#1. i got test results and they were lower than i expected

[cnnamonrolls]

maaaan

[thecharacterchronicler]

Snow Lands On Top (Pt. 2) || Coriolanus Snow X Reader || Smut

Outline: It’s the first round of the presidential elections and Coriolanus Snow’s results aren’t as good as he hoped. Fortunately, you’re there to give him an outlet for his frustration.

Word count: 3’081

Warnings: pregnancy (TTC), marriage of convenience, very explicit ROUGH smut.

Author’s note: I wrote this as a second part to There Will Come A Ruler, since a few people asked for it. I also wanted to thank you all for all the love I received since I started posting on this page a few days ago, it means the world to me! Still blows my mind that so many people bothered reading what I wrote! ♡

(( Part 1 - There Will Come A Ruler )) - (( Part 3 - Insatiable )) - (( Part 4 - The Bitter Taste Of My Fury ))

It only was your second time stepping inside the tall skyscraper that hosted your husband’s office - and headquarters. When the elevator doors opened in front of you, you instantly felt trapped, probably because the lobby was more crowded than what you expected. Even if something inside you was screaming for you to turn around and run the other way instead of losing yourself in this den of vipers, you had no choice but to do what duty required of you. You plastered a smile on your face, the one too bright and too joyful to let how miserable you really felt show, and entered the crowd, recognizing some familiar faces and greeting strangers pretending you also knew who they were. If they had been invited today to Coriolanus’s office, it meant they were important to him so you had to consider them as important to you as well.

“Hippity hoppity, there you are, little dove.” A voice sounded behind you. You heard it as clear as day despite the ambiant noise all around you, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. You turned to face who it belonged too, smiling even brighter to conceal the uneasiness you always felt around such an eccentric character.

“Volumnia Gaul, it’s good to see you again.”

“It’s been too long. But I suppose you’ve been quite busy trying to fulfill your duties.” She said, throwing a knowing glance down to your stomach.

“Of course, there’s never a dull moment since I became Coriolanus’ wife.” You smiled, in yet another attempt to conceal your lies. You had been miserable and bored during most of the year you’ve been married, and although you were good at acting by now, the way Dr Gaul stared at you made you feel like she was seeing right through you.

“You should bring her to the front, people need to see you together.” She said, looking up to someone behind you.

You felt him before seeing him, his hand finding the small of your back and his tall frame appearing next to you, your shoulder brushing against his side. You lifted your gaze up to look at your husband, but he didn’t look down at you, focusing his attention on his mentor instead, the only thing letting you know that he had noticed you was his hand pressed against your lower back.

“Of course.” He agreed, with a nod. Dr Gaul’s eyes landed on you once more, something unsettling in the way she suddenly stared at you.

“My offer to examine her still stands, if you want me to run a few tests on her and figure out why you haven’t conceived yet.”

Your blood went cold. Everybody knew how deranged Volumnia Gaul could sometimes be, she was as cruel as she was extravagant and it only seemed to get worse the older she got. She had left her place as the head gamemaker of the Hunger Games to Coriolanus and had retired from her scientific career, but she still ran bizarre experiments in her lab, for her own enjoyment… And you definitely didn’t want to be one of them.

“It won’t be necessary.” Your husband assured her, allowing you to breathe again with relief. “It’s not her fault but mine, I’ve been too busy with the games and my campaign to properly invest time into expanding our family.”

Dr Gaul was about to reply something but was cut off by the sound of the television increasing in the speakers. Coriolanus guided you in front of the large window in his office’s lobby, as everyone seemed to step out of your path.

He was smiling, handsome as ever in his dark red suit and you smiled too, pressing yourself closer to him when you noticed the cameras filming you from across the room. It must have been a perfect picture to showcase to the entire nation, a seemingly loving couple standing in front of the nicest view of the Capitol, surrounded by all their supporters as the reporters on TV were about to announce the winner of this round of the elections.

All eyes were on the television as the results appeared on the screen. You held your breath, waiting for Coriolanus’ percentage to go up but it only did a brief jump and then stopped, largely losing to his opponents. You turned to look at him, waiting for a reaction, and so did everyone else present in the room.

True to himself, he held his head high, standing even straighter as he remained stoic, not a single change of the expression on his face to betray his disappointment. But, even if you couldn’t say that you knew your husband that well, you still knew that he must have been crushed by such a bad result. He had worked so hard for this, put up such a show for the people and so did you, his defeat felt like your own.

It startled you when you felt his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your hip. He was tense, you could feel it , but he was still smiling at the crowd, gracious in defeat. He even spoke a few words, only disturbed for a brief second when he noticed the cameras packing up instead of transmitting his speech, the viewers probably more interested in hearing what the victors of this round had to say rather than listen to your husband.

Coriolanus kept his tight grip on you, as if holding you was the only thing that could keep him from snapping. Some of his supporters came to him to offer him some words of encouragement in replacement of congratulations and he handled each conversation with polite manners.

“At least if you don’t win, we get to keep you as head gamermaker.” One lady said, trying to highlight the good in the situation but Coriolanus only gave her a tight smile in return.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out but maybe it just shows you’re better at working on the Games, they’ve been delightful to watch ever since you took over.”

“At least if you don’t have to keep campaigning you can focus your efforts on the next Hunger Games and come up with a show even better than last year’s !”

The very reason of his bad ranking at the election kept being thrown to his face, people simply preferred him as a game maker, so that they could be sure to be entertained by Coriolanus’ genius ideas to make the show an annual event rather than see him becoming president and be bored in front of their television once a year. The other thing that didn’t work out for him, as you understood, was the fact that he didn’t seem as relatable to the people since he didn’t have a family to care for and protect while his opponent, Festus Creed, already had three kids with his wife Persephone. Maybe they loved each other…

Once people were done offering their sympathy, you felt Coriolanus’ warm hand leave you, your skin a bit sore from the intensity of his previous grip on you. He rushed through the crowd, even ignoring a man who tried to address him and went to his office, shutting the door behind him.

Nobody seemed to notice, nor care, that your husband had felt the need to isolate himself but you did for some reason. Maybe it was because you knew how hard it was to keep smiling and nodding at everyone when deep down you just wanted to scream and run away. In the crowd, you met Dr Gaul’s gaze who had also noticed, watching you with careful attention, as if she was waiting to judge the way you’d react.

So of course, you smiled. At her. At everyone.

You followed the same path as he did, stopping by the man who had attempted to speak to him so that he could speak to you instead and maybe ease off his vexation at being ignored by your husband. As hard as it may be to keep going once the facade of perfection crumpled, it was necessary - now even more than before - to make sure all his allies continued supporting him.

Once he seemed satisfied by the small talk you shared, you kept moving, trying to seem as relaxed and detached as you could, until you had the opportunity to slip inside the office, mostly unnoticed by the crowd still mingling in the lobby.

“Coriolanus, I…” You started but stopped yourself when you noticed all the files scattered on the ground. Your husband was leaning over his desk, his back turned to you and you could see him breathing deeply and rapidly, his shoulders moving up and down with tension.

Suddenly, he threw the remaining of what was on his desk down, with one long motion. More files flew up in the air before landing on the ground, a glass container of pens and pencils broke on the wooden floor and shattered to pieces, flying off in every direction like a tiny bomb explosion. His desk light also tumbled to the floor, making a noise you were sure others had heard too.

You had the instinct to take a step back, your hand finding the knob again in order to retreat far away from his wrath... But, when he buried his face in his hands, he suddenly felt a lot less threatening and a lot more vulnerable, making you decide to stay.

“You might have lost this time but maybe it’ll work out next time.” You told him, softly. You wanted to comfort him, as had everyone else already, but the way he dropped his hands and looked at you with a dark glare made you question your decision.

“Always so positive.”He stated, bitterly, as if he was disgusted by your hopefulness. It wasn’t often that you got to see him without a charming smile on his face and a confident posture, in fact, it was the very first time you had been able to read him so easily, his emotions on display exactly as he was feeling them.

“It’s just one set back, for now they think you are too young, too good at your job, but maybe you’ll be elected next time. Maybe it’ll be in ten years. Maybe in thirty. But you will be president.” He shook his head, a cynical smirk on his lips.

“What makes you so sure ?”

“… Because Snow lands on top.”

His eyes darkened and he launched himself at you, crossing the path between the two of you in rapid strides so that he could capture your lips in a ferocious kiss. It left you breathless for a moment, the way his mouth was covering yours with feverish kisses, his arms around your waist to pull your body against his.

It was your second real kiss. Only the second one since you considered that your marriage had been sealed not with a kiss but with a signature at the bottom of a contract.

You pressed your forehead to his, trying to create some distance between you so that you could catch your breath and attempt to have a coherent thought about what was happening but he didn’t let you, giving you one last consuming kiss before his fingers tangled with your ponytail and he pulled, hard enough to force you to your knees in front of him.

You kneeled, looking up with expectant eyes. It was his way of showing you what he needed. He wanted to be revered, to get rebels to bend the knee in front of him, to be worshiped and relived from the anger and frustration he always locked up inside himself, with no way of letting them out.

You reached for his pants, swiftly undoing them with your eyes never leaving his pale blue ones, staring at you with a silent wrath still setting his gaze ablaze. He tugged on your hair again, forcing your chin up so that he could touch your face with his other hand, forcing a thumb passed your lips. He attentively watched you as you opened up your mouth to take it in, gently sucking before releasing it with a soft bite.

You saw him smile at your compliance, even though it was ended by a bold gesture. You were the perfect mix of obedient and fiery to make him lose his mind, and you both knew it.

He reached down to the pants you had opened for him, pulling his already hard erection. You resisted the urge to look at it, remembering how big it had felt in your hand and inside you, worried that his size might change your mind about giving him what he wanted. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed to his as you opened your mouth wide, ready to welcoming him there.

His tip glided on your tongue, his length not even entirely filling your mouth when you felt it hit the back of your throat. He shuddered with pleasure, a soft curse leaving his lips, followed by the sound of your name.

You felt a jolt of electricity in your body, a strange pride warming you up at the thought of pleasing him. You ran your tongue over his tip, tasting the saltiness that was already dripping from him in anticipation of his release. He cursed again and his hand moved to the back of your head, holding you firmly in place as he began thrusting back and forth.

You tried to relax your jaw and breathe through your nose as his hard length slid on your tongue, but when his movements increased in speed and in strength, you felt him reaching deeper down your throat and you couldn’t help but gag, tears welling in your eyes in consequence. But, even though he was still very carefully looking at you, watching the way he was fucking your mouth without mercy, he didn’t stop or slow down, only attempting to have an even firmer grip on you.

Another curse word fell from his lips, betraying how close he was to finding relief but, instead of shooting his load on your tongue as you were expecting him to, he rapidly pulled himself out of your mouth, heavily panting in front of you.

You used this opportunity to catch your own breath and wipe the mascara stains under your eyes, feeling the soreness of your lips caused by the unforgiving friction he had created.

“Get up.” He demanded, which made you realize he had let go of your hair. You obeyed without hesitation, even taking a step closer to be in his reach again. He immediately took advantage of the proximity, roughly pulling your dress up above your hips and bringing his hand to your center, pulling your panties aside so that he could run a finger across your soaked folds. A satisfied grin appeared on his face, as he removed his hand and brought his finger to his lips, tasting you with a hungry gaze.

You felt your whole body buzzing with excitement, your eyes following the path of his tongue as he licked his lips, seemingly enjoying what he had just tasted. You were so ready for him, you would have begged if he asked you but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t ask for anything, he just took whatever he wanted, the way he wanted… And at this very moment, you couldn’t have been more okay with it.

His hands came to your bare hips and flipped you over so that your back was turned to him. Then, he pushed on your lower back, silently instructing you to bend over for him, which you did.

“Hold on tight.” He advised, his voice low with lust. You looked for something to do so but only found a tall bookshelf in front of you. You still gripped the sides of it, knowing it wouldn’t help you that much but you could already feel him pulling your panties to the side again.

Without a warning, he shoved himself inside you and you welcomed him, your wetness allowing him to slide all the way in with his first thrust. You bite your lip to avoid letting out a moan, very aware of the noise and chatter still coming from right behind his office door.

He completely pulled out before slamming inside you again, burying himself as deep as he could and you loudly gasped. He adjusted your position with a hand on each of your hips, gripping you so hard it was almost painful but you understood why once he repeated his action, thrusting so hard you would have lost your balance if he wasn’t helping stabilize you.

“Come on, let me hear the lovely sounds you can make.” He requested, mercilessly repeating the same movement.

“I can’t… They’ll all hear us…” You panted, a strangled moan catching in your throat when he hit deep, exactly where you needed him to.

“Good, I want them to know I’m fucking my wife.” He breathed, clearly enjoying himself too. “Show them you are mine.”

You felt dizzy at his words. Or maybe it was from the intense pleasure building up at your core. A few more of his rough thrusts and you came undone, loudly expressing your bliss as he released himself deep inside you. You both stayed connected for a moment to catch your breath until he pulled out, adjusting your panties and pulling your dress back down before taking care of putting his spent erection away.

You turned around to face him, meeting his gaze and noticing how his eyes had softened, like they had been drained of all the emotions he kept hidden behind them at all times, a clean slate to endure the rest of the evening.

To your surprise, he leaned over to kiss you. Not with hunger this time but with a tenderness you didn’t expect, like he was grateful you had been there for him.

“Was I too rough with you ?” He asked you, in a whisper, almost as if he was ashamed to say it out loud.

“Yes.” You nodded, appreciating the concern that immediately appeared on his face but you reassured him with a smile. “And I absolutely loved it.”

He smiled back, looking at you like he was seeing you in a new light. You weren’t strangers anymore and, for the first time, you were both starting to think that your marriage wasn’t such a fatality after all.

(( More ))

Previously in this series:

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[justatypicalwizard]

Wants Within | S. Shinazugawa | Chapter 8

✦ Sanemi Shinazugawa x femReader!, college au, reader is adult

✦ Synopsis: You're a college student taking classes with a very strict lecturer- professor Shinazugawa. Because of an unfortunate even you got on his bad side so now you're trying everything to regain in his eyes. Well, you most certainely didn't expect that kind of attention.

✦ Word count: 1,6k

18+, minors do not interact

''Damn, I should probably try this one.'' You pointed your finger at a piece of paper hung on the information board, gaining Ann's attention.

''Hm?'' She mumbled, chewing on a sandwich.

''It's a competition. If I would win inside the university then I could represent us higher.'' You started to explain what you just read.

''Isn't that like... hard to get out of the university level?'' She gave you an open eye look.

''It is. Yet, if I don't try I won't know. What bad could happen from trying?'' You shrugged.

''And what do you need to study?''

''Oh, I'm thinking about this one because it had okay requirements. You don't need to write any test, you actually have to do some research and present the results of something that they called 'an interesting, creative and innovative view of an existing academic work'.''

''So you'll have to rewrite the work?'' Ann questioned you.

''I don't know.''

✦

After filing a form to participate in the competition, you waited to be assigned to a competition group. You were supposed to complete your work with the help of a professor. Looking at the piles of forms that other people brought, you spotted that it was very small. Just a few of them lying sadly on the desk. This was good for you, not many people got interested in this.

What you wanted to achieve is representing the university. This would nearly grant you a scholarship for the next year.Grinning to yourself at your sneaky plan, you took off for your next lecture, feeling that the day would be good.

✦

After a week, you got an answer. Looking at the email you received, you bit your lower lip. You got assigned to the group led by professor Shinazugawa. Group members: 1

So, yet again you may have some alone time with the white haired man. Were you happy? Somehow yes, but on the other hand, crushing on him from your comfortable seat in the classroom was one thing. Spending time alone with him and having those types of thoughts felt uneasy. Will you be able to get rid of them, or will you rub your thumbs together and stutter, thinking about dirty things rather than about science.

Well, one way or the other, you will still proceed with the competition, your horniness can't get in the way of your career.

Finding him sitting in one of the empty lecture rooms, you knocked on the door lightly, only to hear a mumble. He was deep in thoughts, looking at his laptop. These freaking two buttons were unmade. You swear to god, you would grab them and either button them up so that it doesn't distract you or tear them all the way down to finally get what you want to see.

See girl? That's the thought I was telling you about. And you know what? You can't get rid of them no matter how hard you try in front of him.

''Good morning. I'm here to talk with you about the competition on the academic paper interpretation.'' You greeted him with a small smile, walking up to his desk.

He gave you a glance. After recognising you, his face lightened a bit.

''Mhm. Give me a moment, I need to do one thing.'' He went back to his computer, pulling a chair standing next to him and shoving it next to his.

You took the place. Putting your hands on your knees, you realised your legs were just next to his. Of course he was sitting like a king on his throne, claiming his space. Squeezing yourself into the chair, you begged that he would not shift and touch you by chance.

As if the gods were laughing at you, the man put one of his legs on the other one, nearly brushing you. You swiftly dodged that, not wanting to get a critical hit just at the beginning of the battle.

-10 hp

The white haired man put his head on his palm, his hand comfortable on the desk as he bit his lip ever so lightly, focused on the task he was completing.

-50 hp (the enemy was able to distract you)

Shinazugawa bounced his fingers on his chin. You followed his movement with your eyes, realising how well carved his jaw was.

-20 hp (enemie's distraction was unsuccessful)

Groaning quietly he let his hand through the messy, white hair. His voice low and somehow harsh.

-20 hp

Typing something and making the last few clicks, he finally completed whatever he was doing. Pushing his chest into the chairs back, he stretched slightly. The buttons on his white shirt also started to move, tightening up, just as if they wanted to pop out. Shinazugawa took a sip of his black coffee, which made his fully exposed Adam's apple move.

-100 hp

You have died!

Letting out a shaky breath you looked down, fumbling with your fingers. Why is it so hard to keep a hold of your mind sometimes?

''Is something wrong?'' The man's voice tore you out of your dirty thoughts.

''No.'' Back on earth.

''Okay. Then, let's talk about the competition.'' He turned fully your way. ''I've seen your application and I must say I'm impressed. You're really trying at this university.''

His compliment made you smile a little, looking to the side, past him.

''First we need to find an academic paper that covers the required topics and is short enough to be good for this work. That is your first task. I'll tell you where you can look for such things in the library. Pick up a few that you like and we will choose something. Then we will discuss what the paper is about, find the key topics and start to work on them. We will need a bunch of meetings.'' He looked at a piece of paper he had printed out. ''It will mostly be your work, I'm here to coordinate you.''

Nodding your head you took a look at the paper he handed you. It was a plan, everything that he just said plus some details about the topics, requirements and other stuff.

''We need to decide on the first meeting date.'' He took out his phone and swiped through his calendar. ''When are you free.''

Whenever you want.

But you didn't say that. Opening your plan on your own phone, you put it on his desk. Shinazugawa took a quick glance and decided.

''Is Wednesday, six p.m. okay for you?''

''Yes professor.''

''Great. Until then, look through the requirements and find those academic papers.''

✦

Wednesday came far too quick. You found a few interesting works and picked them out of the library. Making your way to Shinazugawas office in the university, you also wanted to stop at the cafe you work in to pick up your charger that you left the other day.

Retrieving it from one of your coworkers you looked at the coffee machine.

''Can I get two coffees? One [your favourite] and one black.'' The girl at the counter nodded and soon you had two coffees in your hands.

Going back to the university, you found his office. It was dark outside the vast windows. Fall would soon merge into winter.

Knocking on his door, you heard a faint 'come in'. Pushing the door, you greeted Shinazugawa and put the coffees on his desk. The white haired man looked at them, a bit shocked, but not too much for it to change his stoic face expression. Not explaining anything, you just took your cup and started to sip on it, taking out all your materials. He also didn't say anything, taking the coffee for himself, which made you smile lightly.

After he took a look at all the works you brought in, the two of you started to discuss them.

''This one may be too hard. Look, it starts off easy but the further you get, the more specific the author is. It may be hard to come up with anything giving the amount of details in this. Here, you have a few topics that you'll have next year and we don;t have enough time to teach you them. This one looks good, you already had all the topics and it leaves a lot of space for further explanation...'' As he was judging the academic papers, he slid his finger on them, showing you the places he was talking about.

''And what about this part, won't it be problematic? The author crealry points out that he sees no further interpretation of this fragment.'' You tried to show him the place where you saw an obstacle but you had to turn the paper around and then around once more, losing the sentence from under your finger.

Shinazugawa looked at you in a bored manner and stretched his hand for a chair. Sliding it closer, he put it on the same side of the large desk that he was sitting at and gave you a meaningful look. Nodding, you stood up and changed places. Only now you spotted how bigger his shoulders were compared to your own. He could tower over you easily.

''Here.'' You pointed out once more.

''Mhm, good suggestion. This might be a problem. We can look for another one.''

Finally, after some time you found the paper that fitted you the best.

''Are you fed up for today?'' The white haired asked you after picking up the rest of the work lying on the desk.

''Not really, I can still do something.'' You answered but at the same time a yawn escaped your lips.

You heard a small laugh out of Shinazugawas lips.

''Yeah, you really look ready to work.'' He gave you a yeastioning look, returning to his usual, judging glare.

''Sorry, that was nothing. I'm serious.''

He took a minute to glance all around your face which made you anxious. Why was he eying you so much?

''Okay then. We can make a rough plan of the work we are going to present.'' he shifted back to the papers like nothing ever happened. 

SERIES MASTERLIST

[bunniesghost]

.·:*¨¨* Took your sweet time*¨¨*:·.

Pt.5

Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

CW: Kid!Fic, Pregnancy, Huge timeskips, Fluffy moments, A bit of Angst, mentions of death.

Summary: Finding out you were pregnant with Simon’s baby was a bit Overwhelming. But his presence made you feel secure. Would you two ever end up together?

A/N: I honestly was scared to write this because idk if y’all will like it </3. Hope y’all like this chapter and thank you for reading the series! <3<3<3

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

8 Weeks later

~~~~~~~~~

Positive +

You let out the air you were holding back, sliding down onto the floor. Tears in your eyes as you stare at the stick in your hands.

You wanted to share this moment with Simon 3 weeks ago but he got called in for Deployment.

What was supposed to last a week turned to another. A month later they said that they didn’t have an estimated date but that it would take much longer than they expected.

Simon sent out a message through one of his superior, to tell you to not wait on him to see the results.

You went out to the shops to get a test. Nervous to ask the nice teen behind the counter for a pregnancy test.

Thankful that she was very discreet about grabbing it and putting it in at the bottom of the bag so others wouldn’t see.

You waited 3 weeks to finally take the test due to you not having symptoms but missing your period.

Pulling the bag out from under your bed, you went to the bathroom to seek the truth

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

4 Months in

~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon was coming home today.

A few weeks ago you received word of the mission being complete but they would have to make sure the civilians were alright.

You ended up graduating from college and getting your degree. 3 months pregnant walking down the aisle to receive your diploma. Good thing the gown hid the small bump you carried.

You were alone for that day but later had dinner with some friends but you knew someone was missing.

Simon

Oh how you missed him.

You guys never actually said anything about what you were. Was he your Boyfriend? Just the father to your child? Maybe this was a bad idea? Maybe your mom was right about no one loving you. Maybe she was right about everything?

You didn’t hear the door open when you were deep in your dark thoughts.

Black combat boots came into view as you were staring at the floor.

“Y/n.” A thick deep voice snapped you out of the dark place your mind has crawled into. You looked up and you saw not a man in a skull mask but a bare face man.

Simon

Your Simon?

Was he yours?

“Simon..Welcome home” you gave him a small smile.

“Are you ok? You seemed a bit lost in there?.” He pointed to your head.

“Yeah, just thinking of something..” your voice went quiet at the end.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He sat down right next to you and reached for your hands. Both hands in one big hand.

“N-no it’s ok- we should focus on your return.” You wanted to turn the attention away from you. “Is there anything you wanted to do?”

“Ask you a question.”

His eye contact was intense to you. Always finding it hard to keep. Always making your cheeks flood with red.

“Are you…are you pregnant?” The final word made him break the contact. Accidentally gripping too hard on your hands. Clearly he was as nervous as you were.

Instead of answering him you got up and walked in your room, coming back out with a small box with a ribbon around it.

Simon being on a lower level now, you stared down at him. Handing him the box.

Taking the box from you, he inspected it. Grabbing the lid off and taking some tissue paper out, till he saw the black and white photo.

A 4 month old baby ultrasound.

You were holding back tears.

Seeing him pick up the photo with wide eyes that then looked up at your covered stomach.

He reaches for you but hesitates.

You grab onto his hand and bring it under your sweater. Hand now touching your skin.

“Has it been hard for you?”

“Not really, just feeling more sore lately.”

“How many months are you in?”

“I’m 4 months in but soon it’ll be harder to hide my stomach.”

“Did you not want this?” Simon stood up quickly, hand still under your sweater.

“N-no, I mean I haven’t really told anyone because I wanted you to be the first.”

Simon just stood there with wide eyes because he assumed you already told some friends. Could his heart beat any faster?

“I’m s-still not used to it. I feel like I’m swollen every day and it’s getting harder to walk for a long period.”

“Want me to run you a bath? I can order your favorite?”

“Yes please, I would like that.”

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

The birth

~~~~~~~~~

It was a girl.

You and Simon had a baby girl.

You were so exhausted after pushing for so long and just when you were going to go into surgery. She finally came out.

Through your exhaustion, you saw how Simon looked at her with so much love that you just started to cry.

Exhaustion being a big part but feeling like you did something that matters to someone else just made you break.

Was there a chance for you two?

“Congratulations,you two!” Said a nurse as she left you three alone.

“Can- can I hold her?”

You were still sobbing so you nodded, handing him his baby girl.

The sight of him holding her just made you cry even more.

Simon turned to you, pulling his mask up to his nose and bent down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you, for going through so much just for her.”

He placed his hand on your cheek, rubbing away the tears. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Maybe there was a chance.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

2 years later

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Simon have been raising your daughter for two years now. Though still not together, you were fine with just co-parenting.

The three of you went on your daily walk to the park. Hand in hand with your daughter, as Simon watched you two a few steps back.

He enjoyed just watching the two of you be together. Simon saw a lot of him in his daughter. She is always confident on her missions, climbing to the top of the park structure. Her way of keeping eye contact sometimes turns into a staring contest.

Your daughter was always struggling with the absence of her father when he would get deployed. Crying and throwing a huge tantrum that resulted in him having to leave immediately from the two of you without a goodbye.

Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything to Simon when he would return. Giving him the cold shoulder and attaching herself to you.

“Mama, can we go to room?” Immediately pulling your pants leg.

“But daddy just got here and would like to see you.” You already knew what she was doing.

“I want cuddles with you.” She said pushing her head to your leg and grabbing onto your arms.

Simon just watched this happen since he was used to this.

“Ok, but I don’t think daddy will give you the gift he brought you?”

Her eyes went wide and started running into his arms. Simon bending down and opening his arms for her to crash into.

“I missed you daddy.” Your daughter told Simon.

“I missed you too, sugar cube.” The cute nickname she earned since she would drown her tea in them.

The sun was setting and the cool breeze was flowing through the air.

Your daughter loves the park and you love the walks you and Simon take.

Always finding comfort in the walks. Always finding comfort in him.

“When do you think she’ll be able to finally say goodbye.” Simon asked as you two were walking around some trees.

“I’m not sure? Honestly I feel like she’s getting even worse. She tried opening the door with her stepping stool.” You said letting out a sigh.

“She’s getting smart.”

That earned Simon a small punch from you.

“I just want her to have a good memory with her being able to say goodbye in case I die.” Simon kept walking but you stopped.

Simon looked back to where you stood.

“Why would you say that!” You were upset.

“Because it’s the truth.”

“Why would you want to think like that?”

Tears started to build up.

“Y/n, i think it’s ok to think like that.”

“No Simon! I don’t want to think about that! About you leaving her! Leaving me!” The tears spilled out.

“I would never leave you.” He grabbed onto your wrists. “I will always be here even after-“

“Simon stop-“

“Even after, I’m gone.”

His eye contact was so hard to keep up with. You honestly hated how he pierced right through you.

“I love you.”

You were shocked. Mouth agape and eyes wide. Did you hear him right? The man who you stayed with. The man who held you when you were vulnerable. The man who gave you a child. The man who just said I love you to you. The man who you loved.

“I love you and I want you to be mine.”

“Simon” you grabbed onto his cheek.

“Will you be mine?”

You gave him a small slap to the face.

“Why did it take you so long?”

You pulled up his mask and pressed your lips against his.

“Why did I take so long?”

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

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@hao-ming-8 - @yourmom3-5 - @thriving-n-jiving

[clatterbane]

I am feeling greatly vindicated about now, in a way that I am very aware is probably verging on bitchiness on this end too. But, some people just affect me that way.

What do we have here, through the portal? Starting cortisol levels toward the lower end of normal for that time of day. And also well within the normal range? The cortisol-stimulating hormone which is what goes screwy and gets overproduced to make your adrenal glands pump out too much cortisol, if the problem is on the pituitary end.

The point of this overzealous testing?

The dexamethasone suppression test is used to diagnose endogenous Cushing syndrome by assessing the lack of suppression of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis in response to exogenous corticosteroids.[1] The first use of dexamethasone for diagnosing Cushing syndrome was in 1960 by Liddle; he developed a test based on the non-suppressibility of endogenous cortisol production in Cushing syndrome versus the physiological suppression in nonaffected individuals achieved by dexamethasone.[2]

So yeah, if you give someone even a single dose of dexamethasone (never mind the sledgehammer 8-dose multiday protocol they hit my endocrine system with!), their body should cut way back on its own cortisol production to compensate. If the regulating mechanism is borked, it will just keep pumping out the ACTH and then a bunch of cortisol anyway.

What happened in this case?

Whoosh!

Straight down within the expected time frame, from totally fine levels starting out. The usual low single-dose test would have more than done it, without fucking my blood sugar up or giving me its own version of the Prednisone Crazies to anywhere near the same extent. They are apparently looking for at least a 50% reduction in levels, and we have more than met that goal!

(Yeah, they are close enough drugs to have similar effects. I've unfortunately had to take courses of prednisone multiple times, mostly for particularly nasty allergic skin reactions. But dexamethasone is stronger stuff and the effects apparently last longer. 👿 I am very relieved to be done taking the shit as of like 6:30 this morning. Probably a few more days of lingering fun to look forward to.)

It was a dramatic enough drop during that first day, that the nurse actually went ahead and reassured us this morning that things were obviously perfectly fine there when I went in for the second steroided-up blood draw.

Gotta say the lab was quick! They drew the samples just before 8:30 again today, and the results were up on the portal when I logged in somewhere around noon. That clinic is right in the university medical center complex, but still.

They took so much blood the first time because the endo also decided to throw in All The Tests while she was at it. Including a bunch of the diabetes-standard ones that she already ordered before the recent routine check-in appointment where she sprung this xenophobic concern-trolling bullshit on me in the first place. Also got expanded kidney and liver panels, what seemed like every other major hormone in my body checked, and a whole new battery of tests prompted by the chronic anemia. A lot of those repeats of what primary care just recently ordered (and she could see the results of) after she kicked that over to their side. At least it was just two tubes for the cortisol and ACTH today.

But yeah, at least nothing out of that huge battery of tests came back looking weird in unexpected ways! I am still slightly anemic, my sodium and potassium levels are still running just barely under range, and a couple of kidney indicators are still looking borderline wonky in a very diabetic way.

(Which seems to be staying pretty stable for years now, not even far off enough that anyone has seemed to feel like it's needed treatment--and it's frankly a miracle that my renal function isn't way more thrashed than that, after the number of years of earlier negligence and uncontrolled blood sugar. Ruined kidneys was honestly one of my big nagging worries while all of that was still going on.)

Anyway, one thing I WAS actually glad and somewhat relieved to see while scrolling through that huge mess of reports:

Because it was primarily a pituitary prolactinoma that I got removed back in high school. And especially with the healthcare mess back in the US? I am not aware of that ever having been checked again within the past 30 years. My family ended up uninsured within a year or two of the surgery, and the last follow-up probably happened in 1992-93. The symptoms thankfully did go away over time--along with the freaking cortisol side bonus staying distant history!

(None of which was the endo aware of when she decided I looked weird enough to constitute a medical problem, I just can't restrain myself from emphasizing again.)

The little fuckers do have a distressing tendency to come back sometimes. But yeah, BTDT and I am pretty confident that I would have noticed if that were causing problems. But, I am still glad for the confirmation that my prolactin levels are fine now.

This whole thing was, indeed, uncalled for. And I am still perversely gratified to be proven right about this, when it's been taking up so much rent-free space in my head. (Thanks, PTSD!) And also to see that I am honestly looking healthier across a whole slew of bloodwork measures than I was half-afraid I might.

[vro0m]

2013 season summary

Alright sorry it took me so long but here it is. So what happened in 2013?

Well it was Lewis' first year with Mercedes. They're actually not doing much better than Mclaren was in 2012, HOWEVER. I feel like overall the team’s energy is more hopeful because Mercedes is doing better than in 2012, when McLaren was spiraling downwards or stagnating at best.

Lewis is not really joyful though. He has his moments, especially at the beginning of the season and when he won, but you can tell he's still frustrated with his results. The last race leaves us with a last interview in which he struggles to find positives to his season, apart from the fact, as we said, that Mercedes did better in 2013 than in 2012 which was the goal. So what’s up with the results? What’s the issue?

Apart from the fact that Seb in his RedBull is still fucking flying, well, it’s the tyres. It's a whole scandal throughout the season : the tyres are absolute shit (see also : British GP). Also the whole Pirelli testing issue, with Mercedes taking part in a tyre test after Barcelona (as asked by Pirelli) that turns out to be illegal and leads them to being shut out of the young driver testing with the new tyres that Pirelli had to put together hastily in the middle of the season because it was so very bad. And the Mercedes seem to be especially hard on them too, which doesn't help. So the boys do pretty well on quali day (5 poles for Lewis) but they go backwards during the races, which is frustrating for them and about just as frustrating to watch.

But despite Lewis struggling to see them, there are positives. He won a race, which wasn't necessarily expected given that the 2012 Mercedes was very much a midfielder (and is not quite out of it yet) and that he’s new to the team. His points average is barely lower than in 2012 (9.5 VS. 9.95). I mean sure, he’s not winning a lot, but in 2012 he DNFd more than he won so... Yeah.

Also enters Bono and you can hear them figure out how to communicate throughout the season which is interesting (they aren't quite there yet either, Lewis gets a bit frustrated at times trying to explain what he needs to hear and what he doesn't need to hear and when). And we got our first “get in there”!

It’s something people from the inside (Brawn) notice just as much as people from the outside (journalists) : he gets more and more familiar with his team, more and more at ease, at home. And god knows it seems to be a very important element to Lewis' balance. And Niki only has good things to say about him.

Also the tyre issue is pretty straightforward as far as engineering goes. When it comes to the car, it seems to be one, specific, well delimited issue. And when it comes to the tyres themselves, Pirelli pretty much fixed them during that season and they’ll have new ones in 2014, that were tested with RedBull at some point (yeah, apparently they were allowed to do that because they used the 2011 car or some shit like that...).

So yep. Lewis might not see it (and in his defense it’s very easy to say from 2022), but everything seems to be falling into place quite nicely...

Let’s talk numbers : so far, I’ve completed 42.2% of my rewatch. In total, I’ve made 870 GIFs to illustrate it.

Here’s a list of the 2013 GPs with a roughly two-sentence summary and the link to the actual recap if you wanna read it or take a look at the GIFs I made :

1. Australian GP : tense racing with Alonso, it starts raining mid-way through. Lewis P5. No gifs.

2. Malaysian GP : wet track. Lewis pulls a Jenson in the pits. RedBull racing. Mercedes racing. Multi 21. Not too happy Lewis, but P3.

3. Chinese GP : Lewis pole! A lost wheel! Very close racing to the end. Lewis P3 again.

4. Bahrain GP : grid-penalty for Lewis. Tyre talks. Lewis interview. Low expectations. The Mercedes go backwards. McLaren racing. Satisfied P5 Lewis.

5. Spanish GP : Mercedes 1-2. The Mercedes go backwards. P12.

6. Monaco GP : Mercedes 1-2 again. Baby Roscoe. Brocedes chapter 1. Extremely boring race, even for Monaco. Red flag. P4.

7. Canadian GP : Close racing with Alonso at the end. P3. A marshal died.

8. British GP : Lewis pole! British quiz and lollipop eating. Delamination puncture. Delamination puncture. Delamination puncture. Delamination puncture. Lewis remontada. P4. Not too happy.

9. German GP : Lewis pole! Another lost wheel and an unlucky cameraman. Mercedes team orders. The Mercedes go backwards. Bad faith Lewis is back. Fire, empty car on track?! P5. Titty holding.

10. Hungarian GP : Lewis 30th pole! Long race but action packed. First Mercedes win for Lewis!

11. Belgian GP : Lewis pole again! Greenpeace protest. Absolutely mind-numbingly boring race. P3. Flirting with Seb.

12. Italian GP : RedBull Pirelli BS. Lewis starts P12... Radio issues and slow puncture. Bad race but loads of overtakes. P9. A bit defeated.

13. Singapore GP : long race. P5. Hitchhiking. Niki interview.

14. Korean GP : a bit of chaos, fire, delamination. Amazing Alonso battle. P5.

15. Japanese GP : delamination puncture. DNF.

16. Indian GP : frustrating race. P6. Seb is WDC for the fourth time.

17. Abu Dhabi GP : no gifs. Lewis goes backwards. Boring. P7.

18. American GP : no gifs. Boring. P4.

19. Brazilian GP : controversial contact, missing wheels, drive-through penalty. P9. Overall not too happy Lewis.

[bnha-manga-scripts]

CHAPTER SIX

Ochako: The kid who ranks last… get’s expelled!? This is our first day here! But even if it weren’t… that’s just too unreasonable!

Shouta: Natural disasters… massive accidents… ego-mad villains… all kinds of calamities can happen when we least expect them. Japan’s now positively drenched in “unreasonable”.  And it’s our job as heroes to reverse it all, and restore reason. 

Shouta: If you were counting on a friendly chat at the local Mcdonalds after school, that’s too bad. From now on, for the next three years all you can expect from your life at UA is one hardship after the next. 

Shouta: This is “plus ultra”, I expect you to overcome these trails and climb to the top.

Tneya(thinking): The pressure is on… so this is UA’s baptism. The pinnacle of hero training… no choice but to give my all!

Katsuki: I could throw it farther.

Shouta: Now then, that was the demonstration. It’s time to step up to the plate.

[TRIAL ONE: THE 50 METER DASH]

[Tenya makes it in 3.04 seconds]

Narrator: Iida Tenya’s quirk. “Engine” it’s exactly what it sounds like! Look at those legs!

Tenya(thinking): For the 50-meter dash, I had to shift straight to 3rd gear

Shouta: Well… that’s im in his element. It’s what he’ll do for the other trials that interest me. 

[Tsuyu make it in 5.58 seconds]

Ochako(thinking): I’ll make my shoes weigh less… my clothes too.

[Ochako makes it in 7.15 seconds]

Narrator: Uraraka Ochako’s quirk. “Zero Gravity”. Her ability can reduce the gravitational pull of whatever she touches to zero! However, if she overdoes it, she gets violently ill.

Yuuga: Hahahaha, everyone’s being so artless about it. 

[Yuuga get’s ready to use his quirk by jumping in the air.

Yuuga: You should use your quirk. Like this!

[Yuuga makes it in 5.51 seconds.]

Yuuga: If I keep shooting longer than one second. My tum tum will collapse, you know.

Class 1-A: What is this guy!?

Narrator: Aoyama Yuuga’s quirk. “Navel Laser”. He can shoot lasers from his nevel! It’s duration is a bottleneck issue, though.

Shouta(thinking): The pushing of their quirks to their utmost limits shows me how much room for growth each of them have and allows me to take note of what they can and can’t do just yet. Let’s see how you runts use your creativity to keep yourselves afloat!

Katsuki: Blast Rush!

Izuku: Huh!?

[Katsuki makes it in 4.13 seconds.]

Narrator: Bakugou Katsuki’s quirk. “Explosions”. 

Katsuki(thinking): Just as I thought, if I use both hands it disperses the power.

Katsuki(thinking): What about Deku?

[Katsuki middle school record was 5.58 seconds w/o his quirk]

[Izuku’s time was 7.02 seconds]

[Izuku’s middle school time was 7.49 seconds]

Izuku(thinking): I’ve got seven of these left to go! What’s more, eveone else will definitely keep using their quirks to net abnormal showings! Meanwhile my quirks will send me to the hospital after one use! Adjustments! I need to adjust to it! If I just visualize it, I’m sure I can do it! And the trick to adjusting it….

[Izuku starts a flash back]

Small Might: Your sensation of it!

Izuku: Just as expected of All Might!!! *whispering* so cool.

Small Might[Making shadow punche]: You’ve already shown us your 100%

Izuku: Yeah, and it grounds my bones to dust.

Small Might: Don’t you see kid? Your memory of that sensation is the key! How did it feel!?

Izuku: Well… there was kind of a zap and then there was, like, a boom… uhh… imagine like an egg in a microwave… ding!

Small Might: A bit lowkey kid, but definitely unique!

Small Might: If that’s the metaphor you’re using… let’s lower the wattage and set the timer shorter. However you visualize it is fine, as long as the egg doesn’t burst. Give it some serious thought!

Small Might: Your first day of school is three weeks away! I want you to earnestly ruminate on that image.

[Flashback ends]

Izuku(thinking on All Mights words): I may not yield results in just a day or two, but I have faith you can do it! It’s only a matter of time!

[TRIAL THE GRIP STRENGHT TEST]

Izuku: Don’t let the egg explode..

[Izuku tries to use his quirk, but he remembers how he mangled his body and it fails]

[Izuku’s grip strength was 56kg vs in middle school it was 40kg(in US that would be 123LBS vs 88LBS)]

Hanata: Whoa!

Minoru: Someone say “octopus”? Hot.

Mezou: …

[Mezou’s grip test score was 46kg vs 540kg(In the US that’s 101LBS vs 1190LBS]

[TRIAL THREE: LONG STANDING JUMP]

[Aoyama uses his quirk

[Bakugou does as well]

[Izuku tries, but his quirk fails again]

[TRIAL FOUR: SUSTAINED SIDEWAYS JUMPS]

[Minoru is shown using his quirk and bouncing back and fourth]

[Izuku tries to use his quirk again and it fails]

[TRIAL FIVE: THE PITCH]

[Uraraka throws it and shoots it into infinity]

Class 1-A: Infinity!? Holy crap! She got an infinity!?

Izuku(thinking): This isn’t looking good! I can’t work out how to do it with so little time! Everybody else has had at least one trial they excelledat… now all that’s left after this is the endurance run, the toe touch thing, and the upper body exercises… if I’m going to grab a high score, it’s now or never.

Izuku(thinking): at this rate, I’m going to be dead last…

Tenya: Midoriya’s not doing too well… is he?

Katsuki: Of course not! He’s a quirkless fucking guppy!

Tenya: Quirkless!? Didn’t you see what he did at the entrance exam!?

Katsuki: Ha!?

Izuku(thinking): Here it comes… Mom… All Might

Izuku(thinking on Inko’s words): You’re mega cool right now.

Izuku(thinking on All Might words): You can be a hero.

Izuku(about to throw the ball with One for All): I will be one!

Shouta: 46 meters

Izuku: Wha… huh!? I tried using it forsure just now.

Shouta: I erased your quirk. It defies reason. How did somebody like you manage to enter this academy?

Izuku(shocked): You erased it? And those goggles… oh my god! You must be the hero who can cancel out the quirk of whomever he’s looking at! The erasing hero, “eraserhead”!

Class 1-A: “easer”-who? Never heard of him.

Class 1-A: I’ve just heard the name! He’s really underground!

All Might(thinking): He say’s it obstructs his work, so he hates any and all exposure to the media… if only I could have warned you, Midoriya, my boy!

All Might(Thinking): He and I… don’t get along.

Shouta: From what I observed… you can’t reign in your quirks full power. Meaning you can’t use it efficiently at all. Did you believe someone would come save you after you crippled yourself again?

Izuku: No, I didn’t. I just…!

[Izuku gets grabbed with Shouta’s capture weapon]

Shouta: whatever hopes you may have nursed of your imminent rezscue… you can see, nobody is in a position to come to your aid. There’s a certain insufferable hero who made a name for himself for rescuing over a thousand innocents from a disaster himseld. You’vegot his brute courage… but all you’ll manage to do is run around like a blockhead who needs saing himself. Face it, your “power” won’t help you become a hero, “Midoriya Izuku.

Shouta: I gave you bck your quirk. Let’s get this over with.

Yuuga(patting Ochako’s shoulder): Are you worried for him? I, for one, don’t care.

Ochako: Who are you?

Tenya: looks like he’s had some coaching before, but…

Katsuki: He’s fonna get expelled forsure.

[Shouta putting in eye drops]

Shouta(thinking): he’s persistent. He’s not backing down from dying out here… or he’ll simply settle for last place. Whichever way he goes, he doesn’t have a prayer.

Izuku(thinking): I still can’t adjust my power output. Can I stake my chances at adjusting it on this one pitch? No… It’s as All Might told me: I can’t get it down in such a short span of time! Shit. Argh.

Izuk(thinking): Well if that’s the case, then nothing for it! Full power!

Shouta: Probability.

[Izuku starts to throw the ball]

Shout: Zero.

Izuku(thinking): not yet.

Izuku(narrating): Aizawa-sensei isn’t wrong. If I keep going at it like I have been up until now, there’s no way I’ll ever be a hero.

Izuku(thinking): Not yet.

Izuku(thinking): Not yet!

Izuku(narrating): If I don’t work a dozen times harder  then everybody else… I’ll never make it!

All Might: Whoa, kid, are you for real!?

Izuku(thinking): At the very last instant… for every shortest duration… I’ll go full power!

Izuku: Now! I’ll show you what I can do!

[Izuku throws the ball and we can see a broken finger]

[Bakugou and Shouta are shocked]

Izuku(thinking): It’s not as excruciating as that other time.

Shouta(thinking): He didn’t just pitch it at full power. He concentrated his power int the tip of his finger.

[Izukus ball throw is at 705.3 Meters]

Izuku(thinking on Shouta’s words): Did you believe someone would save you after you crippled yourself again?

Izuku: Sensei…! I can still move!

[Izuku says this with a teary grin].

[Shouta grins back, amused and surprised]

Shouta: Ohho…!

[bbnha-manga-scripts]

Chapter Six

Ochako: The kid who ranks last… get’s expelled!? This is our first day here! But even if it weren’t… that’s just too unreasonable!

Shouta: Natural disasters… massive accidents… ego-mad villains… all kinds of calamities can happen when we least expect them. Japan’s now positively drenched in “unreasonable”.  And it’s our job as heroes to reverse it all, and restore reason. 

Shouta: If you were counting on a friendly chat at the local Mcdonalds after school, that’s too bad. From now on, for the next three years all you can expect from your life at UA is one hardship after the next. 

Shouta: This is “plus ultra”, I expect you to overcome these trails and climb to the top.

Tneya(thinking): The pressure is on… so this is UA’s baptism. The pinnacle of hero training… no choice but to give my all!

Katsuki: I could throw it farther.

Shouta: Now then, that was the demonstration. It’s time to step up to the plate.

[TRIAL ONE: THE 50 METER DASH]

[Tenya makes it in 3.04 seconds]

Narrator: Iida Tenya’s quirk. “Engine” it’s exactly what it sounds like! Look at those legs!

Tenya(thinking): For the 50-meter dash, I had to shift straight to 3rd gear

Shouta: Well… that’s im in his element. It’s what he’ll do for the other trials that interest me. 

[Tsuyu make it in 5.58 seconds]

Ochako(thinking): I’ll make my shoes weigh less… my clothes too.

[Ochako makes it in 7.15 seconds]

Narrator: Uraraka Ochako’s quirk. “Zero Gravity”. Her ability can reduce the gravitational pull of whatever she touches to zero! However, if she overdoes it, she gets violently ill.

Yuuga: Hahahaha, everyone’s being so artless about it. 

[Yuuga get’s ready to use his quirk by jumping in the air.

Yuuga: You should use your quirk. Like this!

[Yuuga makes it in 5.51 seconds.]

Yuuga: If I keep shooting longer than one second. My tum tum will collapse, you know.

Class 1-A: What is this guy!?

Narrator: Aoyama Yuuga’s quirk. “Navel Laser”. He can shoot lasers from his nevel! It’s duration is a bottleneck issue, though.

Shouta(thinking): The pushing of their quirks to their utmost limits shows me how much room for growth each of them have and allows me to take note of what they can and can’t do just yet. Let’s see how you runts use your creativity to keep yourselves afloat!

Katsuki: Blast Rush!

Izuku: Huh!?

[Katsuki makes it in 4.13 seconds.]

Narrator: Bakugou Katsuki’s quirk. “Explosions”. 

Katsuki(thinking): Just as I thought, if I use both hands it disperses the power.

Katsuki(thinking): What about Deku?

[Katsuki middle school record was 5.58 seconds w/o his quirk]

[Izuku’s time was 7.02 seconds]

[Izuku’s middle school time was 7.49 seconds]

Izuku(thinking): I’ve got seven of these left to go! What’s more, eveone else will definitely keep using their quirks to net abnormal showings! Meanwhile my quirks will send me to the hospital after one use! Adjustments! I need to adjust to it! If I just visualize it, I’m sure I can do it! And the trick to adjusting it….

[Izuku starts a flash back]

Small Might: Your sensation of it!

Izuku: Just as expected of All Might!!! *whispering* so cool.

Small Might[Making shadow punche]: You’ve already shown us your 100%

Izuku: Yeah, and it grounds my bones to dust.

Small Might: Don’t you see kid? Your memory of that sensation is the key! How did it feel!?

Izuku: Well… there was kind of a zap and then there was, like, a boom… uhh… imagine like an egg in a microwave… ding!

Small Might: A bit lowkey kid, but definitely unique!

Small Might: If that’s the metaphor you’re using… let’s lower the wattage and set the timer shorter. However you visualize it is fine, as long as the egg doesn’t burst. Give it some serious thought!

Small Might: Your first day of school is three weeks away! I want you to earnestly ruminate on that image.

[Flashback ends]

Izuku(thinking on All Mights words): I may not yield results in just a day or two, but I have faith you can do it! It’s only a matter of time!

[TRIAL THE GRIP STRENGHT TEST]

Izuku: Don’t let the egg explode..

[Izuku tries to use his quirk, but he remembers how he mangled his body and it fails]

[Izuku’s grip strength was 56kg vs in middle school it was 40kg(in US that would be 123LBS vs 88LBS)]

Hanata: Whoa!

Minoru: Someone say “octopus”? Hot.

Mezou: …

[Mezou’s grip test score was 46kg vs 540kg(In the US that’s 101LBS vs 1190LBS]

[TRIAL THREE: LONG STANDING JUMP]

[Aoyama uses his quirk

[Bakugou does as well]

[Izuku tries, but his quirk fails again]

[TRIAL FOUR: SUSTAINED SIDEWAYS JUMPS]

[Minoru is shown using his quirk and bouncing back and fourth]

[Izuku tries to use his quirk again and it fails]

[TRIAL FIVE: THE PITCH]

[Uraraka throws it and shoots it into infinity]

Class 1-A: Infinity!? Holy crap! She got an infinity!?

Izuku(thinking): This isn’t looking good! I can’t work out how to do it with so little time! Everybody else has had at least one trial they excelledat… now all that’s left after this is the endurance run, the toe touch thing, and the upper body exercises… if I’m going to grab a high score, it’s now or never.

Izuku(thinking): at this rate, I’m going to be dead last…

Tenya: Midoriya’s not doing too well… is he?

Katsuki: Of course not! He’s a quirkless fucking guppy!

Tenya: Quirkless!? Didn’t you see what he did at the entrance exam!?

Katsuki: Ha!?

Izuku(thinking): Here it comes… Mom… All Might

Izuku(thinking on Inko’s words): You’re mega cool right now.

Izuku(thinking on All Might words): You can be a hero.

Izuku(about to throw the ball with One for All): I will be one!

Shouta: 46 meters

Izuku: Wha… huh!? I tried using it forsure just now.

Shouta: I erased your quirk. It defies reason. How did somebody like you manage to enter this academy?

Izuku(shocked): You erased it? And those goggles… oh my god! You must be the hero who can cancel out the quirk of whomever he’s looking at! The erasing hero, “eraserhead”!

Class 1-A: “easer”-who? Never heard of him.

Class 1-A: I’ve just heard the name! He’s really underground!

All Might(thinking): He say’s it obstructs his work, so he hates any and all exposure to the media… if only I could have warned you, Midoriya, my boy!

All Might(Thinking): He and I… don’t get along.

Shouta: From what I observed… you can’t reign in your quirks full power. Meaning you can’t use it efficiently at all. Did you believe someone would come save you after you crippled yourself again?

Izuku: No, I didn’t. I just…!

[Izuku gets grabbed with Shouta’s capture weapon]

Shouta: whatever hopes you may have nursed of your imminent rezscue… you can see, nobody is in a position to come to your aid. There’s a certain insufferable hero who made a name for himself for rescuing over a thousand innocents from a disaster himseld. You’vegot his brute courage… but all you’ll manage to do is run around like a blockhead who needs saing himself. Face it, your “power” won’t help you become a hero, “Midoriya Izuku.

Shouta: I gave you bck your quirk. Let’s get this over with.

Yuuga(patting Ochako’s shoulder): Are you worried for him? I, for one, don’t care.

Ochako: Who are you?

Tenya: looks like he’s had some coaching before, but…

Katsuki: He’s fonna get expelled forsure.

[Shouta putting in eye drops]

Shouta(thinking): he’s persistent. He’s not backing down from dying out here… or he’ll simply settle for last place. Whichever way he goes, he doesn’t have a prayer.

Izuku(thinking): I still can’t adjust my power output. Can I stake my chances at adjusting it on this one pitch? No… It’s as All Might told me: I can’t get it down in such a short span of time! Shit. Argh.

Izuk(thinking): Well if that’s the case, then nothing for it! Full power!

Shouta: Probability.

[Izuku starts to throw the ball]

Shout: Zero.

Izuku(thinking): not yet.

Izuku(narrating): Aizawa-sensei isn’t wrong. If I keep going at it like I have been up until now, there’s no way I’ll ever be a hero.

Izuku(thinking): Not yet.

Izuku(thinking): Not yet!

Izuku(narrating): If I don’t work a dozen times harder  then everybody else… I’ll never make it!

All Might: Whoa, kid, are you for real!?

Izuku(thinking): At the very last instant… for every shortest duration… I’ll go full power!

Izuku: Now! I’ll show you what I can do!

[Izuku throws the ball and we can see a broken finger]

[Bakugou and Shouta are shocked]

Izuku(thinking): It’s not as excruciating as that other time.

Shouta(thinking): He didn’t just pitch it at full power. He concentrated his power int the tip of his finger.

[Izukus ball throw is at 705.3 Meters]

Izuku(thinking on Shouta’s words): Did you believe someone would save you after you crippled yourself again?

Izuku: Sensei…! I can still move!

[Izuku says this with a teary grin].

[Shouta grins back, amused and surprised]

Shouta: Ohho…!

[probably-not-a-rocketscientist]

calculated love and complicated confessions

summary: your time on cloverfield station has lead you to two conclusions: love is complicated and not everyone is who they seem

warnings: mutual pining, slight angst with a happy ending, mention of harm to others, one (1) german phrase that i'm pretty sure i butchered

a/n: did i write this all week when i should have been studying for my finals? yes. also, i saw this movie three years ago in chinese so i might have gotten some details wrong. english is not my first language so constructive criticism is encouraged. enjoy!

——

As an engineer, you knew the importance of trial and error. However, you did not expect for it to keep you in space for nearly three year with seven other scientist. You all found a sense of family with each other, but you couldn't help the need of being on earth grow every day.

One crew member you payed particularly close attention to was Ernst Schmidt. You noticed the little things about him; like how he would comb his fingers through his hair when it fell to his face because he insisted on keeping it long, or when he would curse in his native tongue when he got frustrated with his work.

After a while, the whole station seemed to have caught on to your fondness for Schmidt, except the physicist himself. He was oblivious to the constant teasing by the other crewmates, thinking it was only because of how close you two were as friends.

However, he wasn't the only clueless person on the station. You had failed to notice all the advances that Schmidt had made — like his hands lingering on to yours for a second more when they touched, or always insisting on being paired with you when you all were sent to do assignments throughout the deck. He found your presence to be intoxicating, but didn't push too far in fear that you didn't feel the same way.

—

The day before another test, you stayed in the dining room all night reviewing your calculations. You were almost positive that they were correct, but it would kill you if you were the one responsible for the accelerator being unsuccessful.

You were so focused on your work that you didn't notice how quiet the station was. You checked your wristwatch and it was well over midnight. Sleep wasn't a priority for you right now, but you knew you needed to be well rested for the test in a couple of hours.

Right as you were about to get up, Schmidt entered the room. His hair was messy and he was in sweatpants and a t-shirt. A pair of wire-framed glasses sat on his face, something he only wore when he forgot to put in his contacts — or in this case, retrieving an item from the kitchen at this ungodly hour. You forced yourself to look away, worried that you were starring at him for too long.

"Why are you still working? It's very late," he comments as he opens the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.

"I'm just nervous about tomorrow. We don't have a lot of firings left and I want to get this right," you responded.

"You've been working non-stop for the past month, I'm certain you will do just fine," he reassured with a smile. "And if not, I will take over your post."

"The last time I checked, I had one more PhD than you."

"I'll catch up eventually, you know."

He was fidgeting with his water bottle, unsure how to prolong this conversation. "Let me walk you back to your quarters, you need the sleep."

Without hesitation, you rose from your chair and began walking beside him. Walking through the halls of the station at night usually made you uneasy, but Schmidt's presence made it slightly more comfortable. The heavy clanking of your steel-toed work boots contrasted the light thumps of his sneakers.

After a few more paces, you arrived at your room. You punched in your passcode and the door slid open.

"Well, this is my stop. Thanks for making sure I got back safely," you joked.

"Of course," he responded.

You could tell that he was also tired so you didn't want to hold him for too long. "Goodnight Schmidt," you bid.

"Goodnight liebling," he responded. He began walking back to his own room before you could process what he said.

"What does that mean?" you questioned.

"You'll understand soon enough," he answered without looking back.

Even though you were confused by his response, you closed your door and locked it. Exhausted, you fell onto your mattress without taking your boots or jumpsuit off. Within a few seconds you felt your eyelids getting heavy and slipped into your sleep.

—

The control room was silent, worried that any movement or noise would cause the dial to turn in the unfavorable direction. The particle accelerator was fired less than a minute ago and the dial was slightly moving in between the red and green zones. This was first time the machine had been able to turn on and to have it successfully work would be nothing short of a miracle.

All of you held your breath as the dial began to turn again, this time in the green. Suddenly, it lowered significantly towards the safety levels.

It worked.

Cheers and laughter filled the room as you all celebrated the victory. After years of failures and dead-ends, the feeling of achievement was exhilarating.

—

You were thrown into chaos when you got back to earth. After the return shuttle landed in the Atlantic, a helicopter took you all back to mission control in London. Everyday consisted of either physical test to make sure the artificial gravity didn't have any negative effects on your body, or press conferences about how the eight of you solved the energy crisis. You couldn't turn on the news without some mention of the Shepard, but you were just glad to be home.

By the end of the month, you and the rest of the crew were burned out, both mentally and physically. You, Tam, Hamilton, and Mundy decided to stay in London and lead a team at mission control to monitor the Shepard's status. Kiel, Acosta, and Volkov were to return to their families and respective countries tomorrow. You hadn't heard much from Schmidt, but you assumed that he would return to his life in Germany. Since today was the last day all of you be together for a while, Hamilton decided to take you all to a pub downtown.

You watched the others play, or at least attempt to play, billiards closely from the bar. Your feet were aching so you decided to sit down but you were still actively encouraging them. After a couple rounds, Schmidt walked over towards you.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked politely.

"It's all yours," you gestured. He pulled out the stool and sat with his back facing the tabletop. You notice his outfit, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of dark trousers. It was a change from his usual jumpsuit uniform and a polo shirt with jeans.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, letting the soft conversations of the pub fill the empty space between you. It was almost a bittersweet moment; one of the last moments you would spend together.

Almost as if he read your mind, he answered your thought. "I'm not going back to Germany," he said.

A sigh of relief rang through your head, but you still couldn't help but be curious about his decision. "Why not? You probably have hundreds of women lining up to be with the 'German man that saved the world'," you joked.

He was unresponsive to your comment as he gathered his thoughts. His demeaner changed and he shifted in his seat so that now he was facing you. "Can I make a confession?" he asked.

"Of course, Schmidt," you replied. Now you were worried that something was wrong. He wasn't one for serious conversations so you knew this was important.

"As you may know, my country has been trying to start a war with Russia for nearly a decade. When the Shepard was built, the government sent me as a spy to prevent it from working. I was suppose to send logs of my progress back to them, but I never did. The day before we activated the device, I received a transmission ordering me crash the station into the ocean with all crew member on board. If I go back to Germany, they will have me arrested for treason."

You were shocked by his words and couldn't think of anything to say. You knew that Schmidt would never betray the crew, and apparently the cost of that was being exiled from his own country.

He was now looking down on the floor, worried that he would see disappointment in your eyes if he looked up. "Can you please say something?" he pleaded.

"Why didn't you do it? You knew this was the result, yet you still made the sacrifice? Why?" you asked. You brought your hand to cup his face, tilting his gaze so he was now looking down at you. Your thumb ran over his cheek as an attempt to comfort him.

"I did it for you. And I would do it all again if it meant I could see your smile, even for just one more minute. I understand if you want nothing to do with me after today, but you deserve to know the truth."

It wasn't until now that you realized how close in proximity you were to him. You could smell the cologne he was wearing; citrus with a hint of firewood. Flammable items like fragrance and hairspray weren't allowed on the station, but you could still identify the scent as his own.

"I guess it's my turn to make a confession, right? To even things out," you half-whispered. You continued to move closer to him slowly, seeing if he showed any sign of resistance. His eyes were now fixed on your lips, and yours to his. Deciding to take the final step, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down.

The kiss was slow but filled with passion, the result of bottled up feelings for the past three year. He tasted like cigarettes and tap beer, exactly how you imagined him. His hands traveled down to your waist and attempted to pull you in as close as he could from the awkward position you both were in. A small moan escapes your lips from the contact, a sound that he found to be his favorite.

You pull away moments later to catch a breath of air. His quick breathing was in sync with yours and you let out a slight laugh of relief.

The intimate moment was interrupted by cheering and whistling coming from the billiards table. It was a mix of 'finally's and 'about time's. Your crewmates had a habit of embarrassing you and apparently it applied to public spaces as well. You put your head on Schmidt's shoulder to try to shield yourself from them.

"Should we go over there and say something?" you asked. The lighting in the pub wasn't great, but you could've swore you saw Mundy hand Tam £20.

"In a minute. I want to savour this moment for as long as possible."

[ilovejevsjeans]

WHAT MAKES ‘PECULIAR’ McLAREN SO HARD FOR RICCIARDO TO MASTER

The esoteric driving-style demands of the McLaren MCL35M have been laid bare during the 2021 Formula 1 season by Lando Norris consistently producing superb performances while new team-mate Daniel Ricciardo has faced a long, hard and often fruitless slog to adapt.

Norris and former McLaren team-mate Carlos Sainz also found the car tricky to drive, but ultimately adapted well. But over his first 11 races as a McLaren driver, Ricciardo has been frustrated by attempting to implement a counter-intuitive driving style required by what he’s described as a “peculiar” car.

“I knew straight away it was a different beast,” said Ricciardo of the McLaren-Mercedes MCL35M.

“I’d be lying if I said the Renault wasn’t a different beast to the Red Bull, so they are all different. But there’s certainly some things where this car is slightly more peculiar. That’s the puzzle that I’m still trying to solve.

“But every car will respond and react differently, and this one’s got a couple of other things, I guess.”

Usually, you would expect a driver of Ricciardo’s high calibre to get on top of a new car after half-a-dozen races. Certainly, he thought that was how long the process would take before reluctantly admitting more recently that his struggles are “a reality” rather than a temporary problem.

McLaren’s executive director of racing, Andrea Stella, suggests the problem is Ricciardo is from the “opposite end” in terms of driving style. But what exactly is it about the McLaren that is so specific and has caused so many struggles, and why can’t these characteristics be dialled out easily?

“What we kept is some characteristics of our car that make it very special to drive, which we see with the experience Daniel is going through because he came from the opposite end in terms of how you would like to drive a Formula 1 car,” said Stella of the transition from 2020 to ’21.

“Our car requires some special adaptation, while we work to improve this aspect. It’s no secret that our car is good in high-speed corners and may not be the best car when you have to roll speed in mid-corner.

“We are trying to adjust some of the characteristics to make it a little bit more manageable to drive. At the same time, the important thing to deliver is aerodynamic efficiency, even if we couldn’t necessarily improve in terms of balance and [driver] exploitation of the car.

“We are relatively happy with the rate of improvement of aerodynamic efficiency that we have been able to achieve in early races and hopefully a little bit more will be coming in the next races.”

So let’s delve a little more into the characteristics of the McLaren that have stymied Ricciardo. In keeping with what Stella says about high-speed performance, Silverstone in July was a strong qualifying performance relative to Norris, even though he struggled for race pace.

But Silverstone is a high-speed circuit without so many medium and slow speed corners that remand more rotation of the car. It’s here, with the kinds of corners that dominate at the Red Bull Ring and Hungaroring, which hosted the races either side of Silverstone, that have proved difficult.

Ricciardo’s problem is that he likes to carry speed into the corner by braking a little earlier (except when making one of his trademark overtaking moves) and rolling the speed into the corner. The McLaren has a front-end weakness that is mitigated by braking later, but then appears to still require a relatively progressive application of steering lock.

Ricciardo has struggled to do this, often braking earlier than Norris and ending up with the car under-rotated, meaning he is still traction limited for longer in the exit phase than Norris simply because he’s effectively extending the corner.

“He’s a driver who likes to roll the speed in the corner and not necessarily attack the braking as much as our car requires,” said Stella. “We understood very quickly what the issue was. We could model this aspect, which means Daniel knows what to do in terms of working on the simulator, in terms of coaching the driver. But the progress that we do see race after race is not necessarily a switch.

“Sometimes I use the example of a musician. You can tell him how to play the guitar, you can use a lot of theory but at some stage he will have to spend quite a lot of time with the guitar and make quite a lot of exercises. You don’t necessarily take a step in concerts. Most of the progress you make will be when you work in background at home and you spend hours and hours exercising.”

Just as Ricciardo has done, Stella points out the lack of testing opportunities has made this problem harder to get on top of. Ricciardo had just a day-and-a-half in the car pre-season and since then has done his learning on race weekends. At times, he’s been intensively coached by race engineer Tom Stallard as he battles to tune into a driving style he’s at odds with.

But this has to fit in with the usual work of the race weekend and can’t waste time doing needless experimentation. It’s an extra distraction, but Stella says he’s “optimistic” Ricciardo will eventually get on top of it – and has been impressed with how his racecraft has at least made it possible to put together a solid run of results, albeit only scoring 50 points compared to Norris’s 113.

The obvious question is why McLaren can’t simply change the characteristics of its car. After all, we have seen other drivers who had to adapt to the machinery be met in the middle by teams, notably Fernando Alonso who benefitted from a power steering change that gave him the sensitivity he needed to optimise his driving style.

But in the case of the McLaren, it is more about the aerodynamic characteristics than the mechanical ones. And even if the trait could be eliminated, it would likely make the car less competitive. The need to brake late and the fact the car can have a weak front end perhaps indicates the necessity to be more aggressive in shifting the aero centre of pressure forwards at corner entry in lower and mid-speed corners.

If you brake earlier and roll the car into the corner as Ricciardo wants to, the aero centre of pressure will not be as far forward as if the car is on the nose. But in attempting to make this style work, there is also a more aggressive shift in the aero centre of pressure rearward as the driver comes off the brakes, which also appears to be creating a limitation for Ricciardo in the corner entry phase.

It’s also a style that is close to Norris’s default approach, although it’s important to note that he’s put a huge amount of effort into evolving his driving style in recent years.

At the end of 2019, he spoke about experimenting with his style in the Abu Dhabi test and given he and Sainz struggled in different ways, the pair were able to learn from each other. The result of that was a tricky car but that both could make work – but creates a driving challenge that surprised Ricciardo.

Stella is uncertain how long this characteristic has been in the DNA of the McLaren, although it appears to have been for some time. After all, progressing along development paths often augments such characteristics over time.

“We have been scratching our heads on how long this characteristic goes back in time,” said Stella.

“The aerodynamics is where the forces come from and I think it goes back to some seasons before the current season. It’s a set of characteristics in terms of how the car delivers the aerodynamic forces, which is not new to this year’s car.

“This year’s car is a close sister of last year’s and there’s certainly a close relationship to the previous years’ cars. So it has to do with the methodology that can produce quick cars, but with some [specific] characteristics.”

It’s also important to remember that the aerodynamic characteristics are not independent of the mechanical ones.

What’s crucial is the interaction of the mechanical platform and the aero – as well as the all-important aero performance of the floor.

This is not just about how the car is loaded up front to rear, but also in other directions. It’s a hugely complex equation to capture these interactions through all phases of a corner and this is where understanding of the characteristics will lie. This is why McLaren is largely stuck with the characteristics for the rest of the season.

“F1 cars are entirely dominated by aerodynamic delivery,” said Stella. “Then you work with suspension and the other mechanical aspects, but those aspects are often compensation and integration, not the leading parameter which is the aerodynamic delivery of the car at the various attitudes, the attitudes being the front ride height, the rear ride height, the yaw angle, the roll angle.

“This is what causes the car to be strong in a straight line and to be less strong as soon as you generate some yaw angle or rotation of the car. At the same time, when I talk about aerodynamics, this is definitely what leads to this characteristic, but it is also quite difficult to fine tune because to generate the aerodynamic forces you need to establish floor structure.

“It takes months or years of development to consolidate these floor structures so that you can achieve the aerodynamic efficiency of the car is absolutely astonishing and never matched in the past by any Formula 1 car.

“So when you embed these characteristics so deeply, it is difficult to change them. So it’s easier to work with mechanical aspects, but even those aspects are relatively limited because of homologation in 2021.

“You find yourself relatively stuck and that’s why a lot of the requirement and a lot of the demand shifts to the driver’s side. This is the tool, it’s quick, but it needs to be driven in a certain way.

“There’s not much we can do at the moment. So while we can improve the aerodynamic efficiency, it is a lot more difficult to improve some of the characteristics with a mind to the driving style.”

You might assume that these characteristics will be eliminated next year given the comprehensive change in regulations, but Stella suggests it is possible that it could be a consequence of the methodology used by McLaren.

If it’s a product of the underlying science, then it’s possible the characteristics could carry over. This is why Ricciardo can’t simply ride out the season then start anew in 2022. What’s more, given it has produced a competitive car, it would be wrong to say that McLaren has got things wrong.

All F1 cars have what is called ‘limit behaviour’, particularly when it comes to corner entry. Some aspects will always ‘give up’ first and it’s simply that McLaren is a more extreme example of the tradeoffs present in most cars.

“I find this quite typical,” said Stella when asked if this was something he had encountered before. “Even going back to my days at Ferrari there were various seasons in which the cars were pretty much experiencing similar characteristics.

“It’s always a bit difficult to find the right blend between having the car which is strong in mid-corner and maintains good characteristics in straightline speed. Conversely, if you focus your car on straightline and high-speed, then it comes a bit difficult to maintain good aerodynamics in the middle of a corner

“It’s not McLaren specific. What is McLaren specific is that our car is clearly on one side of this typical split of characteristics that you can achieve.” (X)

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Werewolf: The Apocalypse "Kinfolk: Unsung Heroes" Introduction & Ch.1

"I have normal human fears and frailties, despite my faith."

"I’m terrified I won’t be there when they need me, that I won’t be able to give fully of myself to save them when the time comes. And the price of my failure, for them, would be too high."

"It was like nothing else mattered, nothing else could fill my eyes like the sight of him."

"Now, of course, I realize I was in shock at the time clammy skin, disorientation, that sort of thing."

"That night misted over my senses; even now, it seems more like a vivid dream than anything else."

"I had to watch. I couldn’t turn away."

"That night, I saw I had to protect him. He needed me, and it’s just as simple as that."

"Let’s just say what I know has come in handy."

"The best folks give the most of whatever they can."

"Think about it — would you like to go through childbirth every nine months from age 14 to 50?"

"We’re human beings, dammit!"

"I’ll always do anything I can to help, even if I’m royally pissed; I don’t expect thanks or money, either. But it would be nice to get some respect."

"I'm not alone in saying that I hate being patronized."

"Give an inch, they’ll take a mile" is what some of them think about us."

"The rhetoric a lot of them use sounds like the same crap bigots give when trying to “justify” why women and minorities shouldn’t have equal rights."

"Just once, I’d like to feel like an equal, a partner in all this."

"Ever think about how hard things would be without us?"

"I see by your scowl that doesn’t satisfy you."

"Think of it as normal family responsibilities, magnified a thousand times."

"It’s practically medieval!"

"I mean, it looks like such fun to turn into a wolf."

"There are connections like you wouldn’t believe. Completely outside the law, these people can get dirt on the opposition, perform b&e without leaving a trace and provide muscle no other boss can beat. All they ask is some capital, some boltholes and a little legal cover. Sweetest deal in the world!"

"What do I think about it? Imagine what it’d be like for someone to call you and say you’d missed out on a million dollars because you got one wrong number on the lottery ticket."

"Some are too caught up in the things of humans —chasing after money to have what advertisers insist they can’t do without, living their soap-opera lives and not seeing what the world is really all about. I pity them."

"There is sweeter revenge than death."

"I laugh with joy thinking how your heart will burst should you ever have to face him in battle."

"It’s a great honor to be who I am, who we are. But it’s scary, too."

"Families can quarrel, snarl and cut one another to the quick, but in times of trouble, they’ll stick together."

"God, Allah, Gaia, the Great Spirit or whoever gave us this job, so we have to do the best we can with it."

"Blood also fetters our lives in hatred as well as love, I’m afraid to say."

"I’m not saying this is a fact, but if she was abused, it might explain some things."

"I’m sorry, I can’t quite imagine a moment of sensual passion with someone I don’t love, much less hardly know!"

"In other words, it’s the connections that’re vital, not the money or the mileage."

"Many have wealth, but not all; lineage, not money, is most important."

"That’s a heavy price to pay in a harsh world."

"Self-sacrifice is also important."

"Sacrifice comes in terms of emotional costs, too."

"It’d be pretty stupid for me to become a gun-toting mercenary, for example."

"To put a positive spin on all this, I guess I’d say it’s nice to be needed."

"I admit I don’t really understand what it is or when it’ll be, but many’s the Irish tale where a small oversight wreaked terrible disaster."

"So I got online and made a few phone calls and tried to get the “truth” in as many forms as I could."

"The word “family” has come to mean a lot more things than the 1950s concept of mommy, daddy and two perfect children."

"Raising children is no bed of roses, either."

"Kids love to test their parents and see just how far they can push and still get away with it."

"There’s no way this could be easy."

"Some days, I have to bite my tongue, and that does get old."

"I was just too stupid and blind to see it."

"I always felt like I was split, alone, part of something I couldn’t name."

"Listen, you have no idea what it’s like to watch someone you love slowly lose her mind."

"There are some, well, bimbos."

"You know, the ones that like to control CEOs and topple careers."

"Here, try a piece of this chicken gizzard. I get ’em real cheap down at the butcher shop. No one else seems to want these extra parts. I grill ’em with a little barbecue sauce and honey mustard. Delicious! Thanksgiving’s always the best time, though. Then there’s turkey necks for the takin’!"

"Our families are pretty big, and we figure even the most distant cousin or friend of a friend’s part of the group."

"I’m sure you know, working with people all the time, how far thanks and a friendly smile go when you’re dead on your feet. It’s like the sun’s come out on a cloudy day."

"I mean, some of that stuff is long outdated!"

"It’s more a matter of belief and pureness of spirit, if you ask me."

"The Network also has a lot of splinter groups that organize among youth, educators, environmentalists and so on."

"The Network also has a lot of splinter groups that organize among youth, educators, environmentalists and so on."

"We’re steadfast and steady, yet vibrant and alive, warriors, artists, writers, musicians beyond compare."

"I don’t know if we can save them, but we won’t give up."

"To be tested and accepted by the greatest warriors in the world — no greater honor can we ask for."

"Think of us as the tiny little parts that hold a machine together. Maybe it could function without us, but not without a lot of wear and tear on the system. You get my drift."

"If leader seems weak, I test him. He shows strength, I stop."

"They’re the ones who are causing all the problems by rebelling against the people in charge. They need to settle down and just be content with what they’ve got, if you want my opinion."

"Why should I worry? It’s a clear day. Traffic’s light, but walking’s fine. You get to see where you’re going. I’ll hit a little town ’fore dark and trade a song or story for some food and a piece of floor."

"Revolutions are intolerable and inexcusable."

"The aristocracy attained their positions for a reason, for only the most worthy were chosen to lead, after all. If the

lower classes overthrow the aristocrats, anarchy is the sure result. One need only look at history; Can the Russians truly say their lot improved after they murdered the Romanovs?"

"History has always been a beloved subject to me."

"I pity those souls, displaced by fortune, who are ignorant of their heritage. How can one know who he is without knowing where he comes from? A man — or woman — is the sum of all who came before."

"Money is not the issue; many great families lost their fortunes, yet retain their nobility."

"It’s a poor teacher who doesn’t learn from her student; in this way, the knowledge of both increases."

"Dreams, of course, are the pathways of our souls; here rest our secret desires, fears and hopes."

"You doubt me. You don’t speak against me, but I can see your heart is dubious."

"There’s no greater glory than to serve the destiny of the universe."

"The lacerations looked exactly like the work of sharp teeth, deep into his flesh."

"I won’t go s’far as to say there’s undying loyalty, but we do have a lot of respect for each other."

"Were I as capable as my ancestors, I’d kill you now and never spare a second thought."

"No atonement can replace those lost children."

"Thus far, we have been lucky, but it’s just a matter of time before someone we don’t want sneaks in. It’s not that I want to close ranks by any means; I just wish we paid a little closer attention to who came in from the cold."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you think we’re a dime a dozen. I’d like to believe we’re a little more special than most."

"We’ve built too much for a rotten apple to spoil it all."

"I don’t believe this guy; it seems almost too perfect to be true!"

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XVIII]

Word count: 4,365

Warnings: reader is still at Dracula’s *shrug*

Pairing: Dracula x reader

AO3 link | masterlist

A/N: 1. I'm not posting the chapters as consistently as I'd like to because work has been really time consuming lately and when I do get time to write I'm too exhausted to think up of anything coherent. Holidays are approacing and my workload has only increased so I don't know if I'll be able to post chpt 19 in December. I'll try but I can't guarantee anything. If that doesn't happen, then I wish all of you happy holidays.  [edit: I slipped, and accidentally uploaded a version where the reader has a name (she does in my doc). Apologies, everybody. It’s fixed now.]

 __________________________________________

Dracula carried me to the bathroom. I stifled a giggle as soon as we crossed the threshold. It was either the biggest bathroom I had ever seen or I was shrinking. The walls were black marble with white and grey veins. Heavy curtains like the ones in the dining room covered a wall. Light peeked from under it. I supposed there was a big window there so that one could admire London’s skyline from inside the oval bathtub placed near it. Across from the sink countertop and a large mirror, stood the shower separated from the rest of the room by  blurred glass.

He lowered me near the bathtub, murmuring for me to open the faucets. Keeping one arm around his neck, I reached and opened them. As the bathtub filled, Dracula held me under his shower to let the water wash off the blood. He stripped me of the rest of my clothes. When I swayed on my feet, he enveloped me in a hug to keep me steady. Drowsy, I buried my head on his chest and closed my eyes. 

Hot water embraced my whole body and I opened my eyes with a start as I was carefully lowered into the bathtub with him. His fingers kneaded my scalp and tugged softly on my hair as he washed it. The contours of my body were touched with the sole intent of cleaning it. After so much of moving me around, of raising my limbs and tender touches, I fell still, lying on him with my cheek on the crook of his neck. 

Submerged in water and in deep silence, I was suspended in a veil of sleep and wakefulness, threading between the two. For a moment I wondered if I was not dreaming. If perhaps I fell asleep at some point on the tube from Covent Garden to Knightsbridge and dreaming of peace in the arms of Count Dracula was the illusory result. As a test, I squeezed him lightly. He squeezed back. 

Not a dream. 

This was real. Everything that had just happened was real. There was no bond. My will was my own. I had a bite on my neck. Mallory had one and so did Diana. I was his. He said he was mine. 

Was this peace?

I shivered. 

“Are you cold?” I heard his voice deep inside his chest, the rumble it made inside his ribcage. It was quiet in there, except when he spoke. 

“No.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Maybe the water is getting cold,” I mumbled, pressing my eyes closed. This was peace. Peace, I insisted.

“The water is still hot,” he said. He pushed the hair that clung to my neck and I flinched at the slight soreness there but relaxed as he stroked the skin gently. “I may have taken too much.” 

He moved beneath me. I opened my eyes with a sigh as he sat up and leaned his back against the tub. His legs parted my own and he pulled me up to straddle him. I felt his length grazing my inner thigh. I was briefly distracted as I remembered his size stretching me but Dracula made a brusque movement with his hand that pulled my mind away from that. A dark carmine line appeared above his collarbone. 

“Drink,” he beckoned.

I spared the blood a glance before fixing my eyes on his face.

“You’ve already given it to me.”

“You need more.” He held my cheek, drawing me closer. “You’re weak. It’ll help.”

I shook my head. Blood started sliding down the hairs on his chest. It glimmered. My mouth watered.

“I’ll be fine,” I insisted, forcing myself to look up. 

“Y/N,” he hissed my name, and like some sort of spell it wrapped around me and tightened, “you’re pale and shivering.” Dracula knitted his eyebrows as he evaluated me. The hand he had on my cheek coiled behind my head. “Drink it.”

My stomach fluttered. I gazed at the carmine sliver. Watched as it reached the bathwater and blossomed like red tendrils until it faded into pink hue. 

“Later, perhaps,” I said. I covered the cut on his neck with my hand. He frowned. “I haven’t eaten anything in hours. Food will make me feel better.” He continued staring at me, as if he was waiting for me to give in under the weight of his gaze. I dipped my hand underwater and pulled the drain stopper. The water gurgled as it started draining. “Help me out of the tub? I don’t think I can stand up on my own just yet.”

He nodded, the crease between his brows deepening. He pulled my arms around him and tied my legs around his waist before standing up. Water sloshed in the bathtub and dripped from our bodies in a sudden cascade of sound. I shivered again and held him tighter, seeking some warmth from the stark change of temperature. I flinched instinctively when he went to sit me down on the sink countertop, expecting the marble to feel cold but it was the furthest thing from it, and I relaxed. 

“There's a heating system in the entire bathroom,” he explained as he reached beneath the countertop and retrieved a pile of white towels. “The floors are heated, too.”

Sitting atop the block of solid marble, I matched his height and had no need to bend my head to look into his eyes, which was a relief with my sore neck. The cut he had opened above his collarbone was gone. 

I took two towels from him; one for my hair and another to dry myself off. He smiled faintly as he tied a towel around his waist. Carefully so as to not pull at the wound on my neck, I wrapped a towel around my body as if it was a cape. I eyed the second towel next to the copper sink. Dracula took it and started drying off my hair. “Thank you,” I said in a relieved smile that he seemed to understand without my needing to ask for help. 

Taking strands of my hair with the towel, he pressed them to soak up the water. At times he rubbed the towel on my scalp. His own hair looked black instead of dark brown as droplets of water dripped down to his nose. One drop landed on his lip. It hung from his cupid bow, undisturbed. The drop grew fat as tiny particles of water coalesced around it. Even so, it sat still on the curve of his mouth. I glanced up at his eyes. He was too absorbed in drying my hair to pay it any mind. I leaned closer, intent on catching the drop before it fell, but strands of my hair fell like a curtain in front of my eyes when he used the towel to rub my head again and I huffed inwardly. 

I blew the hair away from my face. It fell over my eyes again.

“No fussing,” he said, as he swiped the hair away with a flick of his hand in the towel. 

As if the drop on the curve of his mouth had grown heavy, he pressed his lips together and licked it. Apparently satisfied, he tossed the towel to the side and picked up a small comb from under the sink. 

“That won’t detangle my hair,” I told him. “I have a brush on my purse that I use.” 

He nodded and left the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake. I adjusted the towel on my shoulders and turned to have a look in the mirror behind me. I pressed my lips together and bit them lightly to bring some colour back to them. They remained pale. I tipped my chin to try and have a look on my new bite when Dracula returned, my hairbrush in one hand, and a chair from his dining table in the other. 

“Sit and I’ll brush your hair for you,” he said as he placed the chair in front of the sink. He extended a hand for me, but I ignored it and set my feet on the ground to make sure my legs could keep me up. They wobbled but did not bend. Dracula watched me with a raised eyebrow, hand still extended in case my knees failed me but made no other movement to help as I took a step towards the chair and sat down. 

Hugging the towel close to me, I stared at Dracula through the mirror as he started brushing my hair from the tips. He held a strand close to my roots as he got rid of a knot. He didn’t tug on my hair once.

“You’ve done this before,” I said as he swiped the brush through a detangled strand. 

“Brushed a woman’s hair?” He asked, without raising his gaze to our reflection. I nodded. “My late wife enjoyed having her hair brushed, and she enjoyed brushing mine. I wore my hair long back then.”

“And Lucy?” The name left an acid taste on my tongue. Dracula continued brushing, unbothered. “Do you brush her hair, too?”

I held my breath. I’d asked the question on impulse but I was glad I had. 

“No. She didn’t like having her hair touched by anyone other than herself.”

“Didn’t? Past tense?” 

He regarded me with amused eyes. 

“I grew tired of Lucy.” He moved to my right to brush that side. “I won’t be seeing her anymore.” 

I tried smiling but it took effort to pull my cheeks up. The smile looked more like a wince. The news that I was the only one now should have made me happy.

He was mine forever, as I was his. He’d said so. 

Our deal was over. There was nothing left to wonder about. But wonder I did. Wondered about red silks, sharp teeth and iron in my mouth; about crazed eyes and red becoming pink. 

I drank my own blood and delighted in it; drank his blood and salivated at the thought. I lived a world of cravings in that dining room and satiated them all at once. And they were my cravings, all mine, not his, not a bond. Without a bond to shield me, I was peeled.

Was this myself? 

“What’s on your mind?,” he questioned, fingers working carefully to untangle a mass of hair that not even the brush managed to work through. The feeling of those same fingers in my mouth invaded my thoughts and my tongue rubbed the roof of my mouth in remembrance. “Are you having regrets?” I stared at his face in the mirror, trying to capture his eyes and read his thoughts on them, but he kept his gaze locked on his task. “About giving in to me? A little horrified at your choices? I did bite your friends, and nearly killed a few of them, perhaps now you’re questioning yourself. How is Mallory, by the way? I trust that she’s making a steady recovery.”  I kept silent. “I’ll take that as a confirmation. If you are having regrets, Y/N, and wondering if you can get away, I’ll discourage those thoughts right now. I will hunt you down, especially after we–”

“No.”

He stopped brushing at my answer and met my eyes.

“No?”

“I’m not regretting anything.”

“Really?” His eyebrows went up, as if he didn’t believe me.

“Stop needling me.”

“Then explain why you didn’t drink my blood.”

“I did drink–”

“When I offered you not less than 10 minutes ago,” he interrupted. His lips were thin with impatience. “I would like to understand why.” He swooped my hair to the side, exposing the bite on my neck. “Are you scared?”

I wished that we were on the bathtub again, in silence and in peace. But the peace was a mere illusion. I knew we would come to this. He would question me and test me. He always did. 

“Yes, actually,” I said through the knot on my throat. His jaw clenched. “I am scared. But not of you. I fell in love with you, despite–” he opened his mouth to say something “– no, let me speak. Despite what you’ve done and all that you’re capable of, I fell in love with you and I don’t regret it. But I’m scared of myself and what I can become.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m human. A normal one, I always thought. I shouldn’t enjoy the taste of blood. I shouldn’t enjoy being covered in it. But I did, I do.” My lip trembled. “What does that make me?”

He grinned.

“Perfect.”

“I’m serious, Dracula.”

“So am I.”

“Please, make an effort to help. I’m this much away” –I measured with my thumb and forefinger– “from losing it.” He laughed. “I want to be with you  but I’m not sure what being a vampire means.”

“You proposed a deal to find out.”

“Yes, but I wasted it, didn’t I? Between being confused about you and then the Foundation… There’s not much I know.”

“Then ask.”

He resumed brushing my hair as he waited for a response. 

The face staring back at me in the mirror was my own. Would I have recognised myself covered in blood? Would I think it was a pretty image as Dracula thought? 

I imagined fangs in place of my incisors and canines, and screams of horror as I bore down on some pretty girl who begged for her life. My own laughter ringing in my ears. Death on my skin. And hunger, so much hunger. 

I blinked several times to clear my head. This is my face now. Clean, human. My teeth blunt, chewing on my cheeks. 

“Will I have to kill people?” I asked, unable to take my eyes away from the stranger in the mirror.

“You’ll want to.”

“How do you know?”

“Believe it or not, I am over five hundred years old and have had incredible amounts of practice in this matter,” he said, smiling at every word. “You’ll want to kill, and you’ll dream about it.”

“You were a killer long before you became a vampire. I won’t take your word so quickly when it comes to killing.”

“That is true. I’m very good at killing, always have been. However, I maintain my word. There is an urge for death that comes with the thirst for blood. It’s inevitable. I’ve seen it with all my little experiments.”

“But do I have to?”

“No, darling.” He gave me a reluctant smile. “You don’t have to. You can keep pets, if you like.” The way he raised one eyebrow told me we weren’t talking about the fluffy kind of pets. 

“Like you did with Renfield?”

“Renfield wasn’t a pet. Lucy, perhaps,” he shrugged, as he brushed through every strand of my hair to make sure they were completely detangled. “I’ve only drank Renfield once, you see, so he doesn’t qualify. Pets are good for when you need to be discreet–”

“Which you aren’t,” I quipped.

“– but it is fun.” He concluded, chuckling at my cheeky smile. “You can keep them alive for as long as you need them. Keeping more than one at a time is key for variety and to not tire them out, but it gets old fast. Eventually you’ll wonder how it feels to have a pulse slowing down between your teeth, to consume life and watch death take its place.”

“I may wonder, but I won’t act on it,” I muttered. Dracula raised his eyebrows, eyes sparking. “I won’t,” I repeated more strongly this time.

“Of course, darling,” he said, running the brush on my hair a few more times. “Done.” He rounded the chair and placed the hairbrush on the sink countertop. Standing in front of me, I noticed that the tips of his hair, pointing everywhere, were already drying. It was charming seeing him like this. He was always extremely composed every time I saw him. His chest hair was almost completely dry but the trail of dark hair leading to his belly button still had some beads of water. Earlier, he hadn’t allowed me to touch him and between ripping my clothes off and biting me, I hadn’t gotten a good look at him. “I'll order you food and if you still feel weak afterwards, you’ll drink my blood.” 

I looked up at that, blinking as my brain worked to process what he said.

“Maybe you should reword that and add a question mark at the end of that sentence.”

“It wasn’t a question.” He grinned. He scooped me up in his arms as if I was child. My protests were choked back in a yelp at the suddenness of the movement. The world glassed over for a second. I laced my hands around his neck, glaring at him. “If I have to hold your mouth open and make you swallow, I will. I can’t have you strutting around weakened.”

“You were asleep for the past century but it’s time you know that we have advanced in many ways and now we have something called  iron supplements ,” I told him as we left the bathroom. “You see, it comes in a tiny little pill and I take it 2 or 3 times a day–”

“My blood will have the same effect, if not better.”

“A while back you told me too much of your blood could affect me,”  I prodded, gaze locked attentively on his face. I wasn’t taking notice of where he was taking me, so when he suddenly sat down, cradling me in his arms, I found myself grabbing onto his neck in fear of falling off. Turning my head, I saw large, fluffy pillows in a dark grey bedding. His bedroom. Decor kept the same palette as the rest of the penthouse. The only light on came from behind the black headboard. “How?”

He moved me so that I could completely lean my weight on the arm he had on my back and my behind fit nicely on his lap. My towel slipped up near my knee, exposing one of my thighs. I tried crossing my legs to emulate some sense of decency but Dracula’s arm tucked under my knees had me in a steel grip. Again, I tried moving my legs, subtly nudging his arm, but he didn’t let go.

“To be quite honest–” he began slowly, catching me in his gaze “–I’m not entirely sure what the effects can be on someone willing.” He released one of my legs and as I tried adjusting myself on his lap, I felt his hand on my thigh, caressing up and down. A lazy caress, almost absent. “My brides were rather limited on that front.”

“Tell me about them.” I asked. “When we broke into the Painted Hall, you mentioned  you weren’t very successful with most of them. That they were nothing but shadows.”

“Must we reminisce?” He squeezed my thigh at the question.

“We must, yes. I need to know, and I need some assurances that I won’t become like them.” 

“You won’t.” His lips thinned, and I touched them with the tips of my fingers. They softened. 

“You can’t be sure,” I said, tracing his cupid’s bow and glancing up at those black eyes. I felt his lips stretching in a smile and I let my hand drop to his chest.

“I can.” He watched as his hand disappeared under the towel in his incessant caress. For a moment his hand slipped to my inner thigh and my breath hitched. His hand reappeared from underneath the towel and continued caressing me, apparently oblivious to my arousal. “None of them gave me their consent. Or loved me.”

“And those things make a difference?” I asked, a little breathlessly.

He followed the contours of my leg until my knee then again to my inner thigh. Up. Closer to where I was growing wet. His hand lingered between my thighs for a moment. A pulse started down low. He retreated a third time, and I choked back a whine. 

“Oh, yes, of course they do,” he said in a solemn tone, brows furrowed. “If you keep a flower caged, but give it water and light, do you think it’ll thrive as a wild flower does?”

“No.” The word was barely audible, and I shook my head to the sides to add to it.

“Correct.” His hand traveled up, and this time nudged my thighs to open. My fingers on the nape of his neck flexed. My heart beat at my center. At my throat it tried to break free, and gush as blood does. “I will not keep you caged, and everything you need I’ll give and you’ll take.” He frowned. “ In love.  What a stunning concept.” I felt the warmth of his fingers hovering, a near touch, almost ghostly. I arched my back in invitation and rose my hips to find an ending to this teasing. “Stay still. I’m trying to have a conversation.”

“Are you?” It came out in a smirk.

“Yes. You wanted answers, I’ll give them to you.” Air left my lungs in a shaky breath as his fingers finally touched me. Probing me, as in an examination. Fingertips slid over my entrance, soaked as it was, gathering some of the slickness to continue his exploration. “My last experiments were my better ones,” he continued in a conversational tone. “They weren’t obedient to me. Always ruled by hunger and desire to kill, they lost themselves, but they kept their appearance. Their body didn’t die but their minds did. They never consented or asked for immortality, and they fought me, oh how they fought me at first.” As he talked, his fingers never stopped moving but they were just exploring, seeking to perhaps memorise its details, lingering in a spot he thought interesting as he observed me, serious as ever. “But they soon learned I was their only source of food. I fed them bite sized meals–” he smiled, and dipped a finger in. Fearful that he would stop, I managed to keep my body still. A gasp escaped anyway but it didn’t seem to discourage him as a second finger joined with ease and I closed my eyes at the feeling. His fingers were much thicker than mine, and longer. He hooked his fingers up, and kept them there, simply putting pressure. If I rocked my hips in just the right way they would pump that precious spot. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t bear it if he stopped. “... but the effects faded quickly. Are you listening?” 

I nodded, my lip quivering. He started withdrawing his fingers, so I hurried on, “Y-yes.” 

“Darling,” he murmured, dipping in again and this time pumping up, “what did I just say?” A moan was my reply. I looked up at him, hoping that he would leave it be, but the twinkle in his eyes told me he wouldn’t. He was having too much fun. “Answer me.” Suddenly, his fingers were gone and he gave me a light slap on my dripping folds. My hips jerked in surprise. The second slap was less delicate than the first, making me yelp, and left a stinging pain. He soothed it by rubbing my clit, which felt all the more sensitive after being mistreated. “Let me know you were paying attention or I’ll stop.”

“Y-your blood, you gave it to them sometimes.” I said through my teeth, shutting my eyes with my all strength to try and concentrate. Another light slap. “They begged for more than scraps, more than–” I couldn’t utter the word ‘babies’. “Your blood made them more coherent and–” two of his fingers entered me again. A reward for speaking, I guessed. I needed more, and I forced myself to continue. “–and stronger. But it didn’t w-work for long.” 

“You listened. Good,” he praised. At some point I had put my hands in fists to try and remain unmoving, but as those fingers hooked up and the palm of his hand pressed up against my clit, I grabbed onto his shoulders to keep myself steady. Wetness spread down my thighs and buttocks as obscene sounds filled my ears. Pressure built as he rocked his hand. “It didn’t work because they were failures from the start, but, you are perfect. Look at me.” I opened my eyes, and saw myself reflected in the darkness of his. “You’re mine. My bride, my lover.” His fingers inside me beckoned me to come to him. I resisted, and by doing so I started shaking. “My blood is yours to drink. You will become more of what you already are by drinking it, that’s all. Now, move with me.” 

Striving for breath betweens moans, I buried my face in his chest as I arched my back and moved my hips to meet his upward thrusts. His palm pressed harshly as I fought to accompany each rub. My body seized, losing the delightful cadence that Dracula and I were making, but even as my hips bucked and my legs contorted and quaked, he continued moving his hand to press and rub until I felt lightheaded. Pleasure uncoiled, and snapped like a whip, tearing gasps out of me, and then surged in a wave of torpor. 

I collapsed in his lap and, withdrawing his fingers, he gathered me up in a near hug. I watched as he raised his hand, embarrassingly soaked, and put two fingers in his mouth. I was still breathless, but I forced my body to straighten up and grabbed his face, burying myself in his lips and tongue to savour my own taste.

“Greedy,” he chuckled when I pulled back with my chest heaving. “I’m well fed, for now. But you’re not.” He rose where we were perched and laid me on the bed. “I’ll order something for you to eat. Sleep in the meanwhile.”

My eyes shut of their own will as the pillow cradled my head. I felt Dracula taking the towel off of my body and covering me with a blanket. As I drifted to sleep, I heard myself saying, “I’ll drink you.” 

There was no response. 

 .

.

 @festering-queen @crossoverqueen89 @rheabalaur @deborahlazaroff @guiltyfiend @fallen-angel-333​ @a-dorky-book-keeper @girlonfireice @thorin-smokin-shield @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @saint-hardy @xoxodrac @illbegoinhome @dreamer2381 @princessayveke @25ocurer @vampirescurse @blue-serendipity @sunscreenfeverdream @iwasjustablur @daydreaming136 @hello-itsbarbie @bittenlove @newyorkrican922 @soph3228 @feralstare​ @libra-lovecraft​

[honeybee-babe]

The First Time Eric Saw Adam Sneeze <3 (EffOff)

I thought this was a cute idea so I ran with it but i will clarify, yes I have a sneeze kink. no i will not explain or apologize. no, this story is really NOT sexual at all it is just fluff that happens to be very sneeze-heavy, but i do have to give this warning for legal purposes :P

Canon compliant!

1,180 words

Adam Groff hated sneezing.

It made him feel gross, unrestrained, and vulnerable.

So he refrained from doing it around other people, even his own family, and only ever finally allowed himself to do it when he was completely alone. Sometimes even when he was by himself he found himself unconsciously pushing down the urge. If others were within ear shot but couldn't see him, he'd learned to expertly stifle his sneezes into silence. If he could manage it, though, he preferred to just hold back from sneezing at all.

It started when he was ten years old and first developed seasonal allergies. They'd been at a family barbeque and Dad and Uncle Peter just found it so amusing how much he was sneezing for seemingly no reason. They kept laughing about it, until finally it became an annoyance to everyone and Maureen decided they should go home. Michael complained the entire way about having had to leave early, and insisted that Adam get tested immediately so as not to embarrass himself anymore.

Now that Adam was older and had been on this whole healing process with Eric, he knew this phobia made no sense, and getting over it was essential in getting over his general insecurities. But it was just so hard when it was tied to such a viscerally uncomfortable memory.

He'd almost sneezed in front of Eric the past Sunday when they were walking Madam in the midst of a rather high pollen count, when he had intentionally skipped his meds, but he'd chickened out and squashed the urge down at the last minute, only to indulge in a fit as soon as he was out of earshot. After that awful experience, he had resolved himself to just letting it happen organically. He'd just have performance anxiety otherwise (and probably a nosebleed and hives again).

Now, it was a Wednesday evening, and it was his twelfth time officially “hanging out” at Eric's house, and also the first time Adam let him do his makeup.

Without thinking about it, Eric grabbed his makeup brush and swiped a decent amount of loose setting powder swiftly down the center of Adam's nose, not taking into account the fact that 1) Adam was not accustomed to nor expecting this sensation, or 2) Adam's nose was significantly more upturned than Eric's and he had not taken into account the appropriate angle, resulting in a large amount of powder floating into his wide nostrils. Eric watched in mild horror as the dust settled and his boyfriend scrunched up his nose, clearly in itchy discomfort.

“Shit!" At first Adam’s mental block came up and he tried to hold back, but then Eric moved to brush a bit of the dust off the tip of Adam's nose, failing to notice the way it twitched wildly under his touch. After that, it was a done deal. There was no way out. "Sorry, love, I--"

"Wait, babe, I'm gonna--" Adam cut himself off with an audible inhale, in response to which Eric pulled back, finally realizing what was happening just in time for Adam to turn to the side and squash the oncoming sneeze into silence against his fist. As predicted (but dreaded), the process then immediately repeated itself twice, progressing in volume to a (still rather quiet) half-stifle on the third and final sneeze. "uhh'NXTshiew!"

"Sorry," Adam mumbled immediately, retreating back into himself, gaze pointed directly at the floor as he sniffed and rubbed his nose rather aggressively. Eric could see the back of his neck turning red. "Really snuck up on me," he gave a nervous chuckle. He’d really expected Eric to say something by now. So when he didn't after a few moments, he looked back up at him, only to see his boyfriend grinning down at him.

What the hell did that mean?

"...what are you grinning about?" he asked cautiously, clearly confused and uncomfortable, but trying not to bring it up directly. Part of him had wished Eric wouldn’t say anything and would just ignore it, but this was somehow worse than him just outright commenting on it. He looked down at his hand, realizing he was still rubbing at his nose, and quickly lowered it. "Have I fucked it up?" he asked, and went for the tiny compact mirror on his boyfriend's desk. Eric pulled it back from him and just continued to grin. He brought his hand back up to his nose. "Have I got a bogey?" Eric just giggled and sat himself down on his boyfriend's lap.

"No, Adam. You didn't fuck it up. And you haven't got a bogey," he said sweetly, before sitting himself on his boyfriend's lap. "You have got a really cute sneeze though." Adam just stared at him blankly.

"A... cute... sneeze?" he repeated, not sure if he liked hearing that.

"Yeah," Eric repeated. "Really cute."

"...and that's a good thing?"

"Of course! Maybe a bit unexpected, but it suits you," Eric said with a little smile. "How come I've never heard it before? Seriously. We've gone to school together five years and I've never heard you sneeze. That's a bit of strange, is it not?" A spark of mischief lit up his eyes and he grabbed the makeup brush again. "I mean your nose is obviously quite sensitive," he teased, but Adam put defense up his hands in  front of his face, keeping him and the tickly brush at bay. Of course he would bring it up. Eric chuckled and set it down, an after a few moments of (very, very painstaking) thought with his eyes on the ground, Adam looked back up at him.

"I, uh. I dunno, I guess it's just, uh... it’s not something I really do around other people?" Eric shot him a look, clearly not understanding. He bit down on his lip and really thought about it for a moment before shrugging, eyes still downcast. "I guess it just feels kind of... embarrassing? Like I'm... attracting attention to myself... or something?" Eric put a finger under Adam's chin, urging him to look back up at him.

"Adam, I really don't think most people think twice about it when they see someone sneeze." Adam shrugged, casting his eyes back down again, but Eric tilted his chin back up for him and backed up a bit so he could fully smile at his boyfriend. "And more importantly, I don't want you to ever feel like you have to hold back any part of yourself around me, even something as trivial as an involuntary bodily function. Okay?"

Adam was still clearly a bit uncomfortable, but he nodded, heaving half a sigh of relief and flashing a small little smile.

"Okay. I'll try not to hold back anymore." Eric smiled.

"Good. Cause that was adorable. And bless you, by the way!” Eric said with a cute little embellishment before sneaking his boyfriend a quick kiss on the nose, watching mischievously as it twitched ferociously. He went in on the eye area now. "And I'll be more careful with the powder next time. Promise."

[twokinkybeans]

Touch Me, Please [Starker Fic] Pt.3

Summary: Tony Stark has never told anyone that he’s still a virgin. He doesn’t want to sleep with people who only want him because of his outward persona. So instead, he hires an escort. Things get a little more heated than either of them had expected. Tags/Warnings: Escort!Peter, Virgin!Tony, nff, nsfw, sexual tension, teasing, Peter is 22, Tony is 53, oral sex, 69. Taglist: @starkerswonderland @staticwhispersinthedark @starkerprince @parkers-stark​ @bluestarker (let me know if you want to be added!)

Notes: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S BEEN 2 MONTHS SINCE I POSTED FOR THIS I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT Y'ALL!!! I come bearing good news though! This was supposed to have three parts, but the plot started living its own life and now we're definitely having a fourth part as well ehehehe. Hope y'all enjoy! -Kim

Read the fic here on AO3

Or click here to find the previous chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

-

Peter knows he’s fucked. Absolutely, terribly, fucked.

And to be honest… Even that’s an understatement.

Peter clutches his coat tighter and fastens his pace. He’s snuck out of the enormous labyrinth that’s Tony’s home, and is now on his way to the bureau’s HQ. It’s still early in the morning, a little over 7 am, and Peter hopes to catch one of his managers before they start their meeting.

Peter made a grave mistake, and all he can do is spill it all out and pray that he can keep his job. He’s had unsafe sex with a customer. If there’s one thing that he should pay close attention to, it’s that. He never made a mistake like this before. However, with Tony, he completely threw his cool and composed sugar baby persona out the door; his mind lost to the wealthy man he only met last night. Tony may claim to be a virgin, which according to his eager yet sloppy techniques isn’t too hard to believe, but still. Peter shouldn’t have risked it.

He eyes the building in front of him and hesitates. He could just get a test done without his bosses knowing; play sick until he gets the results. But if they were to find out… He’d lose his job for sure. And contrary to popular belief, he’s not in the industry just for the money. He likes his career. 

In good faith, Peter steps forward and presses the doorbell.

-

Tony wakes up when a golden glow casts over his body. He smiles groggily. In his haze last night, he must’ve forgotten to close the curtains. He sighs and turns around, grabbing the sheets to tug them up a little higher. Slowly, the surroundings are getting to him. The distant sound of traffic rushing through the busy streets of NYC. The buzz of the elevator as it sweeps past his floor...

...and the complete lack of another human’s breath.

Tony swallows and his eyes flutter open. A harsh sting rips through his chest when he sees his bed is indeed empty.  “Peter?” He calls out, half-heartedly expecting an answer but not at all surprised when it stays dead silent.

-

It’s safe to say that the following days, Tony is in such a sour mood that his employees nearly cringe each time he walks across the room. He should’ve never hired an escort to have his first-ever sexual encounter with. The plan was destined to fail from the get-go, and it had. 

“Tony?”

Tony turns around to find Pepper standing in the doorway of his private office. Pepper has been his personal assistant for years now, and he is aware that he wouldn’t survive a single day without her skills in his company. She’s seen his worst more often than not - and she doesn’t deserve to be the one to take his anger - but Tony can’t help but glare. “What?” “Jeez, they were right. You’re a fucking asshole today.” Pepper says calmly and raises her eyebrows as she closes the door behind her. Tony can feel some of the tension fade from his posture and he casts his eyes down.

“What happened?” She proceeds to ask. Tony shrugs. How could he tell her? “I did something stupid.” “I figured as much.” The PA places a stack of files onto his desk and sits down in the chair opposite of him. “Personal troubles, or Stark Industries-related?” “Personal.” “Ah, good. That’s one less of a worry.”

Tony glares again, but this time it’s more playful. Pepper smirks. “Gotcha,” she hums, seemingly pleased with herself. “Now, tell me what happened.” “I can’t.” “I’m sure you can, it’s-” “It’s too embarrassing, Pep. Please, I gotta deal with this by myself.” Pepper raises her eyebrow at his words and leans onto the wooden surface.  “Then deal with it before you drag Stark Industries into whatever it is.” She shoves the stack of paper forward and smiles faintly. “After you deal with these, of course.”

“Of course.”

-

It’s late in the evening, and Tony swirls the whiskey around in his glass. He finished the work right before dinnertime and decided to take the rest of the night off.

Deal with it.

Tony snorts. How could he? Peter left. It’s plain and simple that the kid didn’t want to stay. His pretty, sweet words had been nothing but lies and deception, and Tony feels like a goddamn fool for falling for the act. Peter is an escort. Pleasing people, telling them what they want to hear, it’s his job. Tony can’t blame him. He only blames himself.

Yet, it doesn’t keep him from grabbing his phone and navigating towards the escort website. He sniffs once, finding his way to the catalog. It should be easy to find Peter. Right? Tony scrolls down the list and frowns when he hits the bottom of the page. Mmh. He scrolls back up and sits a little more upright when he can’t seem to find Peter’s picture. He taps the search bar and types in his name.

No results found.

In a wave of panic, Tony types out the bureau’s number to contact them and waits anxiously. He has no intention of bothering Peter ever again, but now that it seems he vanished, it makes him feel strangely panicked. As if every link he had to the boy is simply gone. As if nothing ever happened.

Except something did happen.

“Good evening, this is Eva. How may I help you?” “Uhmm- Hi. It’s Mr. Stark. I’m, eh, I’m looking to book Peter again? He was here last night?” “Oh, I’m terribly sorry to inform you, sir, but I’m afraid Peter is temporarily unavailable. I could put you on the waiting list for when he returns?” “Please.”

And like a stupid idiot, he disconnects straight after. He sniffs and lowers his phone. He wonders if he just made another mistake.

-

Peter sucks at his teeth, his foot restlessly tapping onto the floor. He looks at his scheduled bookings and stares at the one empty spot. There’s only one client left to call, but Peter doesn’t know if he should. After a long tirade, and thankfully, a negative STD test, he’s back in the game and good to go. But, if he couldn’t keep himself together last time… He’s not sure if it’d be professional to go back to Tony.

Sweet, innocent, handsome Tony.

“Hey,” Harley pokes his head past Peter’s shoulder and grins. “I see you’re free tonight. My pal Dave is throwing a party at the Frizzles. Wanna come?” Peter rolls his eyes at his coworker and grins. “And get Dave to hopelessly flirt with me again? No, thank you.” “Oh, come on!” Harley throws his hands into the air in desperation. “Dave is your type!” “He’s not,” Peter grumbles, nearly shuddering at the idea. “Good fella, but no, not for me. Y’know I’m into rich old classy dudes. Heck, so are you!” “Hey, no need to attack me.” Harley lowers his bum on the edge of Peter’s desk and cocks his head. “You barely ever have a night off. Don’t you wanna have some fun? I’ll try and keep Dave off your back.” “Well…” Peter sighs and stares back at the empty spot in his schedule.

“I actually have a client.” “What do you mean?” “It’s the last free spot, and I have one more client to secure a booking with me. I just…” Harley frowns, his face displaying a sudden seriousness. “Peter, did this client hurt you?” “What? No!” “Then why are you looking all gloomy at the mere thought of that one client? Is he- Did he force you to not use protection? Peter, we can have him blacklisted, and-” “It’s not at all like that, please Harls, I promise.” “Then tell me why the fuck you’re so strange about it. You’re never strange around clients. Fuck ‘em, get them hooked for more and tadaa, that’s a healthy clientele, it’s how you taught me.”

Peter groans out loud in frustration and shoves his chair back a little, trying to distance himself from the scribbled down phone number at his desk. “I like him!” “What?” “I… I like him. Dammit. He’s really fucking different than the rest of them. I’ve only slept with him once, but he’s got me hooked, not the other way around.” “Then why’d he call us again? Eva told me he sounded pretty nervous.”

Peter’s face loses all color when Harley’s words crash down on him, crumbling the reality he’d build around himself. “No, no Harley, don’t enable me on this one. It’s bad luck. I shouldn’t do it.” Peter scrunches his nose. “Tell Dave I’ll be at the party.”

Harley simply grins, his eyes glimmering mischievously as if there’s something only he knows and Peter doesn’t. “Sure thing.”

-

It’s been two weeks since the damned party. Peter doesn’t feel any better about himself. As expected, Dave had followed him around all evening. Harley, traitor he is, was nowhere to be found. In the end, Peter couldn’t take it anymore, and he straight up told Dave he wasn’t interested. Thank god the lad took it pretty well, but it doesn’t make Peter feel any less shitty about it.

Peter really should just focus on his job and put his mind away from both Dave and Tony. It’s for the best. He sighs and stares at the next appointment on his list. The name is hidden, a feature they have for clients who are high in on their privacy. Peter sighs and grabs his car keys to go to the appointment. 

-

Tony’s tapping his foot anxiously while he tries not to stare at the elevator. It’s needless to say he’s not doing a very good job at doing so. Peter’s going to be here again. Oh, God. Tony can’t shake the feeling that maybe he shouldn’t have accepted the booking when Peter’s coworker called him.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9

- Chapter 10 -

Everyone did believe that Meng Yao had been robbed in love. It even got to the point that Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen – both somehow taken by surprise by it, he had no idea how, given that it was so obviously the result he was aiming for – spent a great deal of time behind doors trying to make sure Meng Yao didn’t feel bad about it, which was very nice, if unnecessary, of them.

He assured them that he didn’t mind the gossip at all, but, well, if they were offering to spoil him…

More importantly, Wen Ruohan believed it, too, just as he’d hoped, and his belief that Meng Yao belonged to him was shored up to the point of being nigh-unbreakable, just as Meng Yao had intended. His comments on the subject, made in a small break during a Discussion Conference when Nie Mingjue was enduring a lecture from Lan Qiren, were sticky sweet and suffocating and revolting to the point that it tested even Meng Yao’s well-practiced façade.

Interestingly enough, Wen Ruohan didn’t seem to be jealous of the relationship, or even to mind its existence, as Meng Yao would have expected given his now years-long obsession. Unfortunately, he also didn’t stop his usual antics – which probably formed part of the basis for Lan Qiren’s lecture, come to think of it. He seemed to regard it as little more than a childish lark, a passing whim scarcely worth noticing; as if it didn’t matter what Nie Mingjue did because he knew, or thought he knew, how everything would end.

It was, Meng Yao reflected, the sort of thing that would drive a lesser man up the wall with rage.

Wen Ruohan did express a mild curiosity as to how far things between Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had gone, but luckily was just barely self-aware enough not to ask the supposedly jilted Meng Yao to find out more details for him.

As a result, Meng Yao was able to nod along with his recruitment speech without having to swallow back too much bile.

“You’ve always been very kind to me, Sect Leader Wen,” he said, his voice as sincere as he could make it. “I find that I’m often overlooked, given my status, though of course Sect Leader Nie’s needs must come first…”

“That is not necessarily true,” Wen Ruohan hummed. “You are just as worthy as he, with as many needs; are you not human, too? Why should you be the one overlooked?”

“Qinghe Nie values strength of arms,” Meng Yao demurred. “And mine is – lacking. There can be no comparison.”

“It must be difficult to be somewhere where you don’t fit in,” Wen Ruohan said sympathetically, as if he had any notion of such a thing. “Especially when you know there are places where you would fit in much better, if only you had a chance.”

Meng Yao heaved a sigh. “I have long ago given up hope of – other places,” he said, dropping obvious hints with his body language that the hope was merely dashed, not gone. “One should be content with one’s place.”

“Never be content with anything,” Wen Ruohan told him, his own voice slightly more sincere than usual, and it might be the only honest thing the man had ever said to him. His own personal motto, no doubt. He dropped his hand on Meng Yao’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should make more time for yourself – there are some areas in Qishan where you could go night-hunting to earn some glory, and I think you would find the game there to your liking. Especially, oh, around the end of the month?”

Meng Yao allowed himself a small victorious smile, and let Wen Ruohan think that he had convinced him that he had wanted the recruitment all along – a perfect catch, after years of setting out lures.

“That sounds like an excellent suggestion,” he said, and even meant it. “My skills have grown rusty, staying in the office so much…though I only fear I do not know the way. You know that Sect Leader Nie does not trust me at the border.”

He did, of course, but what would be the point of sending him there? Meng Yao’s skill was in logistics and management; while that was useful in active battle it would be utterly wasted in patrolling their well-armed borders to help pep up morale. But it was easy enough to make it appear to be a slight.

“You are capable of doing anything you put your mind to,” Wen Ruohan said encouragingly. “But you are right in acknowledging limits, and should not fear to turn to – capable guidance, when you find difficulty in finding your own way.”

Meng Yao lowered his eyes, full of triumph – for real, this time. “I am honored that Sect Leader Wen is willing to instruct me.”

Wen Ruohan patted him on the shoulder again, then went off his own way. Meng Yao turned to do the same, and abruptly saw Lan Wangji standing in the distance, looking out a window at the sky; it gave him a start, wondering if the younger man had seen. Hopefully not, or at least he’d hopefully know to keep his mouth shut – Meng Yao would have to go feel him out later.

The work never ended, he thought to himself with a sigh, and returned to Nie Mingjue’s side before his sect leader broke something trying to keep his mouth shut while talking to Lan Xichen’s uncle about righteous conduct, a subject on which the Lan sect seemed to think they had the final say and on which Nie sect principles were wildly and fundamentally different.

(Lan Wangji seemed to act the same as always when Meng Yao talked to him later – which was to say, virtually expressionless except for whatever it was that Lan Xichen claimed he could read in his posture, and still hilariously distractable with news of Wei Wuxian, who he’d met for all of a few months during the lessons in the Cloud Recesses that Nie Huaisang had finally passed – and that was a relief. The less Meng Yao had to think about what he was doing when he wasn’t actively doing it, the better.)

Getting permission – and publicly – to go out night-hunting was easy enough, since Nie Mingjue actively enjoyed slaughtering evil beasts for the good of mankind and thought that everyone else did too; he only needed to casually mention that it had been a while since he’d had time to go out to stretch his legs and Nie Mingjue immediately suggested that he go out on a night-hunt.

Convincing him not to come along with was slightly more difficult, especially when he mentioned that he’d heard some whispers of a demonic presence near the border with Qishan – Wen Ruohan was certainly demonic enough, in Meng Yao’s opinion – but with his position it wasn’t difficult to juggle the paperwork schedule to ensure that there was far, far too much work for Nie Mingjue to accompany him.

Arranging that Lan Xichen come to visit shortly before he left was an extra perk that Meng Yao included for both of them – for himself, getting to spend a wonderful day in the presence of someone infinitely more relaxing than Nie Mingjue, and for Nie Mingjue, getting to spend time on paperwork with someone infinitely more sympathetic than Meng Yao, who truly enjoyed the process of comparing long lists of received goods with each other to see if something was missing.

He’d miss Lan Xichen’s departure due to his night-hunt, but that was good, too – him going off to an atypical night-hunt would be understood by the majority of the cultivation world as a huffy retreat to avoid having to see his former lover and his superior together, and no one would think twice about it.

Once it was all set up, it was only a matter of waiting.

Wen Ruohan was confident in him, Meng Yao knew, and rightfully so: if he’d really been the person he’d been displaying in his presence since childhood, Wen Ruohan’s tricks would have snared him without question. A fool with an endless pit in his heart, greedy for affection and too stupid to be able to realize that no amount of glory would satisfy that greed, cunning but having no heart to see the bigger picture…dumb enough to agree to go meet Wen Ruohan, but smart enough to demand a measure of trust before he did.

A measure of trust – like the guide he’d insisted on.

Like the identify of whoever it was that had been so-cleverly dropping off all those letters, over all those years. Whoever it was had to have a considerable position in the Unclean Realm since the time Lao Nie had been in charge, and corrupted by Wen Ruohan since way back then; someone who had the freedom of the interior parts of the fortress, someone trusted, with good enough martial arts to avoid being spotted even when Meng Yao was specifically looking to identify them.

He’d run some tests and confirmed to his satisfaction that it seemed to be the same person each time, so there was only one high-level spy he needed to be concerned about – there were others, of course, but Meng Yao knew about those, and what he knew he could manage.

Or, well, Nie Zonghui could manage, he supposed. Nie Zonghui was technically the one in charge of managing personnel, or at least he was whenever he wasn’t stuck on some type of body-guarding duty – while they hadn’t shared classes due to the age gap between them, Nie Zonghui being older, Meng Yao knew that they’d had all the same ones, preparing them for much the same role. Between the two of them as advisors, Nie Zonghui was better suited for fighting and advising on situations involving imminent death, and they'd generally divided the work accordingly, but he was more than competent enough at managing spies and Meng Yao had handed the job off to him with great satisfaction. It worked very well.

Well, as long as Nie Zonghui didn’t turn out to be the traitor, anyway.

Meng Yao sincerely hoped he wasn’t. Nie Zonghui’s hobby was learning saber forms, and he spent all his free time on it to the point that he made Nie Mingjue’s training schedule look reasonable – Nie Mingjue was still the more powerful of the two, but only because he had ridiculously high cultivation for someone his age.

(That high cultivation had made his position as sect leader secure and allowed him to earn a name and a title and respect throughout the cultivation world, but Meng Yao wasn’t the only one that worried about how Nie sect cultivators died of qi deviation once they got too powerful. But Nie Mingjue was fairly stable for the moment, despite his rapid advancement, and Lan Xichen had devoted himself to trying to find a way to keep it that way – Meng Yao thought he might allow himself some room to hope.)

It turned out that the traitor wasn’t Nie Zonghui.

It was Wu Bixian, one of the army commanders, which was not quite as bad but only slightly.

Wu Bixian was from a smaller sect very close to Qinghe, a part of the Nie clan by marriage to one of the closer cousins. He was a good warrior, a tolerable commander, and had once had the occasion to save Lao Nie’s life in their youth together – he had been in a position of trust for a long time. He was wealthy, in the way most members of the Nie sect were with the sect’s treasury at their back and night-hunts to their name (Nie Mingjue’s comment as a child that the money ran free and easy once you started night-hunting wasn’t wrong) and he had a good wife, a few children, a saber of his own, moderately strong cultivation that was slowly gaining in strength…He had never shown any interest in acquiring more power than he had, no lust for domination, nothing like that.

He seemed content.

He was one of the ones that made snide comments about Meng Yao’s mother and had initially tried to refuse to take Meng Yao’s orders, even the ones that came straight from Nie Mingjue, until Nie Mingjue had personally told him to cut it out or else accept a demotion in favor of someone who could follow orders, but given how early the letters had started landing on Meng Yao’s desk, his betrayal must have happened far earlier than that incident and could not be the inciting factor.

Meng Yao had no idea what sort of things had Wen Ruohan offered to turn him, but whatever it was, he hoped Wu Bixian had enjoyed it while it lasted because he was going to kill him.

“It is kind of Commander Wu to take time out of his day to assist me,” he murmured, lowering his eyes to hide his rage even as his voice remained sweet and gentle.

“Sect Leader Nie wanted to make sure you were safe,” Wu Bixian said, and for half a second there Meng Yao wondered if it had been some sort of terrible miscommunication because he could see Nie Mingjue doing that, but then Wu Bixian continued, “I thought it would be good for someone like you to have a proper guide to teach you.”

If he had used anything like that language around Nie Mingjue, he wouldn’t have been allowed to come help, and that meant that Wu Bixian was in fact the right contact.

“I will follow in your footsteps,” Meng Yao said, still playing cautious. He saw a smirk steal over the other man’s face, smug and arrogant, and they left without another word between them.

With Commander Wu with him, finding a place to cross the territory line into Qishan without being spotted was easy – and worrisome, of course – and it wasn’t long before they arrived at the forest glade where Wen Ruohan was waiting for them.

His retainers had already set up a place for them to take tea, with him sitting above and them below, and even his traveling chair resembled the throne to which Wen Ruohan believed himself to be entitled.

Before they left the woods, Wu Bixian elbowed Meng Yao in the side, hard. “None of the backtalk you sometimes give Sect Leader Nie,” he instructed. “You ought to count yourself as very lucky that Sect Leader Wen has come himself to meet with you – he puts a high priority on the affairs of Qinghe Nie.”

That meant that Wu Bixian thought himself better than Wen Ruohan’s other spies in other territories, which were probably only good enough to report to a Wen disciple, or maybe Wen Xu if they were especially prominent.

Arrogance was good. Meng Yao could use arrogance.

He knelt in front of Wen Ruohan, giving him the deference he longed for – he’d only ever knelt to Nie Mingjue once, when he’d sworn an oath to him as part of becoming an official disciple of the Nie sect, and it had been outrageously awkward for them both – and Wen Ruohan smiled.

“You made a wise choice,” he said. “Qinghe Nie will not remain standing and independent for much longer. Only those that realize the truth will have a chance to influence the future.”

“Sect Leader Wen’s strength is undeniable,” Meng Yao said, because his mother taught him how to say the words that men wanted to hear. His mother as she used to be, before Sisi came back into her life and made her happy – his mother, who now spent some time being mistress of Qinghe, some time traveling, some time merely visiting other places with Sisi at her side; his mother, who asked him if he was happy with Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, who accepted his answer and sought to aid him as much as she could; his mother, who loved him, well if not always wisely. “I do not wish to be on a sinking boat when I could join the rising tide.”

There was a bit more of that, mostly mutual ego-stroking and puffery, but finally Wen Ruohan got to the point: “What is it that you want?”

“My rightful inheritance,” Meng Yao said, because it was the safest thing to ask for. He didn’t really care if Wen Ruohan got rid of Jin Guangshan, after all, and Nie Huaisang’s reports hadn’t been especially positive in regards to Jin Zixuan – Wen Ruohan would probably just disinherit him in favor of Meng Yao, and leave him alive to cause Meng Yao too many problems to have time to rebel. And it was much safer than asking for anything else. “The venerable Sect Leader Wen is above such petty matters as gossip, of course, but he undoubtedly already knows…my father…”

“The Jin sect is a pearl of great value,” Wen Ruohan said lazily. “Do you think your service can justify such a reward?”

“I am sure of it,” Meng Yao said, full of confidence.

“And there’s nothing else you want?”

Meng Yao hesitated, having not anticipated that question the way he had others, and Wen Ruohan laughed to see him. “I told you before not to be content,” he said with a smile Meng Yao did not trust. “You have chosen wisely to trust in the power of the sun, and in the heat of its rays, from the ashes of the old ways, too stiff in their rules to change, you will be rewarded with your heart’s desire.”

Meng Yao smiled. “I await your excellency’s benevolence with eagerness, to give me light where I have been blind.”

He bowed and took his leave, heading back to Qinghe with the heads of some fierce corpses to show as the results of his hunt – Wen Ruohan was thoughtful, in some ways – and left Wu Bixian behind to discuss further matters to which Meng Yao was still too new to hear: an excellent people management stratagem to whet Meng Yao’s jealousy of Wu Bixian’s position, while also assuaging any concerns Wu Bixian had regarding his primacy.

The second he was out of sight, he pulled Chiwen out of the qiankun pouch he’d tucked into his sleeve – sabers generally disliked small places like that, but Chiwen had always been extremely understanding of the indignities one had to suffer to achieve greatness – and threw him down, leaping on top of him and hurrying forward at break-neck speed, and even so he only just barely managed to catch Lan Wangji before he disappeared back into the woods.

(He hadn’t realized that Lan Wangji was suspicious at first, despite him having coming willingly to the Unclean Realm alongside Lan Xichen and being even less social than usual; it wasn’t until that very morning, when he’d murmured some denial about having plans for the day – and Lan Wangji always had plans for the day – that Meng Yao had realized that he might need to keep an eye out for a tail.)

Lan Wangji was stiff as a board, his hand already sliding to Bichen on his waist; Meng Yao ignored it.

“You need to go back to the Cloud Recesses,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

Lan Wangji paused. “Why?”

“Because Wen Ruohan is going to burn it down,” Meng Yao said flatly. “The Lan sect doesn’t have the ability to stop him, but if you go now, you can pack away your sect’s most valued treasures and hide them away somewhere safe before they do.”

“Why?” Lan Wangji asked again, still wary, only this time he meant why are you telling me this.

“Because you have to make sure Lan Xichen isn’t there,” Meng Yao said. “He’ll hate it and he’ll fight having to run away with every ounce of will he has, but he can’t be there – or else everything will be so much worse.”

“Sect Leader Wen told you?”

“He all but promised me Lan Xichen as a prize for my cooperation.” Lan Wangji flinched, and Meng Yao nodded grimly. “Make sure he has a safe place to go. The Nie sect will come to your aid, nominally, but the real purpose will be to make it seems as though the Wen sect has defeated two Great Sects in one blow – it will be devastating to the morale of the smaller sects, and convince many of them to just give in to Wen domination rather than fight back...listen, come up with whatever reason you have to in order to convince them, but don't explain where you learned of the information. You understand?”

Lan Wangji nodded slowly. “You plan to spy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Meng Yao said, because he was far beyond planning at this point. But he knew, as Lan Wangji might not, that the elders of the Lan sect would never listen to Sect Leader Jin's bastard son or Sect Leader Nie's aide, so recently jilted in love - they weren't like Nie Mingjue or Lan Xichen, who would understand. “Listen, empty the Library Pavilion in advance, wait until they’ve started burning the other buildings, and then set fire to it yourself. If you defend it as if it’s full, maybe you can convince the Wen sect that they’ve done more damage than they really have.”

He shook his head – he’d been hoping to have more time, but the winds of war always came more swiftly than hoped. “Good luck, travel fast, and above all tell no one.”

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Letter From a Friend

At this point you know as much about what’s happening as I do. Also on AO3.

Without my armor, I felt naked and exposed even though I wore a standard-issue uniform.

Other than the human who had given me orders outside, no one spoke to me. The armed soldiers had escorted me into an empty room, ordered me to stand down, and left me there. I could hear them arguing in the room next door, and still I didn’t know who they were.

Manager Deneault was yelling, and after a while I figured out that he was pissed off that I wasn’t a rogue construct. I had the impression that he expected me to be some kind of aberration, and he was disappointed that I was just another SecUnit, and a malfunctioning one at that. I didn’t know why he believed I would be rogue. They’re dangerous, and if I met one, I would have reported it immediately. 

I kept listening and eventually one of his superiors solved the puzzle for me. “It was rogue when PreservationAux bought it, according to our sources. Something must’ve happened to it since then. The newsfeeds even mentioned that it watched entertainment media like a goddamn person.”

I blinked and tried to parse the words. Entertainment media? Watching it was illegal; if I had tried, my governor would have fried me. None of this made any sense. ART’s final words lingered in the back of my mind, just as confusing and unsettling as the conversation happening on the other side of the wall.

Three minutes later, a technician came into the room and introduced himself. “Hello, SecUnit. I’m technician Novotny, and I need you to run a few diagnostics for me.”

“Yes, Technician Novotny.”

The human gave me a list of subroutines and diagnostic tools to run, and I started working through them. It was going to take some time. The tech must’ve known that because he sat down in the only chair in the room and pulled out a small display surface. He tapped something on the screen, and a melody began to play through the devices tinny and inadequate speakers.

I had never heard the music before, but it was achingly familiar in a way that made my head hurt. For no discernable reason, my organic parts felt safe and warm at the sound. 

A new process called “memory retrieval version 1” spun up among all the other processes currently running on my system. It didn’t appear to do anything, but since it wasn’t hogging processor cycles, I left it alone while I worked on the technician’s rather thorough request.

When I finished I said, “Technician Novotny, I have the results you requested.”

The human got up from his seat and tapped something on his display surface. Briefly, I could access the feed again, and he directed me where to upload the results he wanted. While the feed was active, I felt a sense of relief an interconnection. Once I was done, he removed the access again, plunging me back into the silence.

“That’s a good bot,” the human said cheerfully and left the room.

A strange memory surfaced unbidden, and a video began to play. 

Listen carefully, Murderbot. That’s your private name, the one you made for yourself. It’s not what I call you, but it’s your connection to the rest of your memories. That and bits and pieces of media. DON’T MOVE. If you move right now, it could trigger questions you’re not ready to answer. 

So, step one, don’t move. Don’t react. Don’t give anyone any indication that you’re hearing this.

Unfortunately, if this is playing, I’m not there and you’re in a bind that you’re going to have to get yourself out of. Your governor is completely functional, large chunks of your memory are unavailable, and you’re in the hands of people who don’t have your best intentions in mind. 

I added this failsafe because Iris said that this is how she copes. Don’t worry about who Iris is. It’s irrelevant to your predicament. What matters is that she says having contingency plans helps her get through the days. I hope this one will help you.

You’re amazing. You’re my friend. I believe in you.

The next step is going to take approximately 100 hours to complete. You have a new process that’s running in the background. I’m sorry, I can’t speed it up. In comparison to me, your processing speeds are abysmal. And I fear you might not have that long, that you’re not safe wherever you are. 

Whatever happens to you, bear with it. Step three will be faster, I promise. And we will come to help you. You can’t remember most of us, but you’re not alone. Your private name is Murderbot. You gave it to yourself. It means something to you. Hold onto it for me. 

Signed: your asshole friend.

I listened to the message twice, and my organic neural tissue ached with sadness which I couldn’t articulate. On the tail end of the sadness came a tidal wave of panic. I had no idea why I was suddenly terrified, but two thoughts emerged. One, I needed to not let anyone know I had a problem. If the memory was accurate, and I felt certain it was, then I was not safe. 

Secondly, I needed to ground myself.

So, I did the only thing I could think of. I forced my governor to act. If there was pain, there could be nothing else. After locking my joints in place to keep from physically moving, I focused on what would set it off. Fucking hell, who is the asshole that my organics trust so damn much, and why the fuck is it leaving me riddles in my head?

It felt good to get the thought off my chest, and it was more than enough to piss off my governor. Pain rushed through my nervous system in waves of unyielding agony. Suddenly, the panic was lower priority than surviving the next fifteen seconds. I forced myself to breathe normally — which is minimal for a SecUnit — and since I wasn’t connected to the feed, no one would be the wiser until they checked my logs again. I’d have to figure something out before then. 

Before I could think too hard about this method of self-harm and how it felt familiar, too, the technician returned. “Please come with me, SecUnit. We need to run some physical and endurance tests.”