#Laboratory Cold Storage

[manufacturer1722]

Walk-In Cold Room Chamber Exporter: Your Gateway to Controlled Storage Solutions

Introduction

In the ever-evolving landscape of industries such as pharmaceuticals, biotechnology, food processing, and research laboratories, the demand for efficient and reliable storage solutions has never been greater. One critical component of this storage solution is the Walk-In Cold Room Chamber exporter. As a key exporter of these chambers, we provide tailored solutions that meet the specific needs of various sectors.

Understanding Walk-In Cold Room Chambers

A Walk-In Cold Room Chamber is a large-scale refrigeration unit designed to maintain a controlled temperature environment for the storage of perishable goods and sensitive materials. Unlike standard refrigerators, these chambers offer significantly larger space, allowing for the storage of bulk quantities of items while maintaining optimal temperature and humidity levels.

Key Features of Walk-In Cold Room Chambers:

Customizable Size and Design: Walk-In Cold Rooms can be tailored to fit any space requirement, from small research labs to large warehouses.

Energy Efficiency: Modern chambers are designed with energy-efficient cooling systems, ensuring minimal energy consumption without compromising performance.

Advanced Control Systems: These chambers are equipped with digital control systems that allow precise temperature and humidity regulation, ensuring that stored items remain in ideal conditions.

Robust Insulation: High-quality insulation materials help maintain stable temperatures, reducing energy costs and ensuring the longevity of the stored products.

Easy Access and Organization: Designed for functionality, these chambers often come with adjustable shelving, sliding doors, and user-friendly access systems.

Visit Here:- Customizable Walk-In Humidity Chamber for Lab & Industrial Use

Industries Benefiting from Walk-In Cold Room Chambers

1. Pharmaceutical Industry: In pharmaceuticals, the integrity of products like vaccines, biologics, and other temperature-sensitive medications is paramount. Walk-In Cold Rooms provide the ideal environment for storing these products, ensuring they remain effective and safe for use.

2. Food and Beverage Sector: From fresh produce to frozen goods, the food industry relies heavily on cold storage solutions. Walk-In Cold Rooms help in preserving food quality, extending shelf life, and complying with health regulations.

3. Biotechnology: Research and development in biotechnology often require precise temperature control for storing samples and reagents. Walk-In Cold Rooms offer the necessary conditions for these sensitive materials.

4. Laboratories: Research labs frequently require controlled environments for experiments and sample storage. Walk-In Cold Rooms provide the perfect solution, accommodating a wide range of materials that need refrigeration.

The Export Advantage

As an established exporter of Walk-In Cold Room Chambers, we ensure that our products meet international standards for quality and performance. Our commitment to excellence includes:

Global Reach: We supply Walk-In Cold Rooms to clients worldwide, adapting our offerings to comply with local regulations and market demands.

Quality Assurance: Every chamber undergoes rigorous testing to guarantee that it meets the highest standards of performance, safety, and durability.

Customer Support: We pride ourselves on our customer service, providing expert advice and assistance throughout the purchasing process and beyond.

Visit Here:- Walk-In Chamber for Insect Cultivation: Precision and Consistency

Conclusion

Investing in a Walk-In Cold Room Chamber exporter is a strategic decision for businesses looking to enhance their storage capabilities while ensuring the safety and integrity of their products. As a leading exporter, we are dedicated to providing high-quality cold storage solutions tailored to the needs of various industries. Our commitment to innovation, quality, and customer satisfaction positions us as a trusted partner in your journey toward efficient and effective storage solutions.

FAQs

What is the typical temperature range for a Walk-In Cold Room?

Most Walk-In Cold Rooms can maintain temperatures ranging from -20°C to +10°C, depending on the specific needs of the stored materials.

How long does it take to install a Walk-In Cold Room?

Installation time varies based on size and complexity, but it typically takes a few days to a week.

Can I customize the design of the Walk-In Cold Room?

Yes, we offer customization options to meet specific size and design requirements.

What maintenance is required for Walk-In Cold Rooms?

Regular maintenance includes checking temperature controls, cleaning condenser coils, and ensuring proper sealing of doors.

Are Walk-In Cold Rooms energy-efficient?

Modern Walk-In Cold Rooms are designed with energy efficiency in mind, using advanced insulation and cooling technologies to minimize energy consumption.

[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ 🏞️ ✩ 200 setting prompts

¹⁾ an er waiting room 

²⁾ a funeral home car park 

³⁾ a dimly lit alleyway 

⁴⁾ a cramped holding cell

⁵⁾ an empty museum exhibit

⁶⁾ a dusty wine cellar 

⁷⁾ an ex’s spare room 

⁸⁾ a disused garden shed 

⁹⁾ a seedy, cheap motel room

¹⁰⁾ a 24/7 diner

¹¹⁾ a strip club dressing room

¹²⁾ a half-flooded basement 

¹³⁾ a dark classroom

¹⁴⁾ a sparsely-stocked walk-in fridge 

¹⁵⁾ a crumbling mausoleum 

¹⁶⁾ an aquarium’s shark habitat 

¹⁷⁾ a draughty bus stop 

¹⁸⁾ a posh hotel lobby 

¹⁹⁾ a quiet bakery 

²⁰⁾ a department store dressing room 

²¹⁾ a sold-out stadium 

²²⁾ a lofty airplane hangar 

²³⁾ a murky riverbank

²⁴⁾ a mostly-empty cinema 

²⁵⁾ a clearing amidst a dense forest 

²⁶⁾ a bar’s service well 

²⁷⁾ a mechanic’s office 

²⁸⁾ a 31st birthday party

²⁹⁾ a ship’s brig 

³⁰⁾ a sacristy 

³¹⁾ an amusement park 

³²⁾ a garish costume shop 

³³⁾ a mens’ bathroom 

³⁴⁾ a restaurant kitchen right before service 

³⁵⁾ an f1 marshal’s outpost 

³⁶⁾ a yacht’s bow 

³⁷⁾ a drive-thru chapel 

³⁸⁾ a stranger’s hotel room 

³⁹⁾ a dark evidence archibe 

⁴⁰⁾ a loud hair salon 

⁴¹⁾ a failing coffee shop 

⁴²⁾ a retirement home’s staff lounge 

⁴³⁾ an office building’s 12th floor 

⁴⁴⁾ a dying retail chain’s last store 

⁴⁵⁾ an upscale casino 

⁴⁶⁾ a ranch’s bunkhouse 

⁴⁷⁾ the deck of a dilapidated fishing trawler 

⁴⁸⁾ an away team’s dressing room 

⁴⁹⁾ a mortuary waiting room 

⁵⁰⁾ a long-disused storage locker 

⁵¹⁾ a phlebotomy lab 

⁵²⁾ a run-down stash house 

⁵³⁾ a tense conference room 

⁵⁴⁾ a humid greenhouse 

⁵⁵⁾ a jazz club 

⁵⁶⁾ a well-stocked storm cellar 

⁵⁷⁾ a decommissioned sanitorium 

⁵⁸⁾ an embassy under attack

⁵⁹⁾ a marathon aid station 

⁶⁰⁾ a luxury car dealership 

⁶¹⁾ a coastal holiday home 

⁶²⁾ the underside of a bridge 

⁶³⁾ a two-person tent

⁶⁴⁾ a draughty coal shed 

⁶⁵⁾ a labyrinthine warehouse 

⁶⁶⁾ a half-rotted apricot grove 

⁶⁷⁾ an off-the-books laboratory

⁶⁸⁾ a disturbing shrine 

⁶⁹⁾ a circus tent 

⁷⁰⁾ a freezing cold lake 

⁷¹⁾ an actor’s dressing room 

⁷²⁾ a news studio 

⁷³⁾ a broken-down elevator 

⁷⁴⁾ an office’s copier room 

⁷⁵⁾ a library archive 

⁷⁶⁾ a bustling betting shop 

⁷⁷⁾ a peruvian food truck 

⁷⁸⁾ a city bus depot 

⁷⁹⁾ a preschool play room 

⁸⁰⁾ a marina’s creaking dock 

⁸¹⁾ an army recruiter’s office

⁸²⁾ a butcher’s cold storage 

⁸³⁾ an abandoned storage mill 

⁸⁴⁾ a perfumer’s store 

⁸⁵⁾ a high-security prison perimeter tower 

⁸⁶⁾ a cordoned-off crime scene

⁸⁷⁾ a fire station simmering with tension  

⁸⁸⁾ a creepy furniture outlet 

⁸⁹⁾ a boudoir photographer’s set 

⁹⁰⁾ a maternity ward 

⁹¹⁾ a muddy farmyard at dawn 

⁹²⁾ a ballet company’s rehearsal space

⁹³⁾ a dusty record shop

⁹⁴⁾ an isolated, rural cabin

⁹⁵⁾ a detectives’ breakroom

⁹⁶⁾ a bridal boutique dressing room 

⁹⁷⁾ the back row of seats in a cinema

⁹⁸⁾ a bustling dockyard

⁹⁹⁾ a cheap massage parlour

¹⁰⁰⁾ an empty dormitory

¹⁰¹⁾ a stiflingly tense courtroom

¹⁰²⁾ a conspiracy theorist’s doomsday bunker

¹⁰³⁾ a cobweb-littered attic

¹⁰⁴⁾ a crumbling remote farmhouse

¹⁰⁵⁾ an arcade at close

¹⁰⁶⁾ a snowy chalet 

¹⁰⁷⁾ an out-of-use abbatoir

¹⁰⁸⁾ a bougie art exhibition

¹⁰⁹⁾ a neighbourhood paletería

¹¹⁰⁾ a headmaster’s office

¹¹¹⁾ a liquor store at midday

¹¹²⁾ a gold-for-cash outlet 

¹¹³⁾ a train station restroom

¹¹⁴⁾ a country club tennis court

¹¹⁵⁾ an acupuncturist’s office

¹¹⁶⁾ a mansion’s guest bathroom

¹¹⁷⁾ an overwhelmed military outpost

¹¹⁸⁾ a disused santa’s grotto

¹¹⁹⁾ an ambulance bay

¹²⁰⁾ a whiskey distillery

¹²¹⁾ a submarine command center 

¹²²⁾ a lesbian bar 

¹²³⁾ the boot of a parked car 

¹²⁴⁾ a bachelorette party 

¹²⁵⁾ an oncologist’s office 

¹²⁶⁾ a penthouse apartment 

¹²⁷⁾ a coastal cave at low tide 

¹²⁸⁾ the passenger seat of a humvee

¹²⁹⁾ a private plane at 40,000 feet

¹³⁰⁾ a murder-mystery party 

¹³¹⁾ an outdoor beach shower 

¹³²⁾ a sushi restaurant 

¹³³⁾ a trashed pawn shop

¹³⁴⁾ a divorce lawyer’s office 

¹³⁵⁾ an opium den 

¹³⁶⁾ a kids’ ball pit 

¹³⁷⁾ a silversmith’s workshop

¹³⁸⁾ an unassuming safehouse  

¹³⁹⁾ a turkish embassy 

¹⁴⁰⁾ a grimy sewer

¹⁴¹⁾ a federal evidence storehouse 

¹⁴²⁾ a loud public park 

¹⁴³⁾ a busy cocktail bar 

¹⁴⁴⁾ an army mess hall 

¹⁴⁵⁾ an empty stable 

¹⁴⁶⁾ a private investigator’s office 

¹⁴⁷⁾ a dog pound 

¹⁴⁸⁾ a hayfield 

¹⁴⁹⁾ a drive-in movie screening 

¹⁵⁰⁾ an apartment’s fire escape 

¹⁵¹⁾ a shipping container 

¹⁵²⁾ a yoga retreat

¹⁵³⁾ a duplex in a state of disarray 

¹⁵⁴⁾ an ice hockey rink 

¹⁵⁵⁾ a shooting range 

¹⁵⁶⁾ a blood drive 

¹⁵���⁾ a timber quarry 

¹⁵⁸⁾ a niche publishing house 

¹⁵⁹⁾ a private arts college 

¹⁶⁰⁾ a fairground in the dead of night 

¹⁶¹⁾ a last-chance rehab clinic 

¹⁶²⁾ an advertising agency

¹⁶³⁾ a theater on opening night 

¹⁶⁴⁾ a hectic rave 

¹⁶⁵⁾ a suburban pharmacy 

¹⁶⁶⁾ a green, sprawling valley 

¹⁶⁷⁾ a veterinary clinic 

¹⁶⁸⁾ a retirement community compex  

¹⁶⁹⁾ a hastily-emptied apartment 

¹⁷⁰⁾ a nightclub bathroom 

¹⁷¹⁾ a lush rose garden

¹⁷²⁾ a childhood bedroom

¹⁷³⁾ a military blacksite 

¹⁷⁴⁾ an airport lounge 

¹⁷⁵⁾ a television show set 

¹⁷⁶⁾ the 46th floor of a skyscraper 

¹⁷⁷⁾ a backpackers’ hostel 

¹⁷⁸⁾ an italian deli 

¹⁷⁹⁾ a failing hair salon 

¹⁸⁰⁾ a sensationalised haunted house 

¹⁸¹⁾ an off-grid commune 

¹⁸²⁾ a makeshift soccer pitch 

¹⁸³⁾ a landscaper’s toolshed 

¹⁸⁴⁾ a cruiseship’s engine room 

¹⁸⁵⁾ a photographer’s set 

¹⁸⁶⁾ a brightly-coloured daycare 

¹⁸⁷⁾ a neglected playground

¹⁸⁸⁾ a hardware store 

¹⁸⁹⁾ a nurses’ station

¹⁹⁰⁾ a tobacconist’s 

¹⁹¹⁾ a biker clubhouse 

¹⁹²⁾ a hunting club

¹⁹³⁾ a newsstand 

¹⁹⁴⁾ a sinking speedboat 

¹⁹⁵⁾ a monastery 

¹⁹⁶⁾ a medical examiner’s mortuary 

¹⁹⁷⁾ a grafftied phone booth 

¹⁹⁸⁾ a soup kitchen

¹⁹⁹⁾ a speakeasy hidden beneath a florists

²⁰⁰⁾ a pumpkin patch in july

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you and your favorite profiler get accidentally locked in a cold storage room, it quickly becomes clear that there’s only one way to keep each other warm.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reader's pov, mild threat to life, almost complete nudity (underwear only), reader may have one foot in the grave but her shameless commentary never dies (in fact, it gets worse), even when cuddling his half-naked coworker is the only way to survive spencer is an awkward, blushing mess

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.8k

𝐚/𝐧: request

"Tell me honestly, Reid, don’t you really have anything better to do at night than dig into some cold cases?" you asked, cutting through your darkened laboratory like an arrow. You knew it by heart, so no accident threatened you. He, on the other hand, didn’t, so you hoped he’d fall on that stupid face of his in revenge for calling you at this hour.

But maybe you had no right to complain. After all, you were the one who took the late-night call from that stupid face…

“Theoretically, this case doesn’t yet qualify as a cold case,” Reid hurried with an explanation, walking about a meter behind you. You felt his gaze desperately clinging to your back as he tried not to bump into anything. When you finally stopped by a fairly large square-shaped cooler with an entrance, he let out a barely audible sigh of relief. “We usually call cases cold when there have been no breakthroughs or new information for about three years. This one, even though it’s over fourteen years old, was re-examined six months ago. So, it’s a very current case. And it might be connected to the one we’re working on now.”

You rolled your eyes, listening to that lecture.

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for educating me about cold cases,” you muttered.

“The pleasure’s all mine. One is never too old to learn new things,” he replied with a distinct, smug tone in his voice.

“You’ll soon find out what it’s like to be locked in a cooler,” you whispered.

“What did you say?”

“Absolutely nothing. Apparently, the darkness plays tricks on your imagination. So what exactly do you need from there?”

Your hand was on the cooler door, but before opening it, you turned your head over your shoulder toward him. You wanted at least to know what kind of crucial evidence he needed that had woken you from bed.

Spencer hesitated slightly before answering. “A finger.”

“A finger? A human finger?”

“Well, it’s pretty rare for a non-human mammal’s finger to serve as evidence in a murder case…”

“I swear to God, you’re practically begging to be locked in that cooler,” you shook your head slowly, drawing in a breath. A finger. “You dragged me here to help you find a finger. You know, I think I deserve something in return for this.”

Spencer held your slightly flirtatious gaze in silence for a moment, as if pondering something, before giving a dismissive shrug. “Maybe. We’ll think about it once we have the finger.”

You opened the cooler door, immediately wincing at the cold that hit you. Inside were metal cabinets and rows of compartments, each labeled with the case name, year, and contents.

“Let’s go back to just calling it evidence,” you decided, stepping inside. You suddenly stopped, remembering something. “Oh, and don’t close the—”

Before you could finish the sentence, Spencer closed the door.

You stood facing each other, neither of you moving, as the cold began to seep into your bodies. You swallowed slowly. Reid blinked, blankly.

“Why wasn’t I supposed to close the door?”

The goosebumps spreading across your skin weren’t just from the biting cold inside the cooler anymore. No, there was something else. A prickle of unease you quickly shook off.

“No, it’s just…” you shook your head, recalling how one of your lab techs had locked himself in here a few weeks ago. Luckily, the whole team had been around and freed him before he had a chance to feel real panic. Since then, every time you entered, you made sure to keep the door open.

Of course, that didn’t mean the same thing was about to happen now. In the middle of the night. With just the two of you. No one around in case…

“We once had a little incident. Nothing serious, but I’d rather keep the door open.”

Saying that, you walked over to the door, if only to ease your own mind. Spencer watched your movements—particularly the way your hand pushed against the door and… it didn’t budge.

You felt your heart stop for a split second, just as an ill-timed, dismissive snort escaped his lips.

“You’re kidding me,” he said with too much confidence, his posture relaxing as much as the cold would allow. You shot him a brief, withering glare and turned back to the door, pushing again—harder this time.

“You’ve threatened to lock me in here more than once, and now it’s just—”

“Oh, shut up already and help me!”

Spencer needed a good five seconds of staring at you in dumb silence before he realized you weren’t joking. Then he joined you in the struggle against the heavy door.

You could push, kick, and yell all you wanted, hoping someone might be nearby—but none of it changed your situation. You were still locked inside the cooler with no real prospect of getting out.

Spencer backed away from the door like he needed to escape it, running a hand through his hair and breathing heavily, like he was trying to steady himself.

 “Okay,” he started muttering under his breath, more to himself than to you. Even with your back turned to him, you could tell he was pacing in the confined space like he was trying to solve a riddle. Socrates, when what you really needed was the Hulk. “Okay, okay… first step is always, always don’t panic. We have to stay calm and think this through together. What are you doing?”

“I have a phone,” you replied, standing on your toes near the door to hold it up as high as possible, as close to the exit as you could manage. “I’m trying to get a signal and actually do something, instead of pretending you’re giving instructions to a crew of preschoolers on a sinking ship. Did you forget we both work for the FBI?”

For a brief moment, he stared at you speechless because of your sharp words, which often found their way out of you in the face of serious, dangerous situations. But maybe that kind of mental slap was exactly what he needed — or maybe there was simply too much panic in him to get angry.

He stopped pacing around.

“And what about the signal? Let me try.”

You stood on your toes again, silently thanking yourself for all those years spent walking in heels and the skill that came with it. Then you handed the phone over to Spencer, so he could at least put those ridiculously long limbs of his to some use.

You watched him with such hope and focus that you stopped noticing how badly your body was shaking. And it was shaking hard. Every breath in that place tasted like inhaling the blade of a knife, every passing second nearly burned your skin with cold.

Eventually, Reid lowered the phone and shook his head.

Was this the time for another round of yanking at the doors and screaming?

You froze in place in helplessness, your arms wrapped around yourself like a blanket. You regretted nothing more than having worn only a thin shirt that night. Oh, why couldn’t it have been the middle of a brutal winter and you both walked in wearing coats, wrapped in scarves?

Spencer waved his hand in front of your face, pulling you out of your momentary daze.

 “You can’t just stand still,” he warned. His eyes were wide with a panic that alternated between quiet and loud, never leaving either of you, but also filled with urgency, pressure. He only relaxed slightly when you followed his lead, marching in place and trying to get your hands moving too. They were probably the most frozen part of your body. “Any kind of movement is recommended right now. It increases blood circulation and temporarily raises body temperature.”

You watched him shake his limbs — in any other circumstance it would’ve looked completely absurd. You let out a heavy sigh.

“It’s minus twenty in here. Even your danse macabre won’t help us,” you pointed out.

 “Why not? I’m already starting to feel a bit livelier. Lively enough to wait until someone comes and lets us out.”

 “Good for you. The only thing I feel is no feeling in my feet.”

 “That’s because you’re not trying hard enough.”

“And what do you think I should do? Start doing jumping jacks?”

Spencer parted his lips and tilted his head to the side. A second later, he tried to jump while spreading his arms and legs, managing it with absolutely no coordination. He probably hadn’t done that exercise in years.

Despite your situation, you snorted at the sight.

“Sweetheart, you're going to hurt yourself more with that than the hypothermia ever could.”

He looked at you with genuine, deep sorrow.

 “We’re on the same team. You could at least try to support me mentally.”

Your disbelieving sigh filled the frosty air.

 “Okay,” you muttered. “I’ll try, since it matters to you. But I’m not turning into a sexy cheerleader—I’ll do it my way.” You nodded toward the camera in the corner of the room. “The people who end up watching the footage of our tragic death are going to pee themselves laughing at what you’re doing. You’ll totally make their day.”

Your comment, even though sarcastic and meant to resemble a joke, made you both look at each other in silence. You had used the phrase our death, and while five minutes ago it might’ve sounded distant, it suddenly felt alarmingly real, possible. There was nothing you could do to save yourselves from this situation. The only thing left was to wait until someone showed up to rescue you. So you had to last in there as long as possible, conserve as much of the warmth escaping your bodies as you could.

“I know what we have to do,” you sighed finally, tightening your arms around your chest. Spencer looked at you questioningly. You nodded in his direction. “Take your clothes off.”

He looked as if he hadn’t heard you.

“W–what?”

“I said take your clothes off,” you repeated patiently, showing that you weren’t joking and that your attitude was neutral. “I’m not saying this as a pervert, but as someone who knows a thing or two about science. These frozen clothes are pulling the heat out of us and don’t offer any protection anymore. What will give us protection and help retain heat is skin-to-skin contact. We’ll create an insulated thermal bubble. In simpler words—god, I never thought I’d say this to you—take your shirt off and come here.”

You knew Reid knew what you were talking about. This was Spencer Reid, after all—of course he understood basic thermodynamics. And yet, he just stared at you with those wide brown eyes, like Bambi watching his mother get shot right in front of him.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. You could see him trying to form some kind of protest, to say something—anything—but he couldn’t. Because what you were saying was true. It was the only option you had left.

Eventually, he blinked nervously and croaked,

“Why do I have to go first?”

The frustration that filled you was so strong, it made your head drop loosely forward.

“For god’s sake, Reid. You’re not in bed with a woman you like—you’re in a freezer.” You gave him a look and continued before he could pretend otherwise. “And besides, you’re going to have to take mine off too, and I figured you’d handle that better if you were still dressed.” He looked completely lost, as if your words had short-circuited every thought in his head. You pointed demonstratively at your shirt. “My buttons are tiny, and I can’t move my fingers anymore. I won’t be able to undo them—but you still can. Thank your jumping jacks.”

Spencer looked around the cold chamber, as if he expected an emergency blanket to suddenly appear in the corner, or an exit hatch, or at least some metaphorical hole in reality he could slip through. Or maybe he just needed a moment away from your impatient stare. Eventually, he sighed in defeat and stepped toward you. You never buttoned your shirts all the way to the top, so at least the task was slightly easier. He reached for the first button, the one just beneath your collarbone. His fingers were red from the cold, shaking so badly he could barely grasp the tiny thing.

But when he finally did, he didn’t unfasten it right away — instead, his gaze drifted sideways. You frowned, assuming embarrassment had finally won over him, but that wasn’t the case. He looked toward the camera.

"I'm just stating for the record that I’m only doing this so we don’t freeze to death."

You snorted right in his face.

"Those cameras don’t even record sound. As far as they’re concerned, you’re just pawing at my cleavage with zero context."

He tore his gaze away from the bit of skin now visible beneath the undone button.

"I don’t!" he blurted defensively.

"So better do. You’re taking so long, I’m starting to suspect you’ve never undressed a woman before."

He shot you a glare sharp enough to cut glass — one you were more than ready to return — but he quickly dropped his eyes again.

"Very funny," he muttered coldly.

"No, not funny. Actually, very caring. I’m provoking you on purpose — get your blood pumping. If it weren’t twenty below zero here, you’d be bright red already."

"Oh, how very noble of you. And who's going to do the same for you?" he shot back.

You shrugged, genuinely unsure.

 "Well, someone definitely should. I even have a candidate in mind, but he’s not doing a great job so far. Honestly, he’s just not trying hard enough."

You saw Spencer roll his eyes toward the ceiling with disbelief as he listened to your rambling. But at least when you were talking, your teeth weren’t chattering — so you had no intention of stopping.

He had just two buttons left and seemed determined to focus on them instead of feeding into your antics, which, of course, you didn’t appreciate.

You nudged his boot with yours, teasing.

"Someone’s trying to ignore me. But that’s okay. You’re very busy right now. Probably mourning the fact that I actually wore a bra today."

His gaze snapped to your face as if he'd just been struck by lightning — which, honestly, wouldn't have been the worst thing, considering it might’ve warmed him up a little. His eyes immediately met your smirking, half-mocking, half-genuinely amused expression.

He let go of the now fully unbuttoned fabric of your shirt and took a deep, dramatic breath before gesturing toward his work with a hand as if he were an artist unveiling a masterpiece.

“There you go,” he declared in a high-pitched voice that he very consciously tried to lower.

That only made your amusement worse. For a moment, you almost forgot you were trapped in a giant freezer. Almost.

You sighed in defeat, the weight of the situation settling back onto your shoulders. The cold suddenly felt sharper again.

“Jokes are over. Your turn,” you announced flatly, and without warning, reached for the buttons on his shirt, unfastening them quickly and efficiently.

He stared at you, his shirt now completely open, brows raised so high they were nearly at his hairline, as if he hadn’t even noticed it had happened.

“You said your fingers were too frozen to do that.”

“I lied.”

“Y-you’re... you’re... I don’t even know what you are anymore!”

You were just about to fire back when your expression suddenly tensed with concern.

“Are you running out of vocabulary?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. He blinked at you in confusion. “That’s concerning in your case. The cold must be slowing your cognitive functions.”

“Well, it’s clearly accelerating your…licentious defiance of every known social protocol.”

“I take back what I said about your vocabulary,” you muttered.

He pulled his shirt off his back — you were so cold you didn’t even notice the difference. You turned it inside out, the side that had been touching your body and was still somewhat warmer; Reid did the same with his.

You laid one of them on the floor to lie on, and the other you were going to use to wrap yourselves in. You couldn’t do it sitting up in a way that would cover both of you — maybe with your lab coat it would’ve worked, but you didn’t have it with you. So you were forced to lie down on your sides, facing each other.

For a moment, you just looked at him (he didn’t seem to be breathing, his eyes locked on you like on a watch in a hypnotist’s hands), wondering what position would maximize skin-to-skin contact.

Eventually, you pressed your chest to his, placing your hands behind his neck. Your chin settled on his shoulder — which in some way also protected your heads, right? After all, so much heat escaped through them. Just in case, you also covered them with his shirt. It carried the faint scent of his cologne, but your senses were too dulled by the cold to really smell it.

You stayed like that in silence for a moment.

“Do you…do you feel any warmer?” Spencer asked.

You didn’t even stop to think.

“Maybe I would if you weren’t afraid to touch me and actually hugged—”

You broke off, because he really did grab you tighter, pulling you closer to his bare chest and tightening his hold around your back. You sighed quietly, because for a moment, you did feel warmer.

The thing is, only for a moment. You sighed again, this time with pure gloom.

“Maybe a little,” you said, unconvinced. “Okay, practically not at all. But maybe it doesn’t have to be felt to be working. Besides, it’d be kinda dumb to stop now, right? Not after we did a striptease for each other.”

A sound escaped his mouth. You had trouble identifying it.

“Are you laughing?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

You felt him nod in confirmation.

“I just realized you’re both the worst and the best person to be stuck in a freezer with,” he admitted, leaving you even more confused.

“The worst, I get,” you said. “But the best?”

Reid hesitated to respond, and you started to wonder if he’d died (you hoped he hadn’t) (personal reasons). Then you dropped your ironically nonchalant mask for a moment to nudge him slightly, just to check if his consciousness had changed.

“I mean,” he spoke up suddenly, easing your concern, “you’re ruining my dreams of dying in a tragic, epic way in a very comedic fashion.”

At first, you wanted to snort, but you kept up appearances.

“I am not,” you disagreed. “It’s still a very epic way to go. Dying in the arms of a beautiful maiden.”

“Trapped in a freezer?”

“No one’s going to remember the freezer part if you’ve got an attractive woman by your side. Much more cinematic. Easier to turn into a statue later.”

“I don’t want them turning us into a statue in this position.”

“Agreed. We'd make a much prettier stained glass window.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. But I hope we’re completely naked in that stained glass. And that my hair looks better. But that’s a side issue. I mean, can you imagine them hanging us in some breathtaking old cathedral, and I’m wearing a Victoria’s Secret bra? No disrespect to the brand, but it just doesn’t fit the vibe.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re absolutely right. Besides, Victoria’s Secret would probably want a cut for using their brand name. They’d profit off our tragedy.”

Your voices had grown monotonous, somewhere between murmuring and humming, most of your words aimed at the skin of his shoulder. You liked the absurdity of the topic you’d chosen. You liked his calmness and the way he was holding you, the way he’d let his guard down. It crossed your mind that you wished you were somewhere else now—somewhere warmer, somewhere your lives weren’t at risk. But everything else could stay exactly the same.

And suddenly, right along with that thought, a sound rang out. A sound that reached your ears with a delay and caused a moment of disorientation. For so long, it had been just your two voices—then all at once, a third element pierced the silence that had briefly fallen between you. You remembered just entering the cooler, how you told Spencer not to close the door and he’d closed it anyway.

The door.

You untangled yourselves from each other with dizzying speed, but there was no shame in the position you’d been found in (at least not on your part—you couldn’t speak for him) only the urgent need to confirm that what you’d just heard was real. Someone had opened the cooler door.

You sat up quickly. Spencer’s shirt slid off your bodies.

 The door was, in fact, open—and standing in it was a member of your team, the blond-haired Winchester, whose eyes were always rimmed with dark circles and who constantly looked like he’d just finished a three hour crying session—but that was just his natural expression  even when he was happy.

He looked at you both, eyes widening—then quickly flicked to the ceiling, awkwardly.

“Are you, um, guys… okay?”

Moments later, you were already out of the cooler, and you honestly felt like kissing the walls and floors. But before doing that, you shot Winchester a grateful look. He was the one who’d gotten himself locked in the same cooler a few weeks ago.

“How did you even know we were in there?” you asked.

Meanwhile, Spencer was standing like a shadow behind your teammate, holding his freezing shirt in his hands—clearly trying to avoid the young man’s gaze and attention, silently bonding with him in the mutual awkwardness of the situation. Unfortunately, the kid misread Spencer’s behavior and shrank into himself, as if standing face-to-face with his half-naked boss wasn’t already a nightmare in itself.

“After I got locked in there last time, I kept thinking about what would happen if it were someone else—and there was no one around to get them out,” he began, eyes fixed on his shoes. “So… I installed a thermometer inside that sends a notification when the temperature suddenly rises. It always goes up when someone enters and stays up until they leave. I saw it spike today, saw it was you guys, and decided to check it out.”

You looked at him and exhaled, not knowing how to even begin thanking him.

“You deserve a raise, Winchester,” you announced.

“But if anyone asks what for, please say it was for overtime,” Spencer mumbled.

You just waved a hand at him.

“Don’t listen to him. Say whatever you want. And come here,” you said, opening your arms and stepping forward, ready to crush him in a hug.

For a split second, pure terror flashed across Winchester’s face. With ninja-like reflexes, he ducked and slipped past you under your arm, leaving you hugging empty air.

“The raise is enough, seriously!”

a small post-reading author’s note:

winchester = literally whitaker from the amazing show the pitt a returning character in the diva!reader series! 

[odoraful]

𝑨 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑫𝑰𝑬

⟡ content: xiao x gn!reader; sfw; fluff; established relationship; xiao has certain powers that i will not disclose since it will spoil the fic, but it will be very obvious when you read it !; 1.5k words

⟡ a/n: couldn't for the life of me come up with a one sentence summary for this so unfortunately there is just the title to go off of 😔 also chibi xiao for the banner because it matches the vibe of the story hehe i hope you enjoy mwah !

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“If anything happens-”

“Just speak your name and you’ll be there.”

You finished off Xiao’s sentence with a soft smile.

Xiao’s protectiveness was second nature to him. Though he knew you were capable of fending for yourself, it never felt right for him to let you go on long travels without reiterating his promise to you. Especially now when you were heading to another nation where its threats were unfamiliar to him.

“But I won’t need to because nothing will happen to me,” you continued, flicking the clasps of your travel bag closed. “That is, unless the alchemical materials in the laboratory become sentient and decide to attack.”

Xiao gave a pout. “My concern is with the monsters of Dragonspine, not inanimate objects.”

His unwavering sincerity meant he seldom reciprocated your jokes, particularly when they revolved around your own safety. He had always thought that this would make him appear too stiff. Little did he know that it endeared him to you even more.

You walked over to Xiao, taking both his hands in yours. Eyes meeting his serious, amber gaze, you gently kissed the spot between his brows, trying to smooth out the furrow that had made its home there. He tensed ever so slightly before relaxing, still getting accustomed to your open affection.

“I’ll always be accompanied by members of the Knights of Favonius,” you detailed. “And I’ll be staying in the city whenever I’m not doing my training.”

Conceding to your rational arguments, his frown melted away with a sigh. The sharpness on his face was replaced with a softer expression as you squeezed his hands. He let out a low hum, focusing on the weight of your hands in his own. After your leave, it would be a little while until he would be able to feel this once again.

“I’ll be alright, Xiao.”

Your voice resonated through his head. Sweet and reassuring.

Of course everything would be alright. It was you after all.

However, there would be nothing stopping Xiao from being who he was either.

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There always seemed to be a pleasant breeze in the City of Mondstadt, neither too strong nor too cold. You were thankful for the window in your room facing outwards into the street so you could always enjoy the fresh air. The accommodation in Angel’s Share tavern was modest, with all the essential features for a visitor like yourself. A bed, a cupboard for storage, and small writing desk below a window.

Today, the winds cooled your skin, toying with loose strands of your hair, but never disrupting the papers on your desk below as you worked.

After tidying up the notes from that day’s alchemical training session, you brought out a fresh piece of parchment. Dipping your quill into the black ink pot, you began to write, taking care so your handwriting wouldn’t be as illegible as your study notes.

Dear Xiao…

To ease your boyfriend’s worries about your status, you also each promised to write to each other. Fortunately, with Liyue and Mondstadt being neighbouring nations, mailing could be sent and received within a few days. Verr Goldet would certainly be surprised to see Xiao skulking around the lobby, secretly waiting for a letter addressed to him.

Too engrossed in your penning, you failed to notice company joining you by your open window.

A small bird landed on the sill with unnatural grace. It hopped curiously, head tilting one side then the other. It was only until it gave a chirp did your head shoot upwards.

“Archons!”

You placed your hand over your chest in surprise. The bird let out another chirp, ruffling its own feathers. A laugh bubbled out of you, amused by how frightened you were by such a harmless creature.

Placing your pen to the side, you leaned your head in your hand and observed the bird.

“You nearly scared me to death, you know that?” you said to it, lifting your brows in mock scolding.

You hadn’t seen a bird like this before. Its plumage was a mixture of teals with purple around the top of its head. Maybe it was a native bird of Mondstadt. You’d have to ask Albedo about it during your training session tomorrow.

The little bird didn’t move. It simply stared back with unblinking eyes.

You were no animal whisperer, yet something about its stance made it look like it was anticipating something. Your natural urge to pet cute things took over and you slowly reached out a hand towards it. That seemed to be the correct response as the bird quickly met the palm of your hand, nuzzling under your touch. You chuckled, rubbing small circles into its head with your thumb.

The bird gave another chirp, quieter this time but satisfied, nonetheless.

“You might be the cutest bird I’ve ever seen,” you mused aloud. “I should keep you to myself and take you home with me.”

From under your palm, the bird squeaked. It almost sounded alarmed. You lifted your hand curiously, and it hopped out of your touch. Its head swivelled around, looking between you and the window behind it. It came to a decision and unfurled its wings, taking flight into the open air.

You stood up and stuck your head out of the window, following its path before it blended in with the clear blue sky and disappeared from your sight.

You flopped back down into your chair, the wood creaking beneath you. The inked greeting you wrote at the beginning of your letter had dried down, settling into the parchment. Smiling to yourself, you picked up your pen and continued to write.

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The little teal bird could only make it to Stone Gate before it had to make a stop.

Away from the eyes of any merchant or traveller passing through, it landed on one of the cliffs that lined the edges of the board walk.

If it were to land where there would be citizens present, it would probably cause a spectacle for what it was about to do next.

Wisps of green energy formed and coalesced around the bird, covering its body. The once tiny form grew larger and larger, reaching human size. Once upon a time, the transformation would have been much faster—almost instantaneous. But it had been a long time since he last used this power.

No trace of the little bird could be found as Xiao’s human form materialized.

Immediately, he fell to his knees. Partly because the transformation had been strenuous to concentrate on, but mostly because of his own embarrassment.

It had been less than a week since your departure, and Xiao could not wait for your first letter. He had to see for himself that no harm had befallen you.

He covered his beet-red face with both gloved hands, letting out a flustered groan.

His act would have been utterly blown had you kept him with you like a pet. The thought of him using up the last of his power and transforming while with you was too mortifying of a scenario. He also harshly reminded himself that you had not called him cute but rather the bird, and therefore there was no reason for his heart to be beating so fast.

How foolish of me... Of course nothing bad happened, he thought to himself. He had seen you unscathed, diligently studying, and even writing this week's letter for him.

Xiao took a moment to regain his energy and steady his heart. He gazed out at the landscape of Dihua Marsh. The remnant sensation of your warm hand caressing his feathered head left goosebumps on his skin. He had missed your soothing touch. Though, it just wasn’t the same compared to his human form. He couldn’t wrap his arms around you, feel you relax in his hold, or smell the scent of your perfume.

Xiao quietly admitted to himself that he preferred that you held his normal self. And because of that, he would be responsible and wait out these remaining four weeks until you returned to Liyue. That would be his first and last instance of spying in on you. Besides, he had your letters to look forward to.

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[brains4brawn]

Brotherhood of the Traveling Dick

This is for my husband @nonotnolan for our annual Valentines day Story exchange

It's been a long 9 months but its finally my turn, No more hiding my shame. No more feeling the others orgasms and having to live vicariously through them. For three months. The winter months. Ugh.

For fourteen years the 4 of us have shared the same dick passing it along after our 3 months is up. At first it was amazing to feel my frat brothers orgasms and to know when I had the dick they could feel mine. Soon the novelty wore off as we realized that long term relationships were pretty much over. Most women wont wait till its your turn. So all of us have turned to Bottoming as a way to feel sexual during the long nine months.

Trevor was my current boyfriend an average guy who liked to top most of the time. He accepted my excuse that id had an accident when I was younger and after 6 months ill finally be able to fully engage with him.

I felt it at 6:48 pm a foreign hand was clutching the dick as it detached from my frat brother Jaxson. I winced as the dick was plunged into Ice and stored somewhere dark away from a human body I could feel it trying to get to me but whatever it was contained in blocked the magic that made it appear at 7pm between my legs.

7:05 my dick was becoming numb, by 7:30 I couldn't feel anything at all. We we're all calling Jaxson but he'd hired a pleasure woman for his last night who had drugged him and stolen our dick!

That was 6 years ago. Trevor and I are now married. As far as my frat brothers can tell our dick is in cold storage at some sort of laboratory. Occasionally, they take it out to poke or prod it. We've come to terms that were never gonna see it again.

[ruzz9]

Hello! a question..

Can I request an adult student x Severus Snape? But the student is about 20 or 19?

Sex Pollen Extraction

Severus Snape x Fem!Apprentice!reader

Summary: He entrusted you with a delicate task. You failed. Now, two bodies out of balance—he weakens trying to resist the effects, and you’re drowning in an overpowering ecstasy.

A/N: I got a laptoop and discovered gradents. Am I overusing them? Possibly. Let me livee, okaaay? lmao

Special thanks to my lovely polyglot @acupnoodle for being my beta on this ocassion and helped polish this piece.

Warnings: Smut, Age Gap, Desperation, Loss of Control, Moral Conflict, Eat Out, First Time, Possessiveness, Rough.

2,6k words

You’re handling a lunar snail. It’s slippery, warm, and covered in a shiny secretion that smells faintly of fresh grass and copper. You hold it delicately between your fingers, gripping it by the shell while your other hand moves with precision to peel away the layer of slime covering its back.

The movement is slow, controlled. Your thumb circles lightly over the surface, cleaning the excess with your fingertip, the slime stretches between your fingers like an elastic thread before breaking in silence.

And you feel it. The same as always. The stare. Snape watching your hands.

It’s not the first time he’s done it, you’ve noticed it more than once, always in moments like this: when your fingers move meticulously over sensitive ingredients. When they close around a stone mortar, the way you press a cork stopper to open a vial without spilling a single drop.

At first, you thought it was your imagination, but he’s done it too many times.

Now you’re starting to consider, with a hint of discomfort and another of curiosity, that it might be a kind of fixation, a strange fascination with the way your hands move.

Of course, you don’t say it, you don’t ask, you wouldn’t dare to voice it out loud, the idea is ridiculous, of course. He’s thirty-eight, you’re nineteen, he’s twice your age.

Besides being your tutor now, he was your professor for years. He never treated you with condescension or warmth, much less any closeness, and it’s not as if you ever imagined anything else, there’s no room for that kind of thought, there shouldn’t be.

You’re here on merit. By the end of your final year, you earned distinction in three advanced subjects. And so you were granted the privilege of private tutelage, there’s only one spot each year, and this time, it’s yours. Dumbledore himself assigned you to Professor Snape, in the underground laboratory, three afternoons a week. Independent study. Applied experimentation. Personal guidance.

You didn’t ask for it, and judging by Snape’s expression when he first saw you walk into the classroom that afternoon, it was clear he hadn’t asked for it either. He didn’t hide his displeasure, he said little, kept his tone cold, as if your presence were just another nuisance in his day.

But you adapted quickly, to his tone, his style, to the way he expected you to work precisely, no praise, no mistakes, no unnecessary questions.

Either way, today, he seemed even more irritable than usual. His face was more tense, his responses sharper, you weren’t sure what had put him in such a foul mood (perhaps something in the Potions Wing, maybe a disagreement with Slughorn, or maybe it was simply Tuesday) but you weren’t going to provoke him by asking pointless questions.

Snape entrusted you with a second task: extracting pollen from a rare magical flower to add to the storage inventory. You’d seen it in books and had performed similar procedures on other varieties, though never on this particular one. You knew the technique, it was all about precision and a steady hand.

You didn’t ask if it had any special properties, with his mood, it wasn’t the moment, but you noticed the way he handed it to you, as if he trusted you enough for that task.

Snape was already at the back of the classroom, his back to you, organizing some jars. You set yourself up without saying a word, you prepared your instruments, took a few steps toward the flower, you were supposed to wear protective gloves, but you chose to use your bare hand to extract it more easily.

The work was meticulous. You removed the golden fibers one by one, placing them carefully in a small collection vial, you were focused, your movements steady, your breathing controlled, keeping the necessary distance.

Then, in an instant, a speck of pollen fell onto your thumb, you paused for a moment. The pollen was light, and when touched, it clung to your skin like warm, sugary dust, the texture soft, almost silky. You vaguely remembered reading somewhere that some flowers had a sweet, slightly metallic taste, almost pleasant. Without thinking much, you brought your thumb to your mouth and slowly ran it across your tongue, It tasted like thick honey, like something warm and sweet melting on your palate. You didn’t think about rules, or consequences, It was an automatic gesture, a simple reflex of concentration.

And that’s when you turned, instinctively, to look at him. Snape was staring at you, his eyes locked onto yours, in the exact same second your thumb was still between your lips. A clash of gazes that had no place, no escape, it was uncomfortable.

He frowned violently, and before you could react, he strode toward you with firm, controlled steps, he said nothing at first, he didn’t raise his voice.

He grabbed your wrist tightly, as if he wanted to erase the gesture you had just made.

"I told you to avoid direct contact with the pollen" he snapped. His voice was deep, between his teeth, charged with something more than anger, It was tension, Irritation.

After that sudden tug, your body recoiled slightly in an defensive reaction, your heart immediately started pounding, and in that fraction of a second, your elbow brushed against the vial you had been filling so carefully. The impact was dull, immediate. The container toppled and shattered against the stone floor.

A yellow cloud rose instantly, bright and dense like golden smoke, light as hot air, expanding around you both in seconds.

You took a step back, coughing. So did he.

Snape raised his wand with trained reflexes. He flung open every ventilation hatch, broke the upper seal to force more airflow, but it wasn’t enough. You could still feel it in the air.

"Get out of the room. Now" he ordered, his voice much rougher, almost breaking.

The second wave of pollen entered your lungs.

You coughed again, feeling your throat burn, and a new heat started to spread through your body, not in your face or hands, but lower, in your belly, your chest, your thighs. A sudden tingling that spread like a sweet fever beneath your skin.

"Professor, I can help to—" you started to say, alarmed, ignoring the sensation, but Snape didn’t let you finish.

"I said get out!" he growled, more forceful now. His breathing was already uneven.

You both had inhaled too much already, and unlike him, you had tasted it directly, pure, concentrated pollen.

You froze, you didn’t obey, you weren’t thinking clearly. All you wanted was to help, to stabilize the atmosphere, even if some part of you knew it was useless. You were starting to feel dizzy, and the sensation in your body intensified. It wasn’t just heat anymore, It was pressure, arousal, a sudden clarity in every touch, every sound, the feel of your clothes against your skin.

Snape leaned against the table, his fingers digging into the edge, his face tight, eyes closed, breathing heavily. He was trying to stay upright, fighting the effect.

“Professor...? Are you alright?” you asked in a low voice. The uncontrollable heat running through your body mingled with a flicker of shame, but in your eyes, there was genuine concern.

“I should never have trusted you with a task of that magnitude” he rasped. His voice was barely a thread, rough, strained.

“I’m sorry... I really am. I wasn’t enough. I...” The words lodged in your throat. You could barely articulate them. Euphoria surged through your blood, tightening your chest. There was a knot in your throat, your breath hitching, your eyes filled with an overwhelming urge to cry. Unlike him, you couldn’t suppress it. It was too much.

And then, you saw him sway.

His legs gave out beneath him. He dropped to his knees. His whole body trembled. Suddenly, he looked exhausted, defeated.

You moved toward him without thinking, stunned. You didn’t know if it was concern... or the sheer intensity of the moment that propelled you. All you knew was that you had to hold him.

“Professor,” you whispered, but the word came out frail.

“Stay back. You’re not... understanding what...” He spoke with forced clarity, but his thoughts didn’t seem able to keep up.

“I can’t leave you like this...” you said, voice quivering.

Snape fought to stay upright, tried to pull away, but his arms gave in. He slumped.

The fall wasn’t hard, but seeing him there, sprawled, his chest heaving, broke something inside you. A sharp sensation of desire and fear began to rise.

You lunged toward him, your hands, those damned hands that had obsessed him since the second session, now pressed against his chest, spread out, warm. One resting unintentionally, the other groping for a way to help. The contact was light, but he felt it like a shock.

You leaned in closer. His forehead was damp, his lips parted, his hands trembling. His body, usually braced by years of restraint, was beginning to falter. His eyes fluttered open, wide, dark, confused, as if trying to recognize you through a thick fog.

His breath began to shift into quiet gasps.

“What can I do?” you asked in a broken whisper. You felt your pulse in your ears, your eyes burning from the tears you fought back. You leaned in slightly, as though your body could no longer carry its own weight. “Is there anything that can counter this?” you pressed, with the desperation of someone clinging to their last thread of hope. Your throat felt raw, chest tight, each word costing you what little composure you had left.

“Shelf... three...” he murmured. His eyelids were heavy. He didn’t finish. He looked dazed.

“Professor, Professor” you called, urgently. You gave him two light taps on the arm. You’d never touched him before—not like this. Every inch of cloth beneath your fingers was warm. You liked the feel of it. Too much. And you shouldn’t. Not now. Not like this.

But you needed him to wake up. You needed... him to stop you.

And then you saw the shape in his pants. The living proof of the pollen’s effects. Impossible to ignore.

You hesitated. But your hands moved before your mind could catch up. Gently, you slid them from his abdomen down to the opening of his trousers. You paused for a second.

Snape stirred. A faint surge of adrenaline allowed him to lift his head, just barely. His gaze was a mix of fury... and something else. Something that looked like desperation.

“What... what are you doing?” he growled, his voice taut with a fear he couldn’t hide.

You lowered the zipper. Your fingers trembled.

“I don’t know, Professor... I...” You didn’t finish the sentence. You freed him. For just a second, you looked—tense, hard, impossibly perfect in a way you’d never dared to imagine.

Your breath came out hot, you wrapped your hand around him, feeling the pulsing heat against your palm, the firmness trembling down to your core. You lowered your head, lips shaking, and took him into your mouth slowly.

This wasn’t you. You’d already lost. Your judgment was clouded, warped by the effects of that strange flower. Suddenly, it wasn’t just that you wanted him. You needed him. Desperately. Only him.

At first, your movements were soft, almost unsure. Your small, wet mouth molded around him with a delicious warmth, your tongue slid cautiously, testing each ridge, each pulse, both curious and hungry.

Snape let out a rough groan, low, desperate. His back arched against the floor, his hand searched for something to grip.

You took him deeper, your saliva mixing with his heat, your tongue moving. He couldn’t resist; the tension in his body betrayed him, broken gasps, his head falling back, a man always contained, now completely exposed.

For a moment, he opened his eyes and looked at you from below, there was something fierce in his gaze, something that begged and threatened at the same time. But he didn’t move, he didn’t push you away, and you couldn’t stop, feeling him throb inside your mouth.

Then, a sudden, harsh yank at your hair. Snape’s hand grabbed you without warning, forcing you to look at him. His breathing was ragged fire, his forehead covered in sweat, his gaze fixed on yours, a rage born from desire, from the pollen’s poison, from years of sick repression.

"Stop..." he murmured, a flicker of sanity in his voice, though the pulse in his throat screamed otherwise.

You didn’t stop, you kept going, and he didn’t resist anymore, his hand moved to your nape, guiding you with violent control, forcing you to take him deeper. His other hand clutched your shoulder with sudden, inhuman strength, you felt the violent tremor in his muscles, the tension hoarded for years, now released in a brutal spasm. Then he came in your mouth: hot, thick, an avalanche flooding your throat as he tensed over you, his groan rough... deep.

But instead of breaking, that release seemed to ignite him, a ferocious wave of energy surged through his body, his hands squeezing you with renewed strength. He pulled you toward him in a sudden, rough jerk; your body trembled, and before you could inhale, he flipped you forcefully, your cheek crashing against the cold floor. You felt the icy stone against your skin, your robe bunched at your waist, air slicing across your exposed thighs.

He lunged on top of you, his weight overwhelming, his burning chest pressed against your back, his hips grinding against your ass with an eager thrust. The sound of his ragged breath hissed against your ear, his large, methodical hands clutched your hips with frenzied urgency.

Your body felt tiny in his hands, the contrast with his size, his weight, his sheer force hit you like a punch to the stomach, but the pollen was boiling in your veins. Your mind floated in a feverish haze, a bright delirium where pain and desire merged into one indistinguishable fog. You felt your heart hammering in your ears.

Snape aligned your hips with his, his swollen, wet tip sliding along your entrance over the thin fabric, a crude contact that tore a strangled moan from your throat. The fabric was so soaked you felt every detail of him, hot and hard, rubbing against you. The wetness made it easier, but also unbearable, as if your whole body screamed to be opened.

Without warning, he yanked the fabric aside in one brutal motion, the cold air barely grazed you before he pushed in all at once.

He entered you in one deep, direct thrust, breaking through any resistance. A cry caught in your throat, pain mixed with the searing heat of feeling him so fully for the first time.

Your back arched, your hands scrambled against the floor, your legs shook. The difference in size felt brutal, almost impossible to take.

He growled above you, his breathing heavy, pushing even deeper, gripping your hips so you couldn’t move. Each new thrust was hard and relentless.

There was no sweetness, no pause. Only his body filling you, taking up space, forcing you to feel every pulse, every impact.

His hand slid up your back, grabbed your nape, pressing it against the stone with absolute control. His movements were rhythmic yet frantic, almost desperate. The other hand slid down to your lower belly, gripping you from underneath. Your breath turned into a silent sob, mixing with the sound of his hips slamming into you, wet noises dissolving against the cold stone.

Each deep thrust seemed to tear away a piece of your consciousness; the wet heat, the slap of skin, his lips twisted in a grimace of pain and ecstasy, all wrapped in a guttural sound of pleasure. Your legs trembled, your body shook, trying to adjust to an invasion that felt impossibly large.

You felt small, trapped, and at the same time, a burning wave climbed your spine, mixing pain with a raw pleasure so intense it blurred your vision.

A moment later, he drove in hard one final time, so deep it ripped a long moan from you. You felt him tense, his entire body rigid against yours, and then he came. Heat spilled into you, a wet, molten flood filling you in waves. He panted against your neck, each breath a tremor, as he kept thrusting, branding his dominance into you with every final shudder.

You were left trembling, legs weak, mind blank. You felt the rapid pulse in your chest, his breath mixing with yours, the crushing weight of his body completely covering you.

Nothing else existed. Only the sound of your heartbeat, the throbbing wet ache between your legs, and that dense heat of the pollen coursing through you, refusing to fade.

[theholmwoodfoundation]

RECORDING

TRANSCRIPT TAKEN FROM THE PHONOGRAPH ARCHIVES, HOLMWOOD BUILDING, SURREY

DATED 1899

[RECORDING BEGINS] JACK: My name is Doctor John Seward. I am making this recording on the Twenty-first of September, in the year of our lord Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-Nine.  I am standing in what will be, come Monday, the Holmwood Research Building. Finally, we have a place in which to observe and record. A true laboratory. The rest of the vampire’s remains are being kept in cold storage in Purfleet, but today Mina returned to us from London with a package that has haunted my dreams these last months: the hand of Count Dracula, packed in ice.  The necessary arrangements are being made, and within the week we shall transfer the hand to a large storage tank in the middle of this room, within which we may properly examine it for any abnormalities.  And yet I cannot wait a week. I find myself unable to sleep, unable to eat. I do not understand the…hesitance of Arthur and the others. With just a room and a light source we may examine anything we please. What need do we have for cages and tanks? I will not wait for such…measures of safety. Not when I can work now. I shall begin.  [HE CLEARS HIS THROAT] Object is a severed left hand, decapitated at the wrist. It is sinewy and pale, longer than average. The skin is faintly wrinkled, and there is a small mole on the underside of the thumb, otherwise it is unblemished. The nails are exceptionally long and sharp, and of a slight reddish hue, when compared to the rest of the hand.  The hand itself has hardly altered in composition or colour since we retrieved it from the Carpathians. One would expect extreme decomposition at this late stage, or at the very least signs of mummification, and yet there is nothing. We might have carved it from the fiend’s body only a few hours ago, for how fresh it remains. One can only assume that–  [FOOTSTEPS ENTER THE ROOM]  ARTHUR: Jack? What are you doing in here? We were about ready to send a search party after you. JACK: Arthur.  [FOOTSTEPS PAUSE] ARTHUR: Oh Jack.  JACK: Not a word. Not another word. I am doing my job. The job you agreed to let me perform.  ARTHUR: Once a suitable laboratory was constructed. Once we had safeguards in place!  JACK: And how long will that take? Another year? A decade?  ARTHUR:  We are dealing with a monster, Jack! I won’t have you harming yourself for the sake of haste!  [BEAT] JACK: It is the 21st.  ARTHUR: I know.  JACK: Today’s the day she– ARTHUR: I know.  [BEAT] ARTHUR: Come on. We’re leaving this for today. You are coming back to bed.  JACK: I’m not finished yet.  ARTHUR: Yes, you are.  [RECORDING ENDS]

[yandere-daydreams]

sigh. i really hate to keep dropping my delusions onto you but i had this vision last night after reading your robot ficlet thingy and i had to tell SOMEONE about it.

so, you sign up to be a test subject for some scientist who’s offering a lofty reward for aiding in his research. you arrive at the laboratory and satoru (the scientist in question) introduces you to his creation, suguru, the robot he modeled after his (deceased?) friend. to aid in his research on the reproductive system.,,,

well, turns out suguru is a cognizant robot and satoru has willingly given him complete control over the entire facility. the locks, the lights, the food and water (not to mention the various sexual “experimentation” devices satoru has so giddily created) and he’s not so willing to let their new guinea pig go….

feel free to skip this one i just had to get this motherboard suguru brainrot out into the world. suguru robot gives me the same vibes as the “you look lonely, i can fix that” scene from blade runner….,,

undead android suguru,,, he'd ask scientist!satoru to give him breast milk storage capacity fr fr

i just think there'd be some kind of inherent, internalized uncanniness to knowing you were modeled off of a boy who died when he was seventeen, to knowing that the only connection he'll ever feel to the first suguru (because satoru can't stand the implication of calling him the original suguru) is a few scattered second-hand memories and a chip in the back of his brain that tells him what suguru would say, what suguru would do, what suguru was like according to his very best friend. the only conclusion he can come to, mere hours after his artificial birth, is that he must be an improvement, even if he was only truly intended as a copy. if he can't be something new, then the only thing left for him to be is better.

and what's the point of superiority if you have nothing to be superior to? satoru's too easy of a target, too willing to bow down and disable those pesky security protocols if it means earning the love of his creation. you - selected through hundreds of hours of combed security footage, studied night and day by a voyeur who doesn't even have to leave his own body to seek you out - made yourself more of a challenge, both lovable and frustrating in your stubborn humanity. no matter how long you spent in isolation, no matter how many days you went without food or water, no matter how bright he kept your lights or how cold he made your bedroom or how perfectly he shaped the retrofitted corpse he called a body, you remained insistent that you couldn't be made to worship your kidnapper, to love a machine. he hasn't proven you wrong yet, but he will. given time, he will.

it's what suguru would've done, after all.

[be-ee]

⋆𐙚|Until I found you

⋆𐙚A/N: I just completed Arcane and the timebomb ship is still intact in my mind, and the wounds are still fresh..(Highly recommend you read this with the song “Untill I found you”)

⋆𐙚Scaramouche x Silly scientist reader

It was strange how quickly you had entangled yourself in Scaramouche's day-to-day life. It felt almost instantaneous, as though your presence had always been there, effortlessly woven into his existence. He couldn't help but marvel at the contrast—how, after wandering the earth aimlessly for millennia, you had become a constant he hadn’t realized he needed.

Passed out in a ditch up in Dragonspine, snow blanketed his still body as he stared up at the sky, lost in thoughts of his hollow existence. Then you came along. Poking at him with a branch, your curious voice broke the silence. “Are you still alive?” 

He didn’t know what compelled him to respond—or to let you drag him to your so-called "laboratory." Though, truth be told, "ransacked storage room" felt more accurate. For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, he stayed. Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was the faint flicker of something he hadn’t felt in centuries: purpose.

He listened quietly as you ranted about your research, your voice animated as you explained theories and half-formed ideas. He stayed by your side during those long nights, watching as you scribbled down equations and muttered to yourself, trying to piece together answers. And when exhaustion finally claimed you, slumped over your desk, he draped a blanket over your shoulders with a quiet care he didn’t realize he possessed.

At first, he told himself he stayed because he had nowhere else to go. Your chaotic little laboratory was better than the empty snowdrifts and cold winds of Dragonspine. But over time, he began to notice. The way your eyes lit up when you made a breakthrough. 

The way you grumbled when your experiments failed but never gave up.

 The way you spoke to him like he was someone—something.

It was starting to feel like something he had thought was impossible for him to find.

A home.

It was an idea wrapped and shrouded in all the absurdity his mind could muster. The thought was ridiculous, coated in layers of cynicism and self-loathing he’d built over the centuries. 

And yet, as he glanced at you—hair a mess, drooling slightly on your notes, completely unaware of the world around you. Impossibly stupid, this idea.

But there it was, lingering in the quiet moments and creeping into his thoughts when he least expected it.

[fiyero3305]

Three Days

There are three days between Ben’s death and his funeral.

Three days of Ben’s body laying in cold storage somewhere in Hargreeves’s lab as he and Pogo do whatever the fuck they need to do to get him ready.

“But I want to see him!” Klaus had cried at Pogo standing in front of the laboratory door on the first day.

I don’t want him in there alone he doesn’t say out loud because he knows how stupid it sounds and for once he doesn’t want to exasperate the authority figure before him with his unrestrained thoughts. He’s still a little high from the party he’d attended before the mission but his thoughts are at least clear enough to allow a bit of strategizing. Maybe if I don’t act like myself he’ll take me seriously.

“Master Klaus, please understand. It would be... upsetting for you to see your brother in this state” Pogo tells him, infuriatingly sympathetic in tone. “Allow your father to take care of the boy. He’s doing all in his power to prepare him for the funeral” He realizes he’ll get nowhere with the fucking chimp and storms upstairs.

Whatever the rest of the Academy does during this time, Klaus doesn’t know because he barricades himself in Ben’s room (fuck his father for not allowing locks on their doors) before collapsing in a frustrated heap on the floor. From here his eyes land on the clothes Ben had been wearing just before the mission, dropped on the floor by his closet. Klaus has a vague memory of Ben not being ready on time, having to dress in a rush, as he pulls the shirt to his face and grieves into it until his exhaustion finally takes over.

The next morning when Klaus awakes, there’s a moment where it could just be a normal day where he passed out on Ben’s floor having not made it to his bed, but instead of his brother looking down at him with a pissy face and a sarcastic comment, he has tear-crusted eyelashes and Ben’s shirt stuck to his face, and he remembers why.

His head is throbbing and his mouth feels like he was deepthroating a fucking scarecrow last night and the only thing he’d want to get up for is to get some of the coping materials in his room, but he can’t do that so he just folds himself up around that shirt and wallows. He feels the ache from sleeping in a heap on the floor, the sharp pressure on his shoulder and hip as they press against the hard surface, and wonders what his siblings are doing this morning. Are they suffering like he is? They fucking better be. But would they? Did any of them care enough about Ben to be as miserable as he is?

All Luther cared about was bossing them all around, especially him and Ben, always feeding them the same bullshit their dad did about not training hard enough to be of any real use to the team. If he was feeling anything right now it was probably vindication. Yeah Luther, you were right. We didn’t train hard enough and now Ben’s fucking dead. Are you so fucking happy? Are you and dad gonna compare notes about how fucking disappointing Ben was and how if he’d only listened to the two of you he’d still be alive?

Besides, if Luther was feeling any kind of sorrow over anything, he always had Allison there to fret all over him and make sure his fragile ego didn’t take any damage. She never cared about Ben either as far as Klaus could tell. Too quiet, too much of a loser for her. Not the fun fuck up like Klaus who she could party with but still feel superior to by always having to fix him. No, Ben didn’t need her and she hated him for it. She’s probably glad Klaus’s only other support system is gone now so he can be even more pitiful and needy for her.

And then there’s Vanya. God, fucking Vanya, who followed them around like a sick, sad puppy always trying to be part of the team. Well, here’s your golden opportunity! ‘Nother spot just opened right up! Maybe dad’s finally gonna be desperate enough to put you in after losing two of his fucking child soldiers. God, did she really not see that she was the luckiest one of the whole sorry crew? Who the hell wants this shit? Who would want to be part of this team when it means Reginald Hargreeves actually pays attention to you? Fucking idiot.

Diego might be the only one who was actually sad right now, but that’s because Diego “Nobody’s Favorite” Hargreeves was always a fucking sad sack. Diego “Number Two isn’t just my name, it’s my whole essence” Hargreeves, who couldn’t manage to find a single partner on the team after Allison leapfrogged right over him when picking her partner because who wants to sleep their way to second place; Ben and Klaus bonded in a way none of them could understand since they all love their fucking powers so much; and even Vanya and Five for whatever fucking reason, leaving Diego to be second favorite at best in everyone’s eyes and make his best friend their fucking robot mom.

It's that mom’s robot strength that at some point opens the door as easily as if there hadn’t been a desk jammed against it and crouches down to set a lunch tray on the floor near his head. She doesn’t speak, but holds her artificially warm hand to his cheek and presses her silicone lips to the top of his head long enough to remind him that she is somehow the most humane person in this goddamned house.

Mom closes the door when she leaves and Klaus doesn’t bother to put the desk back. He realizes now that no one wants to check in on him or the dead boy’s room.

Klaus drinks the water his mother left him but can’t find the desire to eat. When night falls again, he makes his way over to the bed, still holding the shirt, and crawls in. The contrast of the warmth and softness against his aching body is almost like being hugged and when he puts the shirt over Ben’s pillow and wraps his arms around it the effect is real enough to bring on a new wave of tears.

On the third day Pogo knocks on the door to inform him that the burial will be that morning. Klaus extricates himself from his comfort nest and tumbles to the door.

“Can I see him?” he pants, opening the door and almost stepping out.

“I’m afraid the damage was too severe. Your father has decided that a closed casket is the only option.”

“But you said he was fixing him...”

“Master Klaus, you don’t need to see your brother in this state. Remember him in life. Remember the calm, gentle friend who always cared for you. Who made sure this family remembered their better selves even in moments of dire—”

Klaus closes the door because whatever the fucking orangutan is going on about has nothing to do with Ben or how Klaus will remember him. Ben is a sarcastic bitch who puts Klaus in his place every time and shit-talks his family in hushed tones for only the two of them to hear. He’s the one who tells Klaus he won’t cry when he finally drinks and smokes himself to death, but lets him share his bed when he’s sober. Ben isn’t some holy saint who exists in eulogy; he’s messy and real and beautiful and Klaus isn’t about to pretend otherwise just because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone dies.

He showers and shaves and puts on the suit he finds laid out on Ben’s bed when he returns. On the way downstairs he stops in his room and grabs his flask because one way or another, he’s drinking when this is done. At the courtyard door he finds Vanya, Diego, and Mom standing there. He takes his place in line and waits for Allison and Luther to make their way over, almost wishing they would never make it. He doesn’t want to go out there and see the grave

A thick, wet snow has begun falling and Pogo hands each of them a matching black umbrella as they process out to the casket, already being covered by the heavy flakes.

They encircle the box that holds their brother’s body and though he tells himself that it’s not Ben in there; that he knows better than anyone that the soul is a real thing and it doesn’t hang out in the meatsuit after death; he can’t stop thinking about how it’s too cold and dark in that hole. That they’re about to lower his Ben into the rough unforgiving ground and cover him up with dirt and move on and that’s fucking fucked up.

Reggie takes the opportunity to blame his children for their brother’s death as if they’re the ones who chose to send kids out to battle to the death with terrorists and monsters and Klaus is vaguely aware of the fight that breaks out among the Academy and Vanya but his mind is on him and Ben and he can’t really be bothered with what they have going on.

Finally, everyone leaves because they’ve done their required ceremonial mourning and he can be alone. He stares at the photograph of Ben on the lid of the casket, surrounded by ornate tentacle ornamentation (because yeah, that’s how he would want to be remembered. Fucking Reggie.) as the snow covers it. That’s a nicer thought than the dirt, for some reason. Gentle... and calm, he guesses. It’s quiet, and the cold air he pulls in helps clear his head as he makes his way over to the gazebo. Hopefully clear enough to do what he wants to do.

He’s never really done this, but he’s spent the last few days painfully sober just to have even a chance. He doesn’t even know what to do exactly, but he focuses on that swirling chill he’s always felt within and pulls it to his hands. He thinks of Ben, sees him in his mind’s eye, floods his brain with memories and thoughts and feelings and pulls. He yearns with more focus than he’s ever put into anything in his life and without any idea if it’s working, he hears that voice.

“Klaus?”

[bluespace-writer]

Hey!! What’s up? B]

Is it alright if I request a story about Medic having a little niece reader who comes to visit him at the base, and she’s basically exactly like him? She’s just a little evil genius in an unassuming, adorable form who tries to copy everything he does and be like him <3

Thanks! Sorry if this is oddly specific, I just really love family fluff (probably pretty obvious at this point)! Take as long as you need if this is something you’re cool with doing! :)

[💀 same. Family vibes with comfort characters are always fun!]

Little Taube

◇ TF2 Medic and ChildFem!reader [platonic, family dynamic]

Ah, RED Base. A place like no other where one of the most dangerous mercenaries lives under one roof. All nine of them were sitting in the living room, doing their stuff, laughing, and enjoying the rest of the free day. Pyro decided to draw something on the calendar (like she always does), but he stopped and tilted his head a bit. Without a word, they approached Medic who was having a nice conversation with Heavy.

"Ja! Last battle was great! Do you remember fear on their faces when we-"

"Mmmm!" Pyro pulled Medic's arm, pointing at calendar.

"Ah! Pyro, I'll see your drawings later" Medic turned his attention back to Heavy. Pyro a bit mad that she was ignored, took the calendar down from the wall and held it close to the Medic's face.

"Pyro! I said I'll- wait" Medic paused.

"Today is, the day! Today is the day!! How could I forget!"

He didn't even say thank you to Pyro. He just sprinted back to his laboratory. Others were a bit confused, they knew Medic was always strange and it wasn't something weird seeing him run back to his office when he suddenly got an idea for another experiment but it was different this time. He looked worried.

Medic opened door to his Laboratory looking around. Scout and Spy managed to catch up to him.

"Uhh Doc? Ya alright?" Scout asked.

"Do I look alright Scout? She's probably here and I'm not prepared!" He looked around smirking. "She is probably already hiding in the walls...-"

"She? Who is she?-"

Suddenly Scout found himself with a bag over his head, struggling to take it off. Spy stepped back and was splashed with cold water straight from the bucket. Then, the small figure jumped on Medic's back, who lost his balance and fell on the operating bed. He looked up, but even with a bright light shining on his face, he recognized who this mischievous person was.

"I got you onkel!! [uncle]" You said, jumping around with joy.

Seeing you Medic picked you up and started to tickle you. Both of you spin in a big hug laughing. You greet each other in German, leaving Spy and Scout (mostly Scout) confused. Soon Medic finally turned his attention to them, as he put you down.

"Doctor...who. is. that." Spy spoke first, sounding even more frustrated than usual.

"Right! I almost forgot about you two. This is my niece! She came today to visit me!"

"Hallo!" You said looking at Spy who only scoffed and walked out swearing and complaining. You heard him shouting in the distance "...I just washed my suit today!"

Scout finally took a bag off his head, laying his eyes on you. You looked like a mini version of Medic. He could tell you two are related based on your little smug and evil smile.

"So uh. How did she even get in here? " Scout asked.

"Thought ventilation system" you said, pointing at opened vent above you.

Medic, pat your head. "Aren't you a clever one! You listened to my advice: Always pick an unusual path!" Hearing compliments from him made you smile from ear to ear.

"Ah, that reminds me! I have something for you!" Medic ran to the door leading to the storage room

"Scout keep an eye on my little Taube, will you?" Scout didn't even get a chance to reply as Medic was gone behind a cold metal door. He looked down at you. Man, this is awkward.

At that moment, the rest of the team ran inside. Why? Well...

When Spy asked what happened, replied that he was attacked by a small demon, unfortunately, Soldier took it literally and ran through the corridors ready to fight the "demon" with his good old rusty shovel. Heavy and Engineer tried to stop him, Pyro ran after them, wondering if this was some kind of game, Sniper followed wanting to find out what is going on, Demo was drunk and dragged by Solider so he could -

"-EXPIRIENCE MY GREAT TRIUMPH WITH HIS OWN EYE!!" Solider screamed while charging at the door with shovel in his hand.

"Mhah ghaahahasammm mmmueaash" uh- Demo- replied? I bet he wasn't really sure what was going on.

Solider continued to shout, "SEE?! HE IS ALREADY SPEECHLESS! And I haven't even started that KICKING THAT THING UNHOLY A-"

They found themselves in Medic's laboratory. Scout jumped away screaming while you were standing completely still. Everyone looked at you with shock and confusion.

"It's even worse, IT'S A DEMOM BABY!'" Solider shouted, ready to swing his shovel at you, fortunately, Heavy stopped him.

Heavy shook his head "Solider will not hurt tiny child."

"YOU'LL THANK ME LATER! NOW LET ME GO BEFORE IT STEAL OUR SOULS!"

"Now now calm down ya'll. I'm sure there is an explanation" Engineer said, standing between you and rest of the mercenaries.

"I have one!" Scout yelled having everyone's attention "You guys never gonna believe it!"

Meanwhile, as Scout was explaining the situation (and skipping having his head stuck in the bag) you played with Medic's doves. You quickly made a bond with Archimedes, who sat next to you as you were feeding him with seeds and small eyeballs. Feeling thirsty, you pulled out some fruit juice from your little medicine bag. As you were drinking it Archimedes started to fly around you. You run after him trying to catch your feathery friend. In the room was a metal coffin, with spikes inside. Archimedes flew in it and sat down in the little nest he built there. You stepped inside and giggled, turning Demoman' attention on you.

Still drunk but aware of your presence walked up to Scout who was surrounded by others and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Ayy, is twad kid suppase to be twer?" He pointed at you, standing in a coffin-shaped contraption that started to creak. Everyone looked at you with horror.

"OI! Lady! What are you doin'?!" Sniper shouted.

You turned around, but at this moment doors to the coffin closed shut. They all gasped and held their breath as red liquid started to pour from under the door. When they thought things couldn't get any worse Medic came back.

"My little Taube! I have the perfect present for- ah! What is going on in here?" He asked with smile on his face.

They turned around, Solider spoke first.

"We have good and bad news. The good news is that the demon who was here is GONE! The bad news is that you lose your niece in the process"

"Was?"

Silence filled the room before knocking was heard.

You knocked twice and shouted "Hallo? Can someone open it, please? I'm starting to run out of oxygen to breathe"

Hearing your voice was a big surprise to everyone. Heavy did not waste more time and quickly used his strength to open heavy metal doors that shut down on you. Ready to see you pierced like cheese Scout covered his eyes. Others watched as big doors opened....

You stood there with a straw in your mouth looking at the juice carton, stuck in on the spike leaking the last drops of the red juice on floor.

"That spike wasted my juice" you said calmly. Everyone sighed relieved that you weren't hurt. Medic walked up to you, picked you and sit you down on chair.

"Mein Taube, please be careful next time. You were lucky this coffin is too big for you!"

You nodded and held your hands together "I'm sorry onkel. I just wanted to play"

"Ah, boredom. Always leads to danger. Well then, I have no other choice now than to give this to you!"

Medic reached into his suit and took out a small metal bone saw. Excited you took it thanking and hugging him. Engineer seeing you are safe glanced at the coffin again, he stared at your wasted juice, he smiled and walked up to you.

"Nice to see you're still an intact young lady" Engi said.

"You know I can get you new drink. What would you like? Orange juice, tea?-"

You walked up to him excited and said "Apple blood!"

"Uh. Don't ya mean apple juice" Engi asked to be sure he heard you correctly.

"No" you said with bright smile on your face.

Engi didn't ask any more questions, he just shrugged his shoulders and went to the kitchen to bring you your requested apple blood.

Much later you enjoyed your drink while gazing at Medic, who was operating on Heavy. You couldn't help but giggle as they both make funny jokes. Soon Medic whispered something to Heavy, who looked at you and slolwy noded.

"My Taube! Can you come here?" Medic asked. He didn't have to wait long, happy to see his work up close you walked up to him, excited.

"I'll teach you about my newest discovery! I created an incredible machine that can make my patients invincible for up to 8 seconds!"

You gasped and looked at Heavy's heart.

"This isn't his heart. Is it baboon's?"

"That is correct! Good job! I see you have read the books I sent you" he patted you on the head.

"And what is that?"

"This is the übercharge. It's still isn't finished. I want to make work with my other Mediguns, unfortunately, it still doesn't want to!" He sounded frustrated at that moment. You looked at a metal piece permanently stuck to Heavy's heart. You took out your small gloves from your purse.

"I tried everything! I tried changing its rate, position, and cables, but nothing worked. ...I think I must reconsider visiting my devilish friend."

While Medic mumbled to himself you cheerfully changed paces four metal pieces.

"Come on...come on...." you said to yourself. Medic stopped talking and observed how Heavy's heart started to glow. Seeing this you started to laugh. Laugh so hard and maniacally as Medic himself does when he succeeds. Heavy nervously glanced at Medic, but Medic reassured him that everything was okay with a gentle smile and nod. You glanced at your uncle a bit embarrassed.

"I apologise onkel. Did I...broke it?"

"Broke it?" Medic said surprised "My dear you just fixed it! I can't believe that the answer to that problem was so close and easy!"

Your eyes lighten up. Later Medic was testing his Übercharges, and you were allowed to über Heavy! It was fun to know how your uncle feels when he is helping his team. Strong. Important. You liked it!

Medic looked at the time. It was late. He glanced at you, to see you lying down on his medical bed, already closing your eyes. He chuckled and covered you in a warm blanket. You smiled at him, as he messed with your hair.

"I'll still be working, so if you wake up in the night, I'll be there"

You nodded and lay your head down on a soft pillow, probably filled with feathers Medic's doves leave him. "Gute Nacht Onkel..." you said slowly closing your eyes.

"Gute Nacht mein little Taube" said Medic softly before continuing his work.

You glanced at him one last time before falling asleep to the sounds of his Laboratory and his laughter. It was a pleasant, chaotic, full of excitement day... it was special for you, because it was spend with your favorite uncle.

You couldn't wait to wake up and see with what you can help him next.

[Thank you for reading!💀💙]

[bilightningwhumper]

@whumpmasinjuly-archive – Day 6

Field Medicine- Callisto

Their Sacred Vow Masterlist

CW/TW: implied nudity

Callisto

Carefully, gently, Callisto lifted Evangeline off the alter. But even with her best efforts, the unconscious woman still whimpered in pain as her wings fell limply against the stone floor.

“Cal, over here.”

She looked over to see Julia standing next to a doorway. It seemed to lead into a small side room.

Cradling Evangeline to her chest, Callisto brought her over, still trying not to drag her wife’s wings across the floor too much.

When she crossed the doorway, her heart broke again.

It was a small room. Not much bigger than a storage closet in the barracks. The only things in the room were a wooden bed frame tucked into a corner with a mess of tattered blankets on top of it. No mattress or pillows in sight, just the ratty brown blankets with various stains on them. Not even enough covering to protect from the chill seeping through the stone surrounding them. As she noticed the broken and bent feathers among the pile and scattered on the floor, she knew that this was where Evangeline had been forced to sleep.

A hand rested on her shoulder. “Anger later, mission first.” Julia said.

Callisto nodded shortly, letting out a long, slow breath. “Take my cloak and lay it over the nest.” she ordered. “We need to clean and bind her wounds as best we can for now.”

Julia did as she was told, then, as Callisto set Evangeline down on the cloak, she said, “I’ll find what herbs I can to help.” before disappearing into the laboratory.

Chewing on her lip, Callisto looked over the cuts on Evangeline’s abdomen. They looked more superficial than an immediate danger, thank the gods. And because of her own reckless surge of healing magic to bring her wife back from the brink of death, they looked about half healed already.

The fresh memory of seeing Evangeline so cold and lifeless… Heart barely beating… Breaths so shallow she…

Callisto shook her head, taking in a deep breath and letting it back out again. Emotions later, mission now.

She began to unfasten her armor lifting it up and over her head before setting it down beside the bed. As she did, she noticed another pile of cloth on the floor. Picking it up, she found it was a dress. Somewhat cleaner and less stained than the blankets, it had clearly been patched and mended several times over. Since it was so worn and old, Callisto couldn’t tell what the original color or even style had been. But she could see how well cared for it was.

Folding it, she set the dress down beside Evangeline. It was comforting she could at least give her wife the dignity of being clothed before heading back to camp.

Then she took her own shirt off, the undershirt following it. As she began tearing the undershirt into strips, Julia came back with a bowl full of green past.

“Bastard didn’t have much that wasn’t tainted with dark magic.” Julia said. “But I managed to find enough for a salve of sorts. It’ll numb some of the pain, at least. And keep things from becoming infected. I hope.” she muttered.

Callisto nodded as Julia got to work carefully cleaning the cuts with water from their flasks and a cloth she’d probably found somewhere before applying the salve. Part of Callisto hoped that caring for Evangeline’s wounds this early on meant they wouldn’t be much, if any, scarring left behind. At least… not physically.

When Julia finished, she and Callisto propped Evangeline up between them so Callisto could wrap the makeshift bandages around her torso. Other than a few twitches in her brow, the avian woman didn’t react in her unconscious state.

After they laid her back down on her side, Julia put her hand on Callisto’s arm again. “Emrik is still looking for anything that can help us find out what the Mage’s plans were in the lab. I’m going to make sure we can get out of here.” she murmured. “Though with the Mage gone, we might be home free.”

“Stay safe.” Callisto rasped. She was still trying to fight off her exhaustion. Not that she was sitting down, it felt like a losing battle.

Julia gave her a grim smile and pat her arm before leaving the couple alone in the small, cold, stone room.

Their Sacred Vow Taglist:

@whumperofworlds, @melpomenelamusa

I have big car+medical bills coming up. If you like my stuff and/or want to help me out, here's my ko-fi. Any help is appreciated. Bonus, you'd get early access to Main Story chapters for my OC whump stuff to be posted here and see some of my future book content, too!

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Quantum behavior at room temperature: When laser light makes materials magnetic

The potential of quantum technology is huge but is today largely limited to the extremely cold environments of laboratories. Now, researchers from Stockholm University, the Nordic Institute for Theoretical Physics and the Ca' Foscari University of Venice have succeeded in demonstrating for the very first time how laser light can induce quantum behavior at room temperature—and make non-magnetic materials magnetic. The breakthrough is expected to pave the way for faster and more energy-efficient computers, information transfer and data storage. Within a few decades, the advancement of quantum technology is expected to revolutionize several of society's most important areas and pave the way for completely new technological possibilities in communication and energy. Of particular interest for researchers in the field are the peculiar and bizarre properties of quantum particles—which deviate completely from the laws of classical physics and can make materials magnetic or superconducting.

Read more.

[holographicprojector]

THE DEAD KNOW WHAT THEY'RE DOING WHEN THEY LEAVE THIS WORLD BEHIND

Chapter 2 is out!

i used photoshop this time and the difference is crazy. anyway, this chapter introduces two new characters. the fan favorites are on a mission

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65546560/chapters/169405705

TETHERED SPIRIT - 3388 words

"What are you going to do once we resurrect him?"

Kuusuke leans back in his chair, ripping his eyes off of the screen as Shun wires the many electrodes to a larger, cushioned ring, supposedly to scan the brain. Shun looks up at him, expectant as the professor fixes his disheveled hair into a low ponytail. He furrows his brow, thinking. "Not what I did last time."

"Vague." Shun returns to wiring the machine. "I want to give him a good hug."

"Hm." He rubs his eyes, tired of staring at the bright screen in the dim laboratory. "I would do the same."

"It's hard to believe that," Shun admits. The monitor's blue light reflects off of the glassware stacked beside him, and it dims as Kuusuke minimizes the window he was working on.

"Why?"

"Did you know that Saiko had a camera in that room?"

The silhouette in front of him goes eerily still. "No."

"I had to space that footage out over months; it was that hard to stomach what you did to him. It was daily, as well. You tormented him for every hour of every day for three months. Do you think he'll remember that when he comes back? Or would the drugs have made those memories too hazy for him to discern?"

Kuusuke doesn't respond. The computer tower whirs in the silence, fans filtering air through and from the vents.

"Is. Is he even going to be sane once he comes back?"

"Madame Teruhashi probably helped in that regard." He stands, dragging his keys from his desk. "We need his body first."

Shun sighs as he follows him out. "You have gas?"

"I'm the government's special man," Kuusuke replies with a smirk.

-

"It isn't at his grave." Shun bites his painted nails as Kuusuke turns the small car in the wrong direction. He glances at Shun with a furrowed brow.

"His body isn't at his grave?" He makes a U-turn. "Where is it, then?"

"A cold storage unit in the next prefecture."

"I know the place you mean. He's in one piece, then." Kuusuke breathes a sigh of relief. "I thought I had to reconstruct him from his ashes. Good job."

Good job? Kuusuke holds his shoulder in approval before returning it to the gear shift, and Shun bites his nails harder. He feels *proud* of himself. He shouldn't feel that way, not when those words are leaving that perverted mouth. If anything, he should feel the opposite way, helping this sadistic torturer. Keeping Kusuo preserved like that— it wasn't foresight. It was his inability to let go and a willingness to suspend Kusuo's spirit to this plane he so desperately wanted to leave. Why is he glad about this? He's no better than the man next to him.

Ah, so he should just play along if they are so similar. Don't worry about any of that pesky morality business. They both want him back, so they'll get him back.

The handle to the cold door is heavy, solid metal separating the two climates. Kuusuke helps him open it upon witnessing Shun's inadequate strength.

"I use this one, too," he remarks, glancing at the label. "Unit three."

The blast of frigid air expected from the chamber's opening doesn't come. Shun steps inside. Room temperature. Kuusuke picks up a jar with a rotten bit of flesh in it, vaguely resembling an organ. "Damn. They're all spoiled now."

"No power," Shun mutters to himself, staring at the freezer in the back of the room.

"That should've fared better," Kuusuke comments, averting his attention to the appliance. "The larger blackout only started about a week ago."

Shun heaves the freezer open and sticks his hand in it. Still cold. Good, that's good. Kuusuke walks up behind him, mouth hanging open. "Kusuo."

"He's not really there," Shun says quickly, aware of the emotions behind that illegible face. "That isn't him."

"It feels like it," Kuusuke whispers, outstretching his hand. Kusuo's body lies propped up in the preservative box, head lulling to the side, eyes staring forward without a single sign of life. A deep blotch of crimson is present on the right side of his face, flushed against the gray of his bloodless flesh. "For so long, all I had were memories."

Shun slaps his hand away before it can make contact with Kusuo's chest. "Don't do weird stuff to it."

"I'm not!" Kuusuke exclaims, offended. "What do you take me for, an animal?!"

"Exactly."

He falters. Shun can see the shame in his typically uptight body language, even with that characteristic smirk stuck to his face.

-

"You're helping that piece of shit?!"

Shun recoils at Aren's sudden volume. "N-no! We're just... collaborating! A temporary alliance!"

"Fuck that, you're helping him!" Aren clenches his fist, but he stays glued to the counter he is leaning on. A vein in his temple is threatening to burst. A pot boils next to him, and various soup ingredients and spices are strewn throughout the kitchen. Shun's grip tightens around the strap of his book bag, stepping back toward the apartment entrance. Aren glares for a moment longer before letting out a long exhale. "Talk."

Shun shifts uncomfortably. "It's important."

"What. What is important." He's trying to keep his tone measured. 

Shun chews his lip. He doesn't know how Aren would react. He *shot* Kusuo and showed little remorse afterward. He probably hates him. And to tell him that Kusuo is coming back? Shun glances at Aren's trembling fists. He was always jealous of Kusuo, Shun suspected. With their strange relationship up in the air, the outcome is entirely unpredictable. A neutral response, then. "It. It just is."

"That crazy piece of shit has caused both of us so much pain, and you're fucking helping him for no good reason." He gestures to his inanimate leg, and his tone is low. Dangerous. "Get out."

"But I'm the one that—"

"Get the *fuck* out!" A plate narrowly misses Shun's head, shattering against the wall behind him, and he books it.

-

"Clocking back in?" Kuusuke's office chair rattles as he turns to face him. "Oh. You look a little worse for wear."

Shun tries to fix his pale, disheveled hair as he shuffles into the laboratory. A table has been moved to the center of the room, lit up by a standing spotlight. The cadaver lies on top, tubes and cables stretching to and fro. Monitors are stacked atop steel carts, one of which shows a flat line. Kuusuke stands, cradling the brain scanner. "I wonder..."

"Wonder?" Shun asks, letting his bag fall off of his shoulder and onto the tiled floor.

"If there is brain activity, even though he seems dead."

"After so much time?" He doubts it. Kuusuke tucks the device around Kusuo's head.

"I thought I felt a heartbeat," Kuusuke mutters. 

Shun steps closer, eyes narrow. He places a hand on Kusuo's chest, only to feel a stone cold sensation. No movement at all. It sends a chill down his spine, and he quickly withdraws. "How?"

"It was just the one. I am uncertain of its reality." Kuusuke sits back down at his computer, a silhouette against the bright rectangle in front of him. The room seems even darker with this large spotlight in the middle, to the point of void creeping along the outer edges. Even in that void, the stowed glassware glistens brilliantly. "Kaidou, come here."

Shun leans back, craning his head to look at the screen. A window with what looks like a top view of the brain is maximized on the large monitor. The diagram is mostly blue— dead— but in the back is a splotch of yellow. His eyes widen. "Is that..."

"Brain activity." Kuusuke scoffs with disbelief. He points at the screen, mouth agape as Shun hunches over the desk to observe. "I... I have no explanation."

"Me neither," he breathes.

Kuusuke rubs his eyes and massages his temples. "I can't be brilliant without sleep."

Shun straightens up. "Sleep, then."

The professor blinks up at him. "You don't want to continue? You came back here for that reason, did you not? This will be easier than I initially thought."

"I came here to sleep," Shun corrects him. 

Kuusuke glances at the book bag behind near the entrance with a look of concern. "Do you have everything you need in there?"

"Just books." Shun quiets his voice as he gets more and more embarrassed. "I had to get out... quickly."

"How do you manage that?"

"I got kicked out of my own apartment," Shun murmurs.

Kuusuke sighs as he lifts himself from his office chair. "I will be back with an assortment of home essentials."

-

Aren grips the edges of the bathroom sink, knuckles white as he stares at himself in the cracked mirror.

He shouldn't have done that. 

His heart sinks further at the recollection of Shun's frightened stare, pinprick pupils refusing to recognize the danger before him as human. Aren presses his bulging eyes down, his very cranium aching with self-restraint.

That visceral reaction to a mere mention of Kuusuke was entirely uncontrollable. The rage coursed through his veins, caused him to shake as he resisted the urge to punch the poor, defenseless boy in front of him.

Aren stumbles out of the bathroom, missing the light switch. He can taste the alcohol in his own breath. This stupor he'll thrust himself into will be inescapable. This way, he can't hurt Shun.

-

Shun startles a bit once the door opens back up, not expecting Kuusuke to keep his word. He lifts his head up from the makeshift pillow of hardcover textbooks. The professor's silhouette remains criminally foreboding, even as he struggles to balance toothbrushes, deodorant, and other items upon the blankets he carries. A couple of boxes fall to the floor as Kuusuke heaves it all onto an empty table.

"Hm? Clothes?" Shun lifts a white tee from the pile.

"What else would you wear? A hollow barrel with belts strapped to it?"

Shun suppresses a chuckle, denying Kuusuke the satisfaction of laughter. He remains serious. "I guess not."

The professor hands him a corner of the blanket. "Is the material to your liking?"

"Does that even matter?" Shun mumbles. It's very soft, reminiscent of mink.

Kuusuke furrows his brows, confused. "Obviously. Sleep is important."

Shun continues to rub his fingers on the comforting fabric. "No, I mean... would you even get a different blanket if I didn't like this one?"

"Yes." Kuusuke blinks. "Maybe. But I knew you would like that one. It's the same one Kusuo had."

"The... *same*?" Shun glances at it, pulling it closer.

"Correct." Kuusuke scratches his head as watches Shun fail to *discreetly* smell it. "Ahm. It's getting late. I will go."

"Why do you have this?" Shun asks as he drapes himself in it.

The professor hesitates to pick up his bag, debating whether to tell the truth or not. "I took it with me when I adjourned to London."

Shun scrunches his nose at him, remembering the video taken from the airport terminal, a loud slap echoing in his mind, digitally compressed by social media. The man averts his eyes.

"It wasn't of his own volition."

-

Three days apart should've cooled things down by now. Shun grips the railing of the stairwell of the apartment building as he forces himself up. He can't have been that mad, right? He rests his hands upon his knees, trying to catch his breath. A little disagreement like that can't tear down a relationship of so many years. Despite these rationalizations, he shivers. That plate was thrown with enough force to kill him. He'd never seen Aren that angry, that hateful.

But he's okay now, right? Surely. The doorknob rattles underneath Shun's unstable hand, and he swallows hard. Aren wouldn't hurt him on purpose. 

On *purpose*. Shun shakes the doubt out of his system before unlocking the door to his apartment and shoving it open.

There isn't a single light on. The ominous void seems to pulsate just outside of the light cast from the hallway. Shun wipes his forehead. The wooden floor creaks as he steps out of his shoes, yet everything else stays eerily quiet. There is no movement within the apartment at all, not a single vibration. The only affirmation of the residence's reality is the hard floor pressing against the bottoms of Shun's feet.

There should be a lantern around here. Shun stretches a hand out in front of him in order to not bruise himself on some invisible kitchen countertop. He feels around the vague memory of the designated lantern location before finding purchase upon the object in question.

A shift, perhaps of fabric, behind him. Shun whips around, leaning against the counter and holding up the luminous object, making visible the pile of blankets and pillows on the sofa. They rise and fall, muffled, slow breaths coming from beneath them. He's sleeping. At midday, with the blackout blinds down.

"Aren?" He asks in a quiet voice, still afraid to wake the slumbering beast. No reaction. Shun places the dim lantern on the coffee table, and Aren remains none the wiser. He extracts a scalpel from his bag. The white light reflects off of its sterilized surface, soon to be coated in red. Shun leans over Aren, scrunching his nose at the distinct smell of alcohol practically radiating off of the man below.

Shun gulps, blade trembling as he slowly peels away each layer of blanket that Aren has coated himself in. It's okay. Remember what Kuusuke said.

"His organs are too decayed to resuscitate him at the moment. That and the blood in most of his blood vessels has congealed and grown almost solid. The only artery still somewhat flowing is the carotid." Kuusuke stares at the computer screen, and Shun follows his gaze as he explains. "We need to clear his blood vessels of that useless trash and put in new blood, and we need to replace his organs with properly preserved, donated ones."

"Great. Simple." Shun kicks the floor, uncertain. "How do we get that?"

Kuusuke turns in his chair to stare at him. "There probably aren't many left in Japan due to the war and power outage. We'll have to harvest them fresh."

"Harvest...?"

"Correct." His expression is unfazed at the prospect of murdering people in their sleep by taking away their vital organs. However, he furrows a brow, looking almost worried. "You can find a liver and kidney. Those don't kill. I'll find a way to do the rest."

"Right." Shun narrows his eyes at the floor, thinking about it before shaking his head. "No. No! Kusuo wouldn't want anyone to die because of him."

Kuusuke blinks up at him. "Unfortunately, organ fabrication technology is far ahead of our time and budget."

Shun scrounges his mind for an alternative. "He can heal, right? We can just increase his heartbeat to make him conscious again and then he'll regenerate his body back healthy."

"That is highly improbable. He's been dead for over a year, I doubt his body can even sustain psychic powers at this point. That would overload his brain and kill him for good."

Aren would understand... right? He wouldn't mind it. He wouldn't mind losing an organ or two. He probably hates Shun, anyway. He probably doesn't care at all, seeing as he has drowned himself in liquor. Is giving Kusuo a liquor-filled liver a good idea? The scalpel shudders lower, pressing against Aren's loose T-shirt as Shun holds a chloroform-saturated towel above his face.

This is okay. Yeah, this is okay. Aren looks peaceful here, deep in slumber. He'll stay peaceful. The towel hovers over Aren's nostrils. It's alright.

Shit, no, it isn't. Shun throws the blade to the floor, breathing heavily. No, no, no. It makes a loud noise upon coming into contact with the kitchen counter, metal clashing against the hard surface. Aren's eyebrows twitch as he regains consciousness, and Shun sprints out of his apartment as fast as he can. 

"Shun?" Aren calls, to no response.

-

"I can't do it. I can't do it," Shun mutters to himself, legs burning with overexertion. He struggles to breathe as he holds his side, feeling as though a knife has been forced through him. Stopping at the gate to the university campus, he takes a breather, leaning on his trembling knees.

"Hiya!" Shun's head shoots up at a girl's loud voice, seemingly addressing him. "Do you go here?"

She leans on the tall fence, hand on her hip as she waits for a response. Her hair is bleached blonde, makeup heavy and long nails painted with an assortment of patterns. Shun nods his head, panting.

"Awesome! Let us in, we're looking for someone." She walks up next to him, glancing at the gate with an expectant look only to receive nothing. "Well?"

"What?" Shun says in between breaths. "Why would I let you in— hff— if you don't go here?"

"Like I said, we're looking for someone." She takes on a more defensive tone.

Curiosity gets the best of him. "Who?" 

A blonde boy peeks out from behind her, eyes wide. "Pink hair, purple eyes, nonchalant demeanor, average height, lightweight, blood type: O negative, star sign: Leo, big willy, masochist, possible psychic, name: Saiki Ku—."

"Shut up!" The girl says behind her teeth, clapping a hand over the boy's mouth. She turns back to Shun, apologetic. "Sorry about that. His name is Saiki Kusuo. At least we think it is."

"Right." Shun wipes the sweat from his forehead. What? How could these random people know who Kusuo is? Especially the boy. He knew him intimately enough to ascertain that he has a so-called 'big willy'? Even Shun doesn't know that. "Who are you?"

"My name—" The girl tightens her grip over his mouth. "I'm Aiura Mikoto. I do fortune telling and shit. This is Akechi Touma, formerly Asumi. You don't know an Asumi?"

Shun shakes his head, straightening up. "No, Kusuo has never mentioned him."

"'Kusuo'? So you know him? Can you lead us to him?"

"Uhm. Uh. No." Shun wipes even more sweat from his forehead. These two look so excited to meet him. How is he going to break the news?

Aiura narrows her eyes. "Why not?"

"He's a *little* dead." Great response. They'll get that.

"A little dead," Aiura repeats. "How can someone be just a *little* dead?"

She doesn't get it. "Uh, like. If you're super dead but come back a little bit."

"It would just be dead, then." Aiura realizes what she's saying. "He's fucking dead?!"

Shun shrugs, attempting to keep it cool despite his memories coming flooding back. "Yeah. Psh. You know, war does that."

"That doesn't make any sense!" She raps her nails on the fence, nervous. "I saw a huge aura coming from this building!"

"Maybe, you're looking for someone else, then."

"No, he fits the description perfectly! Initials: SK, pink hair, really powerful. How many other people in Japan fit that description, especially now?"

"I don't know what to tell you," Shun mutters. "I watched him die."

He can still see the fountain of blood pouring from the side of Kusuo's head as the bullet leaves as quickly as it entered. Helpless as he watches what little light is left in them dissipate. The dead weight collapsing onto him, begging for a final embrace. The sheer agony coursing through his aching heart as he breathes his last breath. Covered in his blood, covered in *him*.

"That is not possible!" The blonde boy, Akechi, pipes up. "Saiki Kusuo had the same powers as a cleric and so many other things! He could have simply healed himself or stopped the bullet with telekinesis! He told me he was invincible! We were such good friends! He wouldn't leave, just like that. No, he wouldn't die so easily, not when he's invincible. He said so. He said he couldn't die. He said he wouldn't let anyone die again..."

"But he did," Shun murmurs. He sniffles. This sight is so pathetic. He sees himself in this boy, the same, broken self outwardly present a year ago, grief overwhelming him. He opens the gate before he begins to cry. He's already done enough of that.

"Goodbye," Shun says, to no one in particular.

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 31. Funeral

Fandom: Wrath of the Righteous

Not exactly a funeral but appropriate for today 👻

cw: spooky?

Massive spoilers for the game & secret ending & my sequels Wandering Stars and West Wind.

Also on AO3

Ozone. Chemical solvents. Arcane flame. Metal and lightning. Nothing living in this place, and yet the air felt charged with tension as if holding its breath, suspended in time.

He paused in the corridor to get his bearings. He’d been here before long ago, more than once. Black crusts of demon blood smeared across the floor attested to the last time. Barren walls rippled in the stuttering light of a shattered arcane barrier. Splinters and scorch-marks were all that remained of the door beyond it. Violence wreaked by the fury of Elysium.

To the heart of the laboratory. His rose-gold glow and fresh, floral breeze followed but the darkness behind quickly swallowed them as he passed.

On the ramp leading down, the demonic trap was still active but it could no longer read him. It conjured disjointed, dreamlike tableaux that shifted one into another: beckoning azata under a starry sky; the bowsprit of the Light of Heaven plunging through warm sea-spray; a shady grove of pomegranate and poplar in Kelesh. A slim, horned shadow perched on a rooftop, turning a tender, laughing yellow eye his way. But these surface dreams rapidly gave way to a vision of Golarion flooded with starlight and joy, and finally the sky of his domain clear and unblemished by the darkly burning star.

He kept walking.

The lab stood just as he’d left it: charred husks of demons lying amidst broken glass and spilled chemicals, books just as Nenio discarded them pell-mell on the tables, the projector flickering, the stand where the Lexicon had been placed still illuminated by a bright beam once meant to lure him to it.

Slowly he went around the shelves reading the spines of the books, touching some to absorb their contents, avoiding others, until he came to a mechanism set into the wall. Curious. One they never managed to open. A constant purple light burned in its center. No amount of fiddling seemed to activate it until on impulse he looked straight into it and said, “It’s me.”

And then one of the bookshelves warped into another dimension and opened onto a secret storage room.

His own Elysian glow the only light, within its radius he made out shelf upon shelf of jars, tanks, and oblong metal boxes. He stood breathing the stale air, feeling uncannily afraid of what lay in those containers.

Something flitted past his peripheral vision and he turned sharply, but it was gone. Bone-deep cold and foul moisture clung to him, raising goosebumps even on his divine skin.

Then in the utter silence a whisper as light as a moth wing startled him: “Who is here?”

He peered deeper into the darkness, where a wisp of pale smoke hung between stacked boxes as if hiding itself.

“It’s me,” he said again.

“Oh.” A soft child’s voice, as if from far away. “You grew up.”

He squatted so he was eye-level with it. “Who are you? I can’t remember.”

“You never met us,” the voice sighed. “We only watched and listened. We heard you screaming.”

“You’re a ghost now. Who were you before?”

“I don’t remember. I think I had a momma and papa in a sunny place but maybe I just thought about that to feel warm.”

“You were one of her experiments,” he said, heart rising painfully.

“So were you.”

“Why was I the lucky one?”

“We didn’t think you were lucky. We heard you screaming and screaming. We heard her talking about how you were splitting open and how she had to stop it before it killed the ghost she was trying to sew inside us. That she sewed inside you.”

“She hurt you too, didn’t she?”

“Not long. We died.” It paused. “But you kept screaming.”

All that remained were nightmares pushed to the edges of his consciousness. He didn’t want to remember. It hurt him to think he was not alone. “But you’re still not at peace or you wouldn’t be haunting this place.”

“As long as she lives we will stay. One day she’ll come in here to look for something and we will remind her.”

He said gently, “How about if I do that for you, so you can rest?”

The ghost was silent for a while, a mist drifting across the wall as if trailing a hand on its familiar surface. “All right,” it sighed at last.

He reached out a lightly glowing hand. The mist inched toward it, coyly at first, and then nestling against it, and with his ethereal form he drew the ghost into his arms and cradled it close.

It clung to him, absorbing his warmth. He felt small arms around his neck.

“This should never have happened to us,” he whispered.

“Thank you for coming back.”

“Everything’s all right. Sleep now.”

And with the faintest sigh the mist evaporated in his arms, leaving a rime of frost on the walls as it went.

He stayed squatting on the floor for a few moments, and at last wiped his eyes and stood.

As he exited the storage room he saw her. Hardly a surprise.

“I wonder why you are here,” she said, fixing him with that surgical glare that seemed only to have sharpened since she realized she had succeeded in her experiment.

“There are still things I need to know.” He fixed her right back.

“Then ask.”

“Why did you choose me?”

She flinched very subtly, as she sometimes did when he spoke as if he were only Siavash and not an amalgam of her design. Or her son.

“As you know, you were not the only one I chose, but there were several practical factors that made you a promising subject. You were healthy, a long-lived half-elf with that particular half-breed fissure in your psyche that could be prised open to implant a graft. A stable, average family so that I could easily control variables and keep you safe while I observed your progress. An affinity for chaos that made you a suitable host. And you...” She frowned. “When you collided with my legs in a bookshop in Almas you were carrying a copy of Evocatio Daemonium which I perhaps foolishly took as a sign.”

Desna at work? he wondered. “Why foolishly?”

“When the graft took I ceased searching for a better host, believing in portents and signs like some superstitious Sarkorian. As it turns out, you were too good a host. You absorbed him. You overpowered him. I should have—“

“I won him over. I invited him in. He’s me.”

She smirked humorlessly. “And now, you are an eternal teenager.”

His own smile was not so humorless. “Tell me more about this affinity for chaos.”

“Why?” Always probing.

“There are things I still need to understand,” he repeated vaguely. She already knew about the dark star but perhaps not about this latest development, and although she might willingly help him if he told her, he didn’t want her to have that leverage.

“You know already,” she said. “You discovered on your own that you are div-touched.”

“For some mortals that’s a death sentence. Why not for me?”

“My tests told me little, but they did assure me your soul was stable.”

“You don’t know, in other words. What if my soul isn’t stable after all? What if ascension did something to it?”

She looked at him hard, as if she could see into the structural essence of his stolen divinity. “That is not impossible. Will you allow me to perform a few tests?”

“After what you did? No.”

“If you are referring to the unfortunate series of events with your husband, know that it was not my intention that he try to steal the objects alone. I hoped only to provoke a confrontation with Taurvi so that we could all be rid of her. She is a threat.”

“How about ‘I’m sorry I accidentally condemned your husband to Hell’?”

Her lips tightened. “I did not expect him to be so foolish.”

It wasn’t foolishness. It was love. “And yet it played right into your plan, didn’t it? A nice little experiment to test the full extent of my power. To see what would happen if I... lost control.”

“An unhoped-for opportunity.”

“Well. It sounds like I’m getting neither an apology nor the answers I came for. I have one more thing before I go.”

“And that is?”

“A reminder.” With that he released the cold wind that whirled in his heart. The long, long years of pain and loneliness. The weeping of children torn from their homes and stripped of their humanity, made into experimental subjects and discarded. Left cold and comfortless to die.

She was blown back among her shelves. Sheaves of notes and shattering jars flew at her like a hailstorm. Frost coated the wing she threw up to shield herself. In a flash of angry, Abyssal light she vanished.

[pushing500]

I bet T'au hooves make a satisfying clicking noise when they're being tapped impatiently...

At long last, welcome to the cult Baby Butternut Buckeye!! Once again, Magic Man is apparently not listed as her father, though I can assure you he is.

More importantly... This means, at last, we're ready to go.

... And not a moment too soon! Adiós, mechanoids!

There isn't very much to see at the Landed Ship, but the small makeshift colony will still be shown off, as is tradition:

A small colony backed into a teeny-tiny valley, close to the seaside with not much to see. Randy Random was nice enough to allow the snow to melt for the colony tour, not that there was much to see underneath the snow.

The centre of the colony is a cobbled-together room around a campfire, where everyone huddles together for warmth on the cold tundra nights. None of them are happy about it, but they all lived (all the important ones lived, anyway. Curly can kick bricks). There's also a sauna, a closet, a guest room (formerly a prison cell) and some bathrooms.

We don't really talk about the Ecthuctu-forsaken storage situation.

The nursery/laboratory is the only room kept at a consistently warm temperature.

We have a barn for our animals, another little bathroom area, our temple, and a deathrest chamber for newly-turned sanguophage Vasso that will never be used.

There's a field of haygrass for the animals, alongside an itty-bitty hospital for emergencies.

The colony's entrance is sealed with a chain-link fence and dutifully guarded by several turrets and spike traps—and that's it! I told you there wasn't much to see.

Next up: The End At Last...

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