#correct score prediction

[betclever]

Football Match CR Belouizdad vs MC Oran

For the match between CR Belouizdad and MC Oran the Betclever algorithm has produced the following predictions for the chance of these events occuring in the game:

CR Belouizdad Win: 66.70%

MC Oran Win: 6.70%

Draw: 26.70%

Both Teams to Score: 60.00%

Over 2.5 Goals: 50.00%

First Half Goal: 80.00%

For more in-depth data and stats on this game, please visit our Match Data page here.

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[rarabet]

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[heliosunny]

hiiiiii,

can you do yandere!Student council representative!Jingyuan troublemaker!reader?

pealsepleasepleasepleaseeeeeee🥺

Yandere!Rep!Jing Yuan x Troublemaker!Reader

"Why is it that whenever trouble arises, it always seems to involve you?"

The sharp voice of the disciplinary officer echoed through the student council room. You stood in the center, arms crossed, your uniform slightly disheveled—evidence of whatever chaos you’d been caught up in this time. Behind you, two of your closest friends looked anywhere but at the fuming officer, their guilt written all over their faces.

And yet, despite the lecture, despite the serious nature of the situation, one person remained utterly unbothered.

Jing Yuan, the esteemed Student Council Representative, sat comfortably in his seat, chin resting on one hand, golden eyes half-lidded in amusement.

The officer continued their tirade, but you barely heard them anymore—not with the way Jing Yuan was watching you, like a lion indulging in the sight of its favorite prey.

Finally, unable to ignore him any longer, you turned your head slightly and met his gaze. That smile of his widened just a fraction.

Oh, he was enjoying this far too much.

The punishment was predictable. Community service under the watchful eye of none other than Jing Yuan himself.

You huffed, gripping the broom in your hands as you stood in the empty hallways of the academy. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the polished floors, and the only sound was the distant chatter of students enjoying their freedom.

Jing Yuan watched you with the same infuriatingly amused expression he always wore. "You’re surprisingly obedient today," he mused, tilting his head. "I expected more complaining."

You shot him a glare, sweeping the broom across the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Oh, trust me, I have plenty to say. But since someone made sure I ended up with extra hours, I might as well get this over with."

Jing Yuan chuckled, the deep sound annoyingly pleasant. "Don’t be so upset. I even cleared my schedule to personally supervise you. That’s quite the honor, don’t you think?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, an honor. I should be grateful to have the mighty student council president breathing down my neck while I sweep floors."

"Oh, I wouldn’t call it breathing down your neck… not yet, at least."

You froze for half a second, grip tightening on the broom. Jing Yuan watched you struggle for a response, then leaned in ever so slightly, just enough to invade your space. "I wonder," he mused, "if you'd get in trouble again just to spend more time with me."

"Absolutely not."

-----

You knocked on the student council room’s door before pushing it open without waiting for a response. "I'm done" you announced, stepping inside. "The halls are spotless. You could eat off the floor if you wanted."

Jing Yuan didn't even glance up. He was seated at his desk, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, his usually lazy demeanor replaced with rare focus. His brows furrowed slightly as he scanned the documents.

You lingered by the door for a moment, then, against your better judgment, took a step closer. "What are you even working on?"

"Schedules, budgets, disciplinary reports," he murmured distractedly. "Ah, and proposals for upcoming events. The usual burden of student council leadership."

You peeked over his shoulder and caught sight of one particular form—something about club funding allocations. A mistake immediately jumped out at you. Without thinking, you leaned down, snatched a pen off his desk, and scribbled in the correction.

"Oh?"

You met his gaze and shrugged. "I simply cause problem, not stupid."

For a moment, he simply stared at you, then he smiled. "Indeed, you aren’t," he said, clearly pleased. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with renewed interest. "You know… you should consider putting that brain of yours to better use. If you get a high score—perhaps even top of the grade—I could pull some strings and get your punishment lessened. Maybe even have you join the student council."

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Hard pass."

Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You didn’t even think about it."

"I don’t need to" you said flatly. "Sitting around, drowning in paperwork, dealing with annoying teachers? No thanks."

He chuckled, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Shame. You'd make an interesting addition to our ranks."

"Exactly. Interesting. Which means you'd have even more excuses to keep me under your watch, and I’m not about to hand you that kind of victory."

Jing Yuan laughed at that, "Fine, I won’t push—for now."

You rolled your eyes, already regretting helping him. "Yeah, yeah. See you later, Rep."

As you turned to leave, you could still feel his gaze lingering on you.

----

The keychain was small, soft, and well-worn—clearly something Jing Yuan had for a long time. It landed on the polished floor without a sound, barely noticeable, but you caught it out of the corner of your eye as you swept.

"Oi, Jing Yuan!" you called out, picking up the white lion keychain and waving it in the air. "You dropped this!"

But he kept walking, completely ignoring you, his usual lazy stride unbothered. You frowned, watching him disappear around the corner. "Seriously? Does he have selective hearing or something?"

With a sigh, you stuffed the keychain into your pocket. It wasn’t like he was hard to find—you'd just give it back when you saw him in the student council office later.

Except, when you went in the afternoon, he wasn’t there. His usual seat was empty, the paperwork on his desk untouched. The other council members barely seemed to notice his absence, too busy arguing over event planning.

"Weird" you muttered under your breath. Jing Yuan, as much as he loved slacking off, never actually skipped his duties completely.

You only found out why when you overheard two students whispering in the hall.

"Did you hear? Jing Yuan’s out sick."

"Yeah, I heard he collapsed at home yesterday. Probably from all that work he procrastinated on."

That was all you needed to hear.

The next thing you knew, you were at the nearest bakery, tapping your fingers against the counter as you waited for them to box up a small cake. It wasn’t anything fancy—just something light and not too sweet. You didn’t even know if he liked cake, but whatever. It was better than showing up empty-handed.

By the time you arrived at his house, the sky was beginning to darken, the evening air cool against your skin. You stood in front of the door, cake box in one hand, Jing Yuan’s keychain in the other.

With a sigh, you knocked. "He better appreciate this."

There was a long silence after you knocked, enough that you wondered if he was even awake. Maybe you should’ve come earlier. Maybe he was asleep, or worse—what if no one was home?

You were just about to turn around when the door creaked open.

Jing Yuan stood there, leaning against the doorframe, dressed in loose loungewear instead of his usual uniform. His hair was slightly messy, his golden eyes hazy with fatigue.

"Ah" he blinked at you, clearly surprised. "Troublemaker?"

You scowled, holding up the cake box. "I have a name, you know. And it's Y/N L/N"

He only chuckled, voice slightly hoarse. "I must be dreaming if you’re actually here visiting me instead of causing chaos."

You rolled your eyes and shoved the keychain into his hand. "You dropped this yesterday. I was gonna return it at school, but since you’re dying or whatever, I figured I’d drop it off."

Jing Yuan looked down at the keychain, his fingers brushing over the worn fabric. "So you noticed"

"Of course I did" you huffed. "You always act like you’re paying attention to everything, but you’re actually kind of careless."

Instead of being offended, he just smiled "And you always act like you don’t care, but here you are. With cake, no less."

Heat pricked at your ears, and you quickly thrust the cake box at him. "Take it before I change my mind."

"Well, since you went through all this trouble, why don’t you come in?"

You hesitated. You’d already done what you came for. But something about the way he was looking at you—calm, expectant, like he already knew you’d say yes—made you click your tongue in annoyance.

"Fine" you muttered, stepping inside. "Just for a bit."

"Of course."

Jing Yuan’s house was exactly what you expected—spacious, neat, and just a little too perfect, as if even in his personal space, he was still playing the role of the ever-composed student council representative.

The only thing out of place was the blanket draped over the couch and the scattered tea cups on the coffee table. A telltale sign he’d been holed up here all day.

"You can sit" he said, setting the cake box on the table and opening it. "Or are you worried that being in my house will ruin your reputation?"

You rolled your eyes but dropped onto the couch anyway, arms crossed. "I should be worried. Who knows what kind of weird rumors would start if someone found out I was here?"

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully, slicing into the cake "Hmm… perhaps I should start one myself. ‘The notorious troublemaker personally came to nurse the student council representative back to health.’ That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"

"Try it and see what happens."

He only chuckled, placing a slice of cake in front of you before picking up his own fork. "So? What made you come all this way? Guilt? Concern?"

"Annoyance" you muttered, stabbing your fork into the cake. "Someone always acts so smug and untouchable, but then the moment he gets sick, he just disappears? How irresponsible."

"So you were worried about me."

"Don’t read too much into it. I just didn’t want to deal with an overworked student council president collapsing in the middle of the hallway next week."

He laughed, "I see, I see. You’re really bad at hiding when you care about someone, you know?"

You nearly choked on your cake. "Excuse me? Care?"

"Mm. But that’s alright. I don’t mind being the only one who notices."

You shoved another bite of cake into your mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jing Yuan only smiled, content to watch you squirm.

The rumors spread faster than you expected.

By the time you arrived at school the next morning, hushed whispers followed you through the halls. Some students gave you knowing looks, others smirked, and a few girls in particular shot you daggers with their eyes.

"Did you hear? They went to his house yesterday." "Brought him cake, too." "So that’s why Jing Yuan doesn’t punish them properly, huh?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Unbelievable."

Still, you ignored it and went about your day. It wasn’t like you cared what people thought. If they wanted to waste their time gossiping, that was their problem, not yours.

By the time you were cleaning the student council room’s windows—an extra task Jing Yuan oh-so-kindly assigned you—the whispers had faded into background noise. You barely noticed when the door opened and a girl walked in.

But you did notice when something cold splashed against your back, soaking through your uniform in an instant.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you flinched, the shock of icy water running down your spine making you shiver. You turned sharply, already scowling, only to find a girl—one of the ones who’d been glaring at you all morning—standing there with an empty bottle in her hand. Her expression was a mix of satisfaction and barely concealed jealousy.

"You think you’re special, don’t you?" she sneered. "Just because Jing Yuan lets you do whatever you want?"

You exhaled slowly, controlling your irritation. "Seriously?" You glanced down at your soaked uniform, then back at her. "Real mature."

She huffed, arms crossed, clearly expecting you to yell, fight back, or maybe even run out embarrassed.

But you weren’t that kind of person.

Instead, you turned to the table where Jing Yuan’s tea sat, still warm in its delicate cup. Without hesitation, you picked it up.

And in one swift motion, you poured it over her head.

The girl shrieked as the liquid soaked into her hair and dripped down her face. It wasn’t scalding hot, but it was warm enough to be uncomfortable, and the sheer audacity of your retaliation left the entire room in stunned silence.

"You—you freak!" she sputtered, eyes welling up with frustrated tears. "You’ll pay for this!"

With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out, still dripping tea.

You set the empty cup back on the table with a satisfied smirk. "Fair’s fair."

Before anyone could say anything, Jing Yuan—who had been watching the whole scene from his desk, absolutely delighted—cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose I should excuse you early. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold from your tragic accident."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, already heading for the door.

The next morning, the girl arrived at school early, long before the hallways filled with students. She moved quietly, sneaking into the classroom where your belongings were kept. Her eyes landed on your locker, and a smirk curled on her lips.

"Let’s see how untouchable you really are."

She fiddled with the lock, slipping a thin piece of metal into the mechanism. It wasn’t perfect, but she had been planning this—maybe to hide your things, maybe to ruin them. Either way, she never got the chance.

"Now, what do we have here?"

The girl froze. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she slowly turned her head.

Jing Yuan stood by the doorway, looking completely at ease—like he hadn’t just caught her red-handed.

"I—I was just—"

"No need for excuses" he said smoothly, stepping forward. "I do appreciate the effort, though. It takes a certain level of confidence to openly mess with someone’s locker the day after getting publicly humiliated."

Her face burned with embarrassment. "I wasn’t—"

Jing Yuan sighed, tilting his head. "But, you know… revenge is such a fickle thing." His smile sharpened. "It never really goes the way you want it to."

Before she could react, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen once, then turned it towards her.

A video played. A video of her trying to break into your locker.

"Oops" Jing Yuan drawled. "Seems like security cameras exist. Who would've thought?" He tucked his phone away, expression far too pleased for someone who just caught a crime in progress.

"Are you gonna report me?" she spat.

"Hmm," Jing Yuan hummed, as if considering it. "Tempting. But no, I have a better idea. I think you should apologize."

"What?"

"To Y/N. Properly" he said, "And maybe—just maybe—I won’t have to ‘accidentally’ send this video to the disciplinary committee."

Her face twisted in frustration, but she had no choice. With one last glare, she stormed past him, defeated.

Jing Yuan chuckled, watching her leave.

He glanced back at your locker, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the cold metal. A little revenge on your terms, he mused.

He would have let you handle it yourself—he loved watching you fight your own battles. But every once in a while, he liked to remind people exactly who they were messing with.

----

You stood at Jing Yuan’s doorstep again, this time with a deep sigh and a stack of paperwork balanced in your arms.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

The only reason you were even here was because he requested it—something about needing assistance since he was still "recovering." You wanted to refuse, really, but if there was a chance this would lift your punishment sooner, you'd deal with it.

With another sigh, you knocked on the door. It only took a moment before it swung open, revealing a woman with warm eyes and a gentle smile.

"Oh! You must be Y/N!" she beamed. "Jing Yuan told me you'd be coming by."

"Uh… yeah. I’m just here to drop off his paperwork."

"How responsible of you! Please, come in," she said, stepping aside. "You must be tired from carrying all that."

You hesitated but stepped inside. The warmth of the house was comforting, the scent of home-cooked food lingering in the air.

As you walked in, you noticed another presence—a man seated in the living room, flipping through a book. He barely spared you a glance.

You gave a polite nod. "Good evening, sir."

He acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head but said nothing.

His mother, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.

"Ah, it’s so nice to finally meet you properly!" she said cheerfully as she led you towards the stairs. "Jing Yuan talks about you, you know."

That made you stop mid-step. "…He what?"

"Oh, just little things," she giggled. "It’s rare for him to show interest in someone outside of council work, so I was curious!"

You had no idea what to do with that information. Before you could respond, she gestured up the stairs.

"He’s in his room. Feel free to scold him for being lazy while you’re at it."

"Trust me, I was planning to."

With that, you climbed the stairs, still reeling from the conversation.

Jing Yuan, talking about you? What was that supposed to mean?

You took a steadying breath as you reached the top of the stairs. Doesn’t matter. Just drop off the paperwork, scold him for being lazy, and get out.

He was lounging on his bed, hair slightly tousled, dressed in a loose sweater and sweatpants.

"Ah, my favorite troublemaker has arrived" he drawled. "And here I thought I’d have to suffer in solitude."

You scowled, stepping in and dropping the heavy stack of paperwork onto his desk with a thud. "You wouldn’t be suffering if you actually did your work at school instead of dumping it on me."

He laughed, stretching his arms above his head like a lazy cat. "That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?"

"Excuse me?"

He sat up, leaning his chin on his palm, watching you with amusement. "I did say I’d help lessen your punishment. Consider this an opportunity to earn my favor."

"Unbelievable."

He gestured lazily toward the chair by his desk. "Sit. You might as well stay for a bit. My mother already adores you, and my father—well, he’s not the type to dislike anyone without reason."

"I don’t want to stay."

"But you haven’t left yet."

He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve dumped the papers and walked out, but you didn’t.

You clicked your tongue. "Fine." You plopped into the chair, arms still crossed.

As the minutes passed, you found yourself settling in despite yourself. His room was surprisingly cozy.

----

Again, whispers, accusations. The same kind of trouble you usually got into, but this time, it wasn’t you.

A mess of scattered files in the teacher’s lounge. Graffiti on the back wall of the school. The fire alarm going off twice in one day.

And somehow, every single time, your name was the first one on everyone’s lips.

"It has to be them, right? Who else causes this much chaos?" "Guess they finally snapped." "Jing Yuan’s been too soft on them. Maybe this time they’ll actually get expelled."

At first, you rolled your eyes at the rumors. It wasn’t the first time people assumed the worst of you, and it wouldn’t be the last.

But then the principal got involved.

And suddenly, you were standing outside the office, arms crossed as you stared down the teachers demanding an explanation.

"How many times do I have to say it?" you snapped. "It wasn’t me."

The principal sighed, rubbing his temples. "The evidence says otherwise. You have a history, Y/N. Even if you didn’t directly cause these incidents, you must have influenced someone who did."

Just as you opened your mouth to argue, a calm voice interrupted.

"I can vouch for them."

You turned your head.

Jing Yuan stood there, expression smooth and unreadable, golden eyes carrying that familiar laziness—except now, it felt deliberate.

"As student council president, I would’ve noticed if Y/N was behind these incidents" he continued, "I don’t believe they were involved."

The principal hesitated. "Jing Yuan—"

"If anything, I personally will take responsibility for watching over them" Jing Yuan added, smiling slightly. "To make sure this… pattern doesn’t continue."

The principal sighed. "Fine. But if anything else happens, I won’t be as lenient."

----

At first, it was just a feeling.

A gnawing doubt at the back of your mind when Jing Yuan vouched for you so easily, so perfectly. It should have been a relief, but instead, it unsettled you.

The timing. The rumors. The way everything fell apart just enough to put you in trouble—but not enough to actually ruin you.

You started watching more closely.

And slowly, the pieces came together.

A student mentioning they saw someone suspiciously near the fire alarm, but their memory was foggy. A janitor complaining about files being scattered but swearing the door was locked. A teacher muttering about how it was strange that the cameras near the graffiti just happened to malfunction.

And then there was Jing Yuan.

Always nearby.

The realization hit you like ice water down your spine.

He did this.

Not just for amusement. Not just because he could.

He did it to keep you by his side.

And that led to now—standing in an empty classroom, heart pounding as Jing Yuan leaned lazily against the teacher’s desk.

"You’ve been awfully busy lately" he mused, arms crossed. "Looking into things that don’t concern you."

"Don’t give me that. I know what you did."

"And what exactly do you think I did?"

"You set me up." The words felt heavy on your tongue. "The rumors, the ‘pranks,’ all of it. You wanted me to be isolated. You wanted—"

"You."

"I told you before, didn’t I?" He stood up, took small steps toward you "I noticed you. And I wasn’t going to let anyone else have the chance."

You took a step back. "This is insane."

"Is it? Or is it just the only way to make sure you stay where you belong?"

Your back hit the wall.

"You have two choices" he said. "Either you decide to stay with me—"willingly"—or…"

"I’ll have to dirty my hands."

"Not that it would matter" he continued, "No one would believe you anyway. Who would they trust—the troublemaker, or the beloved student council rep?"

You knew the answer.

"You’re in your rebellious stage" he mused, tilting his head like he was merely observing you, not actively cornering you. "That’s fine. I expected as much."

"Expected?"

Jing Yuan chuckled, stepping back slightly—just enough to give you space to breathe but not enough to release you from his grasp. "Of course. You’re stubborn, after all. You wouldn’t just listen to me so easily."

"And what? You think I’ll just give in?"

"No, not yet. But I will give you a choice."

"You have two options. Option one," he held up a single finger, "you get first place in the entire grade. Not just top ten. Not just top five. Number one." His lips curled slightly. "Prove yourself to be better than every single student in this school, and I’ll—hmm, let’s say—I’ll consider leaving you alone."

Your brows furrowed. "What kind of—"

"Or." He cut you off, raising a second finger. "You don’t. And I’ll make sure we’re stuck together forever."

"That’s not a choice."

Jing Yuan smiled, "Of course it is. You could try for number one. It’s difficult, but not impossible. You’re smart, after all. I know that better than anyone. Or, you could stay just as you are. My troublesome, reckless, irreplaceable Y/N."

He tilted his head. "Either way, I win."

He was serious. No, more than that—he was certain.

"You’re insane."

"I’ve been called worse. So? What will you do?"

The days blurred together into an exhausting cycle—punishment duty in the morning, classes in the afternoon, and late nights spent drowning in textbooks.

You never thought you’d willingly care about school rankings, but Jing Yuan left you no choice. If you wanted him out of your life, you had to claim the number one spot.

And that was easier said than done.

You weren’t stupid—far from it. But competing against students who had spent years aiming for the top was another level of difficulty. Some subjects weren’t a problem, but others…

You stared at your notes, rubbing your temples. Your punishment work had already drained most of your energy—cleaning, running errands for teachers, fixing up the mess he set you up for. And now you were stuck on a ridiculously complicated problem that refused to make sense.

Your pencil hovered over the page.

Then, against your better judgment, you pulled out your phone.

[You]: I need help with something.

It didn’t even take a minute before the response came.

[Jing Yuan]: Oh? Has my dear troublemaker finally come to their senses?

[You]: Shut up. Do you want to help or not?

[Jing Yuan]: Of course. Anything for you.

A few minutes later, you found yourself seated across from him in the library, your book spread open between you. Jing Yuan looked entirely too pleased with the situation.

"You know" he mused, "you could always just let me help you in other ways."

You shot him a glare. "No. I’m doing this myself."

He chuckled, twirling his pen between his fingers. "How stubborn." Then, with an easy smile, he reached over, tapping the textbook. "Alright, alright. Let’s start here."

Despite his infuriating personality, Jing Yuan was a good teacher. His explanations were smooth, his patience unwavering, and—most annoyingly—he somehow made things click faster than when you studied alone.

But you also knew he was using this as an opportunity to chip away at you.

"You know" he said at one point, watching you scribble down notes, "you’re pushing yourself too hard."

You didn’t look up. "I have to."

"Do you? If you’re struggling this much, wouldn’t it be easier to—"

"Not happening."

Jing Yuan sighed dramatically. "I’m only saying you don’t have to go through all this suffering alone. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who can take care of everything for you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "You taking care of things is the reason I’m in this mess."

He laughed. "Fair point."

But as the session went on, you felt yourself slipping—just slightly.

Because he made it so easy to rely on him.

And that was dangerous.

When the results were finally posted, you could hardly breathe.

You pushed through the murmuring crowd, scanning the rankings with a pounding heart.

"Second."

Your name sat mockingly in the number two spot.

You clenched your fists. You were so close. After all the sleepless nights, the studying, the exhaustion—

It wasn’t enough.

And you knew exactly what that meant.

A familiar voice hummed behind you.

"Oh dear," Jing Yuan said, peering over your shoulder. "So close."

You turned to glare at him. He was smiling—of course he was. That calm, patient smile that always meant he knew something you didn’t.

"You planned this" you accused.

Jing Yuan tilted his head, amused. "Now, now. I did encourage you to aim higher. It’s not my fault you fell just short of the mark."

Your nails dug into your palms. "You rigged this."

"Did I? Or did you simply underestimate the challenge?"

Your chest burned with frustration. But before you could retort, Jing Yuan leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a soft murmur.

"Regardless," he whispered, "a deal is a deal, isn’t it?"

Jing Yuan straightened, his expression entirely too pleased. "Looks like you’re stuck with me after all."

You had tried. Really tried.

And yet—he won.

Jing Yuan extended a hand, as if waiting for you to take it.

"So," he murmured, "what will you do now?"

If you were stuck with Jing Yuan, then fine.

But that didn’t mean you had to make it easy for him.

Your first act of revenge was harmless—switching the sugar in his tea with salt. You watched as he took a sip during lunch, his expression barely changing, except for the slightest quirk of his brow.

Then, he smiled.

"Salty, hm?" he mused, setting his cup down. "How bold of you."

You scowled. He barely reacted.

So you stepped it up.

Loosening the screws on his chair just enough that when he leaned back, it nearly collapsed under him. Nearly. Because, of course, he caught himself, laughing under his breath as he glanced at you.

"Trying to kill me already?" he teased. "How cruel."

You didn’t stop.

You left fake love letters in his locker. Spread a rumor that he had a secret admirer. Stole his favorite pen right before an important meeting.

And yet—no matter what you did, Jing Yuan took it all in stride, as if he expected it. As if he enjoyed it.

Your frustration peaked one afternoon when you "accidentally" swapped his neatly written notes with a stack of completely useless doodles.

He flicked through them with mild amusement, then looked up at you.

"Do you think this will make me let you go?"

"Because if anything, it just makes me want to keep you closer."

This wasn’t working. No matter what you did, he remained unshaken.

If anything—

He was enjoying it.

It was time to change tactics.

If pranks and small annoyances didn’t faze him, then maybe something else would. Something that would actually get under his skin.

So, when your friend—someone completely uninvolved in the chaos of your life—offered to hang out after school, you took it a step further.

"Let’s fake date."

Your friend blinked. "What?"

"Just in public," you said quickly. "Just enough to make someone mad."

They raised a brow. "Someone?"

You didn’t answer.

And that’s how you found yourself walking down the street, laughing a little too loudly, leaning in just enough to make it look intimate. Your friend played along, nudging your shoulder, whispering things that weren’t remotely romantic but would look like it from an outsider’s perspective.

And, of course—

Jing Yuan was watching.

You felt it before you even saw him. When you finally glanced over, he was there.

His golden eyes were locked onto you.

And in that moment, you realized—

You had seriously messed up.

Your friend was still talking, still playing along, but you couldn’t focus. Your pulse quickened as Jing Yuan started walking toward you.

Step by step.

He stopped just a few feet away, gaze flicking lazily between you and your so-called "date."

"I wasn’t aware you had such… interesting tastes, Y/N."

Your friend tensed beside you.

"We’re just—"

Jing Yuan raised a hand, stopping you.

"You’re testing me," he murmured, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. "How cute."

Jing Yuan took another step forward, forcing you to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

"But tell me, Y/N…" His smile widened. "How far are you willing to go?"

You knew it was reckless. Dangerous, even. But if Jing Yuan wanted to play mind games, then fine—you’d play, too. So, without breaking eye contact, without hesitating for even a second—

You turned to your friend and pressed a kiss to their cheek.

It was brief, barely anything, but it was enough.

You felt your friend tense under your touch, caught between confusion and amusement, but you didn’t look at them. You didn’t need to.

Because all your focus was on him.

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver, but something in his eyes shifted.

For the first time, you saw the cracks in his carefully controlled mask.

And that’s when you knew—

You had won this round.

Or so you thought.

Jing Yuan exhaled slowly, stepping even closer, until there was barely any space left between you. Your friend stiffened beside you, clearly sensing something off, but neither of you dared to move.

"You really shouldn’t have done that....But don’t worry… I’ll make sure you never feel the need to do it again."

And with that, he stepped back, flashing you one last unreadable smile before turning on his heel and walking away.

Leaving you standing there, pulse hammering, as you realized—

You may have just made things worse.

You stopped going to school.

At first, it wasn’t intentional. You had skipped one day to clear your head, to shake off the lingering weight of his presence.

But then one day turned into two. Then three. Then a full week.

And you realized—

You didn’t have to go back.

Expulsion? Detention? Consequences? You didn’t care anymore. If staying away meant being free from him, then so be it.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you could breathe.

Until the knocking on your front door shattered that illusion.

You knew who it was before you even opened it.

And yet, when you finally swung the door open, Jing Yuan was standing there.

"You’ve been absent, I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"What do you want?"

Jing Yuan sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I came to deliver a message."

"What message?"

"Your friend."

Your breath caught.

"They got into a little accident yesterday," he mused. "Nothing too serious, of course. Just a little… fall."

Your fingers clenched around the doorframe. "You’re lying."

"Am I?" His gaze was unwavering. "You would know if you had been there."

Jing Yuan leaned in further, "Do you really think disappearing will make me forget about you?"

"I don’t mind waiting" he murmured. "But if you keep running…"

"…I might have to start pulling more people into this."

"You wouldn’t—"

Jing Yuan chuckled, straightening up. "Wouldn’t I?"

"I’ll see you at school tomorrow."

Just as you were about to slam the door shut, a hand shot out, stopping it effortlessly.

Your breath hitched as Jing Yuan stepped forward, closing the distance in one smooth motion. Before you could react, before you could even breathe, he leaned in—

And pressed a kiss to your cheek.

When he pulled back, he was smiling.

"Consider that my payback"

"You—"

"No need to look so flustered. You started this, didn’t you? See you tomorrow... And don’t be late."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there.

The next morning, you found yourself walking through the school gates because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you knew. You had lost this game long ago. And when you reached the student council room, pushing the door open, Jing Yuan was already there, waiting—smiling like he knew you’d come. Like he had never once doubted it. As if every struggle, every rebellion, every desperate attempt to escape had only led you right back to him.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you had walked in on your own—or if he had guided you here all along.

[yuriartillery]

Agatha and Elizabeth

“Lady Agatha, I’ve brought you your tea.”

I set the platter down on the end table next to my mistress and pour out her tea. She doesn’t take it with milk or sugar, and she always insists that I oversteep the leaves in the pot. Bitter herbs sharpen the mind, she says.

Agatha is sprawled out on her reading chair in her chamber, still in her nightgown despite it nearly being noon. Lady Agatha purportedly drove away several governesses in her youth with her willful and unladylike attitude, and I have personally seen her drive out a fair score of potential suitors in much the same way. I admit that I almost admire her sharp tongue when it’s turned towards those above me, but all too often her disposition grates on me in the way that only a spoiled child can.

“Thank you, Liz. Would you draw the curtains? I have a bitch of a headache.”

Her delicately manicured left hand covers her porcelain face, as she regards me through spread fingers. My lady’s room has a western facing window, and there’s not a single stream of light flowing in at the moment. A catty remark crosses my mind briefly as I walk over to the curtains to draw them.

“Right away, my Lady.”

She’s not fond of sharp or sudden noises, so I carefully pull them together, taking far longer than I would prefer. Once the are curtains shut, I tidy up her room. The laundry maid has often complained that Agatha’s clothes seem to spend more time as makeshift rugs than on her body. She’s still watching me through her fingers, although she hasn’t yet deigned to honour me by turning her head.

“Lady Agatha, forgive me my presumption, but you seem not to be feeling well today. Shall I send word to that factory owner’s son that you won’t be able to entertain him for dinner?”

Exactly on cue, she lets out a put-upon sigh and slumps further into her chair. Mister John Harker has been quite dogged in his pursuit of Agatha, despite her repeated deflections of his various advances. By society’s estimation he’s a perfectly unobjectionable man, though the arrogance he displays by courting far above his station embitters him to me. Not that anyone of standing minds, her parents have been trying to marry her off to any man who will take her, both to finally rid the estate of her presence and to dispel the rumors that they’ve spawned an unmarriageable hellion.

“I’m afraid you didn’t respond clearly enough for me to answer Mr. Harker’s solicitations, my Lady, shall I return after you’ve had time for the tea to settle?”

My mistress is so predictable. As soon as I suggest that I’m about to leave, she immediately rights her posture, combs her hair out of her eyes, and clears her throat.

“Tell that parasitic bastard that I am indisposed in no uncertain terms, Liz.”

She pauses for a beat, her face twisting as venom decants behind her ruby lips, until her expression settles into a malicious grin barely veiled by an austere half-smile. Just as I’m about to prompt her, my Lady speaks.

“On second thought, I’m feeling much better. Your tea always does wonders for me, Elizabeth. Let him know that I would be honored to dine with him alone tonight.”

I know she’s not touched her tea yet, so Agatha must be plotting something. Typically she would hold a massive party so that she could publicly humiliate a suitor. A solo dinner is well outside of her usual mischief.

“Very good, my Lady. I’ll have a messenger send word to Mr. Harker immediately.”

“You must help me get dressed and prepared first, Liz. I can’t host anyone in this state, certainly not him. My hair’s a mess, as is my face.”

I can’t help but smile to myself. Agatha is always so petulant and exacting when she gets an idea like this into her head. Until the very moment her plans begin, she’ll find something wrong with her appearance or presentation and endlessly correct it such that everything is perfect. She’ll need to bathe, get dressed, do her hair, and have at least four hours to make sure that each room in her scheme is arranged to her need.

“Did you bathe last night, my Lady?”

Of course she didn’t, I was with her until I turned out her lights. My mistress never bathes unless I remind her too. She seems startled when I ask this, snapped out of her plots for a moment by the societal expectation of cleanliness. Honestly, she’s helpless.

“Oh! I, well, no…”

“I see, my Lady. I’ll go draw a bath for you now, and I’ll fetch you when it’s ready.”

“Thank you, Liz.”

“It’s no trouble at all, my Lady. Do you have an idea of what you’ll be wearing tonight?”

“…I don’t.”

“Well my Lady, I encourage you to think on it while I prepare your bath. Please excuse me.”

She’s not listening anymore, and I know it. I don’t particularly mind. The look of her perfectly focused face tells she can’t tell if I take a moment outside of her notice. Some time to alert the staff to the general outline of what will be occurring today. I quietly excuse myself from her chambers and look for Anthony, the estate’s coachman and messenger. He seems genuinely excited to be giving Mr. Harker substantial news for a change. I can’t blame the man, it must be exhausting to constantly rebuff the pesterings of a desperate lovelorn fool.

Lady Agatha didn’t outline any of her plans to me before I left, but they all more or less follow a rote routine, so providing advanced notice to the kitchen and cleaning staff has historically improved the odds of my mistress’s plans going off without a hitch.

The bath has always been simple, but unorthodox, to prepare. Agatha prefers her baths to be as hot as possible, so I nearly boil her bathwater. When she’s ready it’ll be the almost scalding temperature that she so adores. I gently knock at the door and let myself in. Agatha has spread a few different dresses out on her bed and the floor and is in deep deliberation as to which dress she should wear.

“I think the sky blue dress would be appropriate for today, my Lady.”

She starts up, like a cat that’s had its tail tread on. I suppress a giggle. She nods to me in agreement and begins to gather up her other dresses.

“Also, your bath is prepared. Leave the cleanup to me, my Lady.”

I reach down to help her upright and she takes my hand swiftly. She pulls herself to her feet in one sudden motion and walks to the bathroom faster than is necessary. Out of the corner of my eye I catch her alabaster cheeks flushing rose, cut off sharply by the slamming of a door. This is routine as well, a startled Agatha can’t bear to be seen by anyone else. I tidy up her room, returning all but the blue dress to her wardrobe. After all is set into its rightful place, I make up her bed and tidy the mess of romance novels on her desk.

A book titled Carmilla catches my eye as I clean, hidden away behind the headboard of Agatha’s bed. It’s in a horrid state, spine bent and broken, pages yellowed with several dog-eared to hold her place. My lady is still bathing, so I take a break from my chores to peruse a few pages. Within seconds I am absorbed so fully that I nearly miss my Lady crying out for my aid. I clear my throat and tuck the novel back where I found it.

“Liz! Elizabeth! I need your help! Now!”

It’s strange, she almost never requires assistance in the bath, but I open the door to the bath and a wave of heavy steam forces me back. I wipe the fog from my glasses and walk in.

“Liz, what took you so long?”

Agatha’s skin is entirely red from the hot bath, but she hasn’t yet wet her hair. I can’t help but sigh, she’s going to insist that I wash her hair. It’s nearly been two months since she last asked for this, I had almost hoped that she had forgotten that I said I’d be willing to. I move behind the bathtub and prepare the soaps.

“Forgive me, my Lady. I was engrossed in my work.”

She pouts, because she can’t help it. I keep my opinions to myself.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore! Now that you’re here, wash my hair! … please.”

I knew it.

“You’ll have to wet it yourself, my lady. I wouldn’t want to appear to be drowning my mistress on the off chance that someone stumbles into your bathroom.”

With a huff, Agatha sinks beneath the steaming water, giving me another opportunity to remove the fog from my glasses. She childishly breaches moments later, splattering both myself and the floor with her bathwater. Every day it grows harder to suppress my annoyance with my mistress. Each interaction is just another trial from God, sent to test my patience.

“Close your eyes, my Lady. We wouldn’t want it to get into your eyes.”

I lather her scalp and begin the laborious process of cleaning her unmanageable amount of hair. Agatha has been famously opposed to it ever being cut. Trimming it to remove the splitting ends has been a battle enough her entire life, the other maids have told me. She’s made a personal enemy of every salon’s proprietor and all of their employees within fifty miles, and now none will ever assent to seeing her.

My mistress sighs with contentment as I work on her. She purrs like a cat when my nails scratch her scalp and mewls pathetically when I move on to more of her hair. There’s some wordless protestation when I wipe my glasses for a third time, but it’s easily resolved with a bit of pointless fawning.

“Alright, it is finished, my Lady.”

She sinks back underneath the water. I have to wait for her to resurface before I leave, lest I provoke another outburst. It won’t be long, as she can hardly hold her breath above water, let alone below it. When she surfaces this time she doesn’t intentionally splash as a seal would.

“If that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave now, Lady Agatha.”

I’m struck by how wounded she looks as I move to leave. With a sigh I turn around and set my glasses on the vanity, as it seems I might be in this teakettle of a room for quite some time.

“Is there something wrong, my Lady?”

There’s a pause as she thinks over my question. She’s clearly troubled, it’s written all over her face.

“What do you think of that Harker bastard, Liz? And you have to answer honestly! Or else!”

It’s now my turn to spend a moment thinking. By all measures he’s an upstanding young gentleman, cordial and polite at every opportunity. He gets along well with all of the servants in our estate, myself excluded, and he’s absolutely filthy rich, so it wouldn’t be beyond him to provide the lavish lifestyle that Agatha insists on.

But despite knowing all of that, I simply cannot stand the man for more than five minutes at a time. His posture is stiff and bent all at the same time, he never knows when to stop joking about with people, and his tireless pursuit of Agatha, despite her obvious intolerance of his existence, makes me wretch. If I were her mother, I would make it clear in no uncertain terms that he is to leave my darling Agatha alone and never show his face in my house again.

“Hmm. Well, in all respects he’s a wonderful gentleman who any young woman would be delighted to marry.”

I can feel my mistress burning holes through me with her glare as I begin my evaluation of her suitor with the same uncritical praise that she’s doubtless heard dozens of times already.

“But, I personally would resign as my Lady’s personal maid if you were to accept his proposal. I cannot stand to share a room with the man, and were it not my duty to ensure he felt safe and welcomed in this estate, I would have denied him entry long ago.”

Agatha looks visibly relieved to hear such a scathing opinion of Mr. Harker. After I finish speaking, she steps out of the bath without warning and wrings out her hair. I nearly stumble as I go for a towel to give her so that she can cover up. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen her fully naked before, so I suppose she must not mind at anymore. I excuse myself to her chambers to help her dress and do her hair after she finishes drying herself.

She’s returned to her silent plotting once she exits the bath, and wordlessly allows me to dress her, not putting up nearly as much of a fight as I’m used to out of her. I prefer her like this, a nice pretty doll for me to dress and groom. I’m almost shocked not to hear any complaining as I do her hair up into a partial crown braid, but she’s within in her own internal world now. The Day of Judgment itself could not rouse her now.

Once she’s fully prepared for the day she gracefully dances out of her room, stopping to offer me a mumbled thanks for dressing her. She’s likely off to let the staff know her particular requirements for tonight’s dinner. I’ll be following her during the late afternoon, but time has flown, and I’m finally allowed one of my breaks, so I go off to the kitchen to have myself a meal.

The cooks are all abuzz about Lady Agatha’s meal request for tonight. Against her parent’s paltry resistance, she’s asked that they prepare all of the most expensive meat they had on hand, and that they were to make enough to feed the entire staff. Nobody is quite sure what awful prank she’s going to play on Mr. Harker, but they don’t care. Wine, bread, cheeses, all are fair game to the staff tonight, so Agatha likely has their entire support.

It’s already late afternoon when Anthony leads Mr. Harker into the foyer. He looks dazzled by the chandelier when I greet him on behalf of Agatha.

“Welcome to the Rosewood Estate, Mr. John Harker. At present, my Lady Agatha is preparing for your meal with her. Forgive her absence; she’ll be with us shortly. Until then, it would be my honor to entertain you.”

My voice breaks his fascination with the crystal chandelier and he laughs nervously.

“Uh, haha, yes, very good. You’re, wait, don’t tell me, I remember your face, uh, you’re Elizabeth! Right, yeah Lizzy, the uh, maid that’s always joined to Aggie’s hip. That’s splendid, I could use your advice.”

I wince when he calls my mistress ‘Aggie’ with such familiarity. Where does he get off thinking that he can use a pet name she despises when she’s done nothing but ignore his telegrams and letters for months? I offer a silent prayer that whatever Agatha has planned will rid us of this vermin for good.

“I’m flattered, Mr. Harker. Not only do you remember a humble servant like myself, but you think so highly of my opinion that you’d ask for my advice. If you would give Anthony your coat, I’ll guide you to the sitting room, where it’d be my utmost pleasure to answer any questions you may have.”

Mr. Harker’s face lights up with an awful juvenile smile as he hands off his filthy longcoat to the coachman. I lead him to the sitting room, opening the door for him and he immediately takes Agatha’s favored seat. His posture is positively uncouth as his miserable form seeps into the chair.

“Should I have a servant put on some tea, Mr. Harker?”

“Tea? No, can’t stand the stuff. I only drink coffee. Lizzy, you wouldn’t believe how rough the journey here from London is, but after months of silence, my beloved Aggie has finally seen sense! Everyone told me that she’d never respond, uh, that she’s always going to be unmarried but I sure showed-”

I can’t bear to hear anymore of his blathering, so I cut him off.

“I’m as pleased as anyone else is that my Lady has finally graced with you an invitation to our humble estate, Mr. Harker. If you would forgive me speaking above my station, what did you intend to ask me about?”

His surprised expression at my directness fills me with equal parts pride for silencing him and anxiety for speaking over a man.

“Uh… right, right, so you know Aggy better than anyone else right, Lizzy? I mean, uh, of course you do. I’ve never seen her without you by her side, uh, so, in your opinion how do you think it’d be best for me to uh, spring an engagement on her?”

Die. I want him to die right now.

“Lady Agatha has always hated surprises. I’m sure someone who cares for her as deeply, as you yourself do, would understand that instinctively. She’s also quite sharp, trying to trick her into saying yes would only put yourself in danger of one of her infamous rejections. Were I in your position, I would be upfro-”

“Ha! Upfront? You’ve got to be joking around with me, right Lizzy? I’ve always uh, been upfront with Aggie about my intentions and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. Honestly, were I a more cynical man, I’d think she’s uh, preparing to embarrass me like she she did to Georgie, and Percy, and Willy, and…”

He trails off getting quieter and quieter as he lists a number of Agatha’s potential suitors that he personally knew. I take the moment to breathe, trying to quell the seething rage I feel after being so sharply cut off by a dimwitted half-common fool who asked for my advice, then decided he knew better instantly.

“Yes, my Lady has discerning taste. But not one of the unfortunate men you listed were ever personally invited to a private dinner with Lady Agatha.”

Mr. Harker looks up from the fingers he was counting his former rivals on, genuinely shocked at what I had just said.

“Wait, uh, really?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re not pulling my leg, are you Lizzy?”

“This is not the proper time to make jokes, Mr, Harker.”

The smile that appears on his face on hearing this turns my stomach.

“Splendid! Right, uh, sorry for doubting you Lizzy. You’ve been so helpful. Uh, take this as a sign of my thanks.”

He shoves a crumpled wad of banknotes into my hand, then returns to Agatha’s chair, somehow spreading himself in a less dignified way than before.

“Sir, I can’t accept these, I haven’t done anything for you.”

I gently set the money onto an end table nearby Mr. Harker. It stinks like he does. I’ll have to wash my hands once I have some time to myself. When he speaks again, his voice is in a lower tone.

“Oh Lizzy, you’re so humble, I insist. And uh, just between you and me, uh, Percy said the reason why he stopped pursuing Aggie wasn’t because of all of the drinks she spilled on him or the kissing some other man while he was watching or any of that. Percy’s a good-natured chap after all. You could probably cut off his leg and he’d thank you.”

“Forgive me, I’m not sure I understand-”

“He said it was because uh, whenever you’d look at him, he’d uh, feel the chill of the grave. So, uh, if Agatha does become my fiancee, I’d like to have a good uh, you know, relationship with you, Lizzy.”

I notice that I’ve been clenching my fists in my lap during this entire conversation. I relax myself, and give him a halfhearted half-smile.

“Whatever my Lady desires, I will make so. If she truly does wish to marry you, Mr. Harker, I’ll gladly serve you with her.”

“Brilliant! We’ll be thick as thieves in no time, won’t we, Lizzy?”

As if Lady Agatha has any intention of spending one more moment of her precious time with this imbecile after tonight is through.

“I’d imagine we would be, sir.”

Another maid opens the door to let us know that dinner is ready to be served. Harker gets up right away, boundless energy pouring out of his every step. I follow behind and over his shoulders I see Lady Agatha. She’s done her own makeup for this dinner, and though it’s competent, I still wish she had given me the opportunity to do it for her. Even so, at this moment she is the pinnacle of grace and beauty, her dress flowing like water with each step she takes.

“John, it’s so very good to see you tonight. I trust that Liz was a satisfactory substitute hostess while I was making myself presentable?”

Her voice rings out clear and wonderful as church bells, contrasted to Mr. Harker’s boorish mumbling.

“Uh, yeah, Aggie, she was an uh, a great hostess. You uh, look pretty tonight. Uh, Lizzy said it would just be the uh, two of us dining?”

“Yes, I’ve had my staff prepare the meal beforehand so that it can just be the two of us alone, John. I’m quite proud of what my chefs have waiting for us tonight.”

Agatha offers her hand to Harker, which he takes, not even kneeling to kiss it, and then pulls her into the dining room. The doors close behind them and I rush to the washroom to scrub his scent from my hands.

It’s been nearly thirty minutes as I wait alone by the door, hands red and raw from the washing. The air stings. All I can here through the polished oak are polite murmurs as the two eat and chat, though try as I might, I can’t discern the direction the conversation is going.

Doubts begin to eat away at me while the minute hand crawls iota by iota across the clock face. Did Agatha actually have feelings for Mr. Harker that I simply hadn’t noticed? Was this not going to be a prank of hers? Without being able to hear, anything could be going on behind those closed doors. I fall to my knees and offer another prayer to whatever saint can be bothered. Ask God on my behalf to kill that man on the spot.

As I strain my ears I hear a glass shatter and a slight scuffle. I ignore it dutifully, if I am needed then she will come ask for me. Then a dull thump as something hits the floor hard. It is none of my concern, my imagination must be overactive. Then a strangled, gurgling scream. I disregard my station and throw open a door to see if my Lady is safe.

Within the dining hall I see my lovely Lady Agatha on top of a fallen John Harker, her face pressed against his neck and hand covering his mouth. He’s gripping the tablecloth with one hand and clawing desperately at the air with another. The red wine is all over the floor and my Lady’s dress. Harker’s eyes dart towards me and he forces out another gagged scream.

I begin to apologize for my intrusion and turn to leave, when I catch from the corner of my eye thick crimson pool oozing from Mr. Harker’s neck. There’s a tearing sound as she looks at me from atop the bleeding man. She looks up at me and spits out a chunk of his flesh. A jolt of envy courses through me.

“Oh Liz. Right outside my door. Ever my faithful dog. Did you hear that scream and get worried that John was attempting something improper with your master?”

Harker had sunk his teeth into Agatha’s hand, hard enough to make her bleed, but the light is already beginning to leave his eyes. I come to my senses enough to speak.

“What in God’s name are you doing, Agatha?”

She smiles far wider than she’s ever done before, showing off all of her perfectly straight bloodstained teeth. Her voice remains even and tempered, as if she were speaking to her parents or another noble. I’m beckoned over by her free hand and I approach warily.

“John was just blathering on and on and on about his life and how he’ll treat me if we were to get engaged and about his work in the city and all of his terribly boring friends and it was so mind-numbingly dull.”

Her voice is excited and lilting as she continues, but she isn’t talking past me. All of her attention is on me now.

“You know how I get when I’m bored, Liz. I started to look at his neck instead of his face. When he gets excited did you know one of his veins throbs just a little? I got to wondering what it would feel like if I were to sink my teeth into it and then before I knew it-”

She laughs clear and innocent as a church bell. It brings a smile to the corner of my face despite the circumstances.

“I was on top of him ripping out that throbbing vein with my teeth!”

Blood has started to seep into the edges of her dress, the floor is slick with Harker’s life. I get closer to her, and she wrenches her other hand out of his mouth. I kneel beside her and she rests her head on my shoulder.

“And it felt so good, Liz, the heat of his blood pouring into my mouth, the feel of my teeth cutting through skin and muscle alike, the terror in his eyes as he realized that I was going to kill him.”

Agatha lets out a dreamy sigh, running her uninjured hand over the chest of Harker’s corpse. I glare at it. It’s still too much affection for him, from her.

“And the struggle, he bit my hand, you know. How improper of him, he’s meant to be my suitor.”

She takes my cheek with her unbitten hand and turns my head to look her in the eyes. I ask instinctively.

“Is there something you require, my Lady?” My Lady Agatha kisses me on my lips, the bitter iron taste of Harker’s blood fills my mouth, my cheeks reddening from the directness, the impropriety of it. I feel my heart quicken when her tongue meets mine and at this moment I forget about the dead man beside me, the stains to my clothes, and every thought about what I should do now.

The kiss ends abruptly, and I’m still left reeling from the intensity of the situation. Agatha stands and present her injured hand to me. I wrap it with a napkin to staunch the flow of blood. The same smile is still on her face.

“Now Liz, I seem to have made a mess of my dinner. Could you clean up for me?”

[justchillgurl]

Chapter 2: Smoking Mirrors.

Summary: Geum Seong-je isn’t one to care about school politics, but something about her—the girl with the chessboard smile and debt-tracked hands—gets under his skin. From hallway glimpses to quiet observation, he begins to unthread her method. Not to expose her. Just to see if she ever slips.

He doesn’t think she will. That’s what makes it interesting.

Warnings: none (not yet at least.) just seongje smoking.

Author's note: I'm not really confident about those chapters, feel free to give your feedback. English is not my first language, please don't hesitate to point out any mistakes. Thank you🫶🏼

Check this out!@

The lighter clicked once. Twice. Flame hissed, flickered, and died against the afternoon wind.

Seong-je exhaled through his teeth, dug the lighter deeper into his palm, and tried again. On the third attempt, it caught. The tip of the cigarette burned soft orange as he leaned back against the cracked brick wall outside the east stairwell, smoke curling lazily around his face.

He wasn’t supposed to be out here. Not technically.

But that was the whole point.

Classes were still in session. The school felt hollow in this part of the building—too far from the teachers’ offices, too quiet for anyone to bother checking. A graveyard for rusted lockers and long-forgotten announcements. Seong-je liked it here. It was predictable in its neglect.

His phone buzzed.

Seong-Mok: u gonna show up today or what?

He locked the screen without answering.

Seong-je didn’t skip class because he had better things to do. He skipped because nothing in that building made him feel awake. He’d already figured out which teachers didn’t bother calling names, which students kept their heads down, and which staff gave up trying to correct him.

He existed at the edge of Kanghak High’s awareness. Not low enough to worry about. Not loud enough to deal with.

Except now there was her.

He’d been watching her longer than he liked to admit.

It started in the convenience store. The way she measured every action, every word, like she was scoring a game only she understood. She didn’t seek attention, but it followed her anyway—hovering around her sharp shoulders and immovable stare.

He didn’t care about rumors, but even he’d heard things.

She was the one with the notes. The blog. The connections. She never raised her voice. Never smiled for no reason. And never helped without a trade.

A few days after their non-meeting, he saw her again.

She was sitting in the back corner of the library, laptop open, typing fast and without pause. Her phone buzzed three times—she ignored it. Her bag sat on the floor, half unzipped, with a folder of printed sheets sticking out like pressed wings.

He didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

He just watched.

The next day, she was walking across the courtyard, head tilted as someone tried desperately to gain her approval. Seong-je could tell. The body language was all there—hands fidgeting, voice too eager, laugh a little too loud. She listened with that same neutral expression, nodding only once before slipping a folded note into the person’s hand.

Transaction complete.

He lit another cigarette.

He didn’t want to interact. Not yet. That wasn’t how you watched people like her. You didn’t start by talking. You started by observing—finding the cracks. The inconsistencies. The rules she followed and when she bent them.

He already knew some of them.

She refused requests that weren’t worth her time. She wore earbuds in crowded spaces—not because she liked music, but because it gave her an excuse not to engage.

She smiled differently depending on who was talking.

To teachers: soft, respectful.

To classmates: polite, measured.

To those beneath her ranking system: almost invisible.

There was a system. He was sure of it.

And it intrigued the hell out of him.

One afternoon, he caught a sliver of her voice near the back staircase. Someone was begging—literally—for help on a scholarship essay. She didn’t yell. She didn’t even sound annoyed.

“Do you really think my notes are free?” she said calmly.

“No, no—I’ll pay. I’ll do anything, I swear.”

“I don’t want desperation. I want results. I want return.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“Make me a deal that makes sense. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”

She walked off. Her steps echoed sharp and fast.

She didn’t glance at Seong-je as she passed.

But he noticed her thumb flick across her phone screen the moment she turned the corner. Probably logging the encounter. Updating a name. Moving pieces.

He tossed the cigarette butt into a gutter and kicked the edge of a bench.

The weird thing was, he didn’t want anything from her. Not really. He wasn’t looking for help, or notes, or connections. He wasn’t even looking for a fight.

He just wanted to know if she ever messed up.

If the game she was playing was as perfect as she made it look.

Because people like her didn’t run without cracks. No matter how polished. No matter how precise.

And Geum Seong-je had time. He had silence. And he had an unsettling talent for noticing what others ignored.

He could wait.

This is gonna be fucking fun.

So I decided to drop the chapter tonight, felt like it.

Hope you enjoy reading it🫂.

[feinzleclerc]

F1 Alert | Formula 1

➤ summary :: Where you create an interactive game for Formula 1 fans, and become the new star of the pits.

➤ warnings :: a quick imagine, with prior development.

➤ word count :: 0.839 words

➤ masterlist | sportify

➤ Notes :: I had this idea because Swifitie fans know about "Swift Alert", which was a game where we bet on the clothes from The Eras Tour. So I wanted to bring this into the context of Formula 1.

Working on F1's social media was a daily grind, but you loved every second of it. Between creating posts, planning content, and keeping up with trends, your mind was always spinning, thinking of ways to make fans feel more connected to the drivers. Then, one brainstorming night, the idea hit: an interactive game where fans could bet on little details of the race weekends.

— What if we created something like a more elaborate 'Fantasy F1,' but focusing on the small stuff? Helmets, suits, celebrations... — you suggested, drawing curious looks from the team. — We could call it 'F1 Alert'.

After a few weeks of planning, meetings, and tweaks, the app was ready. It was simple: fans could make predictions about visual and behavioral items about the drivers before the GPs. Each correct guess earned points, which could be redeemed for virtual prizes or discounts on official products.

On launch day, you were nervous. Would it be a hit or a flop? It only took a few hours to get the answer: it was a phenomenon.

The app had questions that kept fans hooked, especially with the fact that those points were worth something.

— Leclerc’s helmet in Monaco: same as always or something special?

— Which driver will complain the most on the radio?

— How many drivers will retire from the race? And who?

The numbers didn’t lie. In the first weekend, a little over 70 thousand people signed up. And the drivers quickly took notice.

At the pre-GP press conference, Russell was the first to mention it:

— Did you guys see that app? F1 Alert? Are you betting on my training suit now? That’s a lot of pressure! — he joked, drawing laughs.

Next to him was Charles, who also smiled.

— I saw it too. Someone bet my helmet will have gold on it. — he made a confused face. — Gold? I don’t know if I’m that fancy.

You didn’t realize the impact would be so big until that moment. Seeing the drivers talk about something you created was surreal. But things got even more intense in the paddock.

At the Italian GP, while you were tweaking a post backstage, Pierre showed up out of nowhere behind you.

— So, you’re the one behind the app? — he asked, crossing his arms with a big grin.

You laughed, a little startled.

— It depends. If you like it, then yes. If not, marketing came up with it.

— Oh, I like it. But now I have to think of new helmets every week, because I don’t want the fans to get bored. — He winked before walking off, leaving you laughing alone.

The F1 Alert craze grew with each race. Fans’ discussions on social media were massive, and even journalists started mentioning the game in their reports. Some drivers, like Norris, began directly engaging with the fans.

— Do you think I’ll use a special helmet in Singapore? Place your bets on the app. — he smiled at the line of fans in the stands.

Meanwhile, you started getting recognized in the paddock. It wasn’t something you expected, but the drivers and teams now knew who you were. At the Las Vegas GP, Max Verstappen stopped you during a technical meeting with a rare smile.

— Just wanna know... Who was the creative genius that put “Max will smile on the podium” in the game?

You tried to keep your composure but ended up laughing.

— My bad. Sorry, but it was irresistible.

— Well, I hope no one bets on that. It’ll be money down the drain. — he joked.

The interactions with the drivers became more frequent, but the peak came at the last GP of the year, when the season had ended and some fans were satisfied with their scores on the game. And the burning question was whether the game would continue the next year.

During the final press conference, Daniel Ricciardo — who was making a special appearance as a third driver — decided to mention you.

— I wanna thank the person behind F1 Alert. Thanks to them, I’m already thinking about how to celebrate before I even know if I’ll be on the podium.

The cameras zoomed in on you in the corner of the room, as everyone laughed. It was the moment you realized how much your idea had impacted the world of Formula 1.

After that GP, you got nicknames in the paddock: “the pit star,” “the mind behind the game,” among others. And while you tried to stay grounded, you couldn’t deny that the app’s success had put you in the spotlight.

Now, you were more than just another face in the paddock. You’d built an incredible bond with the fans who always asked you questions like, “What’s the next update for the game?” and you’d made amazing friendships with some of the drivers. It was all like a dream. F1 Alert was just the beginning.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 5

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

Author's note: It feels forever since the last time I published a chapter. Anyway, I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes or missing words or other editing mistakes. I'm posting this at four in the morning and I'm groggy as heck. I'll fix any mistakes when I wake up again in... I dunno, six hours? edit: Geez I really was groggy when I wrote this, look at that many "mistakes" 😭

CHAPTER 4: Just Cut Their Red Thread of Fate   Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

The digital sprout on your phone has grown into a digital tree in the past twenty-four minutes and fifty-eight seconds. You watched the timer hit zero–it played two short rings, signaling that it was time for a break.

Amber groaned as she stretched her arms over the table, laying her cheek on the handouts you insisted that she print. “God, finally.“

“Refill?” Your lips pursed towards the empty coffee mug she pushed towards the window.

“Nah, if I drink anymore I won’t be able to sleep later.”

You nodded and picked up your frappe, all pink and sparkly. According to the barista, it was tradition to have a unique beverage for every quarterly exam week. This princess glitter concoction was this week’s special. You planned on trying everything The Mug could offer. It was fun.

“I can’t believe someone actually ordered that thing, does it even taste good?”

You pried off the plastic cover and used your straw to scrape off the remaining whipped cream. “No, it tastes exactly like it looks like.” It was like sipping on a cotton candy. Just pure sugar.

“Then stop slurping it.”

“It would be a waste not to finish it, and besides, the carbs help me think. Makes studying easier.” You were going to regret having this much sugar when you crash out eventually, but that is future you’s problem. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking about this but ever since we first met, I think I’ve only ever seen you take notes on your notebook or typing in your laptop. You’re like a study addict,” she teased. “What’s your secret to getting into the groove?”

You shrugged. “I just like how simple it is.”

“Simple?” She gawked.

“I work hard and I get rewarded.” 

Amber observed you for a moment. You wondered if she thought you were lonely, because if she did then you’d be offended. No one forced you into your bubble, you genuinely enjoyed school. Life was predictable in the world of academics. If you study for a test, you get a high score. There was beauty in its simplicity. Comfort, even.

“You know,” Amber said, “My sorority sisters and I’ve been planning a party for after the exams, you should come.”

“A party?” You’ve been to parties in your past life. The delightful ones were with close friends, but the rest? Mandatory crap. You smiled so much your risorius muscle must’ve hypertrophied in your old body.

[Host, this may be a good reconnaissance opportunity.]

I know that, you hissed back inside your mind. You and Amber weren’t exactly buddies, and despite your repeated interactions, you could never bring yourself to inquire about Eve or Mark. This college party was the window of opportunity you have been waiting for.

With a heavy heart, you grinned at Amber. “Sure, I’d love to go.”

Your phone sent out two short rings. Break’s over.

Amber threw her head back, a disappointed sound left her throat. You smiled for real this time.

***

“22 out of 30.” A deep line formed between Amber’s eyebrows when you finished checking her mock test. 

“That’s… not good,” she whispered.

You put away your red pen. “You got 73% of the questions right, that is a major improvement from your past scores.” Originally, she could barely get past 50%.

However, instead of feeling relief, Amber continued to stare at the red x’s all over.

You knew that look. 

You tried to find the correct words. Amber was a hard worker, and she was a star student in her high school, but college is different. 

You drew awkward circles on the table as you spoke, “Listen, the minimum passing level for the biochemistry exam is 65%, you got this.”

But your statement just made her brows knit closer together.

Before you could say another word, a familiar clean scent wafted into your nose.

“Room for one more?” Mark asked, holding his usual order of black coffee and eggdesal. 

You and Amber regarded him with surprise, followed by mild annoyance.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He added, gesturing around him; the place was packed full of zombified young adults. “You know what exam week does to coffee shops.”

Amber crossed her arms. “Seriously, when did you start hanging around coffee shops?” She glanced at you and briefly explained, “Mark hates dining at cafés.”

“What? You’re joking.” 

“It’s true.”

You turned to Mark, who simply shrugged.

“What can I say?” He smiled at you. “Something about this place is different from the others.”

Amber’s eyes darted between the two of you, the gears in her head rapidly turning. 

She put her hands on the table and stood. “Mark, can I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

“We can just chat here.”

“I–”

Her phone vibrated, interrupting her. She checked the sender. 

“That Kyle?” That was the name of Amber’s boyfriend. “He’s got perfect timing.”

She shot Mark a glare and began packing her things. “This isn’t over,” she warned. 

“Sure, sure.”

Amber sent you an apologetic look. “He’s already a few minutes away, I–”

“It’s fine. We’re already done, anyway.”

She nodded, glared at Mark again, and hurried out of her seat.

You waited for Amber to disappear through the wooden door before looking at Mark, who wasted no time filling the empty chair.

He wore a black long-sleeved top and a pair of ripped jeans. His hair looked darker tonight, it was damp, like he went straight to here after a fresh shower.

You spoke with the system and demanded to know why it didn’t warn you that he was in the area.

The system, who got bored listening to you drone on about the pentose phosphate pathway and decided to read the Kama Sutra (“for research” it claims), had only realized what was happening when Mark Grayson started hitting on you. It could only avert its gaze and whistle in response.

So much for having a nigh-omniscient divine artificial intelligence as an assistant.

Irritated, you turned your attention to the grinning Mark in front of you.

“Why don’t you like eating at cafés?”

“Amber was exaggerating.”

“I see. Well, you can have the whole table. See ya.” It was your turn to start packing.

“Hey, hey, wait, I just got here.”

“So?”

“Ow. At least have dinner first?”

“Mark,” you said, cocking an eyebrow at him, “it’s already twelve in the morning.”

He checked his watch. “Oh.” He looked at you. “Don’t you have, I dunno, notes to digitize or something?”

“No.” You were already on your feet. “Tonight was reserved for tuto–” you caught yourself, “–for studying with Amber. With her gone, all that’s left to do is go home and get some rest.”

His shoulders fell.

Your heart tinged with something akin to guilt. Building a relationship with him is important, but you were expecting a sugar crash any minute now, one that will definitely make you lose affinity points.

However… 

A sad pretty boy was hard to ignore.

The system started eating popcorn. Its older colleagues claimed that popcorn tasted best when witnessing drama. Watching its Host struggle with emotions brought it inexplicable bliss.

It played a melancholic violin and used its holographic ability to project dog ears onto Mark’s head.

[What are you going to do now, Host? Are you planning on turning your back on such a handsome, crying face?]

Clicking your tongue, you sat back down, prompting Mark to look up.

You crossed your arms and asked, “Is the yogurt parfait here any good?”

He tilted his head.

“Yeah,” he replied, confused.

You refused to meet his gaze.

His peach lips then parted into a bright smile. “One parfait coming up.”

[Ding. Affection: 29%. Darkening: 6%.]

The system spat out its popcorn and rolled around laughing with its hypothetical body. 

Mark was not beating the masochist allegations in your mind. 

[Technically, Host, I think it would be more appropriate to call him a submissive.]

Who cares?!

You exhaled.

Hey…

[Yes, Host?]

Does he look sad to you tonight?

[His facial expressions and body language haven’t changed much so to me he is the same as usual. What would make you think otherwise?]

Just a feeling, you thought, watching his back as he leaned closer to the cashier, likely flirting again.

[Is the Host jealous?]

You scoffed.

Why would I be jealous? He flirts with everyone.

[If you say so.]

You could feel the little brat smirking. If it had a physical body you would very much like to chuck it to the nearest garbage can, or maybe an open fire. 

While you were in the middle of conjuring the best way to execute your system, Mark returned with a large yogurt parfait.

“Your midnight snack, madam.”

“Ew.” The hair on your neck stood at the title. “Never call me that again.”  You would rather he call you–

“Whatever you say, princess.”

Tsk.

[Pft.]

Mark swiped several tissue papers from the dispenser on the table and wiped the parfait spoon before handing it over. 

When you reached to take it, your fingers grazed his. It was brief, barely a feather’s touch, but it sent warmth up your arm and to your chest.

[Affection: 30%.]

You decided to focus on eating your parfait.

Mark had a similar idea, preferring to eat his egg sandwich without making a peep.

The silence between you was filled by the faint cacophony of students typing on their laptops and scribbling on their tablets, the clinking of metal and ceramic and glass, and an instrumental rendition of Blues in the Night. 

Barring the circumstances that brought you here, this was nice. If you ever found someone before you had died, would you have spent your free time with him in a coffee place like this one? 

In life, the closest you’ve ever been to romance were books and dating sims, and those things have irreversibly warped your standards.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Mark broke the silence, dipping the rest of the bread in his coffee.

You wanted to snap and tell him that you were too exhausted to think, that he should’ve just taken his order to-go or eat alone like a grownup, but you don’t.

You snuck a glimpse of him. Dark circles haunted his . He seemed paler, too. 

“I was just thinking about what constitutes an ideal date.”

His face brightened. “Are you finally going to let me peek into that brilliant brain of yours?”

“I’m not brilliant.”

“Amber would beg to differ, and so would Professor Harper.”

“Amber?” You understood Professor Harper, but why Amber?

“Yeah, she talks about you a lot, says you’re really smart.”

“You talk about me?”

“Sometimes.”

“With Amber?”

His grin turned wicked. “Jealous?”

You could hear the system restraining its amusement.

You ignored the ticking in your eye and took a big scoop of parfait. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He reclined on his seat. “Got any questions for me? Besides Amber, I mean.” Great, now he was laughing at you. Excellent.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You had a lot, actually. You wanted to know about his mom, his missing dad, whether or not he has met Eve. You wanted to be done with this mission world. You wanted to be done with all of this.

“Are you sure?”

You paused. “Actually, I do have a question. Did you finish reading that book?”

Brown  widened with surprise, then they twinkled. “‘That book’? Sweetheart, what do you take me for? I finished Professor Harper’s entire reading list.”

Your jaw slacked. “That… is impressive.” Although maybe the reading was to compensate considering how he’s been missing class the past week.

He made a hair flipping motion. “I know. Brains, beauty–is there anything I can’t do?”

“Eat alone in a coffee shop, apparently.”

He chuckled dryly.

[Ding. Affection: 27%. Darkening: 6.3%.]

You inhaled too fast and the slender spoon got sucked inside your throat. Both hands flew over your neck as you squawked out for help. 

[Host!!]

Mark vanished from across the table and was instantly by your side. He bent you forward and struck you between the shoulder blades once, twice–

The spoon shot out of you and bounced three times on the table.

Mark’s voice came out softly, “You okay?” 

Before you could answer, the whole floor applauded. 

Blood rushed to your cheeks and you became hyper-aware of the protective palm on your back. 

You looked up and saw his eyes overflowing with concern.

“Princess?”

You felt like throwing up.

***

Good news: You didn’t throw up. You apologized to the staff and promptly left.

Bad news: Mark followed you out.

“I’m walking you home.” There was no room for negotiation in his tone as he took your bag from you. You reluctantly let him because you had a feeling that any protesting wouldn’t have stopped him from trailing after you.

It’s not like you didn’t appreciate the offer. After all, it doesn’t matter how prestigious a university is, there is always a chance of getting attacked on campus property. But after your little scene, you truly wanted to be alone, as in, may the ground crack open and swallow me whole alone.

But now he was with you, and he hasn’t spoken a word since you two left The Mug. Silence was nothing new between you and Mark, in fact, what you liked about him besides his uncontested physical appearance was the fact that he also enjoyed quiet moments when they were there.

That being said, you weren’t sure whether you preferred this… this soundless noise over his endless teasing. 

When two people get into an argument and one of them leaves to cool off and then gets hit by a car, that’s an accident. The two people are innocent, they shouldn’t feel shame–but the one who didn’t leave the house to cool off is still going to somehow blame themselves.

Logically, you understood that there was nothing wrong with what happened. It was an accident. But reason alone cannot stop emotion.

“Mark,” you said, still looking forward as you walked.

“Yeah?”

Your mouth opened and closed, and opened and closed. You regretted saying his name. It hung in the air and now the silence grew louder. 

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His lips were twitching.

Son of a–

You planted your feet on the ground, prompting him to stop walking too. “You’re laughing? You’re actually laughing?”

To his credit, Mark actually tried to keep his poker face for a little longer. His tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek until he couldn’t contain himself.

“Pft–”

[Pfft–]

Two very different beings from two very different planes of existence united together in a chorus of wild belly laughter.

You missed the quiet already.

“It’s not that funny,” you mumbled, feeling hot.

“I’m sorry–I–I’m sorry but it is.”

[He’s right, Host, it was quite the sight. If he didn’t save you in time your death might have been nominated for an award.] 

The system nodded to itself, pleased. It knew its Host had potential! Unintentional death by spoon would have been one for the books.

You waited for Mark to calm down into mere huffing. “Are you done?” 

He wiped a tear and stood up straight. “There’s never a dull moment when you’re around, princess.”

“Wow. Thanks. That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“It is one. I’ll keep giving you compliments until you can tell immediately.”

“That won’t be necessary.” You continued walking. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t have to look to know that his gaze was on you. You had a hunch he was smirking too.

It was annoying how fixated he could get with you, but you tolerated it better now. Dare you say, you even enjoyed the attention, though you would sooner stab your own hand than admit that to him or anybody else.

The system, who realized its Host is not immune to human romantic feelings: (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

Not. A. Word.

[Whatever you say, Host.]

You yearned for the sweet embrace of your bed, so upon reaching your building, you grabbed the straps of your backpack and swiped it away from Mark. “Thanks for walking me.”

“You know, I’d be happier to hear that if you didn’t sound like a robot.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ll store that information for future assessment. This robot will not keep you any longer–”

His fingers wrapped around your wrist weakly.

You were about to give him what for when he stated, “I play bass in a band.” 

Oh, yeah. “Indigo Muse, right?” 

His next sentences came in rapid succession. “We got a gig this Saturday, at a club called Wisteria, and I know you hate concerts but I’d really like it if you came and watched us.” 

Brown eyes pleading, his smirk was nowhere to be found. This was unlike the confident man you’ve come to know. 

He was desperate, bordering on pathetic.

It was…heh…cute.

The system froze.

Mark watched your reaction, but your face was unreadable. 

“It’s an open invite, you don’t have to–”

“I’ll go.” You squeezed his hand. “Just email me the details.”

Recovering from surprise, he also recovered his smirk. “Who uses email?”

“It’s easier for us robots to keep track of information with email than text message.”

You let go before he did, fingers sliding past each other, unwilling to part.

“Good night, Mark.”

You turned on your heels. “Don’t forget that email. I’m not going anywhere unless I’m sure about the dress code.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You didn’t have any energy left to correct him.

[Ding. Affection: 32%. Darkening: 6.3%.]

It wasn’t until you managed to trudge back to your unit and fell on the mattress did the system speak up.

[Host, I would like to apologize.]

For what?

[It would seem my putting dog ears on a sad Mark Grayson has awakened something in you.]

taglist: @weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks @gluttonousriceflour @phisen

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying

Alternate Invincibles

CHAPTER 6: Square Root of a^2+b^2   Series Masterlist

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[timetraveltasting]

ORIGINAL TOLL HOUSE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES (1938)

Since I won't be home for the holidays this Christmas (we are going to Australia to spend a summery Christmas with my in-laws), I went home to Canada a little early for a quick trip - most importantly to meet my new, adorable niece! Surrounded by childhood favourites and nostalgia, I thought it would be a great idea to make a classic Tasting History treat with my mom: the Original Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies. This first ever chocolate chip cookie recipe, originally called Chocolate Crunch Cookies (a later newspaper typo created its now-common name), was created by Ruth Wakefield and her head pastry chef Sue Brides at The Toll House Inn in Whittman, MA in 1938. The restaurant was already quite popular among locals and food critics, and Ruth finally decided to share the recipe for these star cookies with the public. It was printed in newspapers, and the popularity of the chocolate chip cookie grew even further when Nestlé printed it on the back of their packaging. In the original recipe, Nestlé's chocolate is mentioned by name, and the growing popularity of the cookie recipe led to a 500% increase in profits for the company. Their chocolate bars originally had to be chopped up into 'pea-sized' pieces by hand until Nestlé began selling scored bars with the correct size, and eventually chocolate chips - created especially for making chocolate chip cookies. Interestingly enough, the original chocolate chip cookie recipe is very close to the one that is still on packages today. I have very fond memories of making chocolate chip cookies with my mother as I was growing up, and I thought, what better way to compare the two recipes than to also make this original chocolate chip cookie recipe with her! See Max’s video on how to make this dish here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

Finally in my natural element in Canada, with easier to find ingredients that I recognized and could more predictably bake with, I was able to follow the recipe exactly. The one major change I made was to omit the chopped nuts completely, mostly because I'm not a fan of nuts in baked goods.

Because this recipe requires an overnight element, my mom and I began preparing the cookie dough the day before we wanted to bake and eat them. My mom began by beating the eggs, then creaming the butter with a hand mixer while I portioned out the other ingredients. She added in the sugars, eggs, baking soda dissolved in water, and vanilla and mixed them until combined. I then slowly sprinkled in the flour and salt mixture into the mixing bowl while she mixed, until that, too, was combined. I was worried the dough was looking a little too dry and dense, but my mom assured me it still looked right - I totally trust her baking instincts! We then folded the chocolate chips into the dough with a spatula, then covered it with Saran wrap and let it sit in the fridge overnight. The next evening, we preheated the oven, took our dough out (which had really hardened up!), and began portioning it out into little balls of dough. My mom had to use a fork and a bit of force to portion it, since it was so cold and solid! We used a weigh scale to determine the 14 oz. size of ball, but honestly, we did end up going up to 20 oz. or so at some points - it would have taken a long time to weigh every ball. On a lined baking sheet, we fit about 14 balls of dough, spaced about 2 inches apart. After pressing down on each just a little bit, we tossed the first batch in the oven. It smelled so good, and the bits of raw cookie dough I snuck while waiting for the cookies to bake were heavenly! When we took them out, we transferred them onto cooling racks. I think we baked about 5 trays of cookies overall, leaving us with an absolute plethora of chocolate chip cookies by the end! They looked small, but classic - almost like the chocolate chip cookies you can buy in a store. Very photogenic, in my opinion.

My experience tasting it:

Of course, our patience got the best of us, and we did not wait for the cookies to cool before trying them. No regrets! They tasted wonderful - crisp on the bottom and edges, but soft and a little melty in the middle. Really ideal, this kind of cookie could please everyone. My mom likes her cookies on the crispier side, and I like mine on the soft and gooey side, yet we both were very happy with how this recipe turned out. So was my dad, sister, my brother-in-law, and my aunt! In fact, these cookies didn't taste much different from my mom's chocolate chip cookie recipe (as I remembered it). She claims she also got her recipe from a newspaper, so it may have also had the same origin as this one. The flavour of these cookies was sweet, but balanced by the salt and rich brown sugar. They were so tasty, I think this could even become my main chocolate chip cookie recipe, although I will probably make each cookie even bigger in order to get a large volume of soft gooeyness. And I will definitely halve the recipe! 100 cookies or so, as tasty as they are, is an awful lot to get through and would definitely become noticeable on the waist. Otherwise, I agree with Max that there is a reason this recipe has lasted so many decades in its nearly-original form - it really is a crowd-pleaser. I was happy I was able to take some cookies with me back to Germany so I can share some with my husband! If you end up making this dish, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Original Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies original recipe (1938)

Sourced from Ruth Wakefield’s Toll House Tried and True Recipes by Ruth Wakefield (1938).

Toll House Chocolate Crunch Cookies Cream 1 cup butter, add 3/4 cup brown sugar, 3/4 cup granulated sugar, and 2 eggs beaten whole. Dissolve 1 tsp soda in 1 tsp hot water, and mix alternately with 2 1/4 cups flour sifted with 1 tsp salt. Lastly add 1 cup chopped nuts and 2 bars (7 oz.) Nestle’s yellow label chocolate, semi-sweet, which has been cut in pieces the size of a pea. Flavor with 1 tsp. vanilla and drop half teaspoons on a greased cookie sheet. Bake 10 to 12 minutes in 375° oven. Makes 100 cookies. 

Modern Recipe

Based on the recipe from Ruth Wakefield’s Toll House Tried and True Recipes by Ruth Wakefield (1938) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

1 cup butter

3/4 cup brown sugar

3/4 cup granulated sugar

2 beaten eggs

1 tsp baking soda, dissolved in 1 tsp hot water

1 tsp vanilla

2 1/4 cups flour

1 tsp salt

1 cup chopped nuts

14 oz. chocolate chips

Method:

Cream the butter until smooth. Mix in the brown sugar, granulated sugar, eggs, baking soda water, and vanilla until combined.

Whisk together the flour and salt. Add this to the butter mixture and mix until just combined.

Stir in the nuts and chocolate chips just until evenly distributed.

Cover and chill the dough overnight.

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190° C).

Scoop dough into balls, about 14 grams each. A half a teaspoon is way too small of a measurement, so I found weighing the dough to be the best way. Place them on lined baking sheets, leaving about 2 inches between each cookie. Press the cookie dough down a bit.

Bake for about 8 minutes, or until golden brown.

Take them out of the oven and let them cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

Serve them forth!

[intermine]

Even if you bribe a kid into accompanying you, there is no guarantee that said kid would behave, there are negative guarantees if the kid is Richard Grayson.

Of course Bruce could just leave him at the Manor, but his helicopter parenting keep too many terrible scenarios of what might happen with his kid and, most importantly, he would have no excuse to leave the galas early. Taking Dick to the galas was for his benefit more than anything else. But he also knows that if he takes that path his responsibilities double.

Dick needs to be entertained, which is no problem, even though Alfred has a no-screen policy, Bruce is delighted not to be entangled in any unfruitful small talk and just have conversations with his son ward all night.

Dick doesn’t like any of the other kids from high society, so Bruce is prepared to have a child-shaped koala with him all night. They just need to get to 9 o'clock, and then Bruce can excuse them because Dick is tired.

The real problem was the speeches, oh my god, the speeches.

They were too long for Dick’s attention span, and there was not much a napkin could do to distracted someone, they couldn’t talk, or it would be seen as disrespectful (they did it once, and this led to Alfred scolding them both). So, the solution they found was Bingo.

Dick's family used to play Bingo with him while traveling with the circus. “The showman will forget his lines,” or “The clown will have its nose stolen by a baby,” or even “It will rain” – anything was on the table. The bingo cards were made beforehand by them and could list at most 10 things they thought would happen while in the city. Whoever got the most correct wins and could ask for anything they wanted.

Alfred found the idea genius. He did something of the sort with Bruce when he was younger, trying to distract him while Martha and Thomas mingled with the society. By that day beyond, the Waynes had a bingo card for almost every gala they attended. It also served as memory game, trying to remember everyone in high society, and made both of them train their stealth. No one could know what they were doing or the game was lost. The most common to appear was “Drakes will not go” since they were always traveling, and “Kate will be late” once they knew their cousin would do everything in her power to not make an appearance.

The rules were simple: 1 - Behave, if there’s anything but a well behaved appearance the game is over; 2 - The events can not be provoked, you can’t influence the outcomes; 3 - No one can know what they are doing.

Even Barbara got to play! Alfred described it as a gladiator's fight, both having competitors' souls and hating to lose for one another; the end of the night, when the points were counted, sounded like a deputy election. Jim almost never went to galas, but he was glad they were having fun, he was content with free babysitting and a entire day to himself.

And so, the tradition carried on. By Jason's first gala, Dick was so excited that he even spent the night before at the manor helping him complete his card. Soon enough, they noticed the great sibling bonding time in that. Sadly, Bruce had lost his spot in the competition but was happy his kids were having fun together. Tim received his at a patrol before the gala from Dick and just went, “Oh, that’s what you guys were doing all along?” He admits it was his funniest night and less stealthy bingo ever. The Drakes were seated two tables away from the Waynes, and Dick couldn’t stop glaring at him every time Tim made a point. “Just how the kid predicted a whole fight between two mistresses?” The first place was never more difficult to win.

Cassandra and Stephanie almost couldn’t contain their laughter when they scored “Mayor will say ‘and’ at least 27 times,” poor guy got more nervous by each laugh and the point was almost lost because “he started to gag more because of them”. By Damian's time, it was a day’s thing preparation. The whole family was entangled in gossip about high society; they knew about pregnancies, affairs, money laundering. Damian found the game nonsense and refused to play, but they could see him perking by Dick's shoulder to see if he got the point or not.

When Jason was back from the dead and in civil terms with the family, he was given a card by mail and small instructions on the back. Somehow, Jason got the second-highest score that night. When Duke came by, it almost looked like a cambio house! They started to make chips to know how many times someone won (also a attempt to accompany Bruce to the galas with more frequency) and they were exchanged it regularly, it could also be passed down for favors with each other. Bruce and Alfred were the only final line; they cashed the chips for days without patrol, favorite foods, bigger allowances, etc.

They are pretty serious about their game, Cassandra has the most chips but only use them to scape shores, Tim is the champion six galas in a row and Dick as not won a game since he was 17.

[betclever]

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[rarabet]

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[doitforbangchan]

For the long haul - Lee Know

Thank you to @jehhskz for another wonderful request. I appreciate you so much sweetheart

Masterlist

Lee know x Reader (afab)

Warnings: Cursing, angst, smut, unprotected sex but reader on birth control, dom!Minho, mean!Minho, Fingering, kissing, hickeys, enemies to lovers, fluff, pet names

WC: 2.8k

MDNI 18+

This could not possibly get any worse. 

“Could you stop breathing so fucking loud?” 

Correction, now it couldn’t get any worse. 

Your professor just had to pair you with Minho, knowing very well how much he hated you. You both were in the same theater program at your university, and Minho had decided he hated you your very first semester when you got a better score on a dance performance than him. He was a petty son of a bitch and didn’t forget nor forgive, thus had been metaphorically shitting on you almost daily for 4 years.

I guess what he didn’t count on was you could play that game too. When he bit -you bit harder, when he ran his mouth you were right there with a rebuttal. He loved to point out your flaws, trying to get a rise out of you. You would never admit how his words hurt you. 

Truthfully you had a crush on Minho back then. How could you not? He was beautiful. Sharp features, dark cat like eyes, lips that looked so soft. Oh don't even get started on his body.  The boy had abs that were drool worthy. 

Not like any of that mattered when he was a colossal asshole to you. Like he was being right now.  Currently you were both sitting next to each other on a plane, on a class trip to London to see Shakespeare's theater. Your teacher had selected trip partners, meaning he was stuck with you for the next week. Here on the plane and in the hotel room when you were in London. 

Yippee

“Can you mind your own fucking business?” You rebutted, shutting your eyes tighter and leaning back further into your seat. It was bad enough you were stuck next to him for 6 more hours but he really would not shut the fuck up. 

“Maybe I would if you would close your mouth when you sleep.” He was grouchy, probably feeling similarly to you. 

“Whatever Minho.” You put your headphones over your ears and your eye mask on, blocking him out completely. Though you knew the possibility of a nap while seated next to him was next to zero. If you hadn’t put your mask on you might not have missed the way he gulped when you said his name. Wouldn’t have missed the effect you had on him. 

------------------------------------------------------

After that greuling 12 hour flight you had finally made it to your destination. And just as you predicted, you got zero sleep on the flight. Though you pretended to sleep to avoid the man that was next to you.  At least it was night time in England by the time you made it off the plane, around 10pm. Meaning you were headed straight for the hotel and right to bed. In a bed directly next to Minho.. 

Your one moment of peace came when your group got on the bus to the hotel, you were able to snag a seat away from him. It was at this moment you were able to reflect on the situation. It really was unfortunate that Minho was such a jerk to you, there was a part of you that still harbored that crush on him from your freshman year. You had seen him be kind to others, you knew he had it in him. Just not for you. 

Kinda broke your heart a little bit. 

Pulling up to the hotel you knew your peace was over. You were purposefully the last person off the bus, grabbing your room key from your teacher - who for some reason seemed way too smug when she wished you a goodnight- and slowly made your way up with your bags in tow. 

You stood in front of the room door, bracing yourself for the onslaught you were sure to receive when you entered, took a deep breath and opened the door. Minho was already in there, putting his clothes into the drawers next to his claimed bed. Of course he chose the one next to the window. 

He didn't acknowledge you when you walked in and set your stuff down on your bed. You took out a pair of your pjs and waited a moment before asking, “Did you want to shower first or do you mind if I?”  

He didn’t offer you a verbal answer, instead just waving his hand at you to go ahead. You guessed that was better than being mean to you so you collected your clothes and went into the bathroom. 

You took your time in the shower, the hot water helping you escape reality, though the water pressure sucked. While you were in there you could hear a faint voice talking back in your room. These walls must have been realllllly thin, since you could pick up pieces of a conversion Minho seemed to be having, but you didn’t hear anyone elses voice so he must be on the phone.  

You were only getting a few words. 

‘I dont know how-’ ‘stuck with her’ ‘fucked up’ ‘control’ was all you were able to get before you realized you may have been in there too long. 

As you shut the water off you heard Minho say “I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

You dressed and brushed your teeth before exiting the bathroom. Minho let out a scoff when you entered the room “Took you long enough. Did the princess need some pampering?” He was condescending with his words. He grabbed his own pjs before walking past you.

Before he could close the door to the bathroom you blurted out “Why do you hate me so much?” there was a crack in your voice. He seemed to freeze and stare at your back. You were facing away from him when you asked it, thankfully so or he would have seen how your bottom lip wobbled when you asked it. 

Minho gave you no answer, only softly closing the door and locking it behind him. 

When he shut himself in you let a few tears slip out. You put your dirty clothes away before climbing into your bed and burying your face into your pillow, to hide the tears that steadily leaked from your eyes. 

It seemed he too took his time, as it was about 30 minutes before he came out to your curled up form hidden under your covers. He could tell you were crying by the small shakes emitting from your form every few seconds. Minho ran his hand over his face before approaching you slowly, and took a seat on the edge of your bed. You felt the bed dip but didn’t say anything or look at him. Until he spoke first. 

“I..I don't hate you.” His voice was soft. The softest you had ever heard, as if he was afraid to speak. 

You wiped your eyes before uncovering your face enough to peer at him, “Then why.. If you don’t hate me, why do you treat me like you do?” 

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair nervously, “It started because I was…jealous. Jealous that such a pretty and well liked girl was doing better than me, better than me at my passion. It came so naturally for you. While I had to work so hard. It drove me crazy.” He wasn't looking at you while he said it. You took a beat before answering. 

“You think I'm pretty?” 

He spun his head around to look at you in disbelief “ That's what you focused on?!” 

You pulled yourself out of the blankets, “I mean, I never meant for you to feel like you weren't enough, Minho.” You brought yourself closer to him but not touching. “ I always thought you were an incredible dancer. I actually strive to be as good as you are. Strive to be good enough for you.” 

He looked into your eyes “You are good enough. It’s me that's the problem. I didn’t know how to properly manage my own feelings and by the time I figured it out we already had this hostile dynamic.  And I haven't been fair to you with the way I’ve been treating you.” He had shame on his face. 

 “No you haven’t.” You agreed. “But I havent been a saint to you either. That's not how you treat someone that you.. That you like.” 

“You like me? After all we’ve done and said to each other, you like me?” He asked incredulously. You nodded and covered your face with your hands, embarrassed at admitting it to him. “Hey don't hide.” He reached out and took your hands in his, pulling them from your red face. “ I guess now would be a good time to tell you that…. I like you too, have since the day I first saw you in class.” 

At his words your brain short circuited and before you knew what you were doing you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his shocked lips. You pulled away quickly after registering exactly what you had just done. 

“Oh my god I am so sorry Mi-” He cut you off by crashing his lips back into yours, encapturing you into him.  

You moaned lowly into his mouth when he ran his tongue against your bottom lip, as if asking for permission. He shoved the appendage into your mouth immediately claiming dominance over you. He brought his hand up to the side of your neck where he gripped lighty, angling your head to his liking so he could shove himself further into you. 

After a few seconds he released you, biting on your bottom lip as he went. 

“Tell me what you want, baby girl.” His voice was raspy. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want all of you, Minho. Everything.” 

He groaned, his eyes darkening with desire. He gave you a smirk “Oh I’ll give it to you alright. If you need me to stop or if it gets too much for you, say ‘red’ and I’ll stop.” 

“Yes minho.” You nodded, ready for him. The wetness between your legs was growing by the second. 

“That's a good girl.” He pushed you down onto your bed and climbed over you, attaching his mouth back on to yours. This time it was all teeth mashing against your own. It was downright dirty, the way his tongue bossed its way into you. He wasted no time in finding the hem of your shirt and lifting it up over your head, then he threw it somewhere without a care. 

He groaned when his rough hands made contact with your bare breasts. “Mmm no bra?” He mumbled. “Bet if I go lower I’ll find you're not wearing any panties under these dainty shorts huh?” With one hand still groping your chest the other slithered down your waist and into the front of your sleep shorts where he was right- you had no panties on. “Fuck you are a dirty girl huh? Almost like you knew I would wanna fuck you tonight? Hm?” 

You shook your head, “Just don’t wear them to bed is all Min, promise.” You gasped when his pointer finger made contact with your clit, the digit starting to rub slow circles on the nub. 

“Hmm I don't think I believe you baby girl.” He tutted, “I think subconsciously you are a little freak who wanted me to fuck her. Well let me share another secret with you, so am I.” 

Minhos mouth left bruising kisses on your neck while he played with your core, after a particularly hard suck he took the finger that was down there and shoved it into your hole, causing you to moan loudly. 

“Min-minho!” 

“Shhh babygirl, don’t want anyone to hear you huh? People are trying to sleep.” He was teasing you with his words. He added another finger to your heat, curling them up to find that sweet spot that made you see stars. He kept at this for a few minutes, coating his fingers in your juices. 

You could tell he was struggling though, as every so often he would rut against the bed looking for any friction. 

“Min..” You were able to get out between squeaks. "Wanna- wanna ride you, Min.” 

At your words he bit into the skin he was suckling on your neck, causing you to bite your lip to keep quiet from the scream you would have let loose otherwise. 

Minho removed his hands from you and propped himself up, his lips red and swollen. He gave you an almost menacing stare. “Little baby wants to ride me? Think you can handle it?” 

You nodded enthusiastically,”Mmhmm please. Been dreaming of it for years.”  

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself. “Years huh? Well since you've been so patient I guess I’ll grant your wish.” He stood only to remove the clothes from his own body. When he pulled down his joggers his cock slapped up against his stomach, red and proud. You could feel your mouth literally watering at the sight. He was beautiful. Like a work of art. All those years of dance really paid off for him.  

His next words brought you out of your daze. “Fuck, I don't have a condom. Do you?” 

You shook your head. “No, but I'm on birth control and I’m clean. I don't mind you going in raw if you’re clean too.” 

“I’m clean.” He assured you. His smirk returned, “Take your shorts off.” You did as you were told as he plopped down next to you. Minho took his length in his hand and gave himself a few jerks before motioning you over. “Come on babygirl, climb aboard.” 

You wasted no time, throwing a leg over his body and positioning yourself over his cock. For a moment you were worried he wouldn’t fit, he was so big. The biggest you had seen in person. As if he could sense your apprehension he teased “Don’t worry, it’ll fit.” He placed his hands on your hips, and your own hand gripped onto him lining him up to your hole, before you slowly sunk down on him.

You both threw your heads back at the intrusion. He didn’t give you a moment to adjust before he was lifting your body up and down on his cock, your insides struggling to accommodate him.  

“Fffuuuckkk, you have the tightest pussy ever.” He groaned out from under you. 

You placed both your hands on his chest and began to ride him the best you could, already feeling the burn in your thighs.  He could really see all the hickeys he had left on your skin from this angle. You were driving him wild. 

Each time you sank on him you let out a squeakish moan. Minho knew your sounds would wake the neighbors if he didn’t shut you up, so with one hand still on your hip the other tangled itself in your hair and yanked you down hard, to meet his face where he once again gave you a bruising kiss. You yelped into his mouth, the pain felt so good you couldn’t help it. 

You could feel yourself start to lose rhythm from atop him, your orgasm impending. Minho could tell by the way your thighs shook. He wanted to get you there so he let go of your hip in favor of sliding his fingers back to your core where he rubbed harshly on your bundle of nerves. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you came around him, coating his thighs, balls, and lower stomach in your release. 

Your orgasm seemed to have triggered his own, as seconds later he was spurting inside of you, painting your insides white. 

“Oh my fucking god. Shit you ride me so well baby.” He mumbled out against your mouth, not really kissing, more like just breathing in each other. 

After a few moments of trying to catch your breath you rolled off of him, onto the space next to him. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, it was a strange but welcome feeling. 

Minho was the first to speak. “That was incredible. I don't think I’ve ever cum that hard before in my life.” 

You giggled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Me either.” 

He faced you and gave you another kiss on your lips only lasting a second before he pulled away and placed his forehead against your own. “I don’t want you to think this was a one time thing. As far as I'm concerned you are my girl now.” 

“Really?” You asked hopefully, eyes shining at the idea of being his. 

“Absolutely. I have wanted you for years and now that I have you I’m never letting you go. You’re stuck with me, babes. For the long haul.” 

“That's all I want Minho. Just want you.” You kissed him sweetly. “But first I think I need another shower.” 

He laughed and hurled himself off the bed and gathered you in his arms, taking you to the bathroom to clean you up. 

A/N: as always comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

Requests are open as well! If anyone has an idea shoot me an ask :)

©doitforbangchan

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Coma

Coma - (from the Greek word ‘‘koma,’’ meaning deep sleep)

A state of extreme unresponsiveness, in which an individual exhibits no voluntary movement or behavior.

In a deep coma, even painful stimuli (actions which, when performed on a healthy individual, result in reactions) are unable to affect any response, and normal reflexes may be lost.

Coma is the result of something that interferes with the functioning of the cerebral cortex and/or the functioning of the structures that make up the RAS. In fact, a huge and varied number of conditions can result in coma. A good way of categorizing these conditions is to consider the anatomic and the metabolic causes of coma:

Anatomic causes of coma are those conditions that disrupt the normal physical architecture of the brain structures responsible for consciousness, either at the level of the cerebal cortex or the brainstem.

Metabolic causes of coma consist of those conditions that change the chemical environment of the brain, thereby adversely affecting function.

As in any neurologic condition, history and examination form the cornerstone of diagnosis when the patient is in a coma; however, history must be obtained from family, friends, or EMS.

The Glasgow Coma Scale is a system of examining a comatose patient.

It is helpful for evaluating the depth of the coma, tracking the patient’s progress, and predicting (somewhat) the ultimate outcome of the coma.

It assigns a different number of points for exam results in three different categories:

opening the eyes,

verbal response (using words or voice to respond), and

motor response (moving a part of the body).

Fifteen is the largest possible number of total points, indicating the highest level of functioning.

The highest level of functioning would be demonstrated by an individual who spontaneously opens his/her eyes, gives appropriate answers to questions about his/her situation, and can carry out a command (such as ‘‘move your leg’’ or ‘‘nod your head’’).

Three is the least possible number of total points and would be given to a patient for whom not even a painful stimulus is sufficient to provoke a response.

In the middle are those patients who may be able to respond, but who require an intense or painful stimulus, and whose response may demonstrate some degree of brain malfunctioning (such as a person whose only response to pain in a limb is to bend that limb in toward the body).

When performed as part of the admission examination, a Glasgow score of three to five points often suggests that the patient has likely suffered fatal brain damage, while eight or more points indicates that the patient’s chances for recovery are good.

Expansion of the pupils and respiratory pattern are also important.

Metabolic causes of coma are diagnosed from blood work and urinalysis to evaluate blood chemistry, drug screen, and blood cell abnormalities that may indicate infection.

Anatomic causes of coma are diagnosed from CT (computed tomography) or MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) scans.

Coma is a medical emergency, and attention must first be directed to maintaining the patient’s respiration and circulation, using intubation and ventilation, administration of intravenous fluids or blood as needed, and other supportive care.

If head trama has not been excluded, the neck should be stabilized in the event of fracture.

It is obviously extremely important for a physician to determine quickly the cause of a coma, so that potentially reversible conditions are treated immediately. For example, an infection may be treated with antibiotics; a brain tumor may be removed; and brain swelling from an injury can be reduced with certain medications.

Various metabolic disorders can be addressed by supplying the individual with the correct amount of oxygen, glucose, or sodium; by treating the underlying disease in liver disease, asthma, or diabetes; and by halting seizures with medication.

Because of their low incidence of side effects and potential for prompt reversal of coma in certain conditions, glucose, the Bvitamin thiamine, and Narcan (to counteract any narcotic-type drugs) are routinely given.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Realistic Injuries

[justwinginglife]

Can I req a hoshina x reader, but school au and they're academic rivals? Leikk, they're in the same class and debates every now and then who's correct. Fights aren't uncommon between them especially when they both ran for council

But what's surprising is that they actually study together outside school?

(I'm sorry if this is to much 😔, I love your fanfics. Theyre my oxygen, ty for keeping us hoshina fans well fed 🫶)

You absolutely do not need to apologize! I am totally happy to do this for you. Thank you so much for your support, and of course, I'm always happy to encourage the Hoshina hyperfixation.

The Best Plans

You had so many ideas about how you thought your college life would go; you'd be top of every class, give a rousing speech at graduation, rock your first internship, and score a killer first job. You didn't anticipate anyone having the smarts to fuck up your masterplan. But Soshiro Hoshina was a whole different beast, something you couldn't have anticipated.

Your whole life, you'd been smarter than everyone around you even without trying. It was just a given that you were better. So you never could've predicted that you'd have to break a sweat just to keep up with him. For the first time in your life, you were pulling all nighters, just raw dogging tests with no sleep, no sanity. You were frequenting the library so much, studying at all hours of the day and the night, that you had become good friends with the librarian. Her name was Himiko. She had two cats and loved Italian food. She was a sweetheart.

But even through all this struggling, you persevered. You got 100% on almost everything (with the occasional 99% that Hoshina would tease you about relentlessly until your next 100%). You were not about to let some scrawny, short-ass, bowl-cut wearing, squinty-eyed, nerd disrupt your whole plan.

You hated the way he laughed at you. It was loud and unhinged. And it was uninterrupted, nothing could stop him once he'd started. And the way that he smirked was so smug and unapologetic, you thought you might just hit him with your encyclopedia.

Your favorite class was debate, because then you could argue with him to no end and even win participation points for it. Of course, you'd argue with him for free, but it was significantly more fun to destroy him for a good grade. It was like a nice little treat to yourself, compensation for having to endure his cocky personality.

And you endured a lot. You had the unfortunate luck of knowing him better than you had ever wanted to, better than anyone else ever could know him or ever would know him. You knew what arguments he was going to use before he used them, you knew what energy drink he felt was more effective for his late night study sessions (you'd run into him so frequently at the library), you knew his poker face, his stressed face (you were surprised to discover that he actually got stressed, and you teased him incessantly about not being so superhuman after all), you knew which subjects were his favorite, which subjects were his least favorite, which classmates he liked and disliked. And you had always thought you were on the "dislike" list until one day you both ended up on the student council together.

It was the first time in this school's entire history that they'd ever had two student body presidents. Your grades were so even that it was hard to assign the role to just one person. Though, Hoshina would constantly introduce you as his vice president anyway. You'd get him back by telling people he hadn't even qualified for vice president, so he was stuck with the position of treasurer. No one knew who to believe, but everyone knew the two of you had an intense rivalry.

It was so intense, you almost thought you wouldn't be able to handle being in even closer proximity to him than you already were, but you refused to step down from the council and let him be the president, and of course, he wasn't stepping down anytime soon either. So the two of you spent even later nights together, poring over the school budget, planning out events, discussing new policies.

And eventually, to your shock, he admitted that he actually enjoyed spending so much time with you. He enjoyed the banter, he enjoyed your perspective, he enjoyed hearing your opinions even if he teased you that they were wrong, and he especially enjoyed the way you'd walk by a vending machine and think of him, then buy him a snack but -not wanting to let on that you cared- you'd chuck the bag of chips in his face, saying if the hunger didn't kill him first, you would.

And when he admitted these things to you, you were shocked to realize you felt the same. You liked the way he absentmindedly ran his hands through his hair when he was deep in thought. You liked the way his eyes settled on you when he was listening intently to your plans. You liked the way he always made your plans into a reality, shrugging and saying that it was no big deal and it was half his plan anyway.

You spent so much time together in school, that eventually it spilled over into your personal life, and suddenly he was visiting you at home. He'd bow to your mom, shake your dad's hand, wave to your little sister, and then run upstairs and collapse on your bed beside you. You'd stare up at the ceiling and talk for hours, until he'd decided to tickle you, to which you responded by shoving him off the bed.

And then you'd eat dinner together, study together, and just keep living life together.

It was hard to believe that just a couple months ago, you were butting heads, clawing at each other's throats. But it was even harder to think about living without him anymore.

And suddenly, all those plans you had for your college life, all those goals and lofty ideas, none of them mattered as much anymore. Your only plan at this moment was to enjoy your time with him, and pray it never stopped.

[dying-isnt-good-for-your-health]

single father of 6 at nearly 27 years old

more of my adopted/acquired early au (first post of it, which has more info on the au)

Alfred is visiting England and Bruce got pulled due to a multi-day JL emergency, so Dick got to be in charge for a few days, it went as well as you would expect

small extra info about the au:

I didn't mention it in the last post, but the reason Duke is living in the manor and stuff is because I decided to make Jay (His cousin in the comics who has guardianship over Duke) be under the age of 18 when Duke's parents were Joker gassed (Based on my research, you must be over the age of 18 in New Jersey for that, but correct me if that's wrong) since Duke 's parents get Joker Gassed 12-13 years earlier than canon in the au

Cass is mostly non verbal, because she hasn't been learning English for too long and her mind didn't get changed by a random guy, she finds baby Damian confusing because babies have a bit of a different body language than older kids and adults, reacting in ways she can't predict as easily

Damian's first word was a swear, which he learned after Dick accidentally kicked a table leg, Jason and Dick are the only ones who know this fact, the rest of the Waynes think his first word was "Papa", neither plan on telling anyone for the next decade

Tim is a tattletale

Steph comes over to hang out with Tim sometimes, she doesn't know Dick and Bruce are Batman and Robin, but she has theories (Because why wouldn't rich people have a basement?)

Every one of them fight in typical sibling fashion, they have a score board to keep track of each person's wins, Jason is winning in the "Total Fights Won" category, Cass is winning in the "Wins to Losses Ratio" category, and Bruce is winning in the "Total Grey Hairs Gained" category

[nalyra-dreaming]

I've seen the episode!!!

(Some comments and) SPOILERS!!!!

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Louis saying it was a betrayal and that he wants to be punished for it just when he finds happiness again via a hallucination of Lestat is so... ugh. Louis, honey, god. Also him imagining Lestat biting him - as a punishment, but he also wants it so badly, baring his neck, not trying to fight it, offering himself up there, he just wants the connection so badly. 😭 And god, Louis having Lestat call him out on his own denial. Damn. And Louis knowing he invited this Lestat as a distraction.

Also... that was definitely foreshadowing to how Louis will think the trial went.

And of course it would be a bat. Of course.™

Claudia driving them onwards, not giving one shit is just... incredible. Delainey is Claudia.

I was also right that she honed her senses and available gifts, more than Louis has his (which fits)

Daniel calling their plight the hunt for Moby Dick

Claudia is also... beautifully hopeful, and thereby almost desperately (intentionally) naive. She just wants to connect, so badly. To find more of their kind. And closes her eyes to what she sees. *deep sigh*

That "Adam and Even and God" comment was hilarious. Oh man, I cannot wait to see what the show will make of / with QotD and Memnoch etc.

Not only is Louis aware of forgotten memories now, he actively pursues them, and he has apparently read the missing pages before. And knows he has forgotten.

Claudia's diaries are unreliable, too (as predicted). Also, Louis correcting his own tale there, lol. Also: Armand‘s look and suggestion there.

Daniel and his little speech as to how he works… you go Daniel. “Here’s almost all the story“ lol

“Human affairs“

The revenants.... "the blood is bad here" *shivers* - I BET that's already setting up the "turning fails" arc with Amel, right there

God that old vampire connecting with Claudia, and then throwing herself into the fire in despair. God.

Morgan's arc was nicely condensed, the scene fittingly horrific

I live for Claudia speaking all the languages, but I noticed some of the subtitles were wrong

Whoever doubted DM happening... well. Sorry, but I AM seeing it. The looks, the smirks, the bitching.

Also "real Rashid" (lmao) - who, btw, does not wear a mask! What if the encounter with Eudoxia Marius had went differently and this is Rashid?

... someone wanting to buy a tryptich they haven't even put up for sale... *coughs* Marius? *coughs* (I mean, who else would know they have it? Or the Talamasca, maybe)

God that Dubai bedroom screams cage. And Armand controlling even the lights with his little iPad. Someone edit a blender into a screenshot of that scene.

The look Lestat gives Claudia at that last part of Louis' little speech. Devastating.

Also: the "I do I do I do I do I do"... Louis. Sweetie. I mean, I get it, but still.

Armand's comment that the boy from San Francisco is still in Daniel. Now if that is not foreshadowing.

A propos foreshadowing: Louis saying he will not choose the fire while Claudia walks the earth. *help*

"We cannot be the only good ones". Yeah... about that. -.-

Louis being so relieved that what Claudia wrote was not the truth

The. Score.

Louis pacifying Armand there with the little touches at the end. LOL (the whole setup makes me wonder if ARMAND has also forgotten some things btw). Also that little thank you kiss

The Groan. Once more seemingly when Armand is displeased, so it could be a metaphysical manifestation after all, especially since Louis seems to comment on it. (It could also be a red herring, we'll see.)

Daniel‘s “we‘ll get to you“ to Armand (lol)

Louis‘ guilty look to Lestat when he tries to pep talk Claudia 😭

EDIT: there were two very short flahback scenes with a comment to memory, which is setting up the big one later, no doubt about it, ugh

I legit teared up so often.

I have missed them all so much.

It's all I wanted, and more. Cannot wait to scream about it with everyone.

Also, last but not least: can I just say how glad I am our writers are playwrights.