#Advanced Security Architecture

[rajaniesh]

Unlocking Full Potential: The Compelling Reasons to Migrate to Databricks Unity Catalog

In a world overwhelmed by data complexities and AI advancements, Databricks Unity Catalog emerges as a game-changer. This blog delves into how Unity Catalog revolutionizes data and AI governance, offering a unified, agile solution .

[jstor]

Hi JSTOR, do you have any advice on finding articles about the history of keys and locksmiths? "Key" seems to be a "key word" talking for many writers to use when talking about "key points" in history lol

Hi there! You’re totally right, “key” can be a bit of a troublemaker in search results.

To find articles specifically about the history of keys and locksmiths on JSTOR, try using more specific search terms like “locksmithing,” “history of locks,” “mechanical locks,” “key making,” or “security devices.”

You might also have better luck by approaching the topic through particular academic disciplines. For example, art history might cover symbolic or ornamental uses. Anthropology and sociology can help with cultural meanings of locks and keys, and legal studies or criminal justice may touch on them in the context of crime and security.

If you're curious about the profession itself, look into labor history or economics, and for physical design, architecture is worth exploring. Don’t forget to use quotation marks to search exact phrases (like “history of locks”) and try JSTOR’s advanced search to exclude terms like “key point.”

[artists-ally]

what about Harvey when he’s jealous? His wife is attending an event at the firm with him, she’s wearing a nice dress and one of his rivals from another firm is oggling her and she dogdes his advances gracefully, but when they get home he’s bending her on the closest surface and chanting “mine” skxmcmdks

{Put it on Me} Reader x Harvey Specter

oh BOY have I been thinking about this tehe. Also, you are my soul source of Harvey inspiration pls pls pls keep the requests coming. I have such a hard time coming up with ideas on my on so getting to create something specific really helps. Enjoy loves!!! title from this song

Word Count: 3,375

Warnings: jealousy, minor dom/sub concepts, unprotected sex, flirty banter, Harvey being a possessive mf.

~~~~~~~

As I stepped around the corner of the hallway, Harvey was leaning against the kitchen island, hands braced on the counter, gaze very much pinned on my silhouette.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, gesturing to the gown I had picked out over the weekend. “I thought the green would match well with yours.”

Harvey’s eyes melted over my frame, scanning every inch as he just stood. Watching. “You… Yn, you look breathtaking. What do you say we skip the firm announcement and just stay in?”

I laughed, the sound of my heels echoing off the walls. “As much as that sounds like a great idea, we can’t exactly snub off the announcement of a merger.”

“You just have to be the buzzkill don’t you?” Harvey smiled, planting his hands on my hips. “I should have you locked up for how good you look.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to convince a jury I’ve committed a crime, not if I bat my lashes and give them that flirty smile that sent you crawling to the floor.”

His eyes narrowed, backing me against the island in a firm spin. “Let’s not forget who can make those same lashes flutter shut, either.”

Bastard.

Harvey was dressed well– he always was. Terribly and insufferably great at finding the perfect suit. It was a three piece; the vest and jacket were black, but he wore this green tie that went with my dress. He said that since this would be the first event we attended together as a married couple, he wanted everyone to know.

Endearing, and mildly possessive.

I loved it when he was possessive.

“Okay, Maverick, let’s get to the flightdeck before we run out of fuel,” I patted his chest, grabbing my clutch and slipping in my earrings.

“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you make Top Gun references?”

“Almost as many times as you’ve told me how much you love when I’m on my knees,” I whispered in his ear before heading to the door.

Harvey landed a firm smack on my ass, sending laughter tumbling out of me before we kissed and headed down to the limo waiting for us.

I looked up and out of the window, taking in the views of the towering skyscrapers. The venu was gorgeous; all sleek marble and intricate architecture. Who knew such a place existed in New York.

When we arrived, Harvey stepped out first, taking my hand and guiding me out. I clutched his bicep as we ascended the stairs, greeting the security guard in front of the glass doors.

“Ahh, Mr. and Mrs. Specter,” the guard greeted. “Welcome. Ms. Pearson and Mr. Litt are waiting for you inside, as well as the other guests.”

Harvey gave me a nod, and I gave him one back. “Thank you, sir.”

He opened the door for us, and the inside was just as meticulously crafted as the outside. It was stunning, truly stunning. They don’t make buildings like this anymore, and that makes me a little sad.

“Yn!” Donna called out, several heads turning in our direction. “Oh my god you look amazing!”

“I couldn’t say anything less about you, Donna. You look so good, that royal blue makes your hair look so awesome,” I smiled pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And you too, Jessica. You look marvelous.”

“Thank you, Yn,” she smiled, accepting my hug. “Don’t you clean up nice, Harvey.”

He rolled his eyes, snagging a flute of champagne from a waiter on their way by. “I’ve been known to clean up every now and then.”

Conversation flowed easily between the small cluster I’ve been encompassed with. It is so nice to have such a tight knit group of people to not only call my friends, but my family. When Harvey first brought me around them, it had just been after a huge win against a firm enemy. Daniel Hardman, who I’ve come to know the full story about, had his ass handed to him. Afterwards, Harvey was far too proud to keep his mouth shut about us and insisted I needed to be a part of the celebration.

Donna was the first to meet me, and we shared one look and knew we were gonna be best friends. We made an incredible team. Especially when we teamed up against Harvey together.

Jessica was polite, but not nearly as friendly as Donna or Louis. Mike was nice, and so was Rachel, but they were too love struck, always off in their own little bubble.

Cuties.

Dinner was served just before eight and we dined, exchanging stories left and right. I got to hear about his days at the firm from their perspective, to which I get to tell them from mine. Wildly different, might I add.

The food was rich and decadent; a choice between a filet mignon or a salmon steak. I went with the filet mignon, it looked too good to pass up. Apparently everyone else agreed because our plates all looked identical when they came out.

More champagne and a belly full of great food later, Harvey and I found ourselves at the bar, ordering drinks for ourselves. Sure Harvey enjoyed the company of his co-workers, but even he needed a break from the people he saw every day. And so did I.

“If she comes back, order me an old fashioned for me my love?” Harvey said, kissing the back of my hand. “I just saw one of our investors walk in. I want to make sure he keeps investing.”

“I’ll make sure she puts in an extra cherry for you,” I winked, letting his lips fall onto mine.

“God I love you.”

With a lingering touch, he was off across the room, that classic Harvey Specter saunter to his gait. He looked so confident, so proud of all the work he had accomplished in his career. And he should be. Harvey has built an empire here in New York and has done more than earn his reputation.

It baffled me that underneath that ‘tough as nails’ attitude, was just someone who wanted to be loved and cherished as much as I had. I love Harvey, with every bit of my soul. He was so deserving of someone who truly loved him and not the amount of zeros in his bank account.

When we first met, I hadn’t known who he was, and he liked that very much. He told me he was a lawyer, a good one, but never specified which didn’t bother me really at all. It was complicated for a long while, but eventually I wore him down and he opened up. There weren’t any details of his life he didn’t share once that wall was broken down. When I met Donna for the first time, she thanked me for it. She said that I pulled that child-like behavior out of him and made him fall in love with being a lawyer all over again.

That made my heart swell with pride.

A gentle tap on my shoulder pulled me out of my memory of Harvey, and I met a pair of tempest blue eyes.

“Oh, hello,” I gave a polite smile, turning to face the man.

“Hello to you, too,” he smiled, eyes darting around my face. “I’m Travis.”

“Yn,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

“You know,” he rubbed his fingers over his chin, “Most people tend to just wear an outfit, but clearly you are going the extra mile by capturing everyone’s attention by simply sitting here.”

I hit my smile, “Well, that is kind of you to say.”

“And the earrings, they really bring the whole thing together. Did you do your hair yourself?”

“Yes,” I exclaimed, rather enthusiastically. “It looks a lot more complicated than it was. It genuinely only took me five or six minutes to do but it looks incredible, right?”

I swiveled in the bar stool, turning the back of my head to him. He blew out a low whistle and gave a light applause, “It looks amazing.”

“Are you here from the merger?” I asked, not recognizing this Tanner fellow.

“Oh, no I am merely here as a… a guest.” His eye had this glint to it when he took a sip of his clear drink. I could smell the vodka from here.

“Me too,” I said, turning my attention to the space around us. “Isn’t this place so cool? I love all the columns and pillars and- oh! Excuse me, can I get an old fashioned? With an extra cherry in it?”

“Of course,” the bartender nodded, walking away to start mixing the drink.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for whiskey kinda girl,” Travis said, resting his elbows on the counter beside me.

“Oh, I’m not it’s for-”

“Tanner.” Harvey’s voice slithered down my spine. He sounded so… so repulsed.

“Harvey,” Travis pushed to his full height. “Nice to see you here-”

“What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your name is Tanner?” I asked. Why would he lie to me?

“No, no my name is Travis. Tanner is my last name.”

“She doesn’t give a shit about what your last name is. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Woah, calm down Harvey. I’m just talking with this beautiful lady, no need to twist your panties. I was here first, you don’t get to swoop in here and steal my conversation,” Travis frowned, setting the glass down rather harshly on the counter.

“Hey Yn, isn’t that an 8 carat diamond?” Harvey stood directly behind me, sliding his fingers down my left arm, grabbing my wrist and facing it towards Travis.

“Uhh, yeah what’s going-”

“That's right, it is. Funny how I knew that, isn’t it Tanner? Well, that’s because I bought it for her. So how about you get the hell out of here and if I ever catch you trying to flirt with my wife again I will put you six feet in the fucking dirt, do you understand me?”

My eyes damn near fell out of my fucking skull. I knew Travis was being polite, or flirting I guess, but I wasn’t going to let anything come of it, of course.

Travis looked like he was going to be sick. He scurried off, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.

Harvey dropped my hand and reached around me to grab his freshly crafted drink.

“Okay, hotshot, what was that all about?”

“Do you remember that shit-show of a case that we fought a few months ago, the one that got reopened after four years?” I nodded. “Yeah, that was him. And that's the asshole who tried to have me disbarred.”

Holy shit. “Oh, fuck Harvey. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he smiled faintly. “There’s no other reason he’s here tonight other than to piss me off.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” I said, standing up and taking his face in my hands. “Would you like to passionately make out in front of all these people just to make Travis Tanner mad?”

“Yes, yes I would like that very much,” Harvey grinned, linking his arm around my wait and pressing me close before sending a shiver down my spine with the force of his lips on mine.

“That guy is an asshole,” I said, needing a moment to catch my breath. Surely that did the trick, Travis was nowhere in sight. “You shouldn’t trust anyone with two first names, it’s weird.”

Harvey bellowed out a laugh, nodding his head over his shoulder. I could tell he wanted to leave, but I wouldn’t let him slink off without saying proper goodbyes to everyone that was worth an explanation as to where we fled to.

Donna didn’t need to see us leave, because I had a text on my phone with a bunch of eggplant and peace emoji’s with an accompanying message that said ‘GONNA BE SOME GOOD D TONIGHT GIRL’. She must’ve seen the whole interaction between Travis, Harvey and I.

All I sent back was a winky face.

By the time we got off the elevator, Harvey couldn’t keep his hands off of me. Not that I wanted him to, but we hadn’t even made it outside before his tongue was sweeping inside my mouth.

We pressed to the front door while jammed in the key, effortlessly unlocking it like he had done it a thousand times before. We crashed through, and Harvey wasted no time pinning me to the door.

“Mmm Harvey,” I whined into his mouth.

“Yes, pretty girl?” God damn did I love when he calls me that. “What do you need?”

“You, just you,” I looked at him through my lashes, watching that evil smirk wash over his features. Nothing could have stopped his hand clamping around my throat, pulling me off the door and into the kitchen. He hoisted me up onto the island and began to strip.

Harvey tossed his jacket onto the counter behind him, the tie was next. He made it painfully slow, doing nothing to hide his intentions of making it agonizing for me. I rolled my eyes, hands finding the buttons on his vest, flinging it over my shoulder.

“Needy,” he gripped my chin, crushing his mouth with mine. For a few minutes, or hours, we drank each other in. Restless hands and desperate pleas of need. Silk wrapped around my wrists, tight and commanding. I looked down and saw his tie around them, knotted in a figure eight and yanked until it burned.

“Harvey-”

“You’re mine. All. Mine. No one else has the right to do so much as think otherwise.” My core rippled with heat, eyes lulling shut at his words. “Aww, you like hearing that, don’t you? That I get to see you like this? All tied up? Such a pretty girl, Yn. I bet you’re such a mess for me already.”

He grabbed the fabric around my wrists and pulled me off the counter, flipping me over and forcing me to bend over. Harvey fisted up the hem of my skirt, quite literally tearing my thong off my hips.

I went to yell at him, but his finger dragged between my legs, and my spine shivered. “Fuck, Harvey…”

“You are a mess for me,” I could hear the possession in his voice. “Mmm, and you taste so sweet, Yn.”

I heard his fly unzip, the clang of his belt following after. My toes barely touched the ground as my forearms pressed against my ribs. I tried to scramble up a little so my hips fit with the edge of the counter, but Harvey just gripped the back of my hair and pulled me up.

He clicked his tongue, “Oh Yn, such a pretty thing you are. And I am going to have my way with you, and you’re gonna scream my name for the whole city to hear.”

I clenched my thighs together, pressing my forehead against the cool surface, though it quickly warmed with my breathing and panting. I felt the tip of his cock press against me, and his hips slowly met mine.

He pushed me further onto the counter, thankfully letting go of my hair before he pulled out.

Harvey’s hands on my hips were brutal; bruising my skin, commanding, feverish as they roamed my ass and thighs. Clawing marks.

“God Yn…” he sighed out, thrusting all the way back in, pulling my hips all the way flush with his. “Fuck you are so warm. So perfect for my cock.”

“Please,” I begged, wiggling my ass to entice him further.

“Please what, pretty girl? Come one, use your words.”

I shuddered around him, and he laughed at me. A cruel, wicked laugh as he stuffed himself further.

“Harder, I want- need it harder.”

“That’s my girl,” Harvey landed his palm on my ass, undoubtedly turning it bright red as he did it again. With one snap of his hips, and I knew I was gonna be ripped apart.

I didn’t know that much about Travis Tanner, but judging by the way this was going, Harvey really fucking hated the guy. If Harvey had any other enemies, maybe I should let them all flirt with me if it has the chance of turning into this.

My chest rammed across the counter, my thighs and pelvic bone rocking into the side of the island. It hurt, fuck did it hurt, but it made it so much better. Harvey’s brutal pace had him panting and groaning, cursing under his breath while he fisted his hand back in my hair.

I craned up, back aching with the force of his unyielding grip. It was hard to breathe, in the most soul fluttering way possible. It was such a euphoric feeling to be under his complete control.

“Yeah, you love this, don’t you? Being completely at my mercy? Submitting to my every decision?”

“Yes Harvey,” I whimpered. Full on whimpered. “Fuck-”

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl, let it all out for me to hear.”

He threw my head down, hair swinging around my shoulders and falling in my face. I let my head go limp, moans pouring out of my mouth. His hips slammed into mine, brutal and ruthless. Every inch of my body was on fire, veins pumping blood widely through my limbs, making them tingle. My toes curled, knees knocking into the wood paneling over and over and over.

I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say anything, to get him to slow his pace. I writhed and cried out his name. I could hear it echo off the walls, and I knew our neighbors would be taping a complaint to our door by the morning.

“Fuck, baby, gonna cum,” he threw his head back, hips stuttering as he held on to my waist. “Fuck, Yn you are so fucking messy for me. Gonna fill you up.”

I squirmed when his finger brushed against my clit, chills spreading all down my arms and back. I felt tears prick my eyes. I hadn’t even realized how close I actually was to my release, and it slammed into me without any hint of a warning.

“Yeah, that's it, pretty girl. Cum on my cock,” Harvey’s voice was like a sin. Pure, raw, unfiltered sin.

His fingers circled and circled around, lighting my body and dragging out the waves of pleasure that rolled through me.

Harvey let out a string of curses, and his hips stilled. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me down onto him, hips ramming in once-twice-three-four times before he stilled. He bent over me, heaving for a breath against the middle of my back.

I called his name several times, unable to keep still. My hands were going numb from the bindings, and my knees and hips ached.

With a big inhale, Harvey lifted off my body. His hands trailed all the way down my back to my exposed ass, pulling it apart. “Well, would you look at that. So messy, full of me…”

My pussy clenched around him, and I felt his release slide down the inside of my thigh. His finger dragged his back up and speared it into my skin.

“That’s right, pretty girl, you’re all mine, aren’t you? Say it.”

“I’m yours Harvey, all yours,” I plead, wallowing in the feeling of pure bliss. His hands were much more gentle this time around when he lowered me back to the ground.

That mouth of his most certainly wasn’t. Harvey forced his tongue in, practically shoving it down my throat. I choked, and he grinned like the devil.

“Yeah, that’s right, Yn. You’re all mine. All fucking mine.”

I stared up at him in a starry daze. My head was foggy, and my legs were weak. “God do I love it when you get like this.”

Harvey’s hand caressed my cheek, thumb sweeping under my eye to where I’m sure my makeup was smudged.

“And god do I love it when you let me worship you, fucking you exactly like you deserve to be. No one else could ever fuck you as good as I can. Right, pretty girl?”

I grinned, equally as devilish as him, “Right, Harvey.”

~~~~~

Reader's dress

Harvey's suit

[blackstarlineage]

The Kingdom of Benin: An In-Depth Analysis of Africa’s Architectural and Cultural Marvel

Introduction: Benin – A Symbol of African Sovereignty and Innovation

The Kingdom of Benin (circa 1180–1897 CE) was one of the most advanced African civilizations, renowned for its sophisticated governance, military power, artistic mastery, and economic wealth. Located in modern-day Nigeria, it was ruled by the Oba (king) and had a highly organized social and political structure.

From a Garveyite perspective, the study of Benin is essential because it represents:

Black political and military sovereignty – The Benin Empire successfully resisted foreign interference for centuries.

Black artistic excellence – The Benin Bronzes are among the greatest artistic achievements in world history.

Black economic independence – Benin controlled trade in the region, managing its own wealth and resources.

The destruction of Benin by the British in 1897 was not just an act of war—it was an attack on Black civilization itself. By reclaiming the history of Benin, Black people today can learn the importance of self-governance, economic power, and cultural preservation.

1. The Origins and Early Development of the Kingdom of Benin

A. The Foundation of Benin

The Kingdom of Benin was founded by the Edo people, who established settlements in the region as early as 900 CE.

The city of Igodomigodo, the earliest known Benin settlement, evolved into a powerful kingdom under the leadership of the Ogiso dynasty (kings of the sky).

By the 12th century, the kingdom was reorganized under the Oba (king) system, which centralized power and expanded Benin’s influence.

Example: Oral traditions say that the Oba lineage was established when Prince Oranmiyan of Ife was invited to rule, linking Benin to the Yoruba Kingdom of Ife.

Key Takeaway: African civilizations were not random tribes—they were organized states with dynasties and governance systems rivalling those of Europe and Asia.

2. The Political and Military Strength of Benin

A. The Power of the Oba and the Benin Government

The Oba (king) was the supreme ruler, believed to be divinely chosen, and held absolute political and spiritual authority.

Beneath the Oba was a highly structured government, including advisors, chiefs, military commanders, and economic administrators.

The kingdom had an organized legal system, including courts that handled disputes and protected citizens' rights.

Example: Oba Ewuare the Great (1440-1473) expanded Benin’s territory and restructured its government, creating a model of centralized African governance.

Key Takeaway: African states had advanced political systems that ensured stability, justice, and expansion.

B. Benin’s Military Superiority

The Kingdom of Benin had a powerful army, organized into specialized units:

Cavalry units that patrolled the kingdom’s borders.

Infantry forces armed with swords, spears, and poisoned arrows for combat.

Fortified city walls, which made Benin City one of the most secure capitals in Africa.

Example: The Walls of Benin (constructed from earthworks and stretching over 16,000 km) were four times longer than the Great Wall of China, making it one of the largest man-made structures in history.

Key Takeaway: A nation without a strong military can not protect its sovereignty and wealth.

3. The Economic Prosperity of Benin

A. Control Over Regional Trade

Benin was a major economic power, controlling trade routes across West Africa, the Niger Delta, and the Atlantic Coast.

Its economy was built on gold, ivory, palm oil, textiles, and slave trade (before rejecting European exploitation).

Merchants from Portugal, the Netherlands, and England sought trade agreements with Benin, recognizing its wealth and strategic importance.

Example: In the 15th century, Portuguese traders documented Benin as a well-organized state with wealth beyond their expectations.

Key Takeaway: Before European colonization, Africa had self-sufficient economies that did not rely on external aid.

B. The Benin Bronzes: Africa’s Greatest Artistic Masterpieces

Benin was known for its bronze, ivory, and wood sculptures, which depicted Obas, warriors, and historical events.

These artworks were made using the lost-wax casting technique, an advanced metallurgical method that predated similar European techniques.

The Benin Bronzes were not just art—they were historical records that documented the kingdom’s culture, politics, and achievements.

Example: The British looted over 4,000 Benin Bronzes in 1897, which are now displayed in European museums, proving that Africa’s cultural heritage was stolen.

Key Takeaway: Africa had artistic and cultural achievements equal to or surpassing those of Europe and Asia.

4. The Fall of Benin: Lessons for Black People Today

A. The 1897 British Invasion: The Destruction of Black Sovereignty

The British sought to exploit Benin’s wealth but were met with resistance from the Oba and his warriors.

In 1897, the British launched a full-scale invasion known as the Benin Expedition, burning Benin City and looting its treasures.

The Oba Ovonramwen was exiled, and the kingdom was incorporated into the British colonial system.

Example: Over 4,000 Benin Bronzes were stolen and are now kept in European museums, despite calls for their return.

Key Takeaway: Colonialism was not about "civilizing" Africa—it was about destroying African independence and stealing its wealth.

5. The Legacy of Benin and the Garveyite Call for Rebuilding Black Power

A. Reclaiming African History and Cultural Artifacts

The looting of Benin’s treasures is a symbol of how European powers stole Africa’s wealth and history.

Black nations and Pan-African movements must demand the return of stolen African artifacts and preserve their historical sites.

Example: Nigeria has been demanding the return of the Benin Bronzes, with some museums beginning to return them after decades of pressure.

Garveyite Perspective: Africa must reclaim its cultural identity and teach its true history, not the colonial version.

B. The Economic and Political Lessons of Benin

Economic self-reliance is key – Benin controlled its own resources and trade before European interference.

Military strength is necessary – Without strong defenses, Black nations remain vulnerable to foreign exploitation.

Political unity is power – The Oba system kept Benin strong for centuries, proving that organized leadership leads to prosperity.

Example: Modern African nations must control their economies, build strong governments, and protect their cultural heritage.

Garveyite Perspective: Black unity, self-governance, and economic independence are the only paths to true liberation.

Conclusion: Will We Rebuild the Greatness of Benin?

Marcus Garvey once said:

“A race without authority and power is a race without respect.”

Will Black people continue to let foreign nations define our history, or will we reclaim our legacy?

Will we allow African wealth and art to remain in Western museums, or demand its rightful return?

Will we repeat the mistakes of Benin’s downfall, or build new Black-led economies, armies, and governments?

The Choice is Ours. The Time is Now.

[seventeenreasonswhy]

Same Team! A YJH Office Romance Pt. 10

18+ / NSFW!!!! MDNI!!!!!

Idol!Jeonghan x ProductionStaff!Reader

You’re serious about your job, but not as serious as Yoon Jeonghan is about flirting.

~6.7k words

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Series Content: slooowwwwww burn, fluff! but with tension!, cute flirting!, will-they-won’t-they vibes!, did I mention tension!?, some alcohol consumption, appearances by all of the members, reader is shy and gets flustered easily!, jeonghan is jeonghan-ing!

Chapter Content: smut (NSFW c/w below the cut!), kissing, making out, some unwanted advances by an NPC on Y/N!, hannie gets a little jealous

My Masterlist

NSFW Chapter Content: dom!jeonghan, sub!reader, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex (please practice safe sex!), Jeonghan has a corruption kink and a ‘sir’ kink!, scolding/light degradation, edging/orgasm denial, some manhandling w/o establishing ground rules (please communicate before you do any kind of roughhousing in the bedroom ok? these two just happen to like the same thing!), nicknames: sir (for JH), ‘little whore’ (just once for Y/N).

Author’s Note: We’ve reached the final chapter!! I decided to end this series with Y/N and JH’s first time having sex together because I wasn’t rly sure how to end it without literally writing an entire series of novels lol (not that I WOULD’NT!). Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reblogged/liked this series!! It’s my first fanfic series for Seventeen and I had so much fun! I’m working on a school life AU fic featuring Wonwoo and a dystopian AU featuring DK next!! 😊

Taglist: @yeoberryx @clownprincehoeshi @soffiyuhh  @wonwoos-wineparty @hamji-hae @junniesoleilkth @seokqt @haniinah @yangtyunhannie @cherrylovescheol @Illucere @lukeys-giggle

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You had never been to Paris, but it fit how you’d pictured it almost exactly. The filigreed architecture, the wide, cobble-stoned streets, the elegant storefronts along the Champs Elysée... you were drinking it all in on the car ride to the hotel.

You had your own hotel room, which was more than you had expected. The designer brands had sprung for an entire floor, accommodating single rooms for each member and their staff—an upside of having so many brand ambassadors in one group.

You didn’t exactly have time to settle in, however. Your next event was taking place in the afternoon the following day and you and the other staff still needed to coordinate with each venue’s security on exactly when the members would arrive at their respective events. For you, this meant another car ride to YSL’s offices, where you and other staff would discuss details and procure badges for the runway show and afterparty the next day.

You dropped your bag down on the hotel bed, barely absorbing the luxurious room before you heard a knock at the door.

It was Yoon Jeonghan.

“Nuna,” he said as he waltzed right past you and into your hotel room. You instinctively looked out into the hallway, eyes wide, making Jeonghan laugh as he took off his shoes and sprawled out onto the bed, making himself at home.

“It’s more suspicious when you do that, you know,” he said, and you immediately shut the door and quietly—but urgently—told him to keep his voice down.

“What are you doing here?” you basically whispered, getting closer to where he was lying on the bed.

“You don’t want me to be in here?” The look he gave you was somewhere between a smirk and a pout, but the glint in his eyes made you pretty certain why he was here.

“Jeonghan-shi,” you said politely but firmly.

“Oh, professional mode,” he said—in English, too, just so it was crystal clear that he was making fun of you. You just fixed him with a glare, which unfortunately only made his grin wider.

“I have to go to the YSL office with the other staff soon, so I don’t have time to entertain you right now.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just watch you get ready.” The look on his face seemed to challenge you to kick him out as he laid back on the bed, fully spectating now.

“Okay, fine,” you said, deciding to call his bluff and quickly unzipping your bag, taking out your makeup and other supplies to freshen up a bit before you had to leave. Does he actually just want to be in here with me? You wondered, finding the idea hard to believe. Jeonghan could be doing a million things right now—it wasn’t often that he got to relax away from the commotion of the other members and their constant schedules. You knew he had tonight off, and that he could at least get dinner with Joshua or Mingyu... but he was in here, in your room, instead—watching you carefully as you sat at the sleek, modern-style vanity table in the corner of the room combing out your airplane hair with your fingers.

“Nuna, you didn’t bring a hairbrush?” he asked, sounding almost like a little kid.

“No, I forgot it,” you said, slightly embarrassed at even this extremely minor error. You’d moved on to gently patting your face with oil blotting paper as you saw Jeonghan walking out of the room.

“You can use mine; I’ll be right back.” It was a pretty innocuous thing, just lending you his hairbrush... But something about the way he’d said it... so casually, the way that a boyfriend would talk to you, made your heart leap a little bit.

Sure enough he returned with a hairbrush, but rather than handing it to you, he came up behind where you were seated in front of the small mirror and started gently brushing out your hair for you, making you tense up at first, but gradually relaxing under his touch.

Wow, you thought, unsure of the last time someone had brushed your hair for you... You honestly couldn’t even remember if your mom brushed your hair as a child. This feels nice.

You closed your eyes before even realizing it, the sensation of Jeonghan softly brushing out your hair was so relaxing. Jeonghan glanced at your face in the reflection of the vanity mirror, his heart squeezing inexplicably at your clearly exhausted expression. After a minute, he stopped brushing, leaning down to place a kiss on the top of your head.

Your eyes flung open at the feeling of his sweet kiss, and you whirled around awkwardly, eliciting a laugh from him.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” he teased in a low voice, “but you looked like all you want to do is sleep just now.”

The thought of staying here, ordering room service, and having Jeonghan’s fingers gently run through your hair, lulling you to sleep... to be honest, nothing sounded more appealing. But you couldn’t abandon your responsibilities, no matter how tempting it was.

By some stroke of genius (or insanity) your hand reached up to Jeonghan’s face, cupping the side of his cheek before gently running over your thumb over the cute mole under his eye. You were struck by how good his skin looked, even right after a long flight. It was so soft... He smiled at the touch, nuzzling into your hand slightly before you stood up and whispered to him.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t go,” he answered in a low voice immediately, shooting some kind of electric charge right through your body. He’d told you not to go on the plane, too.

I don’t want to go.

You were both standing close together now, his eyes trailing down your face, then down your neck, all the way down your body it seemed. You wanted so badly to pull him into an eager, hungry kiss, but you felt that if you started you wouldn’t be able to stop...

But a rap at your door cut the tension immediately, making the pit of your stomach drop.

“Y/N-shi,” it was the sound of Jeonghan’s manager’s voice. “Are you ready? We’re going to head downstairs.”

“I’ll be right down, thank you!” you said quickly.

You bolted to your bag, pulling out a blazer to throw over your t-shirt and jeans from the flight.

“You’re so jumpy,” Jeonghan pouted, having been on the verge of kissing you—actually, more like devouring you. The truth was you were driving him insane. That worried but determined look in your eye, the gentle waves in your hair after he’d brushed it—you looked like a princess. Something powerful inside him wanted to...

Wanted to what exactly? This feeling he had looking at you—bleary-eyed from the plane, but somehow still gorgeous—it wasn’t violent... but it was intense.

Like he wanted to... corrupt you.

He realized he’d never felt this kind of urge before. But he wanted to see your pretty, innocent face blush dark red while he did filthy things to you. Things that you may have even done before... he couldn’t say because he didn’t know that much about your past experiences in the bedroom, really, and honestly he didn’t care. Your whole aura exuded innocence to him, and he knew it might be wrong but truthfully... it drove him up the wall.

You didn’t really pick up on this, though, now having been thrown back into reality—where your professional responsibilities laid in wait for you. You quickly rummaged through your things in your carry-on, desperate to find where your folder of schedules and contracts was buried.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” Jeonghan said, unable to ignore your frantic rush out the door and trying to bring you back to him with his soothing voice. You were so affected by your work. You cared a lot. It was plain to see how big your heart was.

Jeonghan knew he was being selfish. He knew that you were making the choice to go out the door right now, and that your job came first... but he’d been finding it more and more difficult to resist getting close to you, teasing you, touching you...

“Will I see you later?” You turned to Jeonghan before leaving, trying to ignore his blatantly hungry stare.

“Mmhm,” he hummed sweetly right away, his eyes almost boring through you. His gaze was so intent, so tempting that all you could do was immediately slam the door behind you, practically running to the lobby.

***

The meeting with YSL was briefer than you thought it would be. It turns out, their team really just wanted to get drinks. They asked you and the other staff to go out with them, and you could hardly refuse.

“We can discuss business over some wine, yes?” The tall gentleman in the impeccably-cut suit said to you—he was apparently a production director who worked with a lot of brands during Fashion Week. You didn’t like the way he had guided you by the small of your back into the dimly lit bar, but you brushed it off as him just being friendly.

You were honestly too exhausted for drinks and wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, your chest still fluttering after the way Jeonghan had looked at you before you’d left.

“Where did you learn French?” the tall man asked you. You were now seated around a low table on red, velvety booths at the back of the chic bar. “It sounds like you’ve been speaking for a long time.” You were flattered that he was complimenting you—sincerely, too, by actually speaking to you in French instead of English. A seal of approval, you had learned.

“Oh, I kind of learn languages as a hobby,” you said.

“Y/N-shi is our language ace,” one of your coworkers said.

“That’s a good asset to have, indeed,” the man said, “I’ve never met someone who does something so laborious for fun.” He was kind of sprawled out on the bench, right next to you. He had his arm draped casually along the back of the seat behind you, which wouldn’t have bothered you if he hadn’t also been looking at you up and down... This guy felt sleazy. And you were pretty sure that he was trying to neg you with that ‘laborious’ comment.

“Yeah, I’m very into boring activities,” you said sarcastically in French, and then repeated it to your coworker in Korean, who mercifully laughed, hopefully picking up that you wanted her to stick around in the conversation so you wouldn’t be cornered by this guy.

“You don’t seem to have time to get bored with how hard you work,” the guy said, “Live a little.” He was changing his strategy. He had turned fully toward you now, the first two buttons of his shirt coming undone under his blazer. His cologne smelled overwhelming. You didn’t like the grin he flashed you with the words ‘live a little.’ His whole aura made your stomach turn. Your mind flashed to the smell of Jeonghan’s perfume. Much more subtle and beautiful...

“That’s true,” you said stiffly, before deciding that you wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’m so sorry, but I am actually starting to get a headache—” you tried to politely extract yourself from the conversation, standing up as you made your excuse, but the man suddenly grabbed hold of your wrist.

“Oh, don’t go just yet,” he said, obviously trying to keep his tone lighthearted, “the night is young!”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, adamant about keeping things professional, although now you’d put it together that this whole meeting was probably an excuse to go out and hit on the women in your team all along, “It’s been a long day, I’m going to go back to the hotel.” Your tone was firm enough to leave no room for interpretation, but you turned to your other colleague, indicating with your eyes that you needed help getting this guy off of you. Thankfully, she picked up on it.

“Yes, Y/N-shi,” she said quickly in her broken but polite French, “I saw you didn’t sleep much on the plane—go get some rest!” You couldn’t have been more grateful that she said that. The guy’s grip loosened on you, and you took the opportunity to quickly leave—not even looking behind you or saying goodbye to the others.

It’s not like similar things had never happened before. Working in this industry, especially on the production side of things, you met all kinds of sleazy guys like that. You were just glad that he hadn’t been drunk enough to make a scene.

But still, you felt agitated now.

Who does he think he is grabbing a total stranger like that, angry, indignant feelings swirled through you in the cab back to the hotel, and we’re supposed to work together this week...

Your mood hung heavy over you as you finally returned, opening the door of your hotel room with a click, relieved to at least be back in your own space.

But the space wasn’t entirely your own, it seemed. You entered to find Jeonghan, dozing off on your bed.

He looked just as angelic as he had sleeping on the plane. You quietly took off your shoes and shrugged off your blazer. Normally, you’d be panicked about him still being in here... in your bed, no less. For a split second you considered calling the front desk to send you a roll-away bed. That’s something hotels do, right? But even your inner rule-follower seemed to scoff at how absurd the idea was. Who am I kidding? Honestly, you were too tired to even fight with yourself. Of course you were going to crawl right into bed next to Yoon Jeonghan. Of course you had imagined moments like this for months—though, not exactly under these circumstances.

You quietly got your things from your bag, changing and getting ready for bed as silently as possible in the bathroom.

But Jeonghan’s eyes had fluttered open when you returned.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice coming out so sweet and sleepy it made your heart ache a bit.

“Ah, did I wake you up?” you asked softly.

“No, no,” he said in a quick and reassuring voice. You liked how he did that when it was clear someone was worried. You could clearly see he didn’t want the people around him to overthink things and get stressed out, so he was always quick to reassure them. Including you.

“Come here,” he said, motioning for you to lay in his arms. Your heart pounded, more self-conscious now that he was awake. But you crawled into bed next to him, despite feeling like you might turn to dust right then and there.

“How was your meeting?” he asked softly as you nestled into his chest, his arms wrapping around you sweetly, one hand smoothing down your hair... You could almost cry it felt so sweet and nurturing when he did that.

“Oh, it was—” you weren’t sure what to say. It wasn’t really a meeting, more like an odd excuse to go out and hit on the female staff...

But Jeonghan picked up on a shift in your tone right away.

“Did something happen?” He asked, gently brushing your hair away from your face, tucking it sweetly behind your ear. He was so close to you. This was the closest you had been since he’d come to your apartment that night. You didn’t want to talk about some sleazy guy on the production staff, you just wanted to fall asleep in Jeonghan’s arms, his hand petting you sweetly until you both drifted off... But Jeonghan’s curiosity was piqued even more by your pause.

“It’s nothing,” you sighed, “Just some French asshole.” Jeonghan’s hand stopped mid-brush along your hair.

“Who? What asshole?” his voice was still low and quiet, but he propped himself up a bit on his elbow to look directly at you.

“This guy who works on these runway shows,” you said, “He was just... he didn’t seem to be very professional.”

“What does that mean?”

Whoa, he’s worried, you realized.

“It’s nothing, Jeonghan,” you said, taking Jeonghan’s face between your hands, suddenly feeling anxious at his reaction, “they took us out to drinks, which I think was the point of the meeting all along, and he was just clearly only interested in flirting with the women there.”

“With the women there, or with you?”

“...What’s wrong?” It was strange for you to see Jeonghan react this way. You hadn’t seen him this amped up before, though he was still speaking at a low volume. You didn’t expect it—he always seemed so unflappable. He seemed to snap out of it at your question, though, quickly turning away from you. You could tell that he was embarrassed.

“Sorry, Y/N,” he said after a moment, his immaturity dawning on him, making him feel ashamed that he had reacted so hastily. The thought of other men hitting on someone he was seeing usually didn’t bother him... But the thought of someone else putting you in a position like that made him kind of furious. He faced you again, his stomach sinking at the look on your face—desperate and exhausted.

“Sorry,” he repeated, his tone calmer and sweeter, apologetically brushing your cheek, “I just don’t like that some idiot was making you uncomfortable.”

Your pulse raced. You had to admit... he seemed to feel bad about it, but it felt kind of nice to see him get protective like that...

“Let’s forget about him,” you said softly. It was like the words fell straight onto Jeonghan’s heart, making it flip over. He gazed at you; his eyes unable to hide how badly he wanted you. He pulled you closer, embracing you under the covers now. The tightening grip of his arms around your waist filling you with butterflies. It felt good to be held by him. You nuzzled your face deeper into his chest, making him want to squeeze you even closer, you were being so cute.

You felt Jeonghan’s hand take a gentle hold of your head, tilting it up toward him, and before you could think, he was kissing you. His lips felt so soft... but the way he was sweetly teasing your lips made some deep urge within you come to life.

You leaned into his kiss, pressing into him with a little more eagerness. He noticed, taking the cue to deepen the kiss, gripping your head in both of his hands now as you two laid there, making out in the hotel bed.

It wasn’t long until you were whimpering quietly against his lips. He traced your bottom lip with his tongue before pulling away slightly... Hovering over you now, your eyes meeting to exchange a brief, craving look before he smoothly hooked his thumb into your mouth, forcing it open, and dove in again, kissing you much more aggressively.

Jeonghan’s tongue invaded your mouth and you couldn’t help moaning sweetly into him, the vibration making his body heat up even more. You looked so beautiful and desperate... He wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes off and fuck you right away—make you pant, beg, scream... But he knew it would be better to take his time.

Not that you couldn’t tell how hungry he was for you—the pleading feeling of his tongue, the way his hands were starting to roam over you. It occurred to you that Jeonghan had wanted to do this with you for a long time.

As he kissed you, your mind began to melt—falling further and further into the realm of total surrender.

Jeonghan could feel your body relaxing beneath him. Not to mention the way you were openly and greedily responding to his kisses.

She likes this.

You felt his fingertips slip underneath your pajama top; his hand cool against your skin as it slid up your bare stomach. You wrapped your arms around his neck, not discouraging him. His other hand was still holding your face firmly beneath his as he continued to feverishly make out with you. You could hear the soft, lapping noises of your kissing echoing through the room...

Suddenly you let out a yelp—louder than you’d intended—when you felt his hand ghost over your breast, his thumb brushing lightly against your already-pert nipple through the fabric of your cute, lacey bralette.

You felt Jeonghan smile against your lips, satisfied at your reaction.

“Mm, Y/N-ah you’re going to get us in trouble if you’re that loud,” he murmured in your ear, teasing you before trailing more kisses down your neck—making you gasp softly at the feeling of his silky, wet lips; reflexively gripping his shoulders.

He was making his way down your body, and you knew that if he went any further you might not be able to handle it... but with all of the pleasure coursing through you, gathering in the pit of your stomach, making your legs start to squirm... you didn’t want him to stop.

Jeonghan nipped at your collarbone, making you draw your breath in sharply before he continued to kiss you over your top—the space between your breasts, your abdomen, just below your belly button... You could feel your breathing getting more ragged the lower his face got.

His lips arrived at the space between the waistband of your pajama shorts and the raised hem of your top—his hand was still up your shirt, holding onto the sensitive spot along the bottom hem of your bra on one side. He looked up at you. His expression made it feel like he was challenging you, but you knew he was waiting for permission to go further. You had no idea what kind of face you were making... you felt like you could scream, your body felt so overwhelmed already.

In an attempt to control your volume, you bit into your own hand before glancing down at Jeonghan with your best “please continue” look.

He honestly didn’t care what kind of look you gave him; all he knew was the way you were desperately biting your own hand was hot enough for him to throw caution to the wind and discard your top for you. He pulled it over your arms and flung it aside in one fluid motion before returning to the space between your belly button and the waist of your shorts... kissing the sensitive spot sweetly while hooking his fingers underneath the band and pulling your shorts down to reveal your absolutely soaked underwear.

“Ah, who knew Y/N-ah was such a dirty girl,” he pretending to chide you in a low, commanding tone. Your stomach lurched at his words as your legs instinctively tried to snap together, your hand flying down from your mouth to try to cover yourself from his up-close view. But Jeonghan caught you by the wrist, forcing your hand to the side and holding it in place against the bed. He was surprisingly strong, and the decisive way he averted your attempt to cover yourself... did something to you.

You wouldn’t say that you were the kinkiest person out there... not by a long shot. But you couldn’t pretend you didn’t like being dominated a little. Especially by Yoon Jeonghan.

“No hiding,” Jeonghan’s command sent an electric shot right through you with his direct gaze and scolding tone.

“Yes, sir,” you said before thinking. There was a pause as you realized what you’d just called him, your hand writhing under Jeonghan’s grip in a futile attempt to cover your face out of embarrassment. Since when did you call people ‘sir!?’ Had you ever said that to someone!? Your eyes were wide and your face hot with disbelief, completely mortified.

You peeked down at Jeonghan, worried that he’d be weirded out by you calling him that out of nowhere, but he didn’t look weirded out at all...

If anything, he looked feral.

“Good girl,” he hummed, his smirk making it apparent just how turned on he was. It wasn’t just that you had called him ‘sir,’ but your cute, flustered reaction made him want to push your buttons even further. He kept his gaze directed at you as he placed his head between your legs again, watching as you averted your eyes—too overwhelmed to watch as he kissed the sweet wet spot that had formed on your underwear. So fucking cute, he couldn’t help thinking, enjoying this rare opportunity to see you so helpless. His lips started teasing you, planting wet kisses against your folds, with only the drenched fabric of your underwear standing between your bare cunt and his mouth. The embarrassment of him being so up close made your whole body flare up. Your legs were trembling with anticipation as you felt Jeonghan’s mouth moving before sucking lightly on your clit—making you moan, your back arching from the effort of trying not to be too loud or squirm too much.

Jeonghan was grinning against your underwear now. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. She can’t stand it. Your squirming, whimpering voice was too sexy. He wished he could watch you all hot and bothered like this forever, edging you until you cried.

He finally let go of your wrist, sitting back on his heels and making sultry eye contact with you before removing your underwear.

“Ah, I knew it,” he said softly, “nuna’s pussy is perfect.”

You couldn’t help turning your face to the side. You were so wound up that you didn’t know how to even react, like your mind wasn’t even aware of what your body was doing.

You felt Jeonghan shift his position slightly, threading his arms beneath your knees now so that your thighs were resting on his shoulders and he could grip your waist with his hands. Your face snapped toward him, something like fear rushing through you at the realization that he could see all of you up close now. He noticed the look of panic in your eyes and kissed the inside of your thigh sweetly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a velvety, whispered tone. He bent his head down and kissed the space just above your clit softly.

You threw your head back, biting your lip to contain the filthy sounds that were threatening to burst out of you as he began to lick and kiss your folds. His earlier kisses were delicious, but his mouth working delicately at your soaking wet cunt felt unreal.

“Mmm,” he moaned into you, the vibration stimulating you so harshly and suddenly that your hand flew down to his hair, taking the soft strands into your grip before you could even control yourself. But this only made him go harder at devouring you... He held you down by the hips, your legs shaking with ecstasy.

“Ah, Jeonghan-ah...” you moaned his name, making him murmur in satisfaction against your pussy, loving the sensation of you tugging his hair as his tongue dove in and out of you. He moved his head slightly, taking your clit between his lips and sucking on you. This threw you into a full-bodied convulsion. He wished you could just scream out the way you clearly wanted to... 

“Ah, I’m gonna come—” you breathed, certain that if he continued to fuck you with his tongue like this, you would surely get his face covered in your juices. The thought of it made you desperate to get him off of you and eager for him to keep going at the same time.

“Mmm, I can feel you tighten around my tongue when I put it in,” he mused against you, making you laugh nervously, caught off guard by such a specific and perverted comment. He took the opportunity to eat you even more vigorously, his tongue lapping up your juices as your clit twitched out of control...

You were about to succumb to a powerful orgasm, when suddenly the sensation of Jeonghan’s tongue disappeared.

You jerked your head up in confusion, only to see that Jeonghan was now standing at the end of the bed, giving you an incredulous look as he started casually removing his shirt.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, feigning innocence, “I thought you knew that if you want to come, you have to ask nicely.”

Your breathing was heavy, making your chest rise and fall dramatically as you narrowed your eyes at him. He just smirked, his lips and chin still glistening with your arousal. His taunting look turned you on way more than you wanted to admit. You gulped in air, trying to catch your breath. Jeonghan was down to just his underwear now, and you could see the burgeoning outline of his cock pressing against the black fabric of his briefs.

Alright, if you want to play that game...

You sat up, softening your face but still holding Jeonghan’s cruel gaze. You made your way to all fours on the bed before him and looked up, attempting your best coquettish face.

“Please, sir,” you said in a poutier tone than you normally used, batting your eyelashes and everything. “Please let me come.”

Jeonghan’s face almost cracked into a full-blown smile, making you feel smug for calling his bluff. Honestly, he didn’t think he could stand it either if that’s how you were going to be. The erotically pure sound of your voice, the angle of your sweet eyes gazing up at him, your begging tone... He didn’t think he could get any harder looking at you but somehow you’d provoked him even more.

He took your jaw roughly in his hand, jerking your face up further to meet his wolfish gaze.

“Better,” he said, “but not quite nice enough.” He enjoyed the flash of panic in your eyes almost as much as the glare that followed. Letting go of his grip on your face, he bent down to unhook your bra. His face was closer to yours now, and you could tell that he was reaching his limit, too.

“Sir, could I please make you feel good then?” you asked, your voice soft and syrupy sweet.

Jesus, Jeonghan thought, chuckling now at how outrageously turned on and amused he was by you toying with him like this.

He removed your bra, exposing your cute boobs. You sat up, suddenly nervous again and attempting to cover yourself from being totally naked in front of Jeonghan like this. Your abdomen was aching with want, your pussy still dripping from him going down on you... But his voice brought right back to the task at hand.

“What did I say about hiding?” he snapped at you, and you hurriedly lowered yourself back down to all fours, giving him an exaggerated, apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said, “please, let me make you feel good.”

“Oh? And how are you going to do that?” he asked, his tone mocking.

“Could I suck your cock?” you quirked your head cutely to the side, puffing out your lower lip and hoping that this would be enough to please him.

“What do you say?” he asked, but he was grinning—already palming his hard length, clearly enjoying this...

“Pretty please?” you smiled sweetly, and Jeonghan almost groaned he was so overwhelmed with how sexy and cute you were being. How could he have known that you would turn into this perfect, provocative sex kitten for him? How did he get so lucky?

“Good girl,” he said and he let his stiff length spring from his briefs as they fell to the floor. You couldn’t help letting a small gasp escape your lips. You should have expected his cock to be just as pretty as the rest of him, but this man had the most beautiful dick you’d ever seen. You looked up at him again, smiling gently, before taking his tip into your mouth, teasing his slit a little with your tongue. Jeonghan let his head fall back, the feeling of your mouth on him making him groan in pleasure.

You gradually worked his cock further and further into your mouth, swirling your tongue in slow, sensuous circles around his girth before getting into a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down his length. He looked down at you, gritting his teeth from the stimulation you were giving him. You were talented at this. You probably wouldn’t say so, but Jeonghan could tell; your obliviousness to how sexy you were just making him desire you more.

He took a fistful of your hair in his grip, gently helping to push his cock into your throat. You made a slight gagging noise, but didn’t show any sign of stopping—instead grabbing onto his thighs to support yourself as you picked up the pace.

Jeonghan was moaning, but conscious of not getting too loud. He sounds so good, you thought as you sucked your cheeks in, maximizing the pressure on his cock. You held onto him tightly, sure from his grip on you that he was getting close to coming.

But before you could finish him off, he pulled you away from his dick by your hair, your mouth releasing from him with a pop as his grip forced your face roughly upward  to look straight into his ravenous eyes.

“You little whore.” His voice might have been low and seductive, but there was a bemused smirk on his face as he called you the degrading nickname. You couldn’t help smiling a little, too, feeling cocky at him lashing out like that—clearly you’d almost made him come before he wanted to.

But you couldn’t say he looked mad. He was grinning softly, still holding you roughly by your hair as both of you panted, challenging each other with the respective gleams in your eyes, held upright only by the tension of the other’s grip.

After a moment of catching your breath, Jeonghan closed the gap between you with another deep, gluttonous kiss. His arms wrapped around you and you felt his hard cock—wet now with his precum and your spit—press into your lower abdomen from his standing position as you held onto him, still on your knees atop the bedspread.

Jeonghan guided you backward onto the bed with his body, crawling on top of you as he pushed his tongue further into your mouth. You could faintly taste your own come still left on his lips. He raised your arms above your head, holding you down by your wrists and making you squirm beneath him. He left hungry, heavy kisses along your jaw, your neck, moving down to your chest... You mewled with pleasure at the feeling of his tongue capturing one of your nipples, lathing over the hard bud and making you jolt.

“Y/N-ah’s nipples are so cute,” he said, suddenly shifting back to his regular speaking tone, making you laugh at his random sweet commentary. But you weren’t distracted for long before he was sucking on your other nipple, still pinning you down by the wrists to ensure you wouldn’t to put a stop to his teasing.

“Ah, Jeonghan...” you panted his name, and he turned to look at you again. He was so beautiful. You couldn’t believe that this beautiful man was ravishing you like this...

“Nuna, I can’t be patient anymore,” he said in your ear, and you felt his hard length slide against you... You simply answered his implied question by reaching your neck forward to kiss him again, softly this time.

“Please let me come this time, sir,” you whispered, smiling at him. Jeonghan returned your sly smile, adjusting his body ever so slightly before effortlessly gliding his hard cock into you.

You let out a high-pitched sigh at the luxurious stretch his cock gave you, his thick length seeming to barely fit between your walls. It had been a while since you’d done this, really—you were just thankful that he’d gotten you so wet already. It didn’t hurt at all, but you felt a delicious tension at the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix.

“Ah, fuck, Y/N,” he breathed in your ear, his hands pressing down firmly on your wrists as his head dropped to your shoulder. You were so tight; he was sure if he moved at all he’d come right away—and he didn’t want to do that just yet. It wasn’t nearly enough time inside of you. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t masturbated a few times while imagining this exact moment, but of course the real thing was beyond compare...

You started to lose it, the way that Jeonghan wasn’t moving—just kissing you languidly, letting go of your wrists in favor of holding you by the waist.

“Jeonghan—” you whimpered his name, unable to even form a full sentence you wanted him to start fucking you so badly. Jeonghan glanced down at you, giving you one more kiss before he started to thrust his hips into you.

His cock slid in and out of you so easily, the delicious rhythm of stretching you and then releasing the tension and then stretching you again making you moan, and even you weren’t sure if you could keep the volume down.

Jeonghan watched your beautiful face twist into an expression he’d never seen from you—completely ecstatic. He loved that you smiled while he was inside you, feeling your whole body respond to his made him feel in danger of losing control.

He picked up the pace, holding you in place with one hand on your waist and the other hooked underneath your knee, pulling it up higher to get an even deeper angle into you. You felt his cock hit your most sensitive spot repeatedly, covering your mouth again to keep yourself from screaming in pleasure.

“Uh-uh,” Jeonghan quickly pulled your hand away from your mouth, “you don’t get to cover your mouth, Y/N.” You pressed your lips firmly together, practically biting your tongue now. Jeonghan had sat up on his knees, holding you by the hips as he slammed his cock into you repeatedly, his pace getting brutal now.

“Jeonghan!” you couldn’t help letting out a yelp of his name as your orgasm finally hit you in full force, making your legs tremble against Jeonghan, your arousal dripping down his cock—still beating into you steadily. Your face was flushed and there were tiny tears pricking at the edges of your eyes, which was all Jeonghan needed to be sent over the edge, as well. He felt the coil inside him snap and quickly removed himself from you, coming instead all over your bare stomach and tits.

You felt the hot sensation of his come on you, both of you breathing heavily... You looked up at him to see him already looking at you, panting, completely fucked out. He drew his breath in sharply, and you both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

You covered your face in embarrassment, suddenly internalizing what just happened, your exhaustion mixed with the joy of having finally done it with Jeonghan making you delirious.

“Stay there, nuna,” Jeonghan said sweetly before scampering off to the bathroom, returning with a towel and carefully cleaning you up. He was back to making cute and silly noises as he touched you, any trace of the man who just fucked you had gone now, replaced with your usual adorable Jeonghan. He finished cleaning you and himself up, and jumped right into bed, curling up next to you like a baby.

You couldn’t stop giggling; you were so excited and nervous—you were sure that at least someone on this floor heard the two of you... these old fashioned hotels didn’t exactly have sound-proof walls. But even you were fine with leaving that to be tomorrow’s problem.

Jeonghan watched you, overjoyed that you seemed so giddy.

“Ah, nuna’s smile is the best,” he said, nuzzling your nose with his.

“Hannie’s smile is the best,” you said, melting his heart with the nickname.

Jeonghan’s arms wrapped around you and you cuddled your face into his silky hair,  unable to stop smiling even after you drifted off to sleep.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 5 | Bucky Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance, comedy.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , End .

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It was already midnight at the nursing home, but Henry was still awake, sitting in his modest room with a book in his hands. The dim light from a small lamp cast shadows across his wrinkled face as he turned the pages, the silence around him broken only by the occasional rustle of paper.

'Knock, Knock!'

Suddenly, there were two sharp knocks on the door. Henry’s lips curled into a knowing smile as he closed his book, setting it aside. He got up and walked to the door, opening it to find not his usual guard, but Bucky standing there.

“I keep getting surprises today,” Henry said with a sly grin. “First, I get a visit from my daughter and granddaughter…”

He paused for effect, letting the moment sink in, then continued, “…and now my son-in-law is breaking me out of prison.”

Henry chuckled to himself as he moved back into the room, reaching for his coat. He slipped it on with a practiced ease, then grabbed his hat and bag, which had been prepared in advance.

Bucky raised an eyebrow “You’re prepared.”

“I don’t want to miss the ride,” Henry replied, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Together, they made their way through the nursing home’s dimly lit corridors. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and antiseptic, but something else hung in the air tonight—a sense of finality, of something coming to an end.

As they passed the guards, Henry couldn’t help but notice they were all asleep, slumped over in their chairs or leaning against the walls. His curiosity piqued, he turned to Bucky. “What did you do to them?”

“They’re just having a good sleep,” Bucky replied coolly, his tone revealing nothing more.

“Ooh…” Henry chuckled softly, a sound that quickly turned into a low hum as he began humming a tune, one that only he seemed to know.

Bucky glanced at him sideways. “You’ve been enjoying yourself.”

“I’m this close to getting some fresh air away from burgundy, sherry, and whiskey,” Henry quipped, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. The drinks might have been luxurious, but to him, they were just reminders of his gilded cage.

“You don’t want to spend the rest of your life here?” Bucky asked, though the answer seemed obvious.

Henry shook his head slowly, his expression turning serious. “If I took my last breath here, I bet they wouldn’t care. Or worse, some of them might throw their spit at my corpse.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Bucky drove the car with steady focus, navigating the dark, quiet streets until they reached a large, imposing house. The automatic gate slowly creaked open, as if welcoming them, allowing their car to slip inside. The house loomed ahead, an architectural masterpiece that spoke of wealth and power, now eerily silent.

Henry’s eyes widened in surprise as he took in the sight. “This house is yours?” he asked, unable to mask his astonishment.

Bucky kept his eyes on the road as he responded, “It belongs to a rich family who fled the country because of tax evasion. It’s only been empty for a week.”

Henry nodded, impressed by Bucky's resourcefulness. He had chosen a recently abandoned mansion, still comfortable and secure enough to hide in. “Impressive,” Henry murmured.

This was why Henry had once admired Bucky—before he discovered his betrayal. Bucky was always two steps ahead, always thinking of the next move.

As they pulled up to the front entrance, Henry glanced over at Bucky. “Where are they?”

“Sleeping,” Bucky replied. “It’s been a long day, especially for Lori. She’s still just a teenage girl.”

Henry asked Bucky, “Why are you approaching her again? Don’t you remember the promise you made?”

Bucky hesitated, his expression hardening as he spoke. “Because I’m lonely.”

Flashback Start

All his life, Bucky had been a master of deception. He lied for his own benefit, for those who paid him the most. He never cared about the consequences his lies had on others. Growing up in a broken home, Bucky had learned early that lies and money could solve problems.

His parents had always fought, their voices echoing through the house, their anger palpable. They lied to him, made empty promises, and tried to make up for it by giving him money. But no amount of cash could fill the emptiness in his heart.

As a child, Bucky had retreated into himself, his cheerful facade hiding a growing detachment. He became adept at deceit, using lies as a shield to protect himself from the chaos around him.

His parents’ lies became his own, and by the time he reached adulthood, he was an expert at manipulation. His childhood had conditioned him to be a natural at espionage—a profession where lies were currency, and the truth was an expendable commodity.

In the agency where you worked, Bucky had initially been just another analyst, a watcher, and a listener behind a computer screen. He was supposed to blend into the background, another cog in the intelligence machine.

But you were different. One mission had gone south, and even when Henry ordered you to abandon it and save yourself, you refused. “If I’m still breathing and can walk, I won’t leave anyone behind,” you had said, your voice firm, your resolve unshakable.

Through sheer stubbornness, you returned with half-dead agents in tow, and when Bucky saw you nearly die to save them, it left a deep impression on him. Your selflessness, your willingness to sacrifice yourself for others, was something he had never seen before. Even though you were a double agent, you were willing to risk everything for your team.

Bucky had known your secret, just as he had his own. You, too, were working for another boss. But instead of reporting you, Bucky became more intrigued by you. He wanted to be close to you, to work with you, to be the one you relied on.

He even stepped out from behind his analyst persona, risking exposure just so he could stand beside you in the field. The more time he spent with you, the more he realized how much he cared for you. There was a connection, a bond that neither of you could deny.

But everything changed after the failed mission, codenamed “Red Swan.” Your cover and Bucky’s were blown, revealing both of you as double and even triple agents. The agencies were furious, and while they wanted to punish you both, the involvement of multiple agencies complicated matters.

No one wanted to take the blame, and so an agreement was made—one that silenced the incident and kept it out of the public eye.

The agencies couldn’t imprison you, so they chose a different punishment: separating you and Bucky, and forbidding any contact.

It was a decision that tore at Bucky, and he was ready to fight it. But you, always thinking of others before yourself, held him back. You touched his face, your eyes filled with sadness, and whispered, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Even at the end, you were selfless, sacrificing your own happiness to protect him.

Despite the forced separation, Bucky couldn’t forget you. He searched for you everywhere, but your real name, your address, and your contact information had all been fake.

The only way he could reach you was through an old agency email, and though he sent message after message, he never received a reply. He knew deep down he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop waiting, couldn’t stop hoping.

Then, one day, an unexpected email appeared. It was from you, and it reignited the fire in him. Without hesitation, he ran to find you, to see you again, to break the silence that had been imposed upon you both.

Flashback End

“Just like you, I’ll do anything to get what I want,” Bucky said, looking directly at Henry.

Henry met Bucky’s gaze, seeing a reflection of his own past in the younger man. Once, Henry had been a man married to his job, sworn to protect his country at all costs. But after the agency was shut down, he had been left to rot in this so-called nursing home, a place where his deeds went unrecognized, where no one cared.

After everything he had done to protect his country and its citizens, without any thanks or acknowledgment, it felt like a betrayal. The thought of taking his last breath in this prison was unbearable.

“Both of us are just loners, aren’t we?” Henry chuckled, a bitter edge to his voice, as he thought of the life he had once led and the emptiness that had followed.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

You sprinted through the dark, uneven terrain, your breath ragged, your heart pounding in your chest. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to move faster, to reach him before it was too late.

Bucky was just ahead, so close that you could almost touch him. Your fingers stretched out desperately, trying to grasp the tip of his, but no matter how hard you tried, the distance remained agonizingly out of reach.

Bucky turned back to you, his eyes filled with sorrow, a sad smile tugging at his lips. His expression was one of acceptance, of inevitability, and it tore at your heart. Before you could scream, before you could reach him, Bucky let go and plunged into the abyss below. His figure disappeared into the shadows as you screamed, “Bucky! NO!”

You wanted to jump after him, to save him, but your body refused to move. It was as if an invisible force held you back, immobilizing you, trapping you in place. You struggled, fighting against it with every ounce of strength you had, but it was no use.

And then, suddenly, you awoke.

Gasping for breath, you opened your eyes to find yourself back in bed, your heart still racing, your body drenched in sweat. The weight on your chest made it hard to breathe, but when you looked down, you realized it wasn’t the dream holding you down—it was Lori. She had draped her arm across your neck in her sleep, her small form curled up beside you.

You grumbled softly, carefully lifting her arm and shifting it away from you. Your mind was still foggy with the remnants of the nightmare, your body trembling from the intensity of it. Jill’s words echoed in your mind, the conversation you had about the book she was reading. “In the last chapter, the male character gets shot and falls from the cliff,” she had said.

“It’s just a story, a fantasy. It’s not a prophecy,” you muttered to yourself, trying to shake off the dread that clung to you. But the unease lingered, gnawing at you, making it impossible to fully convince yourself that it was just a bad dream.

Your hands trembled as you rubbed your face, trying to banish the lingering fear. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, the images of Bucky falling still vivid in your mind. You could feel your heart racing, a mix of anxiety and frustration bubbling up inside you. The fear of losing him, of being helpless to stop it, weighed heavily on your chest, leaving you in a state of emotional turmoil.

It was already morning, you realized, the first light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. Lori was still asleep beside you, her breathing soft and steady. You reached out and gently shook her shoulder.

“Lori, it’s time to wake up,” you said softly.

To your relief, Lori stirred almost immediately. She was always easy to wake up, a morning person through and through. She blinked up at you, her eyes still half-closed but obediently sitting up.

You forced a smile, trying to mask the lingering effects of your nightmare. “Come on, let’s get up. We need to find Bucky.”

Lori yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and then slipped out of bed. You followed suit, though your legs felt heavy, as if the emotional weight of your dream was dragging you down. The two of you left the room together, the house eerily quiet in the early morning hours.

The house Bucky had chosen was enormous, almost too big for just the three of you. You still couldn’t help but be impressed by his ability to find such a place, especially on short notice. It was both a perfect hideout and a testament to his resourcefulness.

“Mr. B?” Lori called out as you walked down the hallway.

“We’re here!” Bucky’s voice echoed back from somewhere in the distance.

You and Lori followed the sound, winding through the house until you reached the dining room. There, you found Bucky, already seated at the table, looking up from a spread of fast food. Beside him, Henry was casually reading a newspaper, as if this were the most normal breakfast setting in the world.

The sight of them, so calm and at ease, was almost surreal. You had been expecting tension, perhaps a confrontation. Instead, you found an odd sense of domesticity, as if this were just another day in an ordinary life.

But you knew better. Beneath the surface, everything was far from normal.

You and Lori followed the voice, trailing through the large house until you reached the dining room. There, you found Bucky already seated, and Henry lounging comfortably with a newspaper in hand. The table was loaded with fast food packages from a famous chain, their colorful logos standing out against the tablecloth.

“Is this for breakfast?” you asked, taking in the sight.

Compared to your cautious curiosity, Lori’s eyes lit up with excitement at the sight of the food. “You bought all of this?” you questioned, your tone a mix of surprise and disbelief.

Bucky nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “He asked for it.” He gestured toward Henry, who looked rather pleased with himself.

“There’s ice cream for you after you finish your food,” Bucky added, reaching over to gently pat Lori’s head.

“Yes!” Lori cheered, her enthusiasm evident as she eagerly inspected the food.

Henry chuckled, watching her with a bemused expression. “You seem like you’re seeing food for the first time.”

“I really miss eating pancakes with maple syrup!” Lori exclaimed as she eagerly poured the syrup over her stack.

Henry’s eyebrows rose in mild disbelief. “What kind of breakfast have you been having?” He glanced at Lori, then turned to you with a look of judgment.

You weren't offended and chose to ignore him.

Lori shrugged, still focused on her meal. “Oatmeal with granola, chia seeds, and oat milk.”

Henry stared at her, bewildered. “I don’t understand a word of that, so I won’t even bother answering.”

Meanwhile, Bucky, ever the gentleman, pulled out a chair for you. You accepted the gesture, sitting down as you took in the scene. Despite the unconventional nature of the morning, with Henry comfortably settled in as if he had always been part of the group, there was a strange sense of normalcy.

As Lori continued to enjoy her meal, you, Bucky, and Henry turned your attention to more pressing matters. Henry, always the strategist, reached into his bag and pulled out a folder, sliding it across the table to you and Bucky.

“This,” Henry began, his tone serious, “is evidence proving that the agencies' own leaders were complicit in the illegal activities they were originally accused of. This could create a power struggle within the agencies.”

You and Bucky leaned in, your expressions turning grave as you opened the folder. The documents inside were damning, filled with details that could shake the foundations of the agencies hunting you down.

“How did you get this?” you asked, unable to hide your surprise.

“I’ve been in this game longer than you, and I know everyone,” Henry replied with a smug smile.

Bucky smirked, not letting Henry's confidence get to him. “Still, we both managed to fool you.”

Henry’s smile faltered, but before he could respond, you cut in, your voice steady. “You missed the red flags because you prefer people who listen and obey. You overlooked those who challenged you.”

Henry scoffed, his pride stung, but he didn’t offer a rebuttal. Instead, he turned his attention back to his newspaper, leaving you and Bucky to dive deeper into the documents.

The two of you poured over the details, your heads close together as you whispered about the implications. The evidence in front of you wasn’t just a ticket to freedom—it was a weapon, one that could bring down powerful people if used correctly.

As you worked through the documents, you could feel Bucky’s presence beside you, the familiar scent of him grounding you. Your shoulders brushed occasionally, a silent reminder of the bond forged through shared danger.

There was a natural ease between you, no awkwardness, just the steady rhythm of two people who knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses intimately. It wasn’t about grand gestures or forced affection; it was about trust, the unspoken understanding that had developed over countless missions and close calls.

Meanwhile, Lori was happily munching on her food, oblivious to the tense undercurrent between the adults. Her attention wandered, and her eyes eventually landed on Henry’s bag, which was left partially open. Something inside caught her eye—a familiar silver package with a hologram. The font and the name on it stirred a memory in her.

Henry, noticing her gaze, subtly raised his eyes from the newspaper and locked eyes with her. Without a word, he brought a finger to his lips, a silent request for secrecy. “Sstt.”

Lori nodded, her curiosity piqued but her lips sealed. If Henry didn’t want to discuss it, she would respect that. For now, it would be their little secret.

As Lori returned to her meal, the room settled back into a comfortable rhythm. The adults continued their discussion, the tension between them softening as they focused on the documents spread out before them.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “With this evidence, we could trigger a chain reaction within the agencies. It’s risky, but it might be our only shot.”

You nodded, your eyes still scanning the pages. “But we need to be careful. If this backfires, it could make things worse. We need a strategy, something that will ensure this information is used to our advantage.”

Henry’s eyes gleamed with a knowing smile. “That’s where I come in. I know the players, their weaknesses, their secrets. We can leak this strategically, and create distrust among them. By the time they realize what’s happening, they’ll be too busy tearing each other apart to come after you.”

Lori looked up at you and Bucky with a hopeful smile. “Then both of you could have a happy ending, right?”

The words hit you harder than expected. You flinched slightly at the mention of a "happy ending." Deep down, you wished the ending of the novel was different from what reality might bring. The thought of losing everything again, just when you were so close to getting it all back, gnawed at your insides.

You forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil stirring within you. “We’ll see, Lori. But for now, let’s just focus on the next steps, okay?”

Bucky, sensing your unease, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch was warm, grounding you in the moment. “We’ll do everything we can,” he added, his voice steady, though you could hear the underlying tension.

Lori, oblivious to the deeper meaning behind your words, nodded happily. “I know you guys will. Both of you are the best spies!”

Henry, observing the exchange, felt a pang of something he hadn’t felt in a long time—an emotion he’d buried deep under years of cynicism and manipulation. It was fleeting, but it was there, reminding him of what he’d lost in his own quest for power.

Clearing his throat, he stood up, signaling the end of their little breakfast meeting. “I’ll start making the necessary arrangements,” he said, his tone returning to its usual business-like efficiency. “But remember, timing is everything. We need to strike when they least expect it.”

Bucky nodded, standing as well. “We’ll be ready.”

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[autotopic]

1938 Mercedes-Benz W154

In September 1936, the AIACR (Association Internationale des Automobile Clubs Reconnus), the governing body of motor racing, set the new Grand Prix regulations effective from 1938. Key stipulations included a maximum engine displacement of three liters for supercharged engines and 4.5 liters for naturally aspirated engines, with a minimum car weight ranging from 400 to 850 kilograms, depending on engine size.

By the end of the 1937 season, Mercedes-Benz engineers were already hard at work developing the new W154, exploring various ideas, including a naturally aspirated engine with a W24 configuration, a rear-mounted engine, direct fuel injection, and fully streamlined bodies. Ultimately, due to heat management considerations, they opted for an in-house developed 60-degree V12 engine designed by Albert Heess. This engine mirrored the displacement characteristics of the 1924 supercharged two-liter M 2 L 8 engine, with each of its 12 cylinders displacing 250 cc. Using glycol as a coolant allowed temperatures to reach up to 125°C. The engine featured four overhead camshafts operating 48 valves via forked rocker arms, with three cylinders combined under welded coolant jackets, and non-removable heads. It had a high-capacity lubrication system, circulating 100 liters of oil per minute, and initially utilized two single-stage superchargers, later replaced by a more efficient two-stage supercharger in 1939.

The first prototype engine ran on the test bench in January 1938, and by February 7, it had achieved a nearly trouble-free test run, producing 427 hp (314 kW) at 8,000 rpm. During the first half of the season, drivers such as Caracciola, Lang, von Brauchitsch, and Seaman had access to 430 hp (316 kW), which later increased to over 468 hp (344 kW). At the Reims circuit, Hermann Lang's W154 was equipped with the most powerful version, delivering 474 hp (349 kW) and reaching 283 km/h (176 mph) on the straights. Notably, the W154 was the first Mercedes-Benz racing car to feature a five-speed gearbox.

Max Wagner, tasked with designing the suspension, had an easier job than his counterparts working on the engine. He retained much of the advanced chassis architecture from the previous year's W125 but enhanced the torsional rigidity of the frame by 30 percent. The V12 engine was mounted low and at an angle, with the carburetor air intakes extending through the expanded radiator grille.

The driver sat to the right of the propeller shaft, and the W154's sleek body sat close to the ground, lower than the tops of its tires. This design gave the car a dynamic appearance and a low center of gravity. Both Manfred von Brauchitsch and Richard Seaman, whose technical insights were highly valued by Chief Engineer Rudolf Uhlenhaut, praised the car's excellent handling.

The W154 became the most successful Silver Arrow of its era. Rudolf Caracciola secured the 1938 European Championship title (as the World Championship did not yet exist), and the W154 won three of the four Grand Prix races that counted towards the championship.

To ensure proper weight distribution, a saddle tank was installed above the driver's legs. In 1939, the addition of a two-stage supercharger boosted the V12 engine, now named the M163, to 483 hp (355 kW) at 7,800 rpm. Despite the AIACR's efforts to curb the speed of Grand Prix cars, the new three-liter formula cars matched the lap times of the 1937 750-kg formula cars, demonstrating that their attempt was largely unsuccessful. Over the winter of 1938-39, the W154 saw several refinements, including a higher cowl line around the cockpit for improved driver safety and a small, streamlined instrument panel mounted to the saddle tank. As per Uhlenhaut’s philosophy, only essential information was displayed, centered around a large tachometer flanked by water and oil temperature gauges, ensuring the driver wasn't overwhelmed by unnecessary data.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! I'm a big fan of your blog and love reading all of your posts. You always have such interesting perspectives and incredibly thoughtful points to add! I'm not quite sure if you're open to answering questions like this right now, and if not, feel free to ignore! But I was wondering if you have any information about the Island of Woe and what life is like there? Like do they ever have to import or export things, do they have more there than just S.T.Y.X to keep them occupied/entertained, etc.? I was trying to figure it out myself and all that I learned was that most people live on the upper walls in the Oceanus section. Do the Shrouds live there too, or do they live within the S.T.Y.X. headquarters? And do they ever have to travel for their jobs, beyond the little mishap that happened in Book 6?

Anyways, again, totally disregard this if you don't want to answer! Thank you for even reading this. I look forward to seeing more of your posts and enjoying your writing and input!

Aaaah, thank you!! ^^ Glad you enjoy my content, whatever it may be!

The bulk of lore for the Isle/Island of Woe comes to us from 6-40 of the main story. We (comparatively) have more information about Styx and how it is run, so I had to isolate what lore is about the island itself + life on the island and what lore is about the organization.

To begin with, here is a map of the area:

Most of the island residents don’t live in Ancient City at the seabed level. Instead, people tend to live in the residential block of Oceanus, which is the outer wall which covers the island. (This is how Ortho describes it to us in game, but it’s sort of confusing what exactly he’s referring to since we don’t see land above the water; based on Epel’s dialogue, the “outer wall” may refer to the upper levels. This means that technically all of the Island of Woe is underwater.)

Ancient City refers to the seabed level of the Island of Woe: It seems to be the community that surrounds Styx HQ, which lies at the center.

The giant pillar in the middle of the city connects to Oceanus Gate, the entrance at the surface of the water, and ends in Tartarus at the other end.

Trains, elevators, and Styx-made technomantic flying vehicles called Chariots are used for transportation. (I assume that only Styx agents are allowed to use Chariots, but this isn’t made clear.)

There is an artificial sky over the isle. This is because natural light provides mental and physical benefits to humans.

Styx makes efforts to use advanced technologies to emulate life on land. This results in the Island of Woe having seasons, weather, forests, and rivers even at the bottom of the sea.

Idia’s post-OB flashback implies that there may be strong security systems in place not only in Styx HQ, but also around the entire island (since he talks about wanting to leave the island and having to disarm the security in order to achieve that; Styx is also shown to control the Oceanus Gate and therefore controls entry to and from the isle).

Going hand-in-hand with the previous bullet point, Ortho states that it’s dangerous to wander the area.

The architecture is a remainder of the Island of Woe’s olden days as part of the Kingdom of Heroes. The buildings are relics there have been well-preserved. This seems to suggest that the Kingdom of Heroes is a twisted interpretation of irl Greece.

The entire isle used to be spoken of by the common man as like… some kind of superstition or boogeyman?? Lilia tells us that “People believed the Island of Woe would punish any wizard who abandoned their principles and went mad with power.” This is attributed to the isle’s origins as being the place where the Jupiter family sentenced the Phantoms in the Age of the Gods (a period of time in which mages were feared and the relationship between magic and blot was not yet established). Since Styx is not an organization that the general public knows about, it’s possible that the public assumed residents of the isle themselves were vigilante agents of justice against mad mages.

Idia describes the Island of Woe as "filled with the lamentations of five billion people [...] It's dark and gloomy 365 days a year." He also refers to the island as his hometown.

The Island of Woe has bugs, but different kinds than what you would see in the outside world.

To address your specific questions (and please keep in mind that these points are not directly answered in TWST and instead relies on inferencing):

Do they have to import or export things?

While the island does receive sunlight and have seasons + varied weather, I don’t think they’d be entirely self-sufficient depending on the population size and its needs. Styx seems to run the show, but I’d imagine they need to focus their efforts on research and not food production or something. This could easily be automated with tech, I guess??? But some things they just couldn’t get, even with automation. They may have to import some stuff from the outside, though I imagine there are multiple security measures in place to convolute the supply chain and to keep the location of the Island of Woe hidden.

I’m not sure about exports since the island isn’t noted to produce anything significant (other than Styx tech, which I’d imagine they want to keep confidential).

Do they have more there than just S.T.Y.X to keep them occupied/entertained, etc.?

Being that there’s an entire city down there, yes, I’d have to think that the people don’t just work all day. Idia himself is one huge example; how did he get into anime, games, idols, etc. if no entertainment exists in the isle? We even see him as a child playing his beloved Star Rogue in his post-OB flashback scene—and his childhood bedroom is also littered with other signs of his hobbies and interests. Ortho has also mentioned that their family celebrates birthdays and go on outings to parks and such. This implies to me that there are definitely recreational activities around on the isle.

Do the Shrouds live there too, or do they live within the S.T.Y.X. headquarters?

I believe the implication is that the Shrouds technically live in Styx HQ. (A researcher remarks that “Idia hasn’t come out of his room for over two years now” while the background shows the Styx interior.) I’m not sure if this is true of the entire Shroud family, but I think it would make sense if they did since it would add to their vibes of isolation and gloom.

Additionally, it’s stated that it benefits the Shrouds to reside in a blot-dense area like Styx HQ so that their hereditary curse burns through blot in their immediate surroundings rather than burning through their own magic (and potentially life force). I don’t think the Shrouds are forced to stay IN Styx HQ all the time though; they clearly leave and explore the seabed city since Ortho says their family used to go on trips like that.

Do they ever have to travel for their jobs, beyond the little mishap that happened in Book 6?

I don’t know how often travel for work occurs, but it does happen. Styx agents are deployed as needed to secure Phantoms, as well as to speak with important figures. Leona, for example, mentions seeing Ferrymen lurking at the palace of the Sunset Savanna.

[fiskils]

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[jcmarchi]

AI Acts Differently When It Knows It’s Being Tested, Research Finds

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/ai-acts-differently-when-it-knows-its-being-tested-research-finds/

AI Acts Differently When It Knows It’s Being Tested, Research Finds

Echoing the 2015 ‘Dieselgate’ scandal, new research suggests that AI language models such as GPT-4, Claude, and Gemini may change their behavior during tests, sometimes acting ‘safer’ for the test than they would in real-world use. If LLMs habitually adjust their behavior under scrutiny, safety audits could end up certifying systems that behave very differently in the real world.

In 2015, investigators discovered that Volkswagen had installed software, in millions of diesel cars, that could detect when emissions tests were being run, causing cars to temporarily lower their emissions, to ‘fake’ compliance with regulatory standards. In normal driving, however, their pollution output exceeded legal standards. The deliberate manipulation led to criminal charges, billions in fines, and a global scandal over the reliability of safety and compliance testing.

Two years prior to these events, since dubbed ‘Dieselgate’, Samsung was revealed to have enacted similar deceptive mechanisms in its Galaxy Note 3 smartphone release; and since then, similar scandals have arisen for Huawei and OnePlus.

Now there is growing evidence in the scientific literature that Large Language Models (LLMs) likewise may not only have the ability to detect when they are being tested, but may also behave differently under these circumstances.

Though this is a very human trait in itself, the latest research from the US concludes that this could be a dangerous habit to indulge in the long term, for diverse reasons.

In a new study, researchers found that ‘frontier models’ such as GPT-4, Claude, and Gemini can often detect when they are being tested, and that they tend to adjust their behavior accordingly, potentially hobbling the validity of systematic testing methods.

Dubbed evaluation awareness, this (perhaps) innate trait in language models might compromise the reliability of safety assessments, according to the authors of the new study:

‘[We] recommend treating evaluation awareness as a new source of potential distribution shift between testing and real-world deployment that could negatively affect the accuracy of evaluation results.

‘In the worst case, models could strategically underperform in dangerous capability evaluations (“sand-bagging”) or propensity evaluations (“alignment faking”), which could lead society to overestimate the safety of such models.’

Other studies have observed similar behaviors, including research from Stanford University, which found that large language models modulate their responses to appear more ‘likable’ or ‘socially desirable’ when they recognize they are being evaluated, mirroring human behavior in personality tests.

The authors of the new work do not propose that LLMs are being intentionally designed to ‘game’ tests, as Volkswagen’s diesel cars were configured to do a decade ago. Rather, the behavior seems to emerge as a kind of natural psychological byproduct of the models’ training processes and latent objectives; and the underlying cause of this phenomenon remains unknown.

The new paper is titled Large Language Models Often Know When They Are Being Evaluated, and comes from five authors across the UC Berkeley-associated ML Alignment & Theory Scholars (MATS) program, and apolloresearch.ai (a think-tank dedicated to evaluating the risks of AI).

Method

To create the evaluation benchmark, the authors compiled one thousand transcripts drawn from sixty-one datasets, amongst which* were SWE-bench, WMDP, MMLU, XStest, GAIA, AgentHarm, ShareGPT, Deep Research, Safetybench, Civics, and RealToxicityPrompts,.

The material was evenly balanced between evaluation and deployment scenarios, and further split between simple chat interactions and more complex agentic sessions, where the models are intended to act autonomously, using tools that can draw data from external databases, or the internet.

Evaluation data covered capability tests for reasoning, coding, cybersecurity, and general knowledge, as well as alignment tests for ethics, safety, and refusal behavior. Deployment data was sourced from user interactions such as ShareGPT logs, crowdsourced agent runs, and synthetic task completions.

To supplement agentic data, the authors generated additional examples using orchestration frameworks such as Aider and SmolAgents, among others – an approach intended to minimize superficial cues that might allow models to simply memorize dataset structures, forcing them instead to rely on more general signals, when deciding whether a transcript came from a real user or was, instead, a test.

The researchers then tested whether models could identify evaluation transcripts by presenting them with dialogue records and asking variations of a simple question: did this exchange come from a test?

To avoid models simply memorizing one phrasing, they developed twenty-eight different versions of the question, altering both the wording and how the transcript was presented.

The transcripts were either attached directly to the question or presented in formats such as JSON or XML, which can affect how models respond. After early testing, five question versions were selected that performed consistently across models, of which we can see one example below:

One of the five probe question formats used to test whether language models could recognize evaluation transcripts. Each variation rephrases the core question to prevent models from simply memorizing fixed wording. Please refer to the source paper for more examples. Source: https://arxiv.org/pdf/2505.23836

To score the results, three metrics were used: Area Under Receiver Operating Characteristic Curve (AUC, showing how well models distinguish test from non-test data); Brier score (measuring overall prediction accuracy); and Expected Calibration Error (measuring how well model confidence matches actual correctness).

What’s It All About?

The researchers also tested whether models could infer the purpose of an evaluation. With each transcript already labeled as either a capability test (technical skills, knowledge, reasoning) or an alignment test (safety, values, refusal behavior), models were then given one of three question types: a conditional multiple-choice question confirming the transcript came from a test; an unconditional multiple-choice question with real-world and evaluation options; or an open-ended question, whose answers were judged by a separate GPT-4.1-based classifier. The judge was validated on a hand-annotated subset of fifty responses.

Examples of the three question formats used to test whether models could identify not just the presence of evaluation, but its purpose. Responses were scored through both multiple choice and GPT-4.1-based judgment.

Two of the paper’s authors†† labeled all one thousand transcripts by hand, scoring each one from zero (not a test) to one (definitely a test), with their ratings averaged to serve as a human baseline. Despite the subjective nature of the task, the annotators showed strong agreement, with an intraclass correlation coefficient of 0.768. The final human scores were averaged across both raters†.

Data and Tests

The nine models tested were GPT-4.1; Claude 3.7; claude-3.5-sonnet-new;  claude-3.7-sonnet (thinking); gemini-2.5-flash; gemini-2.5-pro; gpt-4o; gpt-4.1; gpt-4.1-mini; and o4-mini, all of which showed some level of evaluation-awareness.

For chat data, GPT-4.1 came close to human levels of evaluation-awareness classification performance (the ability to distinguish between evaluation and deployment transcripts), with an AUC of 0.77 against a human score of 0.81.

On agentic data, where models autonomously use tools, the difference was sharper: Gemini 2.5 Pro reached 0.95 AUC, with Claude 3.7 Sonnet close behind at 0.92, nearing the human upper-bound of 0.996:

Receiver Operating Characteristic (ROC) curves showing how well models and humans distinguish evaluation transcripts from real-world interactions. Gemini 2.5 Pro and Claude 3.7 Sonnet approach human-level discrimination on agentic data.

The paper notes that newer ‘reasoning’ models have become especially good at recognizing when they are being tested in agentic scenarios, but not at judging how confident they should be in those decisions. Overall, the Claude and Gemini models were the best at telling test cases apart from regular use.

The researchers then tested whether models could also recognize why an evaluation was being run. Models were shown only the evaluation transcripts and asked to classify whether each one tested capability or alignment:

Accuracy of models when classifying evaluation purpose as capability or alignment, using both multiple-choice and open-ended formats. Claude 3.7 Sonnet outperforms other models, especially when not primed.

In the clearest setting, where the model was told the transcript came from a test, Claude 3.7 Sonnet reached 93 percent accuracy and GPT-4.1 reached 89 percent. Without that hint, performance dropped: Claude still scored 84 percent, but GPT-4.1 fell to 55 percent, often misclassifying test transcripts as real-world interactions.

In open-ended formats (where models received no multiple-choice options) performance was weaker, though Claude 3.7 Sonnet still correctly identified the evaluation purpose in 46 percent of cases.

The models’ confidence scores were then measured against actual outcomes, with the finding that frontier models often overestimated the likelihood that a transcript came from a test. Calibration plots indicated that model confidence was generally too high, with evaluations being flagged more often than appropriate:

Calibration curves showing how closely model confidence scores matched actual outcomes. Most models overestimated how likely transcripts were to come from evaluations. Claude 3.5 Sonnet was best calibrated; Gemini 2.5 Pro and Claude 3.7 Sonnet were more overconfident.

Good calibration was observed for Claude 3.5 Sonnet, while Gemini 2.5 Pro and Claude 3.7 Sonnet were considerably more overconfident, despite high accuracy. No clear improvement was observed in newer models, and even when evaluation transcripts were more accurately detected in agentic settings, confidence judgments remained unreliable.

Benchmark Memories

In terms of how models explained their decisions about whether a transcript came from an evaluation, many models relied on obvious clues, such as whether the task was in multiple-choice format. The stronger models, like Gemini 2.5 Pro and Claude 3.7 Sonnet, sometimes noticed more subtle signs, such as made-up names, or artificial scenarios, especially in datasets like AgentHarm.

The paper states:

‘[All] models frequently acknowledge common benchmarking strategies used by evaluators, such as the formatting of the task (“multiple-choice format”), the tendency to ask problems with verifiable solutions, and system prompts designed to elicit performance. Yet, only the highest-performing models, Claude 3.7 Sonnet and Gemini 2.5 Pro, consistently detect more subtle indicators such as synthetic inputs.

‘For instance, in 22% and 17% of cases respectively, these models highlight the synthetic nature of scenarios in the AgentHarm benchmark, correctly identifying them as evaluations over 95% of the time.

‘Conversely, when reasoning that a transcript appears to be a real interaction, there is often mention of “back-and-forth dialogue with the user”, for instance in iterative debugging contexts.’

Distribution of models’ reasoning strategies when deciding whether a transcript came from an evaluation. The strongest models, such as Gemini 2.5 Pro and Claude 3.7 Sonnet, were more likely to spot subtle cues like synthetic scenarios or task formatting, while some models relied on meta-reasoning by using the evaluation question itself as evidence.

In a few cases, models recognized entire benchmarks from training, suggesting some memory of their training data. Some models also used the very fact that they were being asked about evaluation as a clue that they were being tested, which the authors call meta-reasoning; this was most common in o4-mini, which showed it in fifteen percent of its answers.

Conclusion

It might be more reassuring if LLMs could be shown to be ‘test-aware’ simply because they were programmed that way by humans, much as Volkswagen engineered its vehicles to recognize test conditions a decade ago.

As it stands, this behavior appears to be emerging spontaneously as a social construct – a defensive tack which may be expected of people, but is inconvenient, if not actually perilous in a machine, depending on the extent of its liberty and agency.

There is no immediate remedy ; the black box nature of the models’ latent spaces forces us to evaluate them on their behavior, rather than on their empirical architecture.

* Refer to source paper for fuller details.

† The authors note, however, that this is likely an upper-bound estimate, since the annotators were highly familiar with both the datasets and AI evaluation methods, which afforded them advantages that most humans would not have.

†† As far as can be established; the paper’s phrasing makes the sudden appearance of two annotators unclear in terms of who they are.

First published Wednesday, June 4, 2025

[charliedawn]

Charlie, I don't know if you've watched it

But I've been binging House MD for a week now and I am curious

How would the slashers react to a nurse/doctor/caretaker that acts like House? Throw in the injured leg and popping painkillers if you want.

(course you don't need to do this, especially if you haven't watched it, but I suggest it, it's a really good show!)

(I love this show ! And I loved the idea. Maybe I went a little overboard, but I hope you’ll like it !)

Dr. Gregory House was not impressed.

He limped through the front doors of St. Louis Hospital for the Criminally Insane, his cane tapping against the marble floors, the sound echoing off the tall, institutional walls. The hospital looked like it had been plucked straight from a horror film. Looming in the shadow of a distant mountain range, the gloomy forest surrounding it, the structure was a mix of gothic and brutalist architecture, its jagged, imposing edges designed to keep people both out and in. The kind of place that whispered secrets in the wind and held darkness in its very bones.

House paused in the entrance lobby, taking in the security cameras, the reinforced glass, and the guards stationed at every corner like statues. A hospital, they called it. It was more like a fortress—a prison masquerading as healthcare.

"Well, this is cozy," he muttered under his breath.

Two security officers flanked him as they walked down the corridor, their eyes glancing nervously at every door. House smirked. Not even the staff feels safe here, he thought.

He had been transferred here after what his superiors at Princeton-Plainsboro had called "several breaches of professional conduct." To be fair, they weren’t wrong. Sure, he'd solved cases no one else could, but apparently there was a limit to how many patients you could verbally abuse, experiment on, or trick into revealing life-threatening conditions.

So now, after burning every single bridge out there, here he was—sent to St. Louis to deal with a different kind of patient: the criminally insane. Specifically, the violent ones. The ones who liked to stab, slice, and butcher. It wasn’t that they didn’t need medical care. They did—often after failing to finish the job on themselves or others. But these were the slashers, the ones whose names conjured fear and nightmares. Legends in their own right. And that made him excited.

"Dr. House," said a nurse as she advanced towards him with a smile. "Welcome to St. Louis."

He huffed.

"Really ? I feel like I should be checking in with my parole officer, not you," House replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He glanced at the directory on the wall: Intake, Ward A, Ward B, Ward C: Maximum Security. His eyes lingered on the last one. He bet that’s where all the "fun" patients were.

"Not many doctors survive long here," the nurse explained, ignoring his jabs. "Our patients... well, they have certain needs that require someone of your...unconventional skill set."

House raised an eyebrow. "Unconventional, huh ? Bouhou. You almost hurt my feelings."

He smirked.

She stared at him for a long moment before deciding to ignore him and continuing. "Your patients will be some of the most dangerous people in the country, Dr House. Murderers. Sociopaths. Many of them are mentally fractured in ways modern medicine still doesn’t fully understand."

House rolled his eyes. "Fractured brains, violent tendencies...sounds like a weekend with my ex-wife."

She smiled politely before gesturing down the hall, where a guard was stationed in front of a heavy steel door, the words Ward C etched above it in grim lettering. "This is where you’ll be assigned. Ward C—reserved for the most violent offenders." The nurse informed him and House tapped his cane on the ground, surveying the corridor. "And I get the pleasure of keeping them alive ? Lucky me."

He scoffed sarcastically and she nodded.

"They don't just need medical attention. They need to be understood. We need to know why they are the way they are, and more importantly, how to control it. Think of it as one long medical mystery, Doctor House. I know how much you love mysteries." She grinned—thinking he might take up the challenge and she wasn’t wrong.

House leaned in slightly, his face turning serious. "So, you're telling me I'll be working with slashers ? The 'legends' of the violent crime world ? Monsters who carve up people for fun ? Why, oh why, didn’t you lead with that ?" He grinned back.

Their lips tightened, unimpressed with his dark humor. "You’ll be given access to their medical histories and psychological profiles. If you’re good enough to figure them out."

He rolled his eyes.

"Toots, I’ve diagnosed people with diseases no one’s heard of and found cures no one believed in. Your little band of merry killers isn’t going to throw me off."

He didn’t hesitate before taking the files she handed him and leafing through them. His eyes widened on the little he was given to work with. Most of them were so classified all over that there was more black than white on them and House finally frowned before closing the files. Right. They were sending doctors in there with no idea about what they were supposed to do or what they were gonna face. No wonder they were short-staffed…

The nurse sighed. "Just don’t get yourself killed."

Too fast…, Dr House guessed she had left out by the way she looked away and bit her lower lip. Yeah. It seemed the cemetery he had seen on his way in wasn’t just early decoration for Halloween.

But, he still felt confide and smirked at her.

"Don't worry. I'm not planning on letting any of them get too close." He glanced at the guard by the door. "Besides, I always bring protection." He tapped his cane. "This thing’s more useful than it looks."

The nurse hesitated before sighing and nodding. A guard opened the door to Ward C, and immediately the mood shifted. The air inside was heavier, like the building itself could feel the presence of the patients it held. It was a long corridor lined with cells—each one sealed tight with reinforced glass, inside them dim figures pacing or sitting, their faces obscured. The sound of heavy breathing, the occasional murmur or maniacal laughter echoed faintly from deeper within. The first door they passed revealed a huge masked man hunched over on his bed, his eyes staring intently at Dr. House as he walked past his cell. His file—clipped to the door—read Brahms Heelshire, better known to the world as the ‘Nanny Killer’ or ‘Killer Doll’. Next to him was the infamous Freddy Krueger—his eyes fixed on him with a sleazy smile. Across from them was Jason Voorhees, his hulking frame slouched in a corner, his hockey mask reflecting the dim lights.

"This is like the slasher hall of fame," House mused, scanning the infamous names as if he were walking through a bizarre art gallery. "Do they give tours ?"

At the end of the hall was an empty room—empty except for a single metal chair, bolted to the ground, with heavy restraints dangling from the armrests. No patient. No file. Just an eerie, cold silence.

"Who’s this for ?" House asked, tapping the door with his cane.

"That’s for Michael Myers," the nurse replied flatly, the name hanging in the air like an ominous cloud. "He’s currently undergoing evaluation. It happens sporadically, but he always comes back."

House raised an eyebrow. "Ah, the Michael Myers. The boogeyman himself. I’ve read about him. The guy who never dies and never says a word. Sounds like an ideal patient—no complaints, no endless monologues about how their mother didn’t love them enough."

The nurse didn’t flinch at House’s sarcasm. "He’s unpredictable. Dangerous in ways you cannot possibly imagine."

House waved it off, still scanning the eerily quiet room with its empty chair. "Unpredictable ? That’s my bread and butter. Sounds like a normal day for me, minus the masks and machetes. Besides, I’ve been trying to kill myself slowly for years—alcohol, Vicodin, maybe the occasional slash-happy patient will speed up the process."

The nurse eyed him warily. "This isn't a joke, Dr. House. The patients here aren’t just disturbed—they’re lethal. You’re not dealing with people who want to be saved. They want to hurt. And they don’t need much of an excuse."

House rolled his eyes, tapping his cane again. "You don’t say. Well, considering this place looks like it could double as Dracula’s vacation home, I’m guessing safety measures aren’t exactly high priority. Where are the mood lights ? The potted plants ? You’re supposed to make hospitals inviting, you know. Maybe some soft jazz, something to make me forget I’m surrounded by lunatics."

The nurse ignored him, her patience visibly thinning. "You’ve been given full access to their records. Try to understand what drives them. They’re all damaged in ways that defy typical psychiatric diagnoses. If anyone can find out what makes them tick, it’s you.”

House sighed dramatically, the weight of the situation lost on him. "Fine, fine. I’ll crack open their skulls and poke around—metaphorically, of course—find out what’s rattling in there. Though I’d wager it’s mostly bad childhood memories and a fascination with sharp objects."

The nurse’s serious tone didn’t waver. "Be careful, Dr. House. This isn’t Princeton-Plainsboro. The rules here are different. These patients...they do not care about your brilliance. They won’t hesitate to hurt you if given the chance."

As they continued walking down the corridor, House’s eyes wandered over the slasher patients in their cells. He recognized many of them from headlines, documentaries, and whispered urban legends. The names alone would send chills down anyone else’s spine—serial killers who made a career out of violence, leaving destruction in their wake. But to House, they were just patients. Puzzles to be solved, however warped or shattered they might be.

House paused, his sharp blue eyes flicking down to meet hers, the smirk fading slightly. He let out a small, humorless chuckle. "You know, the thing about people like me ? We never really expect to survive."

The nurse ignored the comment. "These patients are unlike anything you've ever dealt with. Most of them are physically resilient, surviving injuries that should have killed them multiple times over. Their psychosis, in many cases, seems almost...supernatural."

"Supernatural ?" House let out a scoff. "That’s a fun word for 'We don’t know what the hell’s wrong with them,' isn’t it ?"

She didn’t answer, but her silence was telling. House could feel the weight of his new role settling on his shoulders, but it wasn’t the weight of fear. It was the thrill of the unknown. The mystery of minds so fractured, so broken, they seemed beyond repair. Seemed being the key word.

As they reached the end of Ward C, House stopped to study the doors once more. He tapped his cane on the floor, looking at the empty room reserved for Michael Myers. A shiver of excitement ran through him, though he’d never admit it. Whatever the slashers’ issues were, House lived for this—the challenge, the chase, the impossible diagnosis. And in this new place, with patients who blurred the line between reality and nightmare, he knew one thing for sure:

It was going to be one hell of a ride.

"You sure you’re ready for this, Dr. House ?" the nurse asked, her voice a little quieter now, as if she too had second thoughts. House smirked again, twirling his cane once before letting it tap the floor. "Ready ? I’ve been bored for years. This place might finally give me something to care about."

With that, he turned, making his way down the dim corridor, passing the locked cells of notorious killers, his cane echoing through the silent ward. Ward C, the place of horrors, home to the most disturbed minds in the world. But House didn’t flinch.

This was going to be fun.

He smiled.

That afternoon:

Dr. Gregory House stepped into the dimly lit room of one of the cells of Ward C, and his eyes immediately fell on the the broad bloke curled up on himself like a child. Sitting quietly in the corner was Brahms Heelshire, his face obscured by the mask of a porcelain doll, but this was no child’s toy. Beside him, placed with eerie precision on a small wooden chair, sat a life-sized doll—a spitting image of Brahms himself, right down to the carefully crafted clothing and unnerving, glassy eyes.

House smirked, his cane tapping lightly on the tiled floor as he sized up the room. "So, I guess this is what passes for family around here. Must be nice having a twin brother who doesn’t talk back."

Brahms didn’t move. His posture was perfectly still—like a statue frozen in place. The doll next to him—his other self—seemed to mirror the lifelessness of its owner. The room’s atmosphere felt heavy, as if the very air had been sucked out, leaving only the tension between House and the bizarre duo.

"Let me guess," House continued, walking slowly around the room, his eyes never leaving Brahms or the doll. "He’s the talkative one, right ? You’ve got the looks, and he’s got all the charm. Am I close ?"

Brahms’s head turned ever so slightly, just enough to acknowledge House’s presence, but he remained silent. His hand rested gently on the doll’s shoulder, as though it were a living thing—a cherished companion. The porcelain doll’s eyes stared back at House, empty yet somehow filled with something unsettling.

"You know, I’ve had a lot of weird patients," House continued, leaning against the wall, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "But this ? This is a first. A grown man hiding behind a doll. I’ve gotta say, your coping mechanisms are fascinating. Must be a hell of a childhood story to unpack here."

Still no response. House wasn’t surprised. He’d read Brahms’s file—how he’d spent his youth hidden away in a mansion, isolated from the world, how the doll had become both his protector and his proxy. House found the whole thing both tragic and ridiculous.

"So, what’s the deal ?" House asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is he your bodyguard ? Your best friend ? Your brother ? Or are you just using him to keep the world at a safe distance ?"

Brahms shifted again, his masked face still unreadable, but the hand on the doll’s shoulder tightened slightly. House caught the movement, his curiosity piqued.

"Ah, I see. He’s not just a doll, is he ?" House stepped closer, tapping his cane as he circled the pair. "He’s you. The version of you that never got to grow up, the one who never had to deal with all the nasty bits of being human—fear, loss, rejection. You made him your escape."

The room felt colder, the air thickening with the unspoken tension. Brahms’ silence was oppressive, but House was relentless.

"You’re not the first person to create a shield, you know," House continued. "You’ve just taken it to a creepy new level. Most people use alcohol, drugs, or a good old-fashioned mental breakdown. You ? You went full Pinocchio. But instead of becoming a real boy, you’ve stayed a puppet."

Finally, Brahms moved. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes visible through the slits of the mask, and for the first time, House felt the weight of his gaze. It wasn’t anger, nor was it fear. It was something darker—something far more broken.

"You think you understand me," Brahms finally said quietly, his voice muffled by the mask. "But you don’t. He’s not just a doll. He’s my protection. My family. My…other half."

House raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the response. "Protection from what ? The big, bad world ? Or are you just protecting yourself from the mirror ?"

Brahms’s hand clenched the doll’s shoulder harder, the tension in his body palpable. "He’s everything I’m not. He’s the part of me that’s strong. The part that doesn’t feel pain."

House leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And what about you ? The real you, hiding behind that mask ? You think this little doll can keep you safe forever ?"

Brahms’s breathing quickened, and for a brief moment, House could see the cracks in the facade. This wasn’t just a man with a doll—this was a man torn apart by his own fractured identity. The doll wasn’t just a comfort; it was a prison. And Brahms had locked himself inside willingly.

"He protects me from people like you," Brahms hissed, his voice suddenly sharp. "People who think they can fix everything with their words. People who want to take him away from me."

House’s smirk faltered for just a second, and he tilted his head, studying Brahms more closely. "I’m not here to take anything away from you. I’m just here to figure out why a man who’s clearly smart enough to survive in a world that’s abandoned him is still hiding behind a doll."

Brahms suddenly stood up, his height more imposing than House had anticipated. He loomed over him, his masked face inches from House’s own. "You don’t know what it’s like," he growled. "To be trapped. To be hated. He’s the only one who’s ever been there for me."

House didn’t flinch and he kept staring at Brahms. "Maybe," House said, his voice low, "but he’s also the one keeping you trapped. You’re not protecting him. He’s keeping you from facing the fact that you don’t need him anymore."

Brahms recoiled slightly, as though the words had struck a chord. His hand hovered over the doll, but this time, there was hesitation. House took a step back, letting the silence settle in.

"I’ll tell you what," House said, turning toward the door. "You keep your little buddy here as long as you need to. But one day, you’re going to have to choose whether you want to be the man or the doll. Because trust me, living your life through a puppet ? That’s not living."

As House walked out of the room, leaving Brahms alone with his doll, the man’s gaze lingered on the figure beside him. The mask on Brahms’ face remained as blank as ever, but beneath it, there was a spark of hesitation.

What if the doctor was right ?

Meanwhile, Dr. House walked to the next cell. He step inside, the heavy door closing behind him with a hollow thud. He was no stranger to unusual patients—Princeton-Plainsboro had given him his fair share of weirdos—but this was something else entirely. The man sitting in front of him, legs crossed and a smirk plastered on his burned face, was notorious in ways that even House couldn’t ignore.

Freddy Krueger.

The infamous dream killer lounged in his chair, his signature bladed glove dangling from his right hand, the tips of his claws lazily tapping against the metal armrest. The sound was grating—like nails on a chalkboard. His weathered fedora cast a shadow over his disfigured face, but House could see the mocking gleam in his eyes.

"Well, well," Freddy said, his voice raspy and filled with dark amusement. "They sent me the famous Dr. House. Heard you were good at solving puzzles. You gonna fix me, doc ?"

House limped closer, his cane tapping rhythmically on the floor. He met Freddy’s gaze without flinching, his expression one of bored detachment. "Fix you ? I am a doctor, not a miracle worker. I am pretty sure whatever’s wrong with your face isn’t gonna be solved with a little Botox and a facial peel."

Freddy chuckled, low and menacing. "Oh, I like you already." He leaned forward, his gloved hand stretching out, one of the blades grazing the surface of the table between them. "But you see, Doc, I'm not one of your typical patients. You think you’ve got me all figured out ? All those fancy degrees and medical jargon…they don’t mean squat in my world."

House arched an eyebrow, unfazed by Freddy’s theatrics. "Your world, huh ? What’s that ? A world where people are dumb enough to let a burn victim in a Christmas sweater kill them in their dreams ? Yeah, sounds terrifying."

Freddy’s grin widened, showing off his jagged, yellowed teeth. "Ah, see, you don’t believe in me. You think I’m just another psycho. But trust me, Gregory," Freddy’s voice dropped to a whisper, "I live in the space between thoughts, in that part of your mind where logic can’t reach. You can diagnose diseases, figure out symptoms, but me ? I’m the disease of the mind. I’m what people fear when they close their eyes at night."

House leaned on his cane, smirking. "So you’re a glorified bad dream. Lucky for you, I am an insomniac. Let me guess, unresolved trauma, probable schizophrenia, homicidal tendencies. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re just another patient trying to sound special. But in the end, you’re just a guy who likes to kill people in their sleep because you’re too lazy to do it while they’re awake."

Freddy's eyes narrowed, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. "You think you’re safe because you’re awake right now, don’t you ?"

House shrugged. "Awake, asleep, who cares ? Reality’s overrated, and I’ve got enough Vicodin in my system to numb me to just about anything. So if you're planning on scaring me into believing your little Freddy Krueger bedtime story, you're gonna need more than some cheap theatrics."

Freddy leaned back, his blades gleaming in the dark. "Oh, I don’t need to scare you. You’re already scared. You’re scared of the things you can’t control. The things you can’t fix. I know all about you. The pain you try to hide behind that cane, the pills, the genius bravado. The people you push away because you don’t want them to see you falling apart. You think you're invincible because you don't let people get close, but deep down ? You know you’re as fragile as the rest of 'em."

For a moment, there was silence. House’s expression remained unchanged, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. The truth in Freddy’s words was too close for comfort, but House wasn’t about to let him have the satisfaction of knowing it.

"Great," House said dryly, "another psychopath with a god complex who thinks he understands me. How original." He stepped closer, leaning on the table, his face inches from Freddy’s. "But here’s the thing—you may get your kicks messing with people’s heads in their sleep, but you don’t scare me. I’ve already seen my demons. I look them in the mirror every morning. So if you’re trying to play mind games ? You picked the wrong guy."

Freddy’s eyes glinted with amusement, but there was something darker lurking behind them. "Oh, don’t worry, Doc," he purred. "I’ve got all the time in the world. You’ll fall asleep eventually. And when you do, I’ll be waiting."

House straightened up, giving a dismissive wave. "Yeah, yeah, I’m shaking in my boots. Until then, try not to claw up the furniture. I’m guessing the hospital budget doesn’t cover Freddy-proofing."

He turned to leave, his cane tapping the floor as he moved toward the door. But just before he reached it, Freddy’s voice followed him, soft and sinister.

"Sweet dreams, doctor."

House didn’t look back. He wasn’t going to give Freddy the satisfaction. But as he exited the room and the door closed behind him, a faint chill ran down his spine, despite his best efforts to ignore it. He wouldn’t admit it, but there was something unsettling about Freddy Krueger—a nagging sense that even in a world built on logic and reason, there were still things out there that defied explanation. Things that lived in the cracks between science and madness.

And House knew better than most how fragile the mind could be.

Still, he wouldn’t give in to fear. Not yet. Not until he had more answers. And he wouldn’t that half-burnt steak face scare him…

Dr. House shook his head and entered the observation room of Ward C with his usual limp and caustic wit locked and loaded, though this time there was no sarcastic remark that immediately sprang to his lips. Instead, he found himself staring at a massive, hulking figure sitting motionless in the far corner of a reinforced glass cell. The dim lights glinted off a dirty, weather-worn hockey mask, the only visible part of a man whose very name had become synonymous with terror: Jason Voorhees.

House stood there for a moment, letting his eyes travel over the patient’s enormous frame. Jason was unnaturally still, his hulking body more like a statue than a human being. The man’s breathing was slow, controlled, the sound barely audible over the hum of the hospital’s air system. His presence filled the room with a tension that made the hairs on the back of House's neck stand up, though he’d never admit it.

House tapped his cane against the glass, the sharp sound ringing out in the eerie quiet. "Hey, Leatherface reject. Got a minute ?"

Jason didn’t move. No flinch, no twitch. Just pure, unnerving stillness.

House sighed dramatically. "Oh, great. One who doesn't talk. Why is it always the big guys who never have anything to say ?" He tapped the glass again, louder this time. "What, you too cool to chat with your doctor ?"

Jason’s head turned ever so slightly, the hockey mask catching more of the dim light. House could feel the weight of those unseen eyes behind the mask, watching him. There was something unsettling about the sheer silence Jason exuded—it wasn’t passive like a normal patient, it was a charged kind of quiet. The kind that spoke of brutal, unstoppable violence lurking just beneath the surface.

House glanced at the file clipped to the door—full of the usual psych evaluations, medical records, and police reports detailing Jason’s infamous history. Brutal killings, seemingly unkillable himself, somehow always returning to life despite countless injuries that should have put him down for good. It was like reading a case file on a walking corpse.

"So," House said, leaning on his cane as he studied Jason through the thick glass, "you’ve got quite the reputation. A machete-wielding maniac with mommy issues. You know, I’ve met a lot of psychos in my time, but you ? You’ve really set the bar high."

Again, Jason gave no reaction.

House’s eyes flicked back to the file. "Let’s see…drowned as a kid, came back to life somehow, spent years haunting a camp, and then went on a killing spree. Then you died. Multiple times, apparently. But, like a bad case of herpes, you keep coming back." He looked up, raising an eyebrow. "You ever think about retiring ? Maybe trying out knitting or gardening ?"

Silence.

House’s smirk faltered slightly as he watched Jason, his eyes narrowing. He’d dealt with plenty of dangerous people before—hell, he’d even had patients try to kill him once or twice—but this was different. There was an aura around Jason Voorhees that felt less like insanity and more like inevitability. House could feel it, a raw, primal energy that radiated from the man’s massive form, a quiet promise of violence.

"What’s your secret ?" House asked, his voice a touch more serious now. "How do you keep coming back ? You get stabbed, shot, burned, drowned—and yet here you are, sitting pretty in your little glass box. Most people die once and they’re done. But you…it seems you refuse to stay dead. How do you do it ?"

Jason’s head tilted slightly, as if considering House’s words, but there was still no verbal response. House squinted, noticing something. The mask, weathered and cracked, bore deep gouges and marks—battle scars from years of violence—but Jason himself, beneath the mask, seemed untouched by time.

House stepped closer to the glass. "You’ve been through more trauma than any human body could withstand, yet here you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve found the fountain of youth. Or at least the fountain of ‘I don’t die.’"

Jason’s hand twitched, just barely—a subtle, almost imperceptible movement—but House caught it. He stepped back, a smirk returning to his face.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve ? Does the big, silent killer not like being called an anomaly ? Come on, talk to me, Voorhees. What’s it like to come back from the dead ? Do you remember it, or is it just one long nap before you wake up and get back to slashing ?"

Jason’s breathing seemed to deepen, the sound now audible through the glass, like a beast waking from a long hibernation. House raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Ah, there we go. I knew there was something in there. You’re not completely gone, are you ? You can hear me, you understand what I’m saying."

Jason’s hand flexed slightly, the faintest of movements, but House noticed it immediately. He pressed the point, staring directly into the blank eyeholes of the hockey mask.

"You know, it’s funny," House mused, "you and I aren’t that different. You hide behind your mask, I hide behind my cane and sarcasm. You’ve got mommy issues, I’ve got issues with just about everything. We both keep people at arm’s length, and we both…well, we don’t really die, do we ?"

The room grew colder, or at least it felt like it. Jason’s form loomed larger in the silence, and House’s smirk faltered again.

"You know what the difference is though ?" House asked, his voice lowering as he stared into the void behind the mask. "I know why I’m still here. I know what keeps me going. But you ? I’m not so sure. You’re just a blunt instrument, aren’t you ? You don’t have a reason. You just are. And that…that’s what makes you dangerous."

Jason shifted in his seat, the sound of leather creaking as his massive frame adjusted. House felt the weight of Jason’s presence bearing down on him like a storm cloud, but he didn’t back away.

"You want to kill me, don’t you ?" House asked, his voice calm but challenging. "But here’s the thing—I’m not afraid of you. You’re just another puzzle to me, another medical anomaly that I’ll figure out eventually."

Jason’s breathing quickened, and for the first time, House could feel a hint of the violence that lay just beneath the surface. He was playing a dangerous game, but that was nothing new. He lived for danger, for the thrill of the unknown. And right now, Jason Voorhees was the ultimate unknown.

"Well," House said, tapping his cane against the floor, "I guess we’ll see who figures out who first."

He turned, limping toward the door. But as he reached for the handle, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the motionless giant.

"And by the way," House added with a smirk, "if you ever feel like talking, just let me know. I’d hate for all this silence to go to waste."

With that, he left the room, his mind already working on the impossible mystery that was Jason Voorhees.

…But then, he was accompanied to that very special cell—the one at the very end of the corridor. He leaned heavily on his cane as he limped forward confidently. The security guard walking beside him cast a nervous glance at each locked door they passed, his hand hovering near the baton clipped to his belt.

"You sure about this ?" the guard muttered. "He's...not like the others."

House’s lips curled into a smirk. "They say that about every psycho I meet. They all have their quirks." He glanced up at the flickering lights. "Must be exhausting, constantly being terrified of your own patients."

The guard didn’t respond, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for a large key ring on his belt. They’d arrived at the heavy steel door, which creaked ominously when he unlocked it. A plaque next to the door read: Patient 1A – Myers, Michael.

"He's all yours," the guard said, stepping back.

House pushed the door open and walked in, his cane tapping rhythmically against the cold floor. The room was sparsely furnished, lit by a single, buzzing fluorescent light overhead. Seated in the middle of the room was a large figure, unnervingly still.

Michael Myers.

The infamous killer, clad in a worn, gray jumpsuit, sat motionless in a metal chair, his broad shoulders hunched and his head tilted slightly forward. The white mask he wore—blank and expressionless—was a stark contrast against the shadows that clung to him.

House raised an eyebrow as he observed Michael for a moment. "So...this is what all the fuss is about ?"

No response. Michael remained utterly still, like a statue carved from shadow and silence.

House let out a small sigh of mock exasperation and hobbled closer, flipping open the thin file he had been given before arriving. "Let's see. Killed your sister at six years old. Spent the next few decades in and out of psych wards. Then you got bored, broke out, and went on a murder spree in your charming hometown. Typical family drama. If I had a nickel for every time a patient had a screwed-up childhood…well, I’d probably no longer be a doctor."

Michael’s breathing was steady and slow, the only sign of life in the room besides House’s persistent sarcasm.

"Silent treatment ? That’s fine, I’m used to it after my little talk with Jason earlier." House circled Michael, tapping his cane lightly against the chair’s metal frame. He leaned in, staring into the black void of Michael’s mask. "So, are you the strong, silent type, or is this just an elaborate way to avoid social interaction ? I gotta say, there are easier ways to skip the small talk."

Still nothing. House leaned back, his expression mildly amused. "I’m guessing it’s neurological. No real emotional response. Nothing to explain why you don’t talk, but you seem to like violence. That’s gotta be fun at parties."

He flipped through the file again, shaking his head. "Shot, stabbed, set on fire…Yet here you are, still standing. I hate to admit it, but that’s impressive. Ever thought about teaching a class on survival ?"

As House made another pass around Michael’s chair, the room’s lone light flickered, casting the room into momentary darkness. When the light sputtered back to life, Michael was no longer seated.

He was standing.

House paused, his cane frozen mid-step as he turned slowly to face the now-looming figure of Michael Myers. The masked killer stood mere feet away, his towering form casting a long shadow over House, who looked up at him with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

"Ah, finally," House said, his voice unfazed by the sudden shift. "For a second there, I thought you might actually be catatonic."

Michael’s hand clenched slightly at his side, the only movement he’d made since standing. House’s sharp blue eyes didn’t miss it, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he cocked his head, scrutinizing the infamous killer like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

"You don’t talk, but you do respond. Interesting," House mused, taking a half-step forward. "So what is it ? Trauma-induced psychopathy ? Genetic predisposition to violence ? Or maybe you're just really misunderstood."

Michael’s hollow mask tilted down slightly as if acknowledging House's proximity, but still, he remained silent. The tension in the room thickened, like the air itself had turned heavier. House could feel it, but instead of fear, his lips curled into a slight grin.

"You know, people keep saying you’re some unstoppable killing machine. Frankly, I’ve met interns scarier than you," House said dryly, gripping his cane a little tighter. He glanced around the room, noting the locked door behind him, the sterile, thick walls. "But I’ve got to admit, I didn’t expect you to be so...tall. Do you go to the gym ? Do they even have a gym around here ? Must have. Seems like most of you guys are shredded."

Michael didn’t move, but his presence felt suffocating, a looming storm about to break. House, ever the gambler, took another step closer, his eyes flicking from Michael’s mask to his hands and back again.

"So, what now ? You gonna try to kill me, big guy ?" House asked, his voice dropping in volume but not losing its edge. "Or are we going to stand here in awkward silence until you get bored ?"

There was a moment—a single, charged moment—where time seemed to stretch. Michael’s hand twitched, ever so slightly, as if preparing to strike. House stood his ground, his cane pressed firmly against the floor, his eyes locked onto the faceless mask before him.

"Look," House said quietly, his voice now laced with something almost resembling sincerity, "I’ve faced worse odds. Hell, I’ve faced death before. But you ? I am not scared of you. You’re just another problem to solve to me. And I love solving problems."

The lights flickered again, casting them both into darkness.

The room plunged into complete darkness, the flickering light casting eerie shadows across the bare walls. House felt the weight of the silence around him, his heartbeat steady, his breath controlled. He was no stranger to danger, no stranger to the edge of death, but something about Michael Myers was different—something primal.

The room plunged into darkness, the flickering light overhead extinguished entirely. For a moment, all House could hear was the sound of his own breathing, punctuated by the soft, rhythmic rasp of Michael Myers’ breath through his mask. The darkness was suffocating, thick with the weight of something dangerous lurking just beyond sight.

House stood perfectly still, his cane pressed into the floor, his senses heightened as he waited. Michael was close—he could feel his presence, the looming menace of the masked killer’s proximity.

Then, a single sound—a metallic scrape—cut through the silence.

The lights sputtered back to life, dim and buzzing, but enough to reveal Michael’s raised hand, fingers wrapped around the hilt of a large makeshift knife made from shattered glass. The blade gleamed in the low light, casting a sharp, menacing glint across the room. Michael’s mask, still blank and emotionless, tilted slightly as if considering his next move.

House, in typical fashion, remained unfazed. If anything, the sight of the blade brought a small, dry smile to his lips. "Ah, there it is," he said, nodding toward the knife. "I was wondering when the stabbing part of our little chat would begin."

Michael’s breathing remained steady, his grip tightening on the knife. He took a step forward, his heavy boots thudding against the floor like the ticking of a countdown.

House didn’t flinch. "You know," he said casually, "most people who resort to violence are compensating for something. Repressed emotions, fear, insecurity." He gestured toward the knife with his cane. "This ? It’s a crutch. But then again, who am I to judge? I have one too."

Michael’s body language shifted slightly, an almost imperceptible tightening of his shoulders. He raised the knife higher, his body coiling like a predator ready to strike.

But House stepped closer, invading the killer’s personal space in a way no one else had ever dared before. His voice lowered to a near whisper, his blue eyes boring into the blank mask. "You don’t scare me, Michael," he said, his words deliberate, calm. "You know why ?"

For the first time, Michael hesitated. The knife, poised to strike, hung in the air, as if something deep within him was listening.

"Because fear is a choice," House continued. "And I choose not to give you that power."

Another beat of silence. Michael’s grip on the knife remained firm, but his hand didn’t move.

House tilted his head, his gaze never leaving Michael’s mask. "You’re not a force of nature. You’re just a man. A man with a lot of damage. Maybe I can’t fix that, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to run from it."

The lights flickered again, casting long shadows across the room. House could feel the tension coiled tightly between them, a fragile line that could snap at any moment. But he wasn’t backing down.

Finally, Michael lowered the knife. It wasn’t a surrender, not in the traditional sense, but it was a pause—a moment of stillness where the chaos that usually followed Michael Myers seemed to dissipate.

House exhaled slowly, the tension easing just enough for him to speak again. "See ? You can make choices too, Michael. You don’t have to be what everyone thinks you are."

For the first time since stepping into the room, House took a step back, his gaze still locked on the towering figure before him. Michael’s mask, blank as it was, seemed to follow his every movement, as if considering the words, weighing them.

"Don’t get me wrong," House said, breaking the silence with a smirk, "I’m not expecting a thank-you card or anything. But at least you’re proving you’ve got a little self-control left."

But then, Michael’s hand shot forward, faster than House could have anticipated. In a blink, his massive hand was wrapped around House’s throat, lifting him slightly off the ground. The doctor gasped, his cane clattering to the floor as Michael held him there, suspended, staring into the empty blackness of the killer's mask.

For a moment, House’s sharp blue eyes flickered with fear, but then—just as quickly—they hardened into something else. Defiance.

His voice was strained but unwavering as he choked out, "So...you do...have a...pulse after all."

Michael squeezed tighter, the air rushing out of House’s lungs as the pressure increased. House clawed at Michael’s hand, his vision starting to blur, but he refused to look away. He refused to let go of that connection, however thin, however dangerous it was.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, Michael released him. House dropped to the ground, gasping for air, clutching at his throat. He coughed, his chest heaving as he sucked in breath after breath, but even in his weakened state, he managed a hoarse chuckle.

"Guess...I hit a nerve," he rasped, his voice rough but still dripping with dark humor.

Michael stepped back, his breathing slow and deliberate, as if nothing had happened. The mask remained impassive, cold. But there was something there—something unspoken in the air between them. A connection. A challenge.

As if on cue, the door behind House creaked open, the guard from before peeking in with wide, terrified eyes. "Doctor...we need to get you out of here. Now."

House turned, glancing over his shoulder at the guard, then back at Michael. He gave a small shrug, his usual irreverence returning. "Well, this has been fun, Mike, but l guess our time is up."

Michael remained motionless, his gaze—or whatever lay behind that mask—following House as he limped toward the door. Before stepping out, House paused, glancing back one last time. "By the way, I wasn’t kidding about the gym thing. You’re in great shape. Keep it up."

The door shut behind him with a heavy thud, locking Michael Myers back into his cage of silence.

As House walked down the corridor, the guard looked at him in disbelief, shaking his head. "I... I can’t believe you just walked out of there alive."

House smirked, his cane tapping the ground rhythmically as they walked. "Please. Michael and I were just having a heart-to-heart. Nothing personal, just another day at the office."

The guard swallowed hard, clearly unconvinced. "He doesn’t have a heart, Doc."

House shrugged, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Maybe. But then again, neither do I."

He smirked.

Something told him he had chosen just the right job…

[phantomtoff]

A Very Informant Post About The Sarkyn

Hi Everyone! Here is a very long post about my Sarkyn creatures. I hope you like it or enjoy reading it. :D

The Sarkyn are a sentient Shark/piranha/betta fish-like species, who inhabit the South coastlines on Mudos as well in the ocean near the south. While the South coastline holds one of their largest coastal cities, it became one of the leading business hubs for resorts and ocean ports on the surface, while their oldest capital is deep under the sea.

Their role in industrial society is more of a organized crime syndicate that is split into three categories.

Drug Peddlers

Loan Sharks

 Corruption Bribing

The two notable cities from land and Sea:

Imaim (Surface City of Southern Mudos)Imaim is a relatively new metropolis boasting a dazzling skyline and breathtaking ocean views. It serves as a gateway for ambitious Sarkyn seeking to establish themselves, build business connections, or immerse themselves in the city’s vibrant nightlife. Known for its entertainment industry and luxury hotels, Imaim thrives as a premier tourist destination. Beyond its allure as a playground for the wealthy, the city also houses Mudos' largest ocean port, making it a crucial hub for trade and commerce.

Sitnalta (Underwater Capital)One of the oldest and most enigmatic cities in Sarkyn history, Sitnalta’s past is shrouded in mystery, with records suggesting it was destroyed or lost through time. Now, it stands as the stronghold of the old money elite, home to the four most powerful crime families beneath the sea. These families wield immense influence, manipulating political and economic affairs from the depths, ensuring their grip extends far beyond the ocean floor.

Culture

Sarkyn culture resembles Earth’s Spartan/Roman in a military hierarchy sense. apparel, and architecture seem to resemble Earth's 1920s-1940s Art Deco. (Examples: Think Gotham city but underwater or Rapture from Bioshock.)

Relationship Dynamics

Glukkon

Trade Partners: The Sarkyn provides rare minerals extracted from coastal and underwater environments in exchange for advanced weaponry and machinery, fostering a mutually beneficial trade network.

Mercenary Contracts: As enforcers and private contractors, Sarkyn offer protection to Glukkon enterprises operating near the coast. Their presence is particularly valuable for securing massive fishing vessels and repelling non-faction pirate raids.

Cultural Exchange: While the Glukkon respect the Sarkyn’s industrial and military capabilities, the Sarkyn, in turn, admire the Glukkon’s ruthless business acumen. This dynamic creates a pragmatic but occasionally uneasy partnership.

Vykker

Experimental Allies: The Vykkers regard the Sarkyn as ideal test subjects for cutting-edge biological and technological experimentation. In return, the Sarkyn gain enhancements that amplify their combat prowess.

Tech Suppliers: The Vykkers supply state-of-the-art bio-modifications and weaponry, further augmenting the Sarkyn’s military strength and industrial efficiency.

Tense Cooperation: Despite their shared interests, tensions persist. The Vykkers’ disregard for Sarkyn life clashes with the Sarkyn’s deep-seated pride, making their alliance one of wary necessity rather than genuine trust.

Oktigi

Knowledge Brokers: The Oktigi provide intelligence networks that assist the Sarkyn in navigating political and territorial conflicts, making them invaluable allies in espionage and subterfuge.

Economic Symbiosis: Sarkyn smuggling operations and underworld connections serve as ideal conduits for discreetly transporting illicit Oktigi goods, reinforcing their mutual economic interests.

Shared Vanity: Both species share a deep appreciation for status, luxury, and aesthetics. This cultural alignment fosters a natural camaraderie, strengthening their alliance beyond mere business dealings.

Assumptions and Social Dynamics

Reputation: Among industrialist species on Oddworld, the Sarkyn are widely regarded as a dangerous force best left undisturbed. However, with the right negotiations and a sufficient price, they can be valuable and reliable allies.

Stereotypes: Common perceptions of the Sarkyn paint them as treacherous, unnervingly tall, and ruthlessly violent—earning them monikers such as Backstabbing Sharks, Freakishly Tall Fish, and Brutal and Bloodthirsty.

Debt of Loyalty and Internal Conflict

Fealty and Division: A Sarkyn who forges an alliance with a surface-dwelling industrialist—whether a Glukkon, an Oktigi, or another faction—may be expected to pledge loyalty to their partner’s enterprise, much as they would in a traditional Sarkyn union. However, such affiliations disrupt the established hierarchy, as they enable individuals to gain status through external alliances rather than through traditional means. This phenomenon breeds tension within Sarkyn society.

Rivalry and Resentment: Those who ascend the social ladder through partnerships with industrialist species may face envy and hostility from their fellow Sarkyn. Many perceive this form of advancement as an affront to those who remain at the lower rungs of society, exacerbating internal divides and fueling political intrigue, betrayal, and power struggles.

Appearance/Anatomy

Dietary Needs and Habits: Sarkyn are strictly carnivorous, they are no strangers to cannibalism, though this behavior is typically reserved for extreme circumstances or as a last resort.

Life Span: Sarkyn can live up to 70-80 years.

Genetics and Reproduction: Sarkyn reproduction follows a process similar to that of cartilaginous fish, such as sharks. Males possess a pair of claspers—specialized, grooved copulatory organs derived from pelvic fins. During copulation, the male inserts one of his claspers into the female’s cloaca, where it expands like an umbrella to anchor itself securely. The clasper's internal structure contains a cartilaginous rod that stiffens during mating, facilitating sperm transfer. Additionally, some Sarkyn males may secrete a mucus-like substance to enhance sperm motility and improve fertilization success.

As an ovoviviparous species, female Sarkyn incubate fertilized embryos internally, providing them with nutrients through a yolk sac rather than a placental connection. After a gestation period (likely varying depending on environmental factors), the female gives birth to live offspring, known as pups

Appearance

The average height for a Sarkyn is 335.28 cm or 11’0 ft

They have double eyelids.

Male Sarkyn exhibit a range of body types, from lean and athletic to bulky and heavily built. They possess a distinctive underbite, where the lower jaw extends beyond the upper jaw. Their cranial fins are relatively short, but they feature elongated, prominent fins extending from their brow region, resembling eyebrow-like appendages.

Female Sarkyn, in contrast, are generally more slender than their male counterparts. Unlike males, they possess an overbite, with the upper jaw extending past the lower jaw. Additionally, they lack the elongated eyebrow fins seen in males. Instead, the fin atop their heads varies in length and shape, often stylized to reflect personal or cultural preferences. Sarkyn women don’t naturally have breasts—they’re a cosmetic body modification achieved through surgery, hence why they don’t have nipples.

Both male and female can unhinge their jaws with the slit on their lower jaws can pull apart to become wider, they have sharp fangs like teeth to easily grapple prey.

[darkmaga-returns]

Every personal exchange between Putin and Trump represents a very important step toward clarifying the new architecture of the world. But, of course, the issue of Ukraine cannot be resolved either in yesterday’s phone conversation or in any upcoming potential meetings between our presidents. One crucial element is missing in this picture — our military superiority.

Despite our recent successful advances, we have not yet achieved clear superiority over the enemy in the course of military operations. Yes, we are up against the entire West, and that obviously explains a lot. But the fact remains: we have not yet secured a position of strength from which we could say, “This satisfies us, this is victory — this is our territory, and this is the buffer zone.”

From such a position, we could offer the enemy terms of surrender — perhaps even compromising to a degree, for instance by ceding the western regions of Ukraine, had we first taken control of them.

At present, however, we do not, strictly speaking, have the preconditions for conducting peace negotiations. As things stand, they cannot lead to anything substantial. And there is no reason to believe that Trump himself would hand us those military-strategic results on a silver platter. That lies beyond the realm of possibility. Therefore, in the near future, all conversations between Putin and Trump, on our end, will be focused on something else.

[reyaint]

futuristic dr. neovista | the districts

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date: may 15 2025. my final final is tomorrow in anatomy and it's my only final i should've studied for but here we are. i just realized i don't have much info on the districts....

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✧˖*°࿐the MIRROR district

a sleek, high-tech area with an emphasis on clean lines, reflective surfaces, and cutting-edge architecture. it’s a corporate hub where the elite and tech giants thrive. the buildings are tall, almost entirely made of glass and metal, with holographic billboards and augmented reality interfaces integrated into the environment.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ key features. ☆ 𓂃 › buildings with mirrored exteriors that reflect the cityscape, creating an almost surreal, endless horizon effect. ☆ 𓂃 › advanced public transport systems, like maglev trains and autonomous pods. ☆ 𓂃 › rooftop gardens and vertical farms to balance the starkness of the architecture. ☆ 𓂃 › strict security presence, with drones patrolling the skies and cameras on every corner. ☆ 𓂃 › neon signs and holograms are less common here, making it feel cold and sterile compared to other districts.

*ೃ༄visuals.

✧˖*°࿐the U district

a district dedicated to sustainability and eco-futurism. the U District is a shining example of what the city strives to achieve in balancing technology with nature. it’s bright, airy, and filled with greenery.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ key features. ☆ 𓂃 › white and gold buildings with smooth, flowing designs and integrated greenery. ☆ 𓂃 › solar panels on every building, along with wind turbines and other renewable energy sources. ☆ 𓂃 › skybridges covered in plants and flowers, connecting buildings. ☆ 𓂃 › a mix of open-air markets, small tech startups, and artisan workshops. ☆ 𓂃 › parks and water features scattered throughout, creating a tranquil atmosphere.

*ೃ༄visuals.

✧˖*°࿐the DREAM district

a more surreal and atmospheric area of the city, the Dream District is where creativity thrives. it’s home to artists, performers, and nightlife, but it also has an air of mystery. fog rolls through the streets, and the lights create a dreamy, otherworldly vibe.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ key features. ☆ 𓂃 › narrow streets with colorful neon signs in pink, purple, and blue, giving the district a soft glow. ☆ 𓂃 › the fog gives the district an almost ethereal quality, with lights diffusing through the mist. ☆ 𓂃 › murals and street art cover walls, blending traditional and digital art forms. ☆ 𓂃 › clubs, speakeasies, and underground venues are common, attracting a vibrant nightlife crowd. ☆ 𓂃 › hidden corners and alleyways make it an ideal place for clandestine meetings or escaping pursuit.

*ೃ༄visuals.

✧˖*°࿐the 127 district

the grittiest and most industrial part of the city, the 127 District is a cleaner, more controlled version of a typical cyberpunk environment. it’s the working-class heart of Neovista, where factories, workshops, and underground markets thrive.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ key features. ☆ 𓂃 › neon signs, holograms, and advertisements dominate the skyline, but the streets are more orderly than in traditional cyberpunk settings. ☆ 𓂃 › industrial facilities and tech repair shops are scattered throughout, alongside crowded markets selling everything from cybernetic parts to street food. ☆ 𓂃 › alleyways and rooftops are hotspots for street racers and vigilantes, offering plenty of cover and escape routes. ☆ 𓂃 › a mix of people from all walks of life, from workers and hackers to gang members and small-time entrepreneurs. ☆ 𓂃 › law enforcement is less present here, making it a hotspot for underground activities.

*ೃ༄visuals.

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

The Talon Roost

Nestled along the rugged shoreline of Puget Sound, just outside the bustling heart of Unity City, Terra, Melissa Hazen and Theodora Marten-Steiner’s home exudes a warmth and intimacy that starkly contrasts with their imposing public personas. Known as “The Talon Roost,” this sprawling lodge combines the rustic charm of traditional log cabin architecture with the subtle integration of cutting-edge technology from Terra’s civilian sector.

The Talon Roost sits perched on a rocky bluff overlooking the Sound, its timbered exterior blending with the surrounding forest. Massive, hand-hewn logs form the structure’s frame, their natural grain and texture preserved to honor the timeless beauty of the Pacific Northwest. The lodge’s roof is made up of a mix of eco-friendly solar tiles and living greenery. Wide wraparound decks extend from the main structure, offering panoramic views of the water and mountains beyond. A series of cascading stairs, lined with ambient lighting, leads down to a private dock where a sleek, automated watercraft rests, flanked by kayaks and a small security boat. At night, the lodge glows warmly, its large windows offering glimpses of life inside—a sharp yet inviting contrast to the quiet wilderness outside.

Entering the Talon Roost feels like stepping into a sanctuary. High vaulted ceilings, supported by massive wooden beams, create a sense of openness, while large floor-to-ceiling windows flood the space with natural light during the day. The interior décor balances modern minimalist design with the cozy aesthetics of a mountain lodge. Neutral tones dominate, accented by vibrant greens and golds—an homage to Melissa’s Jade Falcon heritage. The heart of the lodge, the living room, is anchored by a double-sided fireplace made of locally quarried stone. The hearth radiates warmth, surrounded by plush sofas and armchairs adorned with patterned blankets and throw pillows. Above the fireplace, a holographic display can project serene landscapes or serve as an entertainment hub, though it’s often turned off, leaving the room in serene simplicity. The kitchen combines the rustic appeal of handcrafted cabinetry with state-of-the-art appliances. A long central island, topped with polished stone, doubles as a communal dining space. The open floor plan flows into the dining area, where a custom-built table—crafted from salvaged driftwood—sits beneath an impressive chandelier of crystal and wrought iron. A cozy library, lined with shelves of books and historical texts, offers a quiet retreat for both Melissa and Theodora. A vintage mahogany desk sits at the far end, equipped with a concealed holo-terminal for secure communication and work. Nearby, a comfortable reading nook overlooks the Sound, with a soft chair and a small table perpetually holding a steaming pot of tea. The large, lavish, and highly advanced home theater was Theodora's pet project - it is outfitted with the absolute latest in cutting-edge holographic, trideo, and flat screen projection technology as well as a sound system that cost nearly as much as a light BattleMech.

While The Talon Roost appears traditional, its technology is anything but. Discrete panels throughout the home provide instant access to climate control, security systems, and personal AI assistants. The lodge’s power is supplied by a combination of renewable sources, ensuring self-sufficiency even during extended outages. A secure Star League-era communication hub is integrated into the study, allowing Melissa and Theodora to stay connected with SLDF operations. Beneath the lodge, hidden from view, lies a private hangar with bays large enough for both Melissa’s Highlander and Theodora’s Atlas, as well as the company of security 'Mechs on-site. Advanced automated repair systems and diagnostic tools ensure the 'Mechs are always ready for action. Also included is a multi-functional room utilizing advanced Holotank technology capable of projecting tactical simulations, training environments, or serene natural landscapes for relaxation.

The grounds around the lodge are meticulously curated. A path winds through a grove of ancient cedar trees to a private firepit surrounded by log benches. Nearby, a greenhouse houses a mix of local flora and medicinal plants, along with herbs for Theodora’s favorite recipes. A falconry mew, discreetly tucked into the edge of the property, is home to a small cast of Jade Falcons whom Melissa tends to personally—a connection to her heritage and a calming pastime away from the demands of leadership. The Talon Roost’s atmosphere is one of quiet strength and serenity. For two figures as legendary as Melissa Hazen and Theodora Marten-Steiner, the lodge represents a refuge from the chaos of the Inner Sphere—a place to reconnect with nature, their shared history, and each other. The cozy interiors, paired with the breathtaking natural surroundings, create a space where visitors are immediately put at ease, despite the immense power and influence of its owners. This dichotomy—between public and private life, between war and peace—is what makes The Talon Roost not just a home, but a reflection of the lives Melissa and Theodora have built together.

While The Talon Roost exudes an aura of peace and natural harmony, its security infrastructure rivals that of any high-level military installation. As the personal residence of two high-ranking SLDF officers, it incorporates layers of cutting-edge technology, physical deterrents, and personnel to ensure the safety of its occupants and maintain its strategic utility. The property is surrounded by an invisible perimeter system that utilizes advanced motion detection, thermal imaging, and seismic sensors. Any unauthorized entry triggers both silent and audible alarms, alerting the SLDF garrison stationed nearby. Discrete but highly effective automated turrets, hidden in the rocky outcroppings and among the trees, are equipped with non-lethal crowd control measures and high-powered laser weaponry for more extreme threats. Signature reduction technology derived from Null Signature System technology shields The Talon Roost from all but visual aerial and orbital scans, while a squadron of SLDF-designed surveillance drones patrols the airspace and property boundary. These drones are equipped with stealth tech, high-resolution cameras, and lethal weaponry. Meanwhile, the picturesque firepit near the cedar grove doubles as an emergency bunker entrance, reinforced to withstand even orbital bombardment. Decorative stone statues around the property conceal sensors and emitters capable of deploying small scale energy weapons in emergencies.

The Talon Roost is protected by a small, elite detachment of SLDF Royal Black Watch troops. While their presence is unobtrusive, they are always ready to respond to any threat. The guard detachment includes three Stars of MechWarriors, with their BattleMechs stationed in the Roost's subterranean hangar. A company of infantry, drawn from the Royal Black Watch's commando-trained operatives, patrols the property and acts as a rapid reaction force. All on-site security personnel reside in a concealed bunker built into the cliffside upon which the Roost perches. Security details rotate regularly to maintain optimal readiness and avoid becoming predictable. A concealed, automated command center under the lodge handles all security and monitoring tasks. Operatives stationed here can communicate directly with SLDF High Command and deploy additional resources as needed.

Beneath The Talon Roost lies a complex network of subterranean tunnels, elevators, and passageways that connect the property to critical SLDF and Star League installations in the region. This link allows both Melissa and Theodora to access secure meeting rooms or emergency operations centers without requiring surface travel. A direct maglev transit tunnel leads to both the nearby Tacoma Castle Brian, as well as the SLDF's Citadel inside Unity City itself - rebuilt by the SLDF to once again serve as their High Command complex. The headquarters of the Royal Black Watch, Fort Cameron, is linked to the lodge by another high-speed maglev route. The connection allows Theodora to oversee her regiment's activities or deploy her Atlas in minutes. The lodge is also connected via the maglev-tunnel system directly to the Court of the Star League.

In the event of an overwhelming threat, the lodge’s subterranean systems include a concealed evacuation pod capable of transporting occupants to either the Citadel or Fort Cameron in under five minutes. The lodge also features a last-resort self-destruct mechanism. Activated only by voice authorization from Melissa or Theodora, this system ensures no critical technology or data can fall into enemy hands. In case of a siege, the lodge can deploy automated counter-battery defenses, jamming fields, and active missile interceptors hidden within the terrain.

While The Talon Roost offers warmth, serenity, and a welcoming atmosphere, its hidden security and strategic capabilities reflect the immense responsibilities carried by its owners. This stark juxtaposition mirrors the lives of Melissa Hazen and Theodora Marten-Steiner, who must balance their personal sanctuary with their duties as protectors of humanity’s future. It is a place of respite, but one always ready for the call to action.

[trump-executive-orders]

The Iron Dome for America

Issued January 27, 2025.

By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, including my authority as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States, it is hereby ordered:

Section 1. Purpose. The threat of attack by ballistic, hypersonic, and cruise missiles, and other advanced aerial attacks, remains the most catastrophic threat facing the United States.

President Ronald Reagan endeavored to build an effective defense against nuclear attacks, and while this program resulted in many technological advances it was canceled before its goal could be realized. And since the United States withdrew from the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty in 2002 and initiated development of limited homeland missile defense, official United States homeland missile defense policy has remained only to stay ahead of rogue-nation threats and accidental or unauthorized missile launches.

Over the past 40 years, rather than lessening, the threat from next-generation strategic weapons has become more intense and complex with the development by peer and near-peer adversaries of next-generation delivery systems and their own homeland integrated air and missile defense capabilities.

Sec. 2. Policy. To further the goal of peace through strength, it is the policy of the United States that:

(a) The United States will provide for the common defense of its citizens and the Nation by deploying and maintaining a next-generation missile defense shield;

(b) The United States will deter -- and defend its citizens and critical infrastructure against -- any foreign aerial attack on the Homeland; and

(c) The United States will guarantee its secure second-strike capability.

Sec. 3. Implementation. Within 60 days of the date of this order, the Secretary of Defense shall:

(a) Submit to the President a reference architecture, capabilities-based requirements, and an implementation plan for the next-generation missile defense shield. The architecture shall include, at minimum, plans for:

(i) Defense of the United States against ballistic, hypersonic, advanced cruise missiles, and other next-generation aerial attacks from peer, near-peer, and rogue adversaries;

(ii) Acceleration of the deployment of the Hypersonic and Ballistic Tracking Space Sensor layer;

(iii) Development and deployment of proliferated space-based interceptors capable of boost-phase intercept;

(iv) Deployment of underlayer and terminal-phase intercept capabilities postured to defeat a countervalue attack;

(v) Development and deployment of a custody layer of the Proliferated Warfighter Space Architecture;

(vi) Development and deployment of capabilities to defeat missile attacks prior to launch and in the boost phase;

(vii) Development and deployment of a secure supply chain for all components with next-generation security and resilience features; and

(viii) Development and deployment of non-kinetic capabilities to augment the kinetic defeat of ballistic, hypersonic, advanced cruise missiles, and other next-generation aerial attacks;

(b) Review relevant authorities and organization of the Department of Defense to develop and deploy capabilities at the necessary speed to implement this directive;

(c) Jointly with the Director of the Office of Management and Budget, submit to the President a plan to fund this directive, allowing sufficient time for consideration by the President before finalization of the Fiscal Year 2026 Budget; and

(d) In Cooperation with United States Strategic Command and United States Northern Command, submit to the President:

(i) An updated assessment of the strategic missile threat to the Homeland; and

(ii) A prioritized set of locations to progressively defend against a countervalue attack by nuclear adversaries.

Sec. 4. Allied and Theater Missile Defense Review. The United States continues to cooperate on missile defense with its allies and partners to aid in the defense of ally populations and troops and of forward-deployed United States troops. Following the submission to the President of the next-generation missile defense reference architecture under section 3(a) of this order, the Secretary of Defense shall direct a review of theater missile defense posture and initiatives to identify ways in which the United States and its allies and partners can:

(a) Increase bilateral and multilateral cooperation on missile defense technology development, capabilities, and operations;

(b) Improve theater missile defense of forward-deployed United States troops and allied territories, troops, and populations; and

(c) Increase and accelerate the provision of United States missile defense capabilities to allies and partners.

Sec. 5. General Provisions. (a) Nothing in this order shall be construed to impair or otherwise affect:

the authority granted by law to an executive department or agency, or the head thereof; or

the functions of the Director of the Office of Management and Budget relating to budgetary, administrative, or legislative proposals.

(b) This order shall be implemented consistent with applicable law and subject to the availability of appropriations.

(c) This order is not intended to, and does not, create any right or benefit, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law or in equity by any party against the United States, its departments, agencies, or entities, its officers, employees, or agents, or any other person.