#The Incredibles: Rise of the Underminer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostkennedy · 6 months

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Workplace Romance

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 7213

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending

the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.

He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.

He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.

He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.

And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.

You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.

You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.

When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.

Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.

He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.

And the man is basically untouchable.

He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it.

A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing.

And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?

Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.

You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.

People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.

You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.

“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.

You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.

“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.

She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”

“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”

“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.

“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”

Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”

Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.

You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.

“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.

You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”

You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.

You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.

“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.

Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.

“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice.

“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.

“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.

“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.

“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“

“Earn it.”

You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.

“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.

“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”

“You haven’t earned-“

“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”

He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.

Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”

He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.

“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.

“What about?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”

Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.

“You just made detective, correct?”

You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”

“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”

You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.

“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”

“9 I believe.”

“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”

“Well, of course-“

“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”

You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.

The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.

No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?

You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?

Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?

You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one.

“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?”

Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow.

“Um, yeah. What’s your question?”

His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”

He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.”

You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this?

“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”

“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”

“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”

He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”

“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Because I can be. Next question.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”

“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”

He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time.

“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”

He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is.

“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”

He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”

Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind.

“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”

“Why would I do that?”

You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”

He smirks at you and it only enrages you more.

“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”

“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”

“Then maybe you have another reason!”

“Like?”

“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.

Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.

Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.

Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.

“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.

The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.

Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings.

The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.

“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.

You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.

The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”

“Crawl to me.”

You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.

“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.

You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all.

He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.

“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”

You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone.

Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.

He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”

Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.

The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides.

You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.

“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.”

Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”

He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”

The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.

“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.

When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.”

“Crawl to who?”

You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”

He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?”

You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.

“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”

Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”

“Then fucking move.”

Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you.

You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.

“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”

Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?

You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty.

You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery.

Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.

The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.

“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?

You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.

You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.

You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward.

“Open your eyes.”

You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.

“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”

You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.

Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat.

You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.

All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.

He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.

“Show me your hands, bunny.”

You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.

You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.

Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.

Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable.

He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.

You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it.

Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.

He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing.

What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.

Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”

“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.

“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”

“N-no. Please.”

“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”

Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.

“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”

He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again.

“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”

You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.

“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.

“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.” He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.

You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.

“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”

And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.

“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.

“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.

“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.

“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”

His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.

“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”

“What?”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It hurts so much.”

“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”

“But I can’t get myself up.”

“That’s too bad.”

You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.

“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”

“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”

He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”

You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him once again, “Please.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”

But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.

Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.

The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control.

You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.

The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.

Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”

Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”

“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.

But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.

You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.

“As comfortable as I can be.”

“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.

“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face.

“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.

You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.

“This will be quick.”

You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching.

You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.

Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.

“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”

Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.

Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?

Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.

Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?

It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.

You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.

In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.

You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you.

As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.

Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.

Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead.

Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow.

Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective.

~masterlist~

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strrwbrrryjam · 29 days

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either treat abigail, molly, mary, with respect or die looking down the barrel of my gun

i'm being one hundred percent serious when i say i'm tired of people disregarding and disrespecting them to uplift their queer ships. it's bad and it needs to stop.

like i just read a jovier post where they have john cheat on abigail?what the fuck man.

his love for her is unwavering and he is incredibly committed to abigail, he's so devoted to her, working so hard to create a life for the three of them. john is willing to lay down his life to protect his family, and he does so, rescuing them is his whole motive for seeking redemption in the first game. he would never disrespect abigail like that, he's learned and grown, he's no longer the shithead deadbeat dad when jack was young, he loves her.

arthur still so clearly loves mary, his love remaining steadfast and unwavering even years after their broken engagement, it's so obvious on his face when he looks at her. his heart still yearns for her that when she calls, he comes, even if he's a little miffed at the start, he still goes. honestly, i believe if arthur didn't have other commitments in the gang, he would have run away with her when she asked him.

and while molly and dutch's relationship is tumultuous and dutch absolutely does not deserve her, molly is so important to dutch's character and the story as a whole. molly's loyalty to dutch highlights dutch's charisma and the ways dutch inspires loyalty throughout the gang. her existence also depicts the internal conflicts dutch has and the moral uncertainty of dutch's actions. her presence within the gang and relationship with dutch represents the internal strife and conflicts within the gang, highlighting the human cost of their choices and the sacrifices that are made in pursuit of a false freedom in the old west.

and let's not even mention the treatment eliza, annabelle, bessie and even susan receive, which is hardly any mention at all.

eliza, annabelle and bessie each play small but significant parts to not just their respective partners, but to the story as a whole.

eliza shapes arthu’rs past and motivations. her tragic death, along with their son, isaac, has a large impact on arthur and his present relationships, such as abigail and jack. their memory serves as a driving force of arthurs path to redemption.

annabelles fate fuels dutch's vendetta against colm and the o'driscolls, and adds personal stakes to the gang as a reminder of the consequences of their life as an outlaw.

and bessie, oh bessie, not only does she add depth to hosea and represents hosea's wishes for a more peaceful life, but hosea loves her so much that when coming to terms with his inevitable death, whether by gunshot or sickness, the mere chance of reuniting with bessie brings him so much comfort, despite the fact that he fears that bessie lives above, while hosea will be traveling down below.

susan is a very controversial character due to her treatment of the women in the gang and her murdering molly, who did not betray the gang, both of which i do not condone, but it is impossible to deny her importance to the story. not only was, from what we know, dutch's first woman, coming before annabelle and molly, she also served an important role in the gang, acting as an authority figure, maintaining order and discipline within the gang where tensions often rise. she serves as an emotional anchor, which is incredibly important when death is constantly looming over you and adds so much depth and complexity to the story of rdr2.

when you ignore and disregard these characters you are undermining the depth and the richness of the story, each of these characters are important to the story. if you wish to truly appreciate the storytelling of rdr2, it is important to recognize and respect each of these characters.

#i know i've said this before. several times in fact but this keeps happening and people are not learning #listen i love charthur so so much. i have written multiple posts about my love for charthur.#i have studied every interaction every compliment every argument and yet. and yet. i still respect mary because i know how important she is #to not just arthur but to the story of rdr2 itself. representing hope and redemption and personal growth #im not as big as a vandermatthews fan. like i ship it sure - but god please learn to respect molly annabelle and bessie. especially bessie #the characters importance does not disappear because you want them too #respect them like you would any male character #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 abigail roberts #abigail roberts #rdr2 molly o'shea #molly o'shea #rdr2 mary gillis #mary gillis #rdr2 susan grimshaw #susan grimshaw #rdr2 bessie matthews #bessie matthews #rdr2 annabelle #rdr2 eliza #rdr2 isaac #rdr2 hosea matthews #hosea matthews #rdr2 dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 john marston #john marston

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tragedybunny · 2 months

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A Little Visitor

༺Summary༻

It started as a typical evening for Serafina and Astarion on their journey throughout Faerûn. Tonight, though, Serafina is surprised by a furry little visitor to their camp, who might be more than he seems.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings / Tags༻ No warnings, just fluffy fun!

༺Word Count༻ 1691

༺A/N༻

The is for the lovely @icybluepenguin, thank you for the gift my dear. I treasure him and you.

Edited by @grandmother-goblin, thanks again for the work on it.

Read on AO3

A vampire spawn, when not half-starved, can have a number of incredible abilities. In their time traveling together, Astarion has grown stronger and discovered some of these abilities for himself. The problem, Serafina has observed, was that without another vampire to teach him about those abilities, they tended to be discovered by accident.

Such as the spider-climb incident. A couple of thieves had tried to rob the inn that her and Astarion were staying in, cornering them across the room from the exit. Astarion had backed up to take a better shot at one of the bastards and had simply walked up a wall without thinking. When the fight was over, he had attempted to get back down and ended up falling in a very undignified heap on the floor. Sera’s attempt to coddle him and soothe his ego was undermined by giggles she kept choking back. The whole incident ended with him pouting until he received enough kisses and compliments to forgive her.

There were other little surprises that came to them as well. Astarion healing faster than he could realize that he was hurt, or moving at speeds that she couldn’t track. Every new facet left him radiantly happy. Until now, his vampiric body had been nothing but a source of misery; years of torture, a whole life lost to the darkness, and not even a sense of what he looked like. But now, he was free. His body was his own, and he could take pride in the things it was capable of.

The only downside Sera had found was the emergence of a fiercely protective streak. One that occasionally caused him to treat her like she was made of glass — including jumping in front of her when he perceived danger. Such instances usually ended with one of her eldritch blasts in his back and a discussion about her being a very capable warlock who saved the world, in case he had forgotten.

She wouldn’t change a thing about him. Impulsive, sharp-tongued, and macabre as he could be, he was also loving, brave, and so much fun. Even if he was not particularly good at more domestic tasks, as the laundry she was hauling up from the river could attest. If it was up to him, laundry day was always tomorrow. So, she’d taken the last of the daylight while he tranced to catch up a bit. Unfortunately, it was going to have to dry by firelight, one of many small adjustments she'd made for a more nocturnal life.

Astarion was worth all of them, though.

Plopping the basket near the fire, she began to hang the wet items on the laundry line that was set earlier. The sky had gone full dark and it seemed a little strange that Astarion hadn’t wandered out of the tent yet. Hanging the last of the clothes, she poked her head into the tent with a little apprehension. Astarion still had the occasional nightmare or moment of panic, the horrors he had endured crawling out from the crevices of his mind to torment him and he would sometimes try to endure those alone. It wouldn’t surprise her to find him curled up in bed working through one.

Instead, emptiness greeted her.

“Astarion,” she called, perplexed, stepping inside the tent.

It wasn’t like him to just wander off without telling her; even his nightly hunts were announced. Sera felt her pulse rise but told herself he’d seen her note and just went in search of a quick bite. She’d head back to the fire and give it a few minutes before worrying. As she turned to go, something caught her eye. Eldritch power crackled in her fingertips as a shape hurtled toward her from the depths of the tent.

Just before she released a blast of magical energy, the shape became clear: a small white bat. Dismissing the spell, she stood still, flustered as the creature didn't slow. Finally, the little bat smacked into her chest, chittering loudly.

Cautiously, her hands cupped him, wary of the small teeth in his mouth. His wild noises stopped, and he seemed to sulk in her hands. She had to be reading too much into what looked like a pout on his face. “Are you hurt, little guy? What are you doing in my tent?”

The bat in her hands flapped his wings and squeaked before deflating again.

“You must be hurt. Let’s see what we can do for you.” Gently, still wary he could bite down at any moment, Sera looked around for some place comfortable to place him before giving in and just lowering him onto her pillow. “I don’t suppose you’d let me look you over?”

Settling onto the bed next to the little creature, she gently picked up a wing, which he snatched back. “Oh come on, I need to see what’s wrong with you. Too bad Halsin isn’t here.” The bat suddenly hissed, and she glanced down at him with worry. “Maybe Astarion can help me when he gets back.” A flurry of noises followed her words, and she laughed. “Oh, you like the sound of his name. It is a lovely name, isn’t it? Well, he’s lovely overall.”

The bat wiggled excitedly, like he was trying to fly but couldn’t quite do it.

“Poor thing. Promise not to bite me?” That time he definitely chittered in response, and Sera stared at it curiously. Could there be more to this small bat than she’d thought? Picking up the pillow, she placed him in her lap and cautiously stroked his soft fur.

She hadn’t ever touched a bat before, but its fur was silkier than she would have thought, and it seemed to relax beneath her fingertips. “You’ll like Astarion,” she started, talking idly while she continued to pet him. “He’s a creature of the night like you.”

He made another little noise.

“You seem very interested in my… partner. I suppose that’s the best word for him. It doesn’t really quite do it justice, though. Hmm. Beloved. That’s a weird way to introduce someone, though.”

Her new friend had relaxed under the motion of her fingers.

“Can I look you over now?” she asked, lifting a wing to no resistance. Gently, she inspected both wings and his back. “I have to pick you up now, to see the rest of you.”

With a soft squeak, he gave in. Sera carefully looked over his ears, and flipped him upside down to inspect his stomach before setting him back down.

“I’m sorry, little guy, I can’t seem to see what’s wrong with you.” She went back to petting him. “Maybe once Astarion is back we can look for some local druids. I hope he’s alright, he doesn’t usually disappear on me. Maybe I should go look for him, in case something is wrong. I don’t know what I’d ever do without him.”

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love him. Even if he was a pain when we first met.” There was an almost indignant sounding squeak from the bat and Sera froze. “And he can be so very vain sometimes.”

The bat exploded into noises, flapping its wings.

“Gods above, it can’t be.” She looked down and found red eyes looking back at her with a definite bit of embarrassment. “Astarion?”

“SQUEAK.” Came the answer.

Picking him up, she held him in front of her face staring at him. The little rascal’s tongue lapped out and licked her nose. “How did you even manage this? And how do I get you back.”

The bat, Astarion, answered with a sad chirp and tried again to fly, this time managing to get himself airborne before crashing back down to the pillow waiting in her lap. “Love, what am I going to do with you?”

Astarion hissed and let his little head fall onto the pillow.

“I suppose this isn’t fun for you either at this point. What if you concentrated on it? Or didn’t concentrate? Or maybe sleep?” Each question was followed by noises that would have assuredly been not very nice words.

“Well if you’re going to be rude — ” she set the pillow down on the bed “ — figure it out yourself. I need to make sure the laundry hasn’t been stolen by wildlife.”

She'd barely stood when he began wildly flapping, attempting to get to her. Sighing, sure turned back, only to catch him for the second time that night, and have him excitedly lap at her hands. “Fine, I know you're sorry.”

“We'll get this fixed, but you had better stay in here. I don't think you can get away from a predator right now.”

Astarion hissed as she carried him back to the pillow, wings fluttering still.

“I'm sure you'll figure out the flying bit.”

He had stilled in her hands and looked defeated.

Sera’s heart ached for her love, trapped in a form he couldn't control. “It will be alright, I promise.”

Bringing him close, she gently kissed his little bat snout.

Something in the air shifted and Sera sensed a change causing her to let go of Astarion. The small form was engulfed in shadow and a weight hit the mattress. “Hells!”

“Astarion,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and feeling his arms around waist. “Gods, you had me worried.”

Pulling her close, he nuzzled into her stomach, chuckling softly. “So little confidence in me darling?”

“Forgive me for being scared my partner would be a bat forever, even if it would give me a lot more peace and quiet.”

“Is that how you feel?” The only warning she had was the tightening of his arms around her waist. “You’re so cruel to me.” She yelped as Astarion pulled her down to the mattress, and snuggled against her. “Though I suppose this wasn't my finest display of power.”

Her fingers pulled through his silver curls and she kissed the top of his head. “You'll be perfect at it in no time, my love.”

Astarion hummed happily and kissed the hollow of her throat. “At least I'll have you to pet and pamper me if I get stuck again.”

tag list:

@micropoe10 @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

@tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon @wanderingisobel @astarionsbeloved

@vixstarria @claryvoyantfray @misscrissfemmefatale @bg3obsessedsideblog @captainaceofspades @wickedwitchofthewilds @asterordinary @talented-bitch @waking-electric @snowfolly

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x original female character #bg3 tav #bg3 tav: serafina #batstarion

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vavandeveresfan · 6 days

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The Courage to Follow the Evidence on Transgender Care.

(WOW, the New York Times -- which a couple years ago had an ad about a qu**r girl who wished for a world in which J.K. Rowling wasn't the author of Harry Potter -- has published yet another opinion piece about trans, this one about the Cass Review. Personally, I think he's too lenient, but at least he's bringing attention to the review to Americans. )

(For those who can't read the NYT page, here's the text.)

Opinion, David Brooks, April 18, 2024.

Hilary Cass is the kind of hero the world needs today. She has entered one of the most toxic debates in our culture: how the medical community should respond to the growing numbers of young people who seek gender transition through medical treatments, including puberty blockers and hormone therapies. This month, after more than three years of research, Cass, a pediatrician, produced a report, commissioned by the National Health Service in England, that is remarkable for its empathy for people on all sides of this issue, for its humility in the face of complex social trends we don’t understand and for its intellectual integrity as we try to figure out which treatments actually work to serve those patients who are in distress. With incredible courage, she shows that careful scholarship can cut through debates that have been marked by vituperation and intimidation and possibly reset them on more rational grounds.

Cass, a past president of Britain’s Royal College of Pediatrics and Child Health, is clear about the mission of her report: “This review is not about defining what it means to be trans, nor is it about undermining the validity of trans identities, challenging the right of people to express themselves or rolling back on people’s rights to health care. It is about what the health care approach should be, and how best to help the growing number of children and young people who are looking for support from the N.H.S. in relation to their gender identity.”

This issue begins with a mystery. For reasons that are not clear, the number of adolescents who have sought to medically change their sex has been skyrocketing in recent years, though the overall number remains very small. For reasons that are also not clear, adolescents who were assigned female at birth are driving this trend, whereas before the late 2000s, it was mostly adolescents who were assigned male at birth who sought these treatments.

Doctors and researchers have proposed various theories to try to explain these trends. One is that greater social acceptance of trans people has enabled people to seek these therapies. Another is that teenagers are being influenced by the popularity of searching and experimenting around identity. A third is that the rise of teen mental health issues may be contributing to gender dysphoria. In her report, Cass is skeptical of broad generalizations in the absence of clear evidence; these are individual children and adolescents who take their own routes to who they are.

Some activists and medical practitioners on the left have come to see the surge in requests for medical transitioning as a piece of the new civil rights issue of our time — offering recognition to people of all gender identities. Transition through medical interventions was embraced by providers in the United States and Europe after a pair of small Dutch studies showed that such treatment improved patients’ well-being. But a 2022 Reuters investigation found that some American clinics were quite aggressive with treatment: None of the 18 U.S. clinics that Reuters looked at performed long assessments on their patients, and some prescribed puberty blockers on the first visit.

Sign up for the Opinion Today newsletter Get expert analysis of the news and a guide to the big ideas shaping the world every weekday morning. Get it sent to your inbox.

Unfortunately, some researchers who questioned the Dutch approach were viciously attacked. This year, Sallie Baxendale, a professor of clinical neuropsychology at the University College London, published a review of studies looking at the impact of puberty blockers on brain development and concluded that “critical questions” about the therapy remain unanswered. She was immediately attacked. She recently told The Guardian, “I’ve been accused of being an anti-trans activist, and that now comes up on Google and is never going to go away.”

As Cass writes in her report, “The toxicity of the debate is exceptional.” She continues, “There are few other areas of health care where professionals are so afraid to openly discuss their views, where people are vilified on social media and where name-calling echoes the worst bullying behavior.”

Cass focused on Britain, but her description of the intellectual and political climate is just as applicable to the U.S., where brutality on the left has been matched by brutality on the right, with crude legislation that doesn’t acknowledge the well-being of the young people in question. In 24 states Republicans have passed laws banning these therapies, sometimes threatening doctors with prison time if they prescribe the treatment they think is best for their patients.

The battle lines on this issue are an extreme case, but they are not unfamiliar. On issue after issue, zealous minorities bully and intimidate the reasonable majority. Often, those who see nuance decide it’s best to just keep their heads down. The rage-filled minority rules.

Cass showed enormous courage in walking into this maelstrom. She did it in the face of practitioners who refused to cooperate and thus denied her information that could have helped inform her report. As an editorial in The BMJ puts it, “Despite encouragement from N.H.S. England,” the “necessary cooperation” was not forthcoming. “Professionals withholding data from a national inquiry seems hard to imagine, but it is what happened.”

Cass’s report does not contain even a hint of rancor, just a generous open-mindedness and empathy for all involved. Time and again in her report, she returns to the young people and the parents directly involved, on all sides of the issue. She clearly spent a lot of time meeting with them. She writes, “One of the great pleasures of the review has been getting to meet and talk to so many interesting people.”

The report’s greatest strength is its epistemic humility. Cass is continually asking, “What do we really know?” She is carefully examining the various studies — which are high quality, which are not. She is down in the academic weeds.

She notes that the quality of the research in this field is poor. The current treatments are “built on shaky foundations,” she writes in The BMJ. Practitioners have raced ahead with therapies when we don’t know what the effects will be. As Cass tells The BMJ, “I can’t think of another area of pediatric care where we give young people a potentially irreversible treatment and have no idea what happens to them in adulthood.”

She writes in her report, “The option to provide masculinizing/feminizing hormones from age 16 is available, but the review would recommend extreme caution.” She does not issue a blanket, one-size-fits-all recommendation, but her core conclusion is this: “For most young people, a medical pathway will not be the best way to manage their gender-related distress.” She realizes that this conclusion will not please many of the young people she has come to know, but this is where the evidence has taken her.

You can agree or disagree with this or that part of the report, and maybe the evidence will look different in 10 years, but I ask you to examine the integrity with which Cass did her work in such a treacherous environment.

In 1877 a British philosopher and mathematician named William Kingdon Clifford published an essay called “The Ethics of Belief.” In it he argued that if a shipowner ignored evidence that his craft had problems and sent the ship to sea having convinced himself it was safe, then of course we would blame him if the ship went down and all aboard were lost. To have a belief is to bear responsibility, and one thus has a moral responsibility to dig arduously into the evidence, avoid ideological thinking and take into account self-serving biases. “It is wrong always, everywhere, and for anyone, to believe anything upon insufficient evidence,” Clifford wrote. A belief, he continued, is a public possession. If too many people believe things without evidence, “the danger to society is not merely that it should believe wrong things, though that is great enough; but that it should become credulous, and lose the habit of testing things and inquiring into them; for then it must sink back into savagery.”

Since the Trump years, this habit of not consulting the evidence has become the underlying crisis in so many realms. People segregate into intellectually cohesive teams, which are always dumber than intellectually diverse teams. Issues are settled by intimidation, not evidence. Our natural human tendency is to be too confident in our knowledge, too quick to ignore contrary evidence. But these days it has become acceptable to luxuriate in those epistemic shortcomings, not to struggle against them. See, for example, the modern Republican Party.

Recently it’s been encouraging to see cases in which the evidence has won out. Many universities have acknowledged that the SAT is a better predictor of college success than high school grades and have reinstated it. Some corporations have come to understand that while diversity, equity and inclusion are essential goals, the current programs often empirically fail to serve those goals and need to be reformed. I’m hoping that Hilary Cass is modeling a kind of behavior that will be replicated across academia, in the other professions and across the body politic more generally and thus save us from spiraling into an epistemological doom loop.

#cass review #the cass review #cass report #the cass report #transgender #trans #trans insanity #the tide is turning #gender critical #gender ideology #gender identity #gender cult #gender madness

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cybertroniannugget · 6 months

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Pangea and mt Vesuvius

Not what I originally intended to post here, as I'm writing some spice at the moment but THIS is what my mind was occupied with all freaking day... The whole desaster takes place somewhere in the first movie or between 1 and two. Some details are changed up Which I did on purpose. I know all the movies from start to finish because the hyperfixations are hyperfixating real hard right now.

This is just a random story of how I get idk let's say teleported into the bayverse movies and how I'd probably handle that.

While I sprinkled in a bit more confidence than I actually got, I think it's an accurate representation of what kind of person I am: always cracking jokes, overthinking EVERYTHING, random useless knowledge that turns out to be somewhat useful.

About this fic: sfw, implied romance with OP, trans ftm character, no reader just Alex, confused Autobots they still need to learn so much about earth and everything, I also don't know okay?

This is just me struggling while simping hard for Optimus.

But we still ain't know what fucked up big M's navigation system when he crashed. Infact, why are all of our navigation systems useless here?! ", Jazz adressed, arms crossed over his chassis. "We all be getting lost all the time.

"I think I know why"

Oh please, why did I speak up just now...

All optics and eyes were fixed on me as I said that, making me immediately regret opening my mouth in the first place but here we are now.

"What? Maybe your systems think you're on Pangea.", I said, taking in the same position as Jazz by crossing my arms over my chest.

Optimus leaned closer, one servo on the railing, blue optics studying me thoroughly as to look for any signs of lie in my attitude.

"Pangea? May you elaborate?"

Hearing this deep voice so full of interest made me feel things honestly.

"The supercontinent. Wait, Imma show you."

I take out my phone, careful not to reveal the background, because I couldn't find the time to change it yet.

"Here, this is earth today. You see everything, Europe, Asia, South and North America, Autralia, Greenland and all the islands in the oceans."

"And this is Pangea, it broke apart into the continents as we know them today about 200 million years ago. This is probably what Megatron had in mind. See? When you look at a map of earth today you might think, if you turn south America around and snug it up to north America, they fit like a puzzle. It's because they were together as part of the supercontinent. Or push it up to Africa, same thing. Just squish it all together"

"That human is incredibly well educated.", Ratchet chimed in.

"That human has a name and thank you."

"But why did that happen? It makes no sense.", Ironhide complained, lifting one servo as to show his frustration in what I just said.

"If I may...", I look at Lennox, awaiting some kind of approval to continue. He nods and so I proceed with my explanation.

"Well, I don't know how to explain it scientifically, but I'll try to make it understandable."

Optimus nods, listening carefully. How do these highly educated space robots not know about that? But who am I to judge, they aren't from here so I can't expect them to know everything about earth.

"I think it probably started because of something called mantle convection. That means the heat from earth's interior rises up to the hardened crust. That caused it to break open, creating a volcanic rift zone. The cracks went further, the tectonic plates drifted apart. The rifts filled with water over time and while the plates drifted farther away, the oceans were formed. Or something like that I don't know but today we've got 6 continents."

Always undermining everything I say, great job on trying to act confident...

"And Greenland, I don't discriminate.", I added as some people eyed me.

"But I don't know if Pangea is what your systems used as the base to calculate. There were other tectonic combinations even before that, but it's a wild guess I'd say. I am certain it was one of them."

As I was explaining, Optimus' gaze changed to a warmer tone and I could feel my pulse rise to my ears. He was just so beautiful, and seeing him for the first time in person made my heart flutter uncontrollably. I wish I could tell him how I feel,

But this is real. No scenarios, no daydreaming or fanfiction. It was as real as it could get. Damn it, I wanted to shift here, not get teleported or whatever caused me to end up here with all of them. I hope we can atleast become friends. No need to get my hopes up though.

"Alexander?"

The baritone voice of the Prime pulled me out of my thoughts about him.

"Hm?"

"What kind of heat were you talking about?"

"Oh that. Well, starting at earth's core, it's liquid magma. It's really hot, like 5.200 Celsius hot. 9.000 something Fahrenheit for the Americans here..."

This was met with laughter and I continued with my lesson or whatever you might wanna call it I don't care, I'm struggling here okay?

"The further you go up, the 'cooler' it gets.", I say, underlining the word cooler with my hands in a joking matter.

"They probably got fancy scientific names but don't ask me which. Anyways shit's really hot. And it's what shoots up from volcanoes.", I finish as I look into a round of confused optics and a few tilted helms.

"Volcanoes? When tectonic plates crush against each other, or built up pressure is released, no?"

They all look at eachother, chuckling coming from my fellow humans around me.

"Okay here, that's mt vesuvius, big ass volcano."

"Sometimes these mfs shoot lava from this hole up there, pretty fascinating and scary at the same time.. It looks like this.", I add as they look at the pictures, not knowing whether to be amazed or afraid.

"The glowing stuff you see here is the lava. When it's still underneath the crust it's called magma."

"Are there many on earth?"

"Yup, don't get too close."

Optimus' optics widen at that statement of mine

"Don't worry bossbot, not on this island. The closest from here is next to Madagascar, Africa. Unless you decide to swim a few rounds up there there's no need to get worried."

The Prime relaxes, shoulders dropping while optics still focused on me.

Why is he looking at me like that? I mean I ain't complaining but if he continues like that Imma internally combust.

"You explain everything so well Alexander."

"Please, call me Alex. Alexander seems so long."

The Prime nods understandingly. "Very well then, Alex."

Oh god make it stop. I love you so much Optimus please...!

"His heart rate just shot up exponentially.", Ratchet mentioned and it was right then and there that I wanted to vanish, dissappear, sink into the ground, never to be seen again.

"Haha yeah, chronic Tachycardia, no need to worry."

That was a lie. Yes, my pulse is through the roof right now, but I've got no heart disease.

As I was met with confusion from every bot except Ratchet I explained before any questions could be asked.

"It's a general term to describe an elevated heartrate. You know, the thing in a human's chest that pumps blood through our body."

"Blood?"

"Oh come on. Okay, well then I can explain that to you guys later. And answer any questions you have as it seems no one else here cares about your education on earth and it's inhabitants.", I say grumpily, looking at Lennox, who raised his hands in defeat.

"I can see us becoming friends Alex.", Jazz laughed.

"Looking forward to it!", I said, pointing fingerguns at the silver bot, which is met with more laughter.

"Okay, class is over, what are we gonna do now?", Ironhide asks into the round of bots and humans.

I just shrug, looking at Optimus, who was still looking at me. But when I looked at him, he quickly looked away to Ironhide.

Cutie~

"Alex seems to know so much, why not ask her?."

That statement of a bystanding soldier was met with a glare from Optimus.

"Alex is a he, you better make sure to remember that!"

They went to protest, but Optimus wouldn't let them. "Unless you wish to get what humans call fired."

Oh shit he's really mad...

"I will make sure of that if you continue your unreasonable behavior."

As he said that I could swear I saw the soldier shrink right then and there infront of my own two eyes.

He looks at everyone. "This counts for everyone here. You will respect Alex."

Oh god, he's standing up for me I can't please marry me Optimus, like right now!

"Okay, lessons aside.", Epps put a hand on my shoulder, smiling. "You were great by the way. I think we can use that for good."

He looked between everyone, a stern expression replacing the warm smile, hand leaving my shoulder. "As much as of a crucial hint this is, we can't know for sure what's exactly causing the malfunction. Better dig people."

True honestly, but HOW is anyone supposed to figure it out without cutting someone open? Megs maybe...?!

"Something's on your mind again, I can see that.", Bumblebee said with snippets over the radio.

"What, me?! It's nothing."

"Nothing?!", Jazz protested. "You just gave us the best clue we could ask for. I'm no Optimus Prime but I can say that I wanna hear ya out my man."

He looks up at Optimus, who was looking at me again after listening to his lieutenant.

"I must say, that you have given us great insight on your mental capabilities Alex."

He leans closer and it took everything of the mental capabilities he just mentioned to not kiss him right here right now.

"Well uh, it's just some kind of impulsive thought. You know, the ones you can't really control...",I said nervously, one hand behind my neck, avoiding everyone's gaze.

But he didn't budge, only blinking once while awaiting an answer.

"Okay, you're not budging I see. Fine."

Taking a deep breath and regretting every life choice I had made up until that point, I went on. "Look, I don't know anything about Cybertronian culture and how things are handled. Especially this right here. Us humans, we always wanna know what exactly caused certain events. For example death here. So we came up with analyzing the body of the dead by cutting them open and stuff, it's called autopsy. Maybe, just maybe we could find something. I know Megatron ain't dead but he's in some sort of... Stasis? Someone could check his navigation system and maybe find the cause for the disruption."

I lower my shoulders, trying to be as small as I possibly could infront of Optimus, who's gaze I couldn't quite interpret.

"On Cybertron, there is quite a similar practise."

"So you're saying it's worth a shot, Prime?", Ironhide asks, unsure of what to think of the situation. "But he's not dead, as Alexander pointed out correctly.", Ratchet added.

Optimus turned around to face his Autobots.

"This may be our only chance. We must take it. For the sake of both worlds. This war has been going on for so long, we cannot let this hold us down. And now it seems there is a way to find out why this is happening. We will fix it, together."

Now it was on Lennox to speak up again.

"So we gon' dissect Megatron? I'm all in honestly. That fucker did enough damage."

My eyes widen at that. "They're not gonna kill him!" Unsure of the righteousness of what I just said I looked at Optimus, who nodded.

"See? They're just gonna take out the navigation system and leave."

"Ooh, big M is gonna be SO mad when he finds out."

"He won't.", Optimus retorted with an absolute certainty in his voice.

"Alright then, it's settled. Prepare people and gather as much information as possible for this mission and await any orders from Big O!"

And with that final order of Lennox the soldiers scattered around, leaving immediately.

Okay great, I'm gonna go be useless again wohoo.

"Alex?"

I look toward the sound of the voice I already grew to cherish. "I know, I know. I ain't accompanying you. I'd die if I did, already know that."

The Prime nods.

"I am glad you understand."

I love you so much I wish I could tell you...

As he remained standing there I grew nervous, fidgeting with the strings of my hoodie.

"Is there something you need?"

"Wha- me? No! Just... go be a hero.

You know you're good at it."

I clear my throat, pretty sure Optimus could hear my pulse. "But remember to take a break sometimes. I always see you up and about."

Did I overstep? I knew it. Chance blown. Goodbye earth. No romance.

"I highly appreciate your concern Alex."

He's always saying my name help. Is he just being polite or what does this mean?!

"There is this human saying. What was it again? I grab it with my heart...?"

Please he's so cute I can't~

"I'll take it to heart was it probably. It means to honor someone's wishes as you see them important."

He tilts his helm in question. "The person or the wish?"

That is when I think all the 5 liters of blood inside my body went up to my face.

Keep calm, stay cool Alex. Don't embarrass yourself.

"It's up to the person saying that."

Whatever higher power there is, please help me!

"You deem my wellbeing as important and so do I"

Phew, that was close...

"Can it be both?"

WHAT

"Eh, sure. There's always room for interpretation."

I guess...?

What has my life come to? They probably think I'm a know it all person. I gotta keep my damn mouth shut from now on.

"Very well then Alex, I look forward to working with you."

I only nod, trying not to get lost in those beautiful blue optics.

"I'm sure it's gonna be great Optimus!"

Unless I unsubscribe from life because a Deception squishes me...

#transformers x reader #optimus prime x reader #optimus x reader #what the fuck #what is this #what is happening #i don't know #what am i doing #send help #i do be simpin

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warsofasoiaf · 8 months

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I recently bought a copy of "Rise of the Dragon." It expands on the information given in "Fire and Blood" with additional details. For example, it mentions that one symptom of the Shivers plague that happened in Jaehaerys' reign was blue lips. This reminded me of the Warlocks of Qarth and Euron Greyjoy who obtained blue lips from drinking Shade of the Evening. When Jaehaerys' daughter Daenaerys died from the plague, it undermined the Doctrine of Exceptionalism as Targaryens weren't supposed to get sick from common illnesses. However, what if the Shivers wasn't an ordinary illness, but magical in nature?

Cyanosis is caused by lack of oxygenated blood and is a symptom of viral infections. The Shivers appears to be a pnuemonic bubonic plague, which had chills, fever, and hemopytsis, just like the Shivers. It's completely mundane.

But even if it was a magical plague, the idea that the Targaryens are immune to mundane diseases is still wrong. Aegon III died of tuberculosis, a mundane disease. Daenerys has dysentery, a mundane disease. Viserys I suffered from gout, a mundane disease. Jaehaerys II died of an unspecified disease, with no supernatural symptoms. Aegon IV had all sorts of nasty afflictions, none of them were supernatural. Even the Great Spring Sickness, which took out multiple Targs, doesn't appear to be a supernatural disease, merely an incredibly virulent and lethal one, much like the Black Death.

They aren't immune to mundane diseases, and they never were. This is literal in-universe propaganda that has already been debunked for us.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#medicine #house targaryen #theorybusting

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bbwpizzahut · 4 months

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Its crazy to me that “oh man licensed games for kids suck now a days! they were so good back then!” is a kinda common sentiment now a days cause i’m sorry to tell you but no, The Incredibles: Rise of The Underminer is not a good game you were just 5 when you played it

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 5 months

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By: Rakib Ehsan

Published: Dec 2, 2023

With a wave of anti-Semitism sweeping Britain – and London in particular – you might expect local authorities to jump at the chance to show some solidarity with their Jewish communities.

If so, you’d be wrong. Havering Borough Council is a case in point. On Thursday, it announced it was to cancel this year’s Hanukkah celebrations. The council claimed that erecting and lighting the large menorah outside Havering Town Hall could ‘inflame community tensions’ and lead to vandalism and disruption. (It had already paid for the specially designed menorah.)

On Friday, in the face of a considerable backlash, Havering announced a u-turn. It has been reported that the council had an ‘urgent meeting’ with Jewish community leaders and has since decided that the menorah-lighting event could indeed go ahead later this month.

But this volte-face will do little to erase the damage done by the original, spectacularly ill-judged decision. Indeed, Havering’s initial move to cancel the event has been roundly condemned by those of all faiths and none.

Nazir Afzal, the first Muslim chancellor of Manchester University, pointed out that the celebration of the Jewish festival has nothing at all to do with the war in Gaza. Dr Krish Kandiah, the director of the pro-refugee Sanctuary Foundation, pledged to stand ‘with the Jewish community in Havering’. Hope Not Hate founder Nick Lowles also intervened, saying that the council’s original decision was wrong ‘on every level’.

Muhammad Manwar Ali, an experienced figure in the counter-extremism field, was blunter still. He described the plan to cancel the event as ‘absolutely awful’ and a form of ‘shameless appeasement’. He’s not wrong. Havering seemed more concerned with appeasing anti-Semites than with supporting the local Jewish community.

Havering seemed to think that by cancelling Hanukkah celebrations community tensions would be eased. This is absurd. It would have made them worse. Not only was Havering threatening to cancel a religious celebration that has long brought joy and happiness to the capital; it was also pandering to nasty extremist factions.

Failing to stand in solidarity with British Jews sends a dangerous message. Regardless of your opinion on the conflict in Gaza, Jewish people are not agents of the Israeli government – they simply want to celebrate their religious holiday in peace. Havering was effectively threatening to suppress one religious minority at the presumed behest of another. All because it assumed that the visible display of Jewishness would upset – and potentially anger – the local Muslim community. Which is also incredibly insulting to Muslims.

Havering has not only failed its Jewish residents – it has also undermined religious freedom more generally. This kind of decision, although it has been reversed, still sets a sinister precedent. It suggests that the feelings of some minority groups should take priority over the rights of others.

If we want to build a truly harmonious and diverse society, we cannot capitulate to bigots who may take offence to harmless religious rituals. Now more than ever, we must rise above tribal identity politics in Britain. We need to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with British Jews and send the clear message that anti-Semitism and hatred will not win.

Imagine the cries of "Islamophobia" if, for example, Ramadan activities were cancelled. Imagine the protests and the violence that would have unfolded.

Now, notice how they were not even asked to cancel Hanukkah, they just voluntarily did so to placate the perceived offence of one group over another.

Not only were the Jews supposed to just quietly accept this, but it tells you the privileged position Islam occupies, even when nobody actively seeks to exercise that privilege.

#Havering Borough Council #Hanukkah #Hannukah #Chanukah #judaism #antisemitism #islam #religious freedom #islamophobia #religion #religion is a mental illness

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cha-mij · 9 months

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Ineffable Ambiguity

The Great White Hum Drum

He had forgotten what it was like. The sheer monotony of it all. White walls, white floors, white desks and white clothing. There was no way of telling how many days or eons had passed since Aziraphale had left Earth, for there were no time pieces in heaven. No filigreed pocket watches, no dawn or dusk, no sleep to drift into and no music to listen to. Certainly not 21 minutes of Shostakovitch. Crowley was right about the nightingales. Just white. An endless sea of white.

Somehow though this extreme minimalism was a comfort in its own way, for Aziraphale knew that all souvenirs of earth would only serve to remind him of Crowley and of the pain he had caused them.

The angel had regretted his decision almost immediately, but what was he to do? Especially now he was certain that whatever was being planned had to be stopped from the inside.

“Oh, my dear, dear Crowley”, he sighed. “I said you were part of the bad guys. If only you knew what I do now.”

Heaven’s elite hadn’t taken to Aziraphale jumping up the ranks. They resented him and he knew it. Michael and Saraqael voted against almost every decision he tried to make, while Uriel voted in favour purely to undermine Michael’s authority. There was therefore a stalemate in every decision and heaven hadn’t changed one ounce for the better. The Metatron had announced Aziraphale’s appointment as archangel, plopped him in front of a desk, proclaimed ‘best of luck!’, then promptly abandoned him.

It was left to Michael to proclaim that all angels that rise or fall require a change of name. Though Aziraphale tried in vain to keep his, it was but the first he had to concede since going ‘up’.

“But I like my name! Surely, it’s up to me whether I keep it or not?”

Michael looked at him with utter disdain.

“Up to you? To change a 6000-year tradition? To change heavenly rules? You may think that because the Metatron appointed you archangel that you are suddenly better than those of us that have been working up here while you slummed it with that demon of yours” but that doesn’t give you the right to mess with a system that has been in place since before the beginning.

That was the first time he had been reprimanded for doing what the Metatron had apparently sent him up to heaven to do, and it didn’t take Aziraphale long to realise the Metatron sent him up here to do nothing remotely like creating positive change.

“So, what do you propose I name myself then?” Aziraphale had thought to suggest something incredibly witty. But that was always Crowley’s forte.

Michael evoked a scroll, blew off some extraordinarily old dust, and opening it proclaimed: “The next pre-set name on the list is Raphael.”

Upon looking up from the scroll, Michael could have sworn this up-start angel was laughing at them.

“You do realise all you are doing is shortening my existing name? Does that mean I get to call you Archangel Micky?”

Raphael was incredibly proud of himself for having made what he assumed was the wittiest joke uttered by an angel in heaven for at least a century or two. His grin evidently annoyed Michael more than the witticism but that in itself was worth the expression on Michael’s face.

Having been bound to desk duty much of the time since his name change, there was little chance to get used to it.

The monotony was excruciating. It turned out that by “running heaven”, what the Metatron had meant was “doing the paperwork”, which was all he ever did until called for a council vote. Raphael had started by planning a succession of changes to be proposed in each of these meetings but after dozens of stalemates he had realised these attempts were futile.

Once however, while stretching his legs along the long corridors of heaven’s offices Raphael witnessed Michael carrying a small, ornate chest towards the Metatron’s personal office and followed behind to listen beside the open door. Leaning over the edge he saw the chest placed onto a desk. It all looked so obscenely out of place. The office was like all the others. White walls, floors, doors, devoid of decor or character. Yet there stood one of the most beautiful items Raphael had seen in the 6000 years of his existence.

Though the sheer shine of it resembled gold at first, the chest was in fact comprised of highly polished bronze. The surface of which was embossed with winding plants and flowers. Each edge was decorated with delicate statuettes of angels with wings unfurled, carved in what appeared to be marble. In the center a large keyhole was bordered by writing too small to make out. The detail of this artistry was made more impressive by the small scale of the chest itself, which left most of the desk uncovered.

“Ahh, Michael. Thank you for fetching this for me. I assume you remember it’s importance?” Metatron spoke with all the authority of a CEO to a secretary.

Michael gave a half bow and spoke flatly.

“Of course, my Lord. It may have been a few millennia since it was used but I cannot forget what was trapped inside the ark. It always does amuse me how those humans managed to get the description of it so wrong”.

“That’s what you get for not appointing angelic proofreaders for that ‘Bible’ of theirs. The mistakes made in the first draft only got worse with each translation, transcription or amendment”.

Michael conceded that not taking the time to properly overlook such a popular compendium of heavenly deeds was an oversight larger than initially thought but knew better than to question how heaven was supposed to know this was to be the most popular when so many were being composed at the time.

The Metatron rose from their chair and circled the desk towards Michael. Raphael thought he saw an expression of concern on their face, while Michael stood rigid and expressionless. The perfect soldier standing at attention for their master.

The Metatron lowered their voice, but Raphael could just make out the words that shouldn’t have shocked him.

“How is our little archangel doing then, Michael? Has he realised the futility of his so-called high office yet? Or do we have a bit longer to wait until he realises he’s an exalted secretary?”

Michael gave the slightest smile before responding.

“He seems to have given up trying to make changes. Though admittedly that would be more enjoyable if Uriel didn’t make a point of voting with him in their vain attempt to undermine my authority. They really do think they could someday usurp the leadership”.

The Metatron hesitated, then continued,

“You know I would never let that happen Michael. You are leader of the angels in all but name and you know full well I only brought that idiotic traitor back to separate him from his pet demon. That miracle of theirs was far too powerful for my liking and I do not want them getting in the way of the second coming. You know this already.”

Michael gave another slight bow.

“TI am grateful for the reassurance my Lord. Truth be told it is taking a lot of constraint to not just summon Shax up here to try with more hellfire. I’m certain there was a trick behind his survival last time that he cannot recreate without that demon of his”.

“Patience is a virtue as you well know Michael. That runt is useless on his own. No spine at all. Once the second coming is past the point of intervention, he’ll get his just deserts but until then he is kept safely up here where we can keep our eye on him”.

“Pardon my questioning sir, but wouldn’t it be safer to just have done with it?”

The Metatron started to look bored of this conversation and explained the situation in a tone spoken to a child.

“To put it simply, Crowley would know. I don’t know how or why they are tied together but they are. Since the only one who could tell me exactly why has resided in this box for most of existence, I don’t intend to satisfy my curiosity. Do you have anything else to add Michael, or do you remember what happens to heavenly beings that ask too many questions?”

Raphael managed to pull himself out of shock in time to skulk away as the conversation was finished. He did not know what or who was in that chest, but he knew he had to find out before the second coming. Why did they call it the ark? What ark? He wished to God he had stayed on Earth but home, and what ever faced him there had to wait. He was still confused by Crowley’s actions the last they met. He had heard the ‘Alpha Centuri speal’ a thousand times before.

“Let’s run away and forget our troubles” was the preset for Crowley every time something forced them to choose sides. But why had they acted so.... human? What made them force a kiss on them when kisses were made as a way for humans express their attraction to one another? Why was this time different?

Raphael ran his hand through his hair.

“All these bloody questions Aziraphale” (for he would never get used to his new name) “will get you in more trouble than you’re already in."

#tell me what you think #fan fiction #fan fic writing #fan fic stuff #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens s2 #aziraphale x crowley #good omens spoilers

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fallowhearth · 5 months

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Review - Dan McCrum, Money Men: A Hot Startup, A Billion Dollar Fraud, A Fight for the Truth, 2022

Yeah, I was always going to love this one. I've watched the docu, listened to the interviews, integrated poodle-shaving into my vocabulary when discussing economics. This was more of the same, just with more detail. For anyone who isn't interested in reading a whole book, I do suggest giving the documentary a go. It's a good watch. I made two friends watch it with me and they also enjoyed. (one of them repeatedly tried to get the concept of short selling through my thick skull, as did the doc, but I still don't really understand how it works)

In short, Wirecard was Germany's hottest rising tech giant. It had expanded from its initial business model of processing risky transactions (from porn, gambling, etc) to processing payments for mainstream businesses all over the world, earning a hefty fee from each transaction. The money was rolling in, the share price could only go up, and it was even in talks to merge with Deutsche Bank. And for six years some annoying British journalist kept publishing hit pieces in the Financial Times accusing it of being a bunch of scams, cooking the books, lying about its business model!

Each chapter in this book goes something like this: Dan gets a lead -> a whistle-blower provides incriminating and/or bizarre documents at great personal risk -> Dan does legwork in some part of the world Wirecard allegedly operates -> Dan writes up a story and sends the incriminating facts to the German regulator (BaFin), Ernst & Young (Wirecard's accountants), German prosecutors, literally anyone who could do anything -> all those responsible institutions take a long hard look at the evidence of crime, and decide that Corrupt Foreign Journalists are trying to undermine our Beautiful German Company and sue the FT.

Meanwhile we also get a narrativised account of the goings on at Wirecard during that point in time (obviously using evidence and interviews that came up later after the trials). The book strikes a pretty good balance between revealing the mysteries as Dan discovered them, and providing enough context of what was actually happening so that you can understand the significance. It's a sometimes terrifying window into the lives of extremely rich people.

It also really humanises the whistleblowers, who are the true heroes of the story. In a story that is so often about powerful people circling the wagons, it was nice to get to know the ordinary people with integrity who brought the whole thing down. Special shoutout for the Indian-Singaporean lawyer and his ex-banker Mum, who were the first major ones. (His Mum emailed out the info for him because she got sick of his dithering, lol)

If I have any criticisms, it's that sometimes the structure of the book encourages emotions too akin to those experienced by McCrum over his years of obsession with Wirecard. It becomes a real slog as year after year BaFin does nothing, Ernst & Young give out another rubber stamp apparently based on firm handshakes and vibes, Wirecard's lawyers send threatening letters, and the German prosecutors pursue criminal proceedings against Dan. Like come on. It's darkly funny how much the entire German state fumbled this one.

On the upside, Wirecard's fall is incredibly satisfying. It ultimately took Dan revealing that 1/3 of their business was entirely falsified, for a different accounting firm to be called in to settle the doubts forever. Surprise! Not only was 1.9 billion euros missing, it never existed at all! The book was entirely cooked! This whole saga had an incredible amount of fallout. BaFin cleared house (turns out a bunch of BaFin employees owned Wirecard stock! How was that not disallowed already!?). Ernst & Young is splitting in half and several responsible persons might be criminally liable. Jan Marsalek is hiding out in Russia, unclear whether in an oligarch's house or in several oil barrels.

There's still some mystery around how much the CEO, Markus Braun, actually knew. Bellenhaus, one of the top guys, who flipped to the prosecution during the trial, of 'my grandfather was a Nazi and it's good enough for me' infamy, claims Braun was the architect of the whole scam. Braun maintains his innocence and claims he's a victim of Marsalek's conspiracy. He's either a great actor or an absolute credulous moron. Could go either way.

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byoldervine · 17 days

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Character Info - General Harkrow

General Info

Name: Ivor Harkrow

Nicknames:

• General (title)

• Harkrow

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: Late 40s

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Unknown

Species: Tyrion

Place Of Birth: Tyrion

Current Home: Tyrion

Appearance

Harkrow is dark-skinned with black hair and plum-coloured eyes. He’s almost constantly wearing his full Guardian armour, helmet included. His armour has silver accents instead of the usual bronze to display his rank as a general

Personality

Harkrow is strict, impatient and prone to shouting. His temper has been a source of frustration for many who have worked with him. Harkrow is very motivated by power, abusing any scrap of which he can get. However, he is also very loyal and duty-bound, and sucks up to Aegis at any chance he gets in hopes of being recognised as valuable by his king and superior

Likes:

• Leadership

• Proving himself

• His work

Dislikes:

• Slackers and incompetent people

• Being undermined

• Failure

Known Abilities

• Flight - Like all Tyrions, Harkrow is able to fly using his retractable wings

• Illusions - Like all Tyrions, Harkrow is able to cast mirage illusions. Due to his high skill level, he is also beginning to work out how to cast holographic illusions, though he hasn’t yet perfected the art

• Harkrow also wields a Guardian spear as a weapon, which he is very competent with

Relationships

Family: N/A

Friends/Allies:

• Aegis Cantor (king, leader of the Guardians)

• Anessa Cantor (future queen, future leader of the Guardians)

• All the other Cantor children (royals, children of Aegis)

Enemies:

• Angelus (fugitive, target, vigilante)

• Enigma (fugitive, target, vigilante)

Backstory

General Harkrow has worked hard his entire life to get to where he is today; the highest ranking Guardian, save of course for Aegis himself. He sees himself as superior to most due to his title, all the power easily going to his head. All he wants is to prove to Aegis that he’s the most worthy of his favour and to maintain a space within Aegis’ inner circle in order to maintain as much power as possible, even if he has to suck up a little to do it

Fun Facts

• Harkrow is incredibly frustrated by the fact that he can’t use holographic illusions consistently. He attended a few of Ellegaarde’s classes, but left indignantly after she deduced that his spotty success was due to some mental blockages

• Harkrow was largely self-taught in illusions, flight and fighting, but when he joined the Guardians and began to train with them he thrived from the order and clear instruction, helping him to rise up the ranks quickly. As much as he hates it, he works best as a follower rather than a leader

• Harkrow keeps his armour on at all times, constantly displaying his status as the General of the Guardians

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deadhumourist · 2 years

Text

Judge, Jury and Sexicutioner

A/N: Ok, listen. I’m sorry. I came up with this title as a joke but it stuck. From the title I bet you can also tell we’re veering into crackfic territory again. I can’t help getting him into trouble. Thanks to @just-here-for-the-moment for giving this a read and the great 'pearls' addition. She's a genius.

Warnings: Dieter being a menace and a chaotic sub, power dynamics, wild inaccuracies in practising law. No animals were harmed during the writing of this fic. Female reader, no physical description.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Judge F!Reader - no description of reader.

Rating: M, Explicit!

Taglist

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Telling Dieter Bravo not to be irresponsible is like trying to tell a toddler to not touch the big, red, flashing button.

Will not, cannot catch on.

He attracted chaos like matter sinking into a black hole. It was an inevitability of nature.

Which is how he ended up in your courtroom at 9am on a Wednesday morning.

"All rise for the honourable Judge" barked the court clerk, as you curtly crossed the threshold to sit at the apex of the room.

Dieter was sitting on the defendant's bench, looking like he rolled out of bed minutes before. In truth he did, dressing while hobbling to the front door with one leg caught in his pants and the other out of it.

His legal team had waited outside his house to pick him up, not trusting that he would make it there on his own.

The courtroom was quiet, a few coughs and shifting in the benches puncturing the stuffy atmosphere. You lifted the sheaf of papers in front of you, reading through the charges to get the proceedings started. You still had a long day ahead of you and celebrities pleading to some inane misdemeanours would go on until you hung up your robes in the late afternoon.

An LA courtroom was hardly the most exciting day at work.

"Mr Bravo, it says here you are charged with drunk and disorderly conduct, public indecency and…."

You squinted

"Urinating on a cat? Is that…"

You looked up at the prosecution.

"Is that correct? Surely not."

They nodded gravely, the woman in the pressed grey suit shooting Dieter a nasty look.

You sighed.

"Wow, ok. And urinating on a cat. I can't say that I've seen that before."

"Funny story, your grace…" Dieter piped up in the deathly quiet courtroom.

You shot him a strict look over the rim of your glasses.

"You will be quiet in my courtroom until spoken to Mr Bravo."

He slunk back down in the bench, giving you a doleful look.

"Defence, please state your case. I…I gotta hear this."

"Your honour, the defendant was out at an Oscar party and ventured out onto the deck of the establishment. He was slightly intoxicated on account of it being a party, your honour. What the defendant couldn't account for was that he would be caught in the middle of a fist-fight between two other actors and then thrown off the deck during the course of the fisticuffs. While down there he happened upon a young actress who was familiar with his work.'

A smug smile crept onto Dieter's face like he already knew the punchline to a very funny joke.

"They ah…proceeded to…a rather…uh….intimate situation…."

Before he could finish, Dieter piped up again, grinning.

"I banged her in the bushes, your highness"

Your head whipped to the irritating man.

"I told you to be quiet Mr Bravo, if you speak out of turn again I'll hold you in contempt of court."

"I'd rather you hold me in your arms, your reverence" he shot back, grinning at you.

He looked incredibly handsome. Wild curls and a sharp cut jaw that you wouldn't have minded running your tongue over if the situation had been different.

But he was undermining you in your own courtroom and that just would not do.

"Shut up Mr Bravo."

"Yes ma'am" he mumbled under his breath.

The defence cleared their throat and continued.

Dieter was quietly watching you, studying your face with interest.

"After the uhm…encounter, Mr Bravo had to heed the call of nature. As he proceeded a cat seemingly appeared out of nowhere, got spooked and ran in-between Mr Bravo's legs."

"I swear the piss only touched like the tip of its tail…" Dieter started.

"Right, I've had enough of this insolence. Defence, my chambers. That includes you." You pointed at Dieter.

You closed the door behind the two lawyers and Dieter and heaved an exasperated sigh.

"I can't abide these constant interruptions in my courtroom. Either you get your client under control or I'm ruling in favour of the prosecution."

The lawyers nodded and you dismissed them. As they reached the door, you added "I'd like a word with your client. To emphasise the importance of decorum and obedience during law proceedings."

The door closed behind them.

Dieter hesitantly stood behind your imposing desk, suddenly not sure of himself. You rounded it, your stately courtroom robes swishing around your ankles and offering a glimpse of your sexy strappy heels as you walked.

You moved around him, so that he stood between you and the desk.

"Mr Bravo, I want you to understand the gravitas of the situation. I need you…"

Your eyes fluttered up to his.

"To respect my authority and obey it. Can you do that?"

Dieter felt like the whole world was falling away. You were standing close to him, and he swore he could feel your body heat through the robes. Your sultry, soft voice snaking into his ears, telling him to obey you, made his knees weak.

He swallowed to try to clear the lump in his throat.

"Mmhmm"

"Use your words Mr Bravo." You softly growled at him.

"Yes Ma'am."

Another hard swallow. Your low growl right by his ear shot to his cock instantly.

Your hands crept up to his broad chest and you pressed him backward until his ass hit the desk. He tilted backwards until he was laying down on the dark mahogany.

"Now you're going to eat this pussy and be quiet. Teach you to run your mouth when I'm presiding over your case."

His face split into a grin and he shimmied up the table, getting comfortable. You hiked your robe up along with the short white summer dress you wore beneath it. You crawled onto the table and got onto your knees, straddling his neck.

He grinned wolfishly and grabbed your thighs to pull you over him. Without preamble he dove in, running the flat of his tongue over your hot core. You gasped, trying not to make too much noise. For someone who looked like a hot mess he was exceptionally skilled with his tongue. You moaned when you felt his plush lips clamp over your clit, sucking and nipping at it.

He worked you like his freedom depended on it.

You felt your orgasm building and you suddenly lifted yourself up. "I want to ride you, give me your cock." you demanded.

He hurriedly unzipped himself, tugging his painfully hard cock out and holding it upright for you.

You slowly sunk down on it, revelling in the way his eyes closed and his full lips parted in pleasure. You couldn't help the smug smile that crept onto your face. He looked gorgeous like this.

The stretch was just the right side of pain. Your thumb found the scowl between his eyebrows and gently smoothed it away before building up a brutal pace, your hips rocking on his in the furious chase to a climax.

Groaning loudly, he pushed himself up on his elbows, sucking kisses into your neck. He gripped your string of pearls between his teeth, his eyes dark with lust.

"Don't you dare break those Mr Bravo."

"Yesh your majeshty" he retorted, breathless.

They slipped from his teeth and he busied himself running his tongue to that sensitive spot underneath your ear.

You were close, the burn of exertion starting to settle into your thighs. Dieter was fucking up into you as hard as you were giving it to him.

Then your orgasm slammed into you, hard and unforgiving, your pussy gripping him like you wanted to possess him. The tight undulations pushed him over the edge, and you heard a groan escape his throat as he emptied his balls deep into you.

You rode him hard through it, making sure he didn't have a drop left to give you.

Panting, you looked down at him.

"Now Mr Bravo. Call me your honour."

"You don't need that sweetheart, I'm taking it with me when I leave the courthouse." With that he grabbed your thong that was lying on the desk, stuffing it into his pocket.

"God, you're impossible. What am I going to do with you?"

"Round two?" He grinned hopefully.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x you

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