ is typically humanoid being approximately 1.57 meters tall. In its most common form, SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ appears as a human caucasian female, with notable exceptions of ears and tail similar to that of the Alpine Marmot, as well as wings similar to that of [REDACTED]. It has also been known to take the forms similar to that of a non-anomalous human caucasian female, a hybrid between an Alpine Marmot and [REDACTED], and [REDACTED]. SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ is 124 years old, however it is unknown if aging occurs at a different rate within its dimension of origin. It responds well to the names Mysti and Mysti Memoria.

Born to parents [REDACTED], SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ is a shape shifting entity of extradimensional origins. The Foundation is particularly interested in the anomaly’s knowledge of extradimensional histories due to its age, however questioning the anomaly is prohibited by order of O5-[REDACTED] due to threat of psychologically induced depressive episodes, referred to by Lead Researcher [REDACTED] as “Void-Depressions”. As effects of Void-Depressions are unclear, further research has been [approved by Site Director [REDACTED]] [denied by O5-[REDACTED]].

SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ has displayed abilities of both apportation and reality warping. Both of these behaviors pose a threat to emergency containment, however the use of SCP-[REDACTED] [NEUTRALIZED] or reality anchors have been shown to be capable of temporarily disabling apportation, however is ineffective against reality warping. SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜’s other anomalous abilities of [REDACTED] have also been shown to be suppressable through the use of fire-retardant clothing and reality anchors placed [REDACTED]. Further research is required to uncover more permanent containment solutions.

The anomaly possesses the ability to heal other sentient beings within a [REDACTED] radius of the entity. Healing ability has been shown to repair wounds that would otherwise hold a ██% mortality rate. With approval of O5-[REDACTED], SCP-⬜⬜⬜⬜ may be used for the healing of both civilian and Foundation personnel in the event of an anomaly-caused mass-casualty event to aid in the treatment and [REDACTED] of affected areas.

#im sorry if i got any of your backstory wrong #hope you liked it #updated #Archon #cognitohazard #apportation hazard #reality warping #healing

[princess-viola]

There's this guy who got permabanned from this online game/web forum I play called NationStates almost 11 years ago and I genuinely feel bad for the guy.

To try and explain what happened with this guy and why I feel bad for him, here's four simple things you need to know about NationStates:

You are allowed to have multiple accounts on this game

One punishment that can be meted out for rulebreaking is DEAT, which means that the nation that you broke the rule with is deleted (it may or may not accompany a temporary ban)

The ultimate punishment is DOS (delete-on-sight), which is a permaban. You try and sneak back on after you've been made DOS? You don't even get a warning, if the mods find out that it's you - your account is deleted. Find somewhere else to play.

The mods generally don't police roleplay or roleplay quality (so long as it's not rulebreaking or deliberately spammy low-quality RP)

The guy I'm talking about (I'm not going to say his nation name[s] because it's crazy easy to actually find some of his online profiles with his real name by searching his NS name) first joined NS in 2004, so several years before I joined (I joined in September 2008, for the record) and became known for the poor quality of his roleplaying. Now, poor quality RPing isn't anything unusual on NS but this guy completely refused to improve or learn and would constantly get into arguments with other players.

This eventually lead to the mods making a very unique decision regarding this player, especially after his original account was DEATed in 2007.

You see, it's pretty common for players who have their nation DEATed to just make a new account and treat it as the same as their previous nation. Which is fair enough, why start over with your lore and stuff that you've been working on.

But with this guy, on account of all the rulebreaking, flaming, and arguments that would happen with his RPs, the mods made the decision: his original nation did not exist. It was a straight up mod-ordered retcon. He could not mention his original nation, RP as his original nation, or do anything with it. It did not, does not, and will not exist in the NationStates multiverse. (This was also done to try and give him a fair shot at starting over as, by this point, he was known as one of the worst RPers on the site - but if you prohibit him from mentioning or doing anything with his infamous original nations, accusations of him being that original account are just speculation and not 'Yeah he's admitted to being him.'

Anyways, after a few more years of his continued poor RPing, trolling, and other rulebreaking (including apparently him once threatening a lawsuit against the site), in early 2012 the mods finally had enough of him and made him DOS and permabanned him from the site.

Now, why would I feel bad for someone like this? I'll tell you why: because this dude is completely and utterly convinced that the reason for his banning wasn't because of his 8 years of poor RPing, rulebreaking, and just being a general nuisance.

No, he thinks that the mods banned him because he's autistic and that they run a cyberbullying clique dedicated both to harassing him into silence whenever he tries to inform people of the 'truth' about NationStates and to banning any and all players with autism and mental disabilities from the site.

If you think I'm joking, I'm genuinely not. I'm obviously not going to link to any of this shit, but I once found his DeviantArt page and he had stuff on it like saying if you buy the book Jennifer Government (the book NationStates is meant to promote) then you're supporting Nazism, terrorism, and cyberbullying, posted a screenshot of a post on the NS forums which he said was 'proof' of the cyberbullying conspiracy against him (it was literally a post by a moderator after he had snuck back on the site and spammed the boards just saying this was a 'former user with mental health issues' or something like that), etc. He's even made online petitions to try and shut down the site for being a den of cyberbullies and he and his family once found the personal Facebook page of one of the NS mods and started harassing them.

Hell, I've interacted with this guy once before. To be clear here: I did not initiate the contact or harass him or anything like that. But he made a post on the unofficial NationStates subreddit a couple years ago (I believe it was October 2021, don't quote me on that) that was basically him talking about how people should stop using the site because it's full of cyberbullies who have been harassing him for years and I just made a simple reply explaining who this guy was, why he was actually banned, and how he's been at this for then-nearly 10 years. The worst I said was 'You're still at this shit?'

Naturally, he just accused me (and another user who also is familiar with him) of being part of the NS cyberbullying clique and asked how many rubles they were paying me in Google Translated Russian.

But really, regardless of everything else, I genuinely do feel bad for him. This guy is in his mid-30s and continues to think that he was banned from NationStates for being autistic and that the NS mods try and harass him in order to silence him. When in reality - almost no one cares about him. Long-time moderators and players around from when he was active will obviously remember him and know of him, but everyone else? He is at best just used as an example when people talk about 'infamous NSers' (and he's far from unique in that regard). That's it.

In a way, perhaps that's best. I can imagine an alternate universe where there actually was a cyberbullying and trolling campaign against him that led to him becoming an 'lolcow', but that didn't happen. And I'd rather someone just imagine that they've been harassed and cyberbullied for years rather than them having actually been harassed and cyberbullied for years (of course, them not imagining this at all would be the best option, but of the two I mean)

#text post #nationstates #idk what to tag this #internet lore?? #more like niche website lore tbh #niche website lore #is this infodumping??? #it feels like infodumping #infodump #infodumping

[oleworm]

I feel like the term “white slavery”, while somewhat broadly used to refer to sex work at the time, was more specifically used to refer to what gets called trafficking now (and then as now, focusing only on kidnapped well off white women, just more openly). And there were just as many panicked stories about good middle class girls barely escaping ~Them~ (Chinese, Jewish, Black) as there are fb posts now about “almost being trafficked” because they saw a brown person somewhere around them. It’s also about drawing a line between sw deserving of care or not

Content warning: mentions of child sexual abuse in the reply, graphic description of abuse in the linked articles; racism, slavery.

Yes, and the OP of the post did respond to me to clarify that that is what they meant! One of my friends had actually been reading about the topic and how allegations of sex trafficking were used against men of other ethnicities who were in romantic partnerships with white women, and against said groups in general. In some cases the woman had even left her white husband for being abusive, but what mattered to public opinion was not the welfare of the woman herself but that she had ceased to be under the control of a white man.

But the reason I mentioned it is that it reminded me of something I read about. Now that I'm typing this, I'm thinking about it a little more. There was a famous case of investigative journalism in the 1880s, so a little later than the period that was mentioned in the post, that did not focus on adult women but demonstrated how easy it was in England to buy and sell children for such purposes. It led to a raise in the age of consent from 13 to 16 and prohibited the different methods of coercion that had been reported to be used, which most people, myself included, would regard as good things. But there is one more thing. For whatever reason, the same bill it inspired happened to criminalise "gross indecency"... Even though it was girl children that had been procured for men, according to the report that everybody read. This is one of those cases that demonstrate how common sense, popular ideas, such as "Of course children must not be sexually abused," can be used to slip in certain political ideas that have nothing to do with them.

It's a tough problem that we have to deal with, that certain political actors (and sometimes, regular people reacting to their emotions) try to pit different social causes against each other when it should be entirely possible for all of them to be acknowledged.

And to change the subject a little, the other thing that came into my mind, since the post did mention the American Civil War, was that to bolster support for the abolitionist cause among whites there was this argument that white women were being held in slavery because of the law of matrilineal descent and subjected to sexual abuses by their masters. The idea was that the war should liberate these white women and children who just so happened to be descended from an enslaved African woman a very long time ago. Here are some photos from one of those campaigns featuring children. (Sorry that the link is from Mashable, the source at the bottom says Library of Congress.)

Which is fucked up! I hate it. We're all human and like you mentioned there shouldn't be a distinction between people that are thought not to deserve abuse and those whose abuse is accepted.

That was a long and rambling post... But I guess I had been sitting on these thoughts for a bit.

#ole blog

[twotangledsisters]

Looking at your WIPs, there’s SO many I’m intrigued by, but the ones that really peaked my interest the most were: The Hostage Situation, the Unknowing Indentured Servant and Cass dies at the Great Tree! I’d love to know more about those!

Oooh, these are all among my oldest WIPs, but definitely ones I hope to one day complete!

First: The Hostage Situation

This is one takes place in The Great Tree, Adira doesn't show up to rescue Cassandra from Hector but the man decides he can save some bloodshed by taking Cassandra hostage and forcing the rest of the party to turn back.

A snippet:

Cassandra struggled against the rope tying her to one of the many trees which had grown within The Great Tree, the binturongs circled her and growled but she didn’t cease her frantic movements. “Let me go!” Hector ignored her shouts as he tended to his garden. “Once your friends are far enough away, I’ll consider.” “You have no right!” “I have every right,” Hector snapped back. “I have a duty to my kingdom and to the entire world, a duty to the moonstone. I warned your group more than enough times, yet you kept going. Be thankful I chose this route. I could have just as easily cut you all down where you stood and eliminated the problem at its route.” Cassandra glared. For a moment the only noise was the binturongs’ growls. “Why am I explaining myself?” Hector turned back to the garden. “It’s not like you’d understand the weight of duty.” And the tiredness in his voice got Cassandra’s expression to soften as she realised she did understand that weight. She thought back to her final conversation with the king prior to starting this journey. It had been in the throne room, while the other packed, Cassandra had been practically shaking as the last time she’d been summoned to the throne room it had only been the king nad her father and she’d been banished to a convent. She expected to be scolded for disobeying a direct order, but instead the king just looked tired. “Cassandra, you are my daughter’s lady-in-waiting and, more importantly you are someone she trusts.” Cassandra nodded. “I must ask you to protect her on this journey. It’s her first time beyond the walls of Corona and I fear she may not be prepared.” Cassandra felt like such a favour should come after an apology for her near banishment, but he was a king and she but a commoner, so she bowed and promised she’d do all in her power to protect Rapunzel. If only Rapunzel had allowed Cassandra to carry out this promise. “I understand,” Cassandra told Hector, to her own surprise. “I ever understand what it’s like for your own to not help with that duty…” she added.

Second: The Unknowing Indentured Servant

This is one where Frederic takes out some of his rage against Gothel on a very young Cassandra, declaring it her responsibility to make up for her mother's crimes.

Captain is the one told this but Cassandra doesn't find out until season 2 where she is prohibited to go with Rapunzel as she has a debt to the palace and cannot leave Corona without repaying it first.

A snippet:

Arianna is in their room, too distraught to be of much use. Frederic is pacing in the throne room, his eyes turn when an old friend returns with a child in his arms, but it isn’t Frederic’s child. “What happened?” Cap swallowed as he walks in. “She got away, Your Majesty. Every available unit is searching. We chased her to what we assumed was her home, but she left after cutting a rope bridge slowing our chase.” “Why do you have a child?” Frederic asked. Cap looked down at the precious bundle he’d been holding to his chest for the entire walk back. The girl had called for her mother and cried for many hours, but now she’d fallen asleep, too tired for anything else. “She was in this woman’s home… I believe she’s her daughter. She was abandoned.” Frederic’s eyes narrowed at the child. “She’s the daughter of the women who kidnapped my Rapunzel?” Cap frowned at the harsh words, holding the child closer to his chest in a protective manner. “She was abandoned. She was already alone at the cottage.” “Will the woman return for her?” Cap hesitated. “Perhaps. I will keep her close to me at all times to assure if the woman does return I am there to capture her.” Frederic nodded. “Good. And meanwhile, put the girl to work.” “To work?” “Until my daughter is returned to me, that girl is all there is of the criminal who took her.” Cap should have spoken up in that moment, but he was scared for this child and scared to stand up to a king. “She owes this kingdom and this palace everything.” Cap nodded. “I’ll… I’ll see to it she pays for her mother’s crimes.” “Good.”

Cassandra was so eager to help, she’d mop, sweep, clean windows, anything to gain the approval of her new father. Cap should have told her how it wasn’t normal for children to be ‘earning their stay’, how the girl’s servitude was not normal, but he never could bring himself to do such a thing. The girl smiled up at him and he smiled back. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her after all.

Finally, Cass Dies At The Great Tree

I'd say this one's title is self-explanatory but it actually is wrong!

Originally it was Cass Dies At The Great Tree, but after writing some it became Cass Dies AFTER The Great Tree due to what happened in it xD

Either way, here's a snippet:

Cassandra rested on Fidella’s back. Her breathing was shallow, and she lacked all of her usual stability. She was so shaky that Lance and Eugene were standing on either side of Fidella, ready to catch the woman if she fell. Her right arm was completely limp at this point, the blackness which had started with her hand had spread upwards, now reaching past her elbow and towards her shoulder. It wouldn’t be long until it reached a more crucial part of her body. Rapunzel was walking way up ahead, her eyes on the horizon, she hurried as much as she could hoping the next town would come into view already so they could locate a doctor’s office and get Cassandra the help she needed. Rapunzel didn’t know what she’d do if things got worse.

Cassandra lay in the bed with the white sheets, her arm resting atop the sheets. Her arm didn’t even look like an arm at this point and the fact her breathing was so painful told her the blackness had reached her lungs. The past few days were a blur of pain and tears. Rapunzel was inconsolable, not even Eugene could calm her down. Right now Rapunzel was asleep in the chair to the left and Eugene was sitting to Cassandra’s right. He’d been annoyingly quiet these past few days, no bad jokes or stupid comments. Cassandra hated it, but she also understood. “Eugene,” she whispered. His eyes moved to meet hers. “Yes?” “If I don’t—” “Don’t.” Eugene’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head. Cassandra smiled. “Scared?” Eugene didn’t know what to respond. “Just… In case,” she whispered. “If I don’t make it, tell my father I love him, alright?” Eugene nodded.

Although I picked two snippets from before... Well, the title says it. It's mostly a fic about mourning. About the party having to complete the mission without her and such.

Mainly focusing on Rapunzel and Eugene's mental state.

I've been working on it for a long time but it's just so sad it moves forward at a snail's pace!

Thanks for asking! There's something very fun about reading through old WIPs and picking out snippets to share!

And these three were one's I hadn't touched in a while so it was extra fun and now I really want to sit down and do some writing!

#tts fanfic #rta fanfic #rta fanfics #tts fanfics #tts fanfiction #tts fanfictions #rta fanfiction #rta fanfictions #ask answered

[babyjakes]

forever and a day | 31. betrayal.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect, past CSA and CSM, and their aftermath (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.trauma-informed therapeutic treatment of ECT. evil!Tony Stark.

[Steve]

“Mornin’, Cap,” Clint greets as I step off the elevator into the common space of the fiftieth floor, startling me enough to make me jump. On a typical morning when I come home from my early-morning runs, no one else is awake. Glancing at my watch, I see that it’s just about 7:00, which is a little bit later than when I usually return. Even still, Clint’s never been an early riser.

“What’re you doing up this early?” I ask as I join him in the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

“I’m not sure. Guess I didn’t sleep too great,” the archer admits as I take a few sips from my glass.

“Anyone else up?” I question. He takes a bite of the apple in his hand and shakes his head.

“Nope. Pretty sure everyone’s asleep. Except for Tony; he’s down in his lab. But what’s new, I suppose.” I nod, understanding. It isn’t unusual for Tony to spend all night down working on his gadgets. The rest of us know it’s probably not good for him, but we also know that there’s no stopping him. He’s just wired that way. And as long as it’s not hurting anyone else, we keep quiet about it.

“I’m gonna go see if Willa’s up,” I decide, finishing what’s left in my glass before placing it in the sink and looking out through the window onto the balcony. It seems like a nice day out; maybe it would be a good idea to take Willa outside later. We could go to the park or something. I’ve been meaning to get her out and about more lately, since Bruce says the sunshine’s good for her.

“Hey, have you thought any more about the Accords?” Clint asks just as I’m about to leave the kitchen. I pause, turning back to face him. A serious look has formed on his face.

“I think I’ve made up my mind. As much as it’s going to complicate things, I can’t sign. It just doesn’t feel right,” I assert.

“I’m with you,” the man nods. “And it’s not just us. After you left last night, the conversation went on for quite some time. Bucky’s against it. Sam, too. Even Wanda, though I think she feels a lot of pressure coming from Tony.”

“She’s just a kid,” I sigh as I shake my head. “I don’t know why she has to be involved in this. Peter, too. And what? Are they going to want Willa to sign, because of her powers?”

“That… wasn’t discussed,” Clint replies slowly. “Maybe you’d have to sign on her behalf. Vienna’s in three days; I don’t know how it’ll look if half of us don’t show up. Or, if we all show up, but only half of us will sign.”

“I guess we’ll see,” I shrug, earning a nod from my friend. Not knowing what else could be said about the situation, I turn to leave the kitchen without another word, heading to the bedrooms.

As I walk towards the end of the hall, all of the doors are closed except for mine, Clint’s, and Tony’s. Stopping in front of Willa’s door, I knock lightly before turning the knob and swinging it open. When I step inside, the sight I’m met with causes my stomach to drop.

Willa’s bed is empty.

I glance around the room frantically, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Quickly making my way over to the bathroom door, I push it open. It’s vacant as well. The light is off, but the sunlight coming in from the window by the sink illuminates the room enough for me to see that I’m completely alone. Willa is gone.

Turning around, I make my way back through the bedroom and out into the hallway, double-checking every room again as I pass it to make sure that there are no lights on shining through from underneath the doors. Everyone is asleep. She couldn’t be playing with Wanda, or watching movies with Peter. Which means… she’s not on the fiftieth floor at all.

As I enter back into the living space, my heart pounds heavily in my chest, ringing all the way up through my ears. Clint glances up at me from the newspaper he’s begun to read, immediately seeing the look of panic on my face. “She’s gone,” I mutter breathlessly. “Willa’s gone.”

“She’s not in her room?” Clint asks, concern growing on his face. I shake my head, walking over to the elevator and hitting the button.

“I’m gonna go ask Stark if he’s seen her,” I tell him. “Vision’s probably down there with him. Maybe he can scan the building or something.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” the worried man asks, setting his newspaper down on the counter.

“That’s okay. I’ll text you if I need any help,” I decline. Clint nods.

Soon, the elevator arrives, and I step in, hitting the button for L45. The ride down only takes a few moments before the doors open again to the hallway outside of Tony’s lab. This is a floor I rarely visit, as I really have no reason to. The training facilities are much more useful to me; all this strange, futuristic technology is Tony’s domain.

The walls of the hall are made of glass, making it possible to see right into the scientist’s workspace. I walk over to the large glass door and look in to see the man standing in front of some sort of table, tapping a monitor hanging on the wall. My breath catches in my throat when I see two little feet squirming at the end of the surface Tony is blocking, appearing to be restrained at the ankles.

“Alright kid, looks like you did it. I can’t believe I just snapped my wrist in half for the sake of science, but luckily you pulled through on your end of the bargain,” I hear Tony chattering casually as I burst through the door loudly, causing him to look up in alarm.

“What the hell is going on in here?” I demand harshly. Taking a few more steps forward, I’m now able to get a better view of the setup before me. Willa is strapped down by her arms and legs to a metal table, a thin pillow supporting her head. Tony has her hooked up to several wires that are all connected to the monitor he’s working with; it seems to show her heartbeat, along with a few other measurements that I can’t identify.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tony says lowly, taking a step towards me, away from the child. I can hear her whimpering, though softly, and it sends anger shooting up through my veins, collecting in my fists as they curl dangerously tight.

“Neither should she,” I retort, nodding at Willa. “What are you doing to her? Why is she wired up like that? What is she- oh god, Tony- she’s crying,” I seethe, my heart breaking as I watch tears trail down the little girl’s cheeks, dripping onto the cold metal beneath her.

“I’m doing the research you weren’t willing to do,” Tony spits, his eyes narrowed in anger. “She’s an enhanced individual, Cap. It’s not my suits, it’s not even the super-soldier serum; this is something completely foreign. And we gotta know what it is, how it works.”

“This isn’t the way to find out,” I disagree, shaking my head. “We promised her we wouldn’t do this!”

“No, you promised her,” he corrects. “I, on the other hand, am being responsible and finding out exactly what we’re dealing with here. It’s not just me who wants to know. I’m going before a UN panel in three days and giving them detailed reports on each of us, and the kid’s a complete wildcard. That’s not gonna sit well with anyone in Vienna.”

I take another few steps forward, now only feet away from the table. “What are you doing to her?” I ask, my voice now quiet, almost a whisper. “Why is she tied down? Why is she crying?” Willa whimpers as I draw nearer, her watery eyes so full of fear and despair.

“I’m finding out more about her healing capabilities. The reports were right; she can heal seemingly anything. I just cracked my wrist straight down the middle with a vice. All I had to do was lay a hand on her and it patched up immediately.” The anger in my stomach rises into my throat, and I let out a scalding-hot breath, turning to Tony. I’m nearly shaking in rage.

“You shifted her?”

“Well, yeah. It took a little while to figure out how, but it turns out when you inject her with-”

“For the love of god, Tony, you know she takes on the pain of whatever she heals!” I explode, the edges of my vision blurring to red. Willa lets out a frightened cry at my sudden outburst, and at the simple sound of the sobbing child’s whimper, it’s as if a switch is flipped in my brain; all anger is shoved back down my throat as my paternal instincts take over.

Turning to the table, I step up to the sniffling girl, beginning to release her from her restraints. Starting at her ankles, I carefully undo the nylon bonds, murmuring softly to the poor thing as she quakes in fear. “Shhh, it’s alright,” I hum. “Gonna get you out of here, Willa-bug. No more, sweetheart. All done, it’s all done, I promise.”

Tony reaches out to stop me, but I glare at him, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Another move, and I’ll call Child Services, right here, right now. Human experimentation will be more than valid grounds for your parental rights to be removed,” I threaten.

The scientist huffs in anger, but retracts his hand, crossing his arms and turning away. Now that I’ve caught him, he knows he’s lost. Clearly, he was counting on me not finding out.

As I finish undoing the final strap on Willa’s arm, I glance over the wires connected to her arm. Most of them are just secured by adhesive tabs. Only one appears to be a catheter breaching her skin. Looking around, I spot a roll of medical tape and cotton balls on a tray not too far from Tony. I grab the materials and tear off a piece of tape, forming a make-shift bandage before turning back to Willa.

Sobbing quietly to herself, the child rolls slightly on her side and curls into a ball as I approach her, her bright green eyes wide with fear. “Please, n-no more,” she begs, scooting herself as far away from me as she can.

“Shh doll, it’s okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. It’s me; it’s just Steve,” I ease gently, holding out the bandage and reaching for her arm. Willa flinches back, cradling it away from me warily. With a closer look, I see that the wrist on that arm has turned a deep mix of blue and purple, signifying the pain she’s been dealt from Tony’s trial.

“N-no touch, h-hurts, please,” the girl begs, trembling against the cold metal table.

“I just wanna take the needle out, okay? You can unshift then; I promise I won’t hurt you.” Tony sighs from beside me in annoyance, but I ignore him, too focused on Willa to care about his attitude.

“For fuck’s sake, Cap, you’re not gonna get anywhere if you keep treating her like a toddler,” the man groans, turning and ripping the tube out of the child’s arm with little care. Willa cries out in pain, and Tony snatches the bandage from my hand before I can stop him, slapping it down against her arm. He pulls away at the other tubes and they all disconnect from their tabs without much resistance.

“Back up,” I order firmly, not wanting him to lay another finger on my Willa. Tony rolls his eyes but luckily obliges as I step in between him and the little girl, not wanting him to cause any more damage than he already has.

Willa peers up at me, her hurt and betrayal written all over her face. When I reach out my arms to pick her up, she shrinks back, her bottom lip sticking out and quivering, signaling a whole new round of tears is on its way. “Please n-no, don’t hurt me,” she whimpers.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart. I’m just gonna get you out of here. It’s alright, I don’t have any injuries on me; it won’t hurt when I touch you,” I assure her, though I know it’s probably doing little to ease her fears. “I’m gonna pick you up now, Willa. It’s okay, nothing’s gonna hurt.” As gently as I can, I wrap my arms around the shaking girl, pulling her in close to me and rubbing her back soothingly in hopes of calming her down. She tenses up as my skin makes contact with hers, letting out a frightened whine. “You’re okay, see?” I coo, bouncing her slightly in my arms. “No hurt.”

“N-no hurt, please,” she hiccups back. I smile sadly at her with a nod, brushing her hair back out of her face.

Turning back to Tony, my expression returns to serious as I inform him, “This is never happening again.”

“Whatever. Son of a bitch,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he walks back over to his desk, making himself seem too occupied to care.

I sigh, looking down at the little girl in my arms. “Let’s get you out of here, Willa-bug,” I murmur, holding her close to me as I walk back over to the glass door. A part of me expects Tony to come after us as I push the door open, stepping through it, but he doesn’t, and I’m relieved. I don’t have any more energy to put up with his behavior. He’s gone way too far. If he pushed me any more, I honestly don’t know what I would do.

Out in the hallway, we wait for the elevator after I’ve pushed the button. Within a few moments, it arrives, and I step in, hitting the button for the fiftieth level.

“Does your wrist still hurt?” I ask softly as the elevator rises. Willa nods, cradling her arm close to her as she hides her head away in the crook of my neck.

“Please, d-don’t touch it; don’t hurt me, p-please,” she begs.

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay, I won’t touch it,” I soothe quietly, bouncing the small child slightly on my hip. When we arrive on the top floor, the doors in front of us slide open to reveal an empty common space; Clint must’ve gone somewhere, maybe back to bed. Walking Willa over to the couches, I sit down in an armchair, resting the girl down on my lap. “Willa, honey… how long were you with Tony?” I ask carefully, brushing her hair back out of her face.

“D-don’t r'member,” she replies quietly. “He woke me up and- and took me there. Didn’t know where y-you were- was s-so scared,” she whimpers.

“Oh Willa,” I sigh, my heart aching as I plant a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay, honey. I’m here now; I won’t ever let him do that to you again, okay?” Willa looks up at me with wide eyes, and in this moment it becomes clear to me just how devastating it was that I wasn’t there, that I didn’t protect her.

“B-begged for you,” the child mumbles. “He said- s-said you were s'eeping.”

“Willa, oh- sweetheart,” I choke through tears, cradling the girl’s cheek in a shaking hand as she looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “Willa, baby, I- I’m so sorry,” my voice cracks. “If I knew what he was doing, I- I would’ve stopped him, Willa, I swear. No matter what, even in the middle of the night, I would’ve come. I would’ve saved you.” Willa clings to me with her undamaged arm, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. I wipe it away gently with my thumb, holding her close to me. “I never thought he would do something like this. But now I know, sweetheart. And I won’t let him hurt you again, okay? I promise; I pinky promise.”

I reach my pinky out to her hopefully, my heart swelling when she links her own with mine.

“Can I see your wrist, doll? I promise I won’t hurt it,” I try. The girl pulls her shaking arm to her body tightly, a look of uncertainty washing over her soft features.

“No, d-don’t hurt me,” she pleads.

Sighing, I don’t push her on it. “Okay. Okay, doll. That’s okay, I’ll leave it alone,” I concede.

As the small child sits quietly on my lap, I take a deep breath, trying to ground myself enough to think of what I should do next. After several minutes of contemplating, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, dialing Bruce’s number and hitting ‘call.’

It rings two or three times before he answers, sounding tired. “Yeah, Cap?”

“Hey, sorry to wake you. I need- I need you to come out here. We have a call to make.”

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#faad #faad: betrayal #eun's writing #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #hurt/comfort #steve rogers x child!oc #dad!steve rogers #the avengers #avengers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #captain america

[cxnsolatio]

Offers the surgeon ;; a kiss 💋

✚✚✚  robin  —  @bloominghands

'Puzzling' did not begin to cover Robin's apparent predilection for kissing his miserable majesty. Just what about Law excited such amorous behaviour in the archaeologist when there were others that would respond to it with more buoyancy worthy of the privilege? Instead, Law would rotate between the turning of the head and the blushing of the cheek, ever in a quietude which did not fully succeed at concealing the turbulence of both reason and feeling within from a woman versed in humanity and enchantment, notwithstanding personal beliefs of jaded mien.

With a dose of learned cynicism verging the unhealthy obsession with moral defeat, Law mused on what Robin might win from dispensing kisses in this manner. In currency, she gained nought. Indeed, the Straw Hat's coffers would be overflowing in coinage to rival a king's, a blatant disrespect for the unspoken but accepted modesty of aesthetic emptiness which befits a pirate, should she join her redheaded companion in demanding payment for every single honeyed touch of the lips. If the reward was not financial, then, of what nature could it be?

Law's face was not plump nor level, qualities which beg to be kissed all over, and his facial hair would no doubt be abrasive against foreign skin and muscular folds just as dainty. Of his lips, he could not say. Feedback from paid lovers was not to be trusted. Yet, he held firmly to this conviction that to kiss him was no small act of masochism, no matter how greater the passionate want — maybe here it lay, the gratification Robin found, this much the outspoken prelude to what went on in her boudoir.

To repeat the exact same procedure while harbouring the expectation of a different result was illogical; the inference being that whatever it was Robin craved in or out of Law, unknown but not insane, she must be receiving every single time, whether it be the candid redness of the cheek caught by surprise or the harshness of the jaw, with every accountable kiss. Seldom is humankind scientific in its approaches to itself, stubbornly challenging of reason, insisting on repeated patterns of behaviour while hopeful of a new outcome. Lo and behold the doctor's latest hypothesis, unreasonable but so very innately human: it is possible Robin shall persevere until Law offers more than pitifully hidden indifference.

Very maddening, all of it. The conundrum at hand, and kisses and women, and their lustful pursuits, no doubt Lilithian machinations devised to drain the sanity out of his sex. Alas, Law could not expose the atria and ventricles of the proverbial heart and study its workings, a skill most coveted; in romance he might as well be illiterate.

To theory's credence, Robin's kisses varied in location, lifespan and overall 'smackability' of sound post pursing of the lips. The scope, however narrow and not yet inclusive of anatomy beyond the head, was nevertheless undeniable. It ought to be tried, in the name of amorous enlightenment.

Not entirely reluctantly, such feeling impossible to hold before the prospect of a beautiful woman, did Law comb Robin's hair out her face with his fingers, so that he may return her kisses with one of his own on her forehead, deemed to be the most neutral of territories. The cheeks were perilously familial; the mouth prohibited in the absence of consent. Law's lips clicked audibly between the pair of them, too loud for his taste — for sure her busybody crewmates would arrive to see what the commotion was, the satisfying smack of the surgeon's kiss in his mind not unlike the warning shot of an enemy assault.

Humbled and as bemused as before, Law missed the common state of misery he put himself in, as though nothing could be more uncomfortable to him than the absence of discomfort itself, because to repeat the exact same procedure while in anticipation of the same old result is how one gets by. How dare he break the convenience of affectionate poverty with a glimmer, however dim, of something altogether sublime?

The foolishness of his experiment would become clear in a minute, as soon as Robin replaced the sweet kiss for the punishing back of the hand, or otherwise wiggled the palm open for him to deposit the beri she deserved as compensation for the attack on her immaculate forehead, perpetrated by the surgeon’s lips and grinding goatee.

#bloominghands #✚ | ❝ though i am blessed with an inner strength / some they would call it a penance ❞ { ic } #i'm a sucker for kisses can't you tell?