#Data Recovery Lab

[techcaregroup]

Data Recovery Lab and Computer Technician Services in Campbell

In the fast-paced world of technology, where data is king and devices are indispensable, having reliable data recovery and computer technician services is crucial. Campbell is now home to cutting-edge solutions with a state-of-the-art Data Recovery Lab Campbell and a team of skilled Computer Technicians dedicated to keeping your devices in top shape.

[woniwontons]

dead end - CHAPTER THREE

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 3.7k

warnings: abuse by parent, psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, brief mention of suicidal thoughts (not reader's), domestic bob, gore/bloody void, like a lot of blood & violence

chapter nav: one | two | three | four | five | six

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

You weren't supposed to be in Dr. Harding's office.

The door had been left ajar, just slightly. But something more than just curiosity consumed you, filling your impulses with walking inside.

"Dr. Harding?" you said quietly with a soft knock on the door.

No one.

The office was sterile, as always. White walls. Sleek silver fixtures. No personal items. No scent or warmth. Just the sound of the air vent and the soft click of the wall clock.

Then you noticed the screen on her tablet which was left open on the desk.

Still active, as if she had only stepped out for a moment.

It was a biometric scan. Heart rate, neural activity, baseline data.

The subject ID was redacted. But the image attached wasn’t.

It was you.

"What the hell is going on?" Nothing made sense anymore, but the pieces were starting to come together. This new assignment was so much more than it seemed.

Your breath caught as you leaned in slowly, squinting your eyes in disbelief. There were notes below the scan -- coded abbreviations, but none of them you were able to recognize from previous research.

And one highlighted phrase:

Subject displays high tolerance to --

"Dr. Charles! How was your conference?"

Hearing her voice down the hall nearly sent you into cardiac arrest as you scrambled away from the desk. "Shit," you whispered crudely, smoothing out your lab coat before sliding out of the office door. Rushing down the corridor towards your sleeping quarters.

And not a single human eye caught the sight of it.

You couldn't sleep at all that night.

Your stomach felt as though it were doing backflips in your gut, concave from not being able to eat all day.

You rolled over in bed for the fourth time, staring at the wall where your reflection barely showed in the dark glass. The silence was heavy. Not peaceful.

Just full.

Of things unsaid and dreams you refused to have.

You ran your fingers through your hair and sighed, pushing the blanket aside. Sleep was out of reach, but rest felt impossible too. It wasn’t just your body that was tense—it was your mind. Your thoughts. That strange hum behind your ribs you’d started to recognize as something other than your own.

Eventually, you gave in.

You padded barefoot to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water fill the room with fog. The sound drowned out the silence in your head for a little while.

You stepped in and stood still beneath the stream for a long time, letting it sting your shoulders. When you finally reached for the shampoo, your hands shook slightly.

As water ran down your scalp and face, something that had seeped in under your skin. The scent of your body wash filled the space, eucalyptus and chamomile. It should have been comforting. But the heat on your scalp only made you feel more aware of yourself. Of your body. Of the fact that you didn't feel alone, even when you were.

When you stepped out, towel wrapped tightly around you, the mirror was already fogged.

You wiped your palm across the glass.

And then, just for a moment, you saw it.

A reflection that wasn’t yours.

It flickered at the edge of the mirror—his shape. His shadow. Gold eyes where yours should have been.

You blinked, and it was gone. But your skin was still cold where he’d touched your arm in that attic dream.

You looked down. Nothing there.

No bruises. No marks.

But you felt it.

The presence.

Your hands shakily reached out for the knob of your sink, glancing down as you shut it.

c o m e t o m e

The letter spelled out on the mirror in cast shadows had struck you motionless. You stood frozen, your breath catching sharp in your throat. The room suddenly felt colder, like the air had been pulled out and replaced with something heavier. Thicker. Pressed close to your skin.

You stepped forward slowly, unsure why. Instinct told you to back away. Logic screamed to dismiss it as a stress hallucination.

But part of you didn’t want to.

Part of you was listening.

You reached out and pressed your fingertips to the glass. The words didn’t smear. Didn’t fog.

They just stared back at you.

You blinked. It was gone.

A hard swallow makes its way down your throat. "Leave me alone, let me sleep," you begged, "I can't handle this forever."

You jerked your hand back and turned away from the mirror, suddenly aware of how alone you were. How watched.

You tried to breathe evenly, to quiet the rising panic.

You didn’t look back. After drying your hands and turning off the light, you walked out of the bathroom like you hadn’t just seen a ghost.

Hunger hit you again, plaguing you for your decision to skip dinner that night. A sigh of resignation escaped you as you slid your clothing and slippers on. Any leftover fruits inside the cafeteria kitchens would have to suffice for tonight.

Peaking side to side in the dimly lit hallway outside your door, heart still racing from your recent encounter, you quietly closed your door behind you.

The hallways were still, lit only by the pale emergency lights that hung overhead. You hadn’t planned on leaving your sleeping quarters, but the pangs of hunger wouldn't settle long enough to be able to sleep.

However, you hadn't expected the kitchen lights to be on. You half expected to grab something from the leftover tray and leave unnoticed.

You paused just inside the doorway, head tilting.

Behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration, stood Bob.

A pan sizzled in front of him, and a bag of sliced cheese sat half-opened on the counter. You watched as he meticulously layered a slice of cheddar over the bread already crisping in butter.

It was so disarming to watch him outside of his normal environment of doom and gloom. To see him at such peace all alone.

"I guess we're all trespassing today?” you called softly.

Bob startled, nearly dropping his spatula before turning quickly in your direction. He blinked at you, caught mid-sandwich flip.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied after a beat, voice low and warm. “Late-night for you?”

“Just starving,” you shrugged. “Didn’t know you were an overnight chef.”

He gestured toward the stove. "Well you get really good at making greasy food when you've worked at every fast food chain that'd hire you."

You walked up to the counter and leaned on it. “That smells really good though."

He smiled at you sheepishly, and your heart melted a bit at how sweet it looked when that smile was for you. “I can make another.”

You raised a brow. “You offering?”

He was already reaching for more bread. “Well since you've made the idea so tempting...”

You sat on a stool across from him, arms resting on the counter. “So this is your rebellious streak? Ditching security to make grilled cheeses at midnight?”

Bob glanced at the door, then back at you. “They won’t find me for another five minutes. I timed it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Seriously?”

“I’ve been testing their rounds for weeks. Figured out the weak spot on Thursdays.” He gave you a little shrug. “Sometimes I just want to feel normal. Get hungry. Make something. Sit somewhere that doesn’t beep at me."

Your smile faded at the edges, softened by the truth in his voice.

“You do this often?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.” He finished buttering your sandwich and dropped it into the pan beside his. “Which is most nights.”

You wondered where else he snuck off to at night.

You quietly watched him cook with your chin in your hand, leaned against the counter with your elbow. He took his time despite making something so simple, making sure he buttered both sides. Sprinkled parmesan over the top for an extra crisp. It struck then you how much of his life must have been spent feeling watched. Or worse, restrained.

He slid your sandwich onto a plate and set it in front of you with a proud smile.

“Try it. I dare you to say it’s not the best grilled cheese you've eaten past bedtime.”

You took a bite.

It was the best grilled cheese you've probably ever had.

He waited, eyebrows raised.

“Okay,” you said through a mouthful, “I hate to admit it, but your sneaky midnight grilled cheese is really good."

He grinned and took a bite of his own, mumbling, “At least you know why I go through so much effort to come down here.”

You both ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind that doesn’t need filling. You glanced at him between bites, watching how he smiled after each mouthful, how he seemed so… human right now.

No glowing eyes. No flickering hands. No Void.

Just a guy, maybe a friend sitting across from you. You couldn't imagine how scared you were of him before when you felt so weirdly close to him now.

“What’s it like?” you asked gently. “Being in control one minute… and not the next?”

He raised his eyebrow at you questionably before you realized your mistake.

"Off the record, of course. No clipboard, see?" you explained quickly, holding up your free hand as you took another bite of your sandwich.

Bob set his sandwich down slowly, eyes on the plate.

“Like I’m renting space in my own head,” he said. “Most days, I can push him into the corner. Pretend he’s not there. But he’s always listening. Always waiting. And when people look at me, I can tell they’re waiting for him appear too."

You didn’t respond right away.

“I don’t think that’s what I see anymore,” you said quietly.

Bob looked up at you through his lashes, confused and surprised at once. It made you feel warm and guilty all at once.

"I like the guy in front of me, Bob seems like a really cool person."

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t speak at first. Then, softly, “Thank you.”

You both fell silent again, this time heavier. Not awkward, just full.

He didn’t finish his sandwich.

Just left the last bite on the plate as footsteps echoed in the hallways behind him. When the cafeteria doors hissed open behind you, neither of you moved right away.

Two security agents entered, frowning the moment they spotted him.

“Mr. Reynolds,” one said firmly. “Time to return.”

Bob sighed and stood, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “Knew I was cutting it close.”

He looked at you as he turned to leave. "It was nice talking to you, off the record."

You gave him a smile, even if it wobbled a little. “Make me another grilled cheese sometime.”

His grin was soft, and this time, sad. “I can arrange that. Thank you for coming and joining me."

He left quietly, flanked by his silent escort.

You sat alone at the counter, staring down at the half-eaten sandwich he left behind.

That single, untouched corner.

And something in your chest twisted with guilt and something deeper.

You didn’t know what scared you more:

The Void that became him and haunted your dreams.

Or the good patient you found yourself so attracted to.

You didn't have any dreams that night.

ANONYMOUS POV

Transcript Log | INTERNAL FILE [REDACTED] Access Level: TOP SECRET - NEED TO KNOW Date: [REDACTED] Location: Off-site - Audio Transcript Only

Scientist 1: The subject isn’t reporting ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 2: ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇. ▇▇▇▇ to display ▇▇▇ signs ▇▇ disobedience as ▇▇ others.

Scientist 1: Then she’s further along than expected. We haven’t even introduced ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇t yet.

Scientist 2: ▇▇ ▇oid’s adapting. Faster than the ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇ model projected.

Scientist 1: That’s not supposed to be possible. It’s not supposed to form preference.

Scientist 2: Then explain the new side effect.

Scientist 2: “Come to me.” We wouldn't be able to see it if it was her hallucination. It was spatially reactive. Infrared resonance picked it up for six seconds before it dissipated.

Scientist 1: …It’s communicating directly in reality?

Scientist 2: Or claiming ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 1: Then we’re running out of time. If Reynolds becomes aware of the ▇▇▇▇, or worse, ▇▇▇▇ finds out. The whole operation is blown.

Scientist 2: We'll shut it down soon.

Scientist 1: Meaning her?

Scientist 2: ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 1: ▇▇ ▇▇ think ▇▇ the ▇▇▇▇?

Scientist 1: ▇▇ her ▇▇▇. But initiate passive ▇▇ testing.

Scientist 2: Copy. We’ll see how far she can get before we inevitably have to find a replacement again.

End of File

Dr. Harding was already waiting for you when you entered the hallway outside the therapy wing.

Her posture was perfectly composed, one hand gripping a tablet, the other loosely tapping a pen against her palm. She smiled when she saw you, but there was no warmth in it. Just courtesy.

“Morning,” she said. “You slept well?”

You nodded automatically, though you weren’t sure if you had. Your dreamless nights felt emptier now, instead of the relief you should feel. Something about your nights had become harder to measure.

Harding didn’t wait for an answer anyway. She clicked something on her screen and walked ahead, expecting you to follow.

But halfway to the session room, she slowed—just a little—and said:

“If you start to feel... weird, I want you to say something.”

You frowned. “Weird?”

Harding glanced at you from over her shoulder, eyes cool. “Cognitively. Emotionally. Things can blur when we’re in long-term exposure to unknown powers, especially with patients like Reynolds.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You think I’m going to get effected by his presence?"

She stopped, turned. “Not yet.”

“But everyone reaches their threshold eventually.”

She smiled again, as if she hadn’t just implied the strangest thing.

Then she turned and keyed the door open without another word.

Bob was already seated on the mat.

His eyes lifted as you entered, immediately landing on you, not looking in Harding's direction. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look away either. You followed Harding to the observation chair and sat, clipboard in hand, pen uncapped but still.

Bob’s hands rested on his knees, eyes neutral as Harding began the session with her usual line of sterile questioning.

“Any changes in suicidal ideation?” “Any intrusive thoughts or impulses?”

Bob answered calmly, giving the perfect answer for each one.

You wrote the words down, but they felt less real than the pen in your hand.

When Harding asked a follow-up question about emotional suppression, Bob didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at you again, quietly. Like he wanted to say something else.

And then Harding’s comm buzzed at her hip.

She huffed, checked it, and stood.

“Emergency from the upper psych wing,” she muttered. “I’ll be back shortly.”

And then she was gone.

The door sealed behind her with a sound that echoed.

Bob’s shoulders dropped almost instantly. A breath left him like a valve finally released. “She always make people feel like they're being dissected alive?” he asked.

You gave a faint, knowing smile. “Something like that.”

Bob stretched his legs out slightly, his posture loosening into something more natural. Still guarded, but no longer braced for impact.

“I don’t think she likes when I talk too much,” he added.

You hesitated, then asked: “Has she always been your lead psychologist?”

“Yes and no,” he said, eyes drifting upward to the mirror on the far wall. “I would see her before, but I had a rotation of different psychologist. But after the last assistant left, it's just Harding now.”

That made you pause. “Left?”

Bob glanced at you. “There were a few before you, but they didn’t last long,” he continued. “The last one, she actually started getting sick. Headaches, panic attacks, you name it. Like her brain was shutting itself off."

You didn’t speak. Your fingers twitched against the edge of your clipboard.

“They said it was stress. Too much exposure to the shadows, from before I could control it better.” He tilted his head. “I didn't think she was that afraid of me though. All the assistants before her had similar symptoms, but nothing nearly as bad.”

Your throat felt dry. Images of your face on Harding's tablet flashed in your mind as you started to think paranoid thoughts.

Bob looked at you, eyes darker than before. “You don’t feel sick, do you?”

You shook your head. Slowly.

“That's good,” he said, "the last thing I'd ever want is to hurt someone else again. Especially you."

The stillness inside you was too heavy to push back. "I don't think you're the one causing it," you whispered, so quietly you barely exhausted an entire breath.

Bob leaned forward slightly. “Who else could be causing it?"

You raised your finger to your lips, urging him to be quieter. Glancing at the observation room to ensure it was empty.

Bob’s expression changed, something knowing, something careful.

“You think they’re doing this on purpose?” he whispered.

You couldn’t breathe for a moment, but you nodded your head, pretending to write down notes for the camera. Your pen scratched softly across the page. You weren’t writing words. Just shapes.

Circles.

"I don't know exact what's going on, but I know I'm the subject of some kind of test they're running. I saw it on Harding's tablet," you revealed, wringing your hands together in stress.

Bob's face darkened with confusion and annoyance. "What?"

A short laugh escaped you as you adjusted on your seat, throwing you ankle over the other. "I can't believe I'm even telling you this, but I think you're the only person I trust right now."

"The others have to know something, you should speak to Bucky or Yelena, they'll tell you the truth," he said earnestly, "I just can't believe they didn't tell me if they do know."

You nodded before checking your tablet, faking the responses to the questions you were supposed to ask him.

Shadows flickered on around Bob's seated figure and his fingertips as he sat in contemplation, wondering where everything went wrong. Wishing he had met such a beautiful, kind person in different circumstances than this one.

But in his presence, everything always went wrong.

"Bob?"

He settled, looking up at you. "Yes?"

"Thank you for talking with me, but we should wrap this up before someone notices how much time has passed."

"Anything for a friend."

In Your Nightmares

You were running, but the hallway wouldn’t end.

Steel walls. Fluorescent lights overhead, flickering like dying stars. Every door you passed was marked with your name. Over and over again:

SUBJECT: Y/L/N STATUS: FAILURE IMMINENT

You tried to scream but sound wouldn't escape from your mouth. All you could hear was the thoughts inside your own head crying out for help. You didn't even know what you were running from, only that it wasn’t very far behind.

Each door you had tried was locked, twisting just a centimeter before clicking in resistance as you dragged the skin of your palm around the knob.

The floor shifted then.

You fell—hard—into a room that wasn’t there a moment ago. The tiles turned to concrete. Wet. Dark. Sticky with blood. You scrambled to your feet, but your hand slipped in something warm. A sound echoed through the space—something like wet breathing. Something like chewing.

And then you saw it.

Yourself.

Not a mirror image, a second you in the room. Face slashed with tears, skin gray and twitching. She wore your clothes, but they were soaked in black. Her mouth opened too wide, face sunken in too deeply.

She lunged at you with impossible speed.

You fought back on instinct, elbowing her face, feeling bone crunch beneath your palm. Blood splattered your arms. Her fingers clawed at your face, your throat, her eyes wide and weeping as she screamed in your own voice.

"Please, please," she cried in agony, attempting her best to overpower your resistance.

You slammed her to the ground, but she twisted with monstrous strength, flipping you onto your back. Concrete met your skull with a thunderclap.

CRACK.

Your vision exploded in white.

You tasted blood as your head opened to a splitting ache.

She grabbed your hair at the root, squeezing tightly as she slammed your head down again.

CRACK.

Again.

CRACK.

Again. Again. Again.

Your scream tore free, raw and useless. It was all you could think or hear was to wail in pain. You felt the warmth of it spilling from your nose, your mouth, your ears. Your elbows slipping in the gore pooling beneath you each time you attempted to push back.

And just as your fingers lost their strength, just as the edges of your mind began to slip, he appeared as your second self stopped.

He emerged from the wall behind your double, blacker than anything your eyes could process. As if it was so dark, it could not reflect any light. Gold eyes gleamed like lit oil beneath water, searing into your bones as his presence pulled the air from your lungs.

Your copy stilled, her last look as hollow stare, then crumbled.

Her body peeled away like smoke, revealing you. Just you. Broken. Drenched in blood.

You lay there, staring up at him, ribs heaving. Vision swimming and your lids dipping slowly.

He crouched beside you, head tilted with something like admiration.

“I am the inevitable horrid truth of everything, little one,” he said, voice silk and rot at once. “I am where everything goes to die, I am the end of all lies.”

His fingers brushed your jaw. Gentle. Reverent. “It’s no wonder I scare you so…” His mouth moved closer to your ear, gold eyes never blinking, “little lying goddess mine.”

You whimpered, barely conscious.

Coming to a kneel, his bloodied finger tips continued past your jaw until it touched the side of your neck. His hand pushed lightly onto your throat until the connection between his pointer and thumb hit your esophagus. "Perfect," he whispered, caressing smeared stains of blood down the length of your throat with the gentle pad of his thumb.

You couldn't summon the strength to move or speak.

Blink. Open. Blink. Open.

Then he smiled, "Wake up."

Blink. Closed.

This slow burn train is starting to pick up speed here, huh? This chapter was hard to write for me, but it was necessary for what is about to hit the fan in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed how this one ended, a little twisted but sweet.

Also, I must give credit here! The quote said by The Void in this chapter: "I am the inevitable horrid truth of everything, little one. I am where everything goes to die. I am the end of all lies." This quote is one written in the comics for Sentry, and something that really inspired the vision for this chapter's ending! The quote can be found in "Doctor Strange Vol 1 #385" written by Donny Cates.

ALSO: if you are not currently on the taglist, please comment down below if you want to be! if you already commented on chapter 1 or 2, don't worry because i've already added you :)

link to chapter four

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" I imagine this as Sebastian saying it to Reader. But the thought of the reader saying it to Sebastian after he wakes from a night terror (in this scenario, they have escaped Urbanshade) is very sweet to me

True to their word, they got you out.

You and Sebastian were finally free from Urbanshade's horrors.

Innovation Inc. managed to extract enough data from all the loose assets you've given to him to formulate an escape plan.

Thank god you have connections to the labs, otherwise you would have been just as doomed as any other EXR-P.

But you were more relieved that Sebastian didn't have to stay trapped in that place anymore. He didn't have to move from place to place and fight to survive constantly.

Even better?

There was actually a way for him to become human again.

Urbanshade deemed him too far gone in his mutation to reverse the countless painful surgical processes they put him through....but they were nothing but liars who didn't see the point of investing in the resources needed.

They could have done it all along.

Innovation, on the other hand, got every bit of data on the experiments that they needed, going right to work on him as soon as you both arrived to the labs.

Obviously, he resisted at first...as all the trauma he experienced from before didn't go away instantly.

He was afraid of another surgery, being touched and injected with foreign substances and restrained. Not to mention the heavily potent anesthesia he needed since he's developed such a strong immunity to it.

But you convinced him that if he hoped to become human--he needed this.

It took a week or two, with him being in and out of the operating room and you trying to pass the time by chatting with your colleagues about exposing Urbanshade's secrets to the world..but eventually they did it.

They gave him legs again. HIs ear fins were now back to being human ears--and anything else that made him look like an anglerfish was removed and replaced with stitched flesh. His third arm was amputated but preserved for future study.

Somehow, they even got his size to shrink. No longer was he a gigantic beast, but instead an actual human-sized person who got to sleep on the bed beside you.

The only things left of his previous self were some of his sharp teeth (which he didn't mind keeping) and his skin still bearing a somewhat light blue tint to it, although it was not as pale.

It was incredible.

He cried the first time he saw himself.

He felt..human, again. And you were happy for him.

Although...

While he was getting better physically, no amount of surgeries would be able to get rid of the emotional pain Urbanshade and the criminal justice system had put him through.

From getting an unjust sentence for something he didn't even do to screaming in horror at his monstrous reflection for the first time...all of those events still like to replay in his mind.

Not to mention he conditioned himself into never letting his guard down for any reason.

He'd wake up if he heard somebody so much as cough in the next room or squeak their shoes a little too loudly.

While the hardest part was over, it was still going to be a long and agonizing recovery process for him.

Tonight, however, Sebastian was sound asleep, whereas you were sitting at the nearby desk, pencil scratching at the notebook in your hand. You were just trying to brainstorm ways to get Painter and Eyefestation out and away from the Blacksite.

Of course those two were nothing short of a nuisance during your many runs to escape with the Crystal...but Sebastian considered them friends, as they were the only ones who could communicate with him and never tried eating him. So you did feel a little bad for leaving them behind.

You were sure Eyefestation was put out of her misery, knowing that she couldn't swim very far up due to the pressure changes in the ocean--plus she wasn't willing to let go of her vendetta against humans.

Innovation could very easily turn her into a normal shark again who could still speak telepathically...but they couldn't cure her hatred.

For all you know, she could want to kill Sebastian now simply because he was (mostly) back to being human.

Painter, on the other hand, could have escaped with you if you had more time. He deserved a better life besides wasting away mining robux and being tethered to the IDS. He always talked about Sebastian's promise to get him out, too, so you wondered if he felt betrayed and lied to...

Until you recently learned that Innovation figured out a way to communicate with him and help throw more dirt on Urbanshade via an encrypted channel. So there was a chance his AI could be transferred over to this facility if his physical body was destroyed.

That gave you hope to see him again.

But until then, they told you to look after Sebastian, and that was fine by you. He was all you cared about right now.

"GAH!"

Snapping your head over, you could see the man jolt upright all of the sudden, eyes wide as he clutched at his chest, breathing hard. You noticed the sweat dampening the front of his shirt, and closed your book. "Seb?"

"Shit. I was...am I...a-am I still...?" He mumbled to himself, bringing a trembling hand to his forehead, before he squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't be there..please, please, please, god.."

To his relief, he felt nothing but the tiny bumps that formed a stitch beneath his black bangs. But even so, his fingers kept grazing over his skin and ears, wanting to be certain those things weren't there anymore.

"It's okay. You're still at Innovation. My buddies got rid of them."

Feeling the mattress dip, Sebastian looked to see you sitting on the bed, too. You looked concerned, but not overly worried--as this has become a rather normal occurrence ever since he finished those rounds of surgeries.

"I know that, but..I've had them for a long time." He lightly scoffed, trying to calm himself down, but you could tell he was still shaking and very overwhelmed by his nightmare, tears stinging his eyes. "I..I-I can't just...forget about it like it never happened, you know. Like those bastards didn't.....gh.."

He got choked up, and you opened your arms to him, waiting to see if he was willing to accept your offer. Being a giant anglerfish, he never wanted anybody to touch him, and you understood perfectly why.

So for him to curl up into your embrace was a bit of a surprise, but you held him closely; not too tightly so he was uncomfortable, of course. "I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me." You consoled, feeling him rest his head on your shoulder, sniffling quietly.

A few tears dampened your sleeve, but you didn't mind them.

It made you realize that he probably took his humanity for granted--now there was no longer a huge size difference between you two.

Ever since escaping the blacksite, he's become a bit more attached to you, wanting to constantly be near you. Even back then, he's been friendlier to you than most expendables.

He'd never outright say your presence comforts him. But you could tell through the small gestures and "exceptions" he makes for you that you're the only good thing to enter his life at Urbanshade.

"You're okay, Seb. We're both okay now."

"Y-Yeah, I know..I know.." He muttered, slowly trying to wriggle out of the hug, to which you let him go and allowed him to sit up. "Sorry you gotta put up with me being like this. Thought I would've been over it by now.."

Despite his words, he was still physically shaken up, the nightmares not so easily leaving his mind.

"There's no rush to "get over" any of this." You frowned a little, putting your hand on top of his as a comforting gesture. "I sure as hell haven't. Every time I think I can get some sleep, I find myself getting chased by those stupid mutant fish over and over again.."

Sebastian just scoffed. "You think being chased by one is bad? Try becoming one and having to live through-"

But he stopped himself after seeing the look on your face, as well as you removing your hand and getting up. "Sorry. I'll..get you some water-"

"No. Don't leave. Please."

You blinked in surprise as he grabbed at the hem of your shirt with lightning speed, although when he realized you were staring...he quickly let go and coughed awkwardly into his fist.

"I know I'm not the only one who went through some messed up shit. I don't know how you dealt with it."

"What?"

"..dying over and over again. I would've gone fucking insane if I had to live through that."

"Well, I almost did...but it was worth it. Because we're both free now." You offered him a reassuring smile. "And technically Painter, too. We'll have to talk to him sometime."

"Yeah? Think he'd wanna chat with me after I basically lied to him?" He muttered, sounding uncertain. "I promised him that we would get out. And he could paint all the landscapes he wanted to."

"My colleagues are still figuring out how to unhook him from the IDS without further corrupting him, but they're making good progress. He'll be on his own little computer in here in no time."

"That's good. I just hope he can forgive me. I really only asked him to stall.."

"I'm sure he'd understand, Seb." With a sigh, you picked up your book. "He knows we're safe and he's giving Innovation whatever they need. So I wouldn't worry."

Sebastian simply nodded, looking to his hands--specifically to the ring imprint that was still on one of his fingers, frowning a little as he stared at it.

Even though his humanity was restored, he had already been declared dead a long time. Everyone he knew and loved was convinced that he was a guilty man who deserved execution. It didn't matter if they caught the actual criminal or not.

He just couldn't return to normal life after all he's been through. After all he's seen.

No.

But he could start over with you.

It was funny to think that you were once an expendable prisoner he glossed over, assuming you just wanted to buy his wares and march onwards to your next death--to which he'd laugh in your face and show you the document you already had memorized.

Now, you were the only person he could trust. The only person he was willing to be vulnerable around.

Because you helped free him.

You were the reason he was able to become human again.

[lau219]

Tell Me The Truth

•• Jonathan Crane x Reader ••

Story note: Thiopental is the proper name for what’s more commonly known as “truth serum.” It works by slowing the brain’s higher levels of functioning, making coming up with lies or fabricating complicated stories difficult for a person.

***!!!Warning: Mature sexual content, mentions/use of needles, blood, drug administration/drug influence, reader vulnerability/loss of some defenses and control, 18+ readers only, minors DNI!!!***

…………………………………………………………………………….

“Y/N! Wait up!”

Looking over her shoulder, Y/N saw one of the lab technicians, Terry, jogging towards her down the wide hallway. He was coming from the lab office where they’d just been talking, and as he approached and got closer, Y/N smiled, and when he stopped in front of her, she raised her eyebrows.

“Is there something we forgot to review?” she asked him, still smiling.

“No,” he shook his head, catching his breath after the jog through the wing of the building, “but you forgot this,” he said, lifting his hand and revealing her access key card he held between his fingers. “You left it on the counter in the lab.”

Her eyebrows raising again in surprise, Y/N reached out to take the key card from him.

“Oh, gosh! Thanks so much! I’m gonna need that later.”

“You mean tomorrow,” he suggested in correction. “You’ll need it tomorrow.”

“No,” Y/N replied with a shake of her head. “I mean tonight. I’ve still got some work to do after I drop these documents off in Dr. Crane's office. I need to sort through the results of the latest trial he conducted for that proposed new version of Thiopental, and then I have to go back to the lab and begin dosing out the vials of it for the next trial.”

“How many trials is he going to do?” Terry asked.

“Just these two,” Y/N replied. “The first was to track the physical effects and duration of those effects, as well as efficacy. This next trial is to assess the intensity of effect and the average recovery time. We’re hoping this version of the drug won’t leave patients feeling as spacey and out of it for as long as the original version typically does.”

“I see,” Terry replied with a nod of his head. “Who else do you have working on this with you?”

Y/N shook her head.

“No one; just me,” she then replied.

“Geez, Crane really likes to work you, doesn’t he?” Terry responded.

“It’s not like that,” Y/N said. “He allows plenty of other people to be involved in running the trials and collecting the data. It’s just that when it comes to interpreting the data and getting everything organized for the trials, he wants me to do it.”

“He keeps you on a pretty short leash,” Terry countered.

“No,” Y/N said again. “He’s giving me the opportunity I need, which is to gain firsthand experience and knowledge. This is exactly the kind of stuff I need to be involved in as I work towards my PhD. It’s what’s entailed in being a research assistant.”

“I don’t see him making anyone else work after 5:00 p.m. on a consistent basis,” Terry said then. “But you’re always here late.”

“He doesn’t make me; I do it on my own accord.” Y/N replied.

“Why?” Terry asked with a skeptical raise of his brow. “It’s not like he’s a joy to work with. It surely can’t be his personality that keeps you hanging around. The guy couldn’t be less inviting or more clinical. Has he ever even thanked you or acknowledged what you do?”

“Terry,” Y/N said, admonishing him for criticizing Dr. Crane. “He’s a brilliant doctor and an ingenious pharmaceutical developer. It’s only natural for him to be very clinically focused. But, truly, he’s not as cold as you make him sound. He’s just...focused.”

“You know, your face always flushes whenever you talk about him,” Terry said teasingly with a smirk as he looked at Y/N. “In your eyes, he can do no wrong. Does your defense of him have anything to do with the fact that you so obviously have a crush on him?”

Blushing even deeper than she apparently already was, Y/N’s jaw slightly dropped in surprise.

“I do NOT!” she insisted, hugging the files she was holding to her chest.

“Please, Y/N, it’s all too obvious. We all work in pretty close quarters in that lab; it’s hard to miss the way you look at him whenever he’s in there with us. And if that’s so obvious in the lab, I can only imagine how much more you fawn over him when it’s just the two of you in his office.”

“I do NOT fawn!” Y/N denied again. “I’m his assistant. I’m supposed to pay close attention to him and help him in any way that I can.”

Of course, though, Terry was right. Y/N’s loyalty to Dr. Crane and his work was genuine, but it was one hundred percent correct that she had a hopeless crush on the doctor as well. He was incomprehensibly smart, dedicated to his work, and constantly developing something new in the field – he was so accomplished. He was also insanely handsome and sexy (although he seemed to be unaware of that fact), and although he displayed a quite cold, clinical demeanor ninety-eight percent of the time, there were glimpses of affection that he’d shown Y/N here and there over the last year, and it was enough to get her imagination running for all sorts of different scenarios. How many times had she imagined those lips of his on hers? His hands gripping her waist while she was bent over the lab counter?

Admittedly, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, there was something else about him that spoke to her as well. He had a kind of...intimidating way about him that made her feel things. Almost like a slight hint of menacing or danger that made her both nervous and excited when around him. It was like he was balancing between remaining composed and becoming something a bit darker...equally as ready to either praise her or punish her, depending on whether or not she pleased him. And she always tried very hard to please him.

“You’re like his little pet, you know?” Terry continued then. “He snaps his fingers, and you—”

“Mr. Hall!” a very familiar voice suddenly called out from down the way, cutting into their conversation, and both Y/N and Terry turned to see Dr. Crane standing several yards away, briefcase in hand as he looked at Terry.

“You’re supposed to be in the lab right now, are you not?” he spoke again, his voice still raised slightly for them both to hear. “I don’t believe we’re paying you to ignore your responsibilities and distract my staff, so kindly say your goodbyes to Miss Y/L/N and get back to work.”

Turning back to face Terry, Y/N gave him a look that was a cross between apologetic and sympathetic.

“Don’t worry; I’ll tell him you were just bringing me my key card,” she whispered to him.

“Won’t matter,” Terry replied with slight resentment, briefly eyeing Crane again over Y/N’s shoulder. “But maybe if you slip in a good word for me when the two of you are making out later, that might change his mind.”

“Shh! Don’t say things like that! Someone could hear you!” Y/N said in a somewhat panicked voice. “If a rumor starts going around that he and I—”

“Miss Y/L/N!” It was now Y/N’s turn to be called on by the doctor, but when she turned her head again and looked at him, he said nothing further, just gave her an expectant look and remained firmly where he stood.

“I gotta go; thanks for bringing me my card,” she whispered again as she quickly turned back to Terry for the last time. Then she grabbed the key card from his still outstretched hand and closed her fingers around it, turning around once more and briskly walking towards Dr. Crane with her files still clutched to her chest with her other arm. Crane continued to hold her gaze as she approached him, and as she reached him, instead of staying where he was, he began to walk again, Y/N following alongside him with still hurried steps as she spoke.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Crane, that was my fault, not Terry’s,” she said as they made their way down the hallway. “I left my key card in the lab, and he was bringing it to me, that’s all.”

“And it took you ten minutes to take a card out of his hand?” Jonathan replied, still keeping his eyes forward. “We have a schedule to keep, Miss Y/L/N.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Swallowing somewhat nervously, Y/N glanced sideways at him. He seemed even more no-nonsense than he usually did, and while she had just defended him to Terry, Jonathan’s aura was admittedly chilly today – she could feel it coming from him, and it was beyond just being clinical. He almost seemed mad that she’d been talking to Terry. But then again, he was never what one would call “warm”, except for the very rare occasions when he’d show Y/N the slightest bit of fondness. Something she’d never seen him reveal to anyone else.

As they continued through the building and made their way to Crane’s office, they discussed some details of the latest trial for the Thiopental, Y/N thumbing through several papers while speaking. As she spoke, Jonathan was only half listening, more so occupied with the anger and jealousy he’d felt upon seeing Y/N with Hall. And even though he knew that Y/N had no interest in the man, that didn’t stop the green monster from peeping its ugly head out. Even the doctor most trained in the reasoning behind mental and emotional responses still couldn’t stop himself from getting jealous, and the fact that he knew Y/N had a loyal devotion to him didn’t make it any less anger-inducing when he saw the way Hall had looked at her. The rat had been trying to pick her up for months, and he just wouldn’t take the hint. Well, it was finally time to hammer home to both Y/N and Hall exactly who she belonged to.

Jonathan was fully aware of the secret interest Y/N had in him. He’d picked up on it almost immediately upon her employment with him. While she was very good at keeping it to herself and maintaining a professional front, Jonathan was an expert at assessing, evaluating, and teasing apart every small mannerism, tone of voice, nervous habit, trail of thought, unspoken implication, and a million other things a person might display. And while she was very work-driven and dedicated, he had still caught every stolen glance, every flush of her cheeks, bite of her lips, and inviting bit of body language from her. She’d unknowingly, unintentionally given herself away months and months ago, and Jonathan hadn’t overlooked one tiny bit of it.

He hadn’t acted upon it, though, and he’d – for the most part – maintained an extremely stoic, clinical demeanor with her; the same he offered the rest of the staff. Only rarely did he allow himself to slip slightly and express a tiny bit of affection towards her.

No; he hadn’t acted upon it — yet. Because he’d decided long ago that when he did act upon it, it would be with the knowledge and the tools to make sure she wouldn’t be able to do anything other than give in to him. She’d be open, helpless, submissive, and melting underneath every touch he gave her. That was exactly how he wanted her. That was how he’d wanted her from the start.

Normally, Jonathan was unaffected by most women. Typically, to him, they were dim, whiny, annoying, faint-hearted things that were inconvenient but ultimately necessary. Most of the women he encountered simply made his life more difficult in some way, and weren’t worth wasting his precious time or intelligence on. Sure, he had needs like any man did, but those were commonly satisfied with minimal talk and a quick fuck with a random stranger he’d meet at some psychology seminar, or an audience member at one of his lectures. He could force the charm in order to have the itch scratched, and then go back to mostly ignoring them.

But Y/N was an exception — an incredibly beautiful, innocent, intelligent, and devoted exception who had taken Jonathan by rare surprise as the first woman he’d met whom he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried. Beyond her beauty, it was her obvious, sweet innocence and warmth that was a stark contrast to his clinical, calculated life. And he couldn’t let her get too friendly with anyone else, because as soon as he’d acknowledged to himself the effect she had on him, he immediately decided she’d be his. She was pure, innocent perfection who was always dying to please him, and no way would he lose this rare gem of a woman to some pathetic, average moron. No; she’d be his, and his alone.

His to corrupt, control, and break apart. Never before had the desire and the urge to possess a woman been so strong as it was with Y/N, and he wanted her to fold for him the same way he got each and every one of his patients to fold. Except with Y/N, she’d break down and surrender not from the suppressed memories Jonathan would make her recollect or the trauma she’d work through, but from the way he’d adoringly groom her perfection and desire to please while also calling out each naughty desire and secret thought she assumed he was completely oblivious to, but was, in fact, all too well aware of.

And he knew that that right there was why he was so drawn to her. A gorgeous, innocent woman he could groom and corrupt, who would hang on his every word and be naughty only for him. In Y/N, Jonathan saw the alluring contrasts in her of being so pure, yet also having such lustful, sexual desires. She was sweet yet tempting. A good girl, but with the yearning to be corrupted. It all tapped into his own exact fantasies and desires.

Of course, none of this had ever been voiced by her, but Jonathan had spent the last year analyzing everything about her, and he just knew that Y/N had a yet-to-be-tapped sexuality. He knew she was no virgin, but she also clearly had never let all her inhibitions go. And who better to help her do that than him? And their latest trial project would only help along the way. After all, as brilliant as Jonathan’s methods were, he had no qualms about a little liquid assistance to get Y/N there faster.

As they entered Jonathan’s office, Y/N did as she always did and sat at the computer at his desk. When they were together, Jonathan rarely sat there, instead having Y/N enter information and type up notes of whatever he would dictate to her while he sat in one of the chairs opposite his desk instead. Then she’d leave to hurry off to the lab to complete whatever work he’d assigned for her there, where he’d then check on her progress later on.

“Pull up the results of the latest trial for the Thiopental,” Jonathan told Y/N after she’d situated herself in his desk chair. “I want to compare the males’ reactions versus the females’.”

Obediently, Y/N clicked through a few screens before pulling up the records Crane was asking for. But upon opening the file, Y/N noticed that the total number of participants had been lessened by one. Rather than results from one hundred individuals – fifty males and fifty females – the final line in the female column had been deleted.

“Ummm, Dr. Crane, did the results get edited recently?”

Turning from across the room, Jonathan looked at Y/N as he replied.

“Why do you ask?” he said.

“Well, there are no longer fifty female entries like there were when we first received this data,” Y/N answered him. “There are now only forty-nine.”

Walking over to where Y/N sat, Jonathan stopped beside her and leaned over the desk. Of course, he knew exactly what was going on — he’d deleted the last female entry — but he hovered over Y/N and gently but firmly laid his hand on top of hers as he gripped it and moved the computer mouse with her.

“Let’s have a look,” he said softly beside her.

Y/N’s heart was pounding and her hand was warm beneath his. With him standing this close, she could smell his cologne and feel the heat from his body. It was both unnerving and inviting, and she dared not move as he remained close, although it was taking all her strength not to turn her head into his chest.

Jonathan could sense every nerve in Y/N’s body pulsing. It was the exact reaction he expected from her, and it was clear she was both nervous and aroused. As his eyes darted to her, he could nearly feel the softness of her hair in his fingers as he’d sweep it behind her shoulder and expose her neck. That porcelain skin of hers would have a trail of goosebumps wherever he’d touch her.

After briefly scrolling through the file with her and acting somewhat surprised, Jonathan stood up and pulled back, and then Y/N finally moved again, looking at him questioningly.

“Open my emails; perhaps there’s an explanation from someone in there,” he said to her.

Doing as he said, Y/N opened his emails and quickly found one with the subject line: “Thiopental Participant Withdrawn.” Upon reading it aloud to Crane, Y/N learned that one of the female participant’s results had been discarded due to the discovery that she had consumed alcohol within an hour of her participation. That wasn’t allowed, as they wanted results from people who had no other influencers in their systems at the time of the trial.

“Does this mean the entire study will have to be discarded?” Y/N asked Jonathan after she’d finished reading the email. Little did she know that he’d composed and sent the email to himself.

“No,” Jonathan replied as he looked at her, her beautiful face looking crestfallen. “We’ll just have to collect results from a new female participant within the same parameters of all the others: non-pregnant, non-smoking, without any heart defects or complications, and a system free of any other influencers, approved by their primary physician and conducted in a controlled environment.”

Nodding, Y/N looked down at her watch, noticing that it was already nearly the time most people went home for the day.

“I can ask around the lab tomorrow if any of the female staff would be willing to do it,” she said to him. “I’m sure I can find someone.”

“I’m sure you can,” Jonathan replied then, looking at her with that rare smile that left Y/N feeling both excited and nervous. “You never let me down, Y/N.”

Blushing fiercely with a shy little smile, Y/N could only hold his eyes for a moment before she had to look down. Only on the rarest occasions would he call her “Y/N” instead of “Miss Y/L/N”, and it always had the same effect on her.

“Well, I should get to the lab then and start preparing the vials for the next trial,” she said as she pushed his chair out from the desk and stood up, her face still flushed as she closed his laptop.

“Don’t forget your key card this time,” he said to her with another rare moment of affectionate teasing.

Lifting her eyes to look at him, Y/N once again gave him that shy little smile.

“I won’t.”

•.•.•.•.•

Despite the trial only requiring one hundred vials of the Thiopental, dosing them out was time consuming work. Not only did Y/N need to transfer milliliter after milliliter of the clear liquid into one hundred empty vials with a dropper, but they each then needed to be capped, sealed, labeled and packaged with an accompanying syringe needle.

After three hours of work, she’d finally made it to the last tray of empty vials, and she sat up straighter in her stool to momentarily stretch her back and rotate her neck. She shivered beneath her lab coat, the chilly air of the sterile, empty lab offering little warmth. She was just about to resume her work when she heard the door to the lab open behind her. Turning to look over her shoulder, she saw Dr. Crane walk in, allowing the door to close behind him before he headed her way. What she didn’t realize is that he also ensured it was locked. Despite the fact that it was past 8:00 p.m. at this point, he wanted the guarantee of absolutely no interruptions.

“How’s it coming?” Jonathan asked her as he approached and then came to a stop beside her.

“Nearly finished,” Y/N replied, glancing back down to the vials before looking at Crane again.

“Well, perhaps it’s time for a little break,” he said as their eyes met once more. “I think I’ve come to a solution for our issue with the previous trial that will keep you from having to find a new participant.”

“Oh?” Y/N asked with interest, sitting up straighter in her stool. “How so?”

Looking at her intently, Jonathan spoke again.

“You can do it,” he said.

Furrowing her brow, Y/N shook her head in confusion.

“I can do what? You mean...me be the participant?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Jonathan replied firmly, stepping slightly closer to her.

“But I...” Y/N began. She would never have expected Dr. Crane to suggest her being involved in this way. Wasn’t it some kind of foul for the individuals running the trial to be involved?

“But I’m involved in the study,” she continued then. “I can’t be a participant.”

“This is a study that’s simply tracking effect and reactions,” Jonathan replied, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. “There’s no issue of conflict or biases. We’re simply seeing how your body responds.”

Suddenly, Y/N’s heart began pounding. He was speaking as if he’d already decided she was going to do this, and it had her feeling nervous for some reason. Not unsafe, but just…

“I...I don’t think I should,” Y/N replied. “I mean, when would we even do this?”

“Right now,” Jonathan answered with certainty.

“Right now? But…but who’ll track the results? We have no one else here to record anything.”

Jonathan gave her an amused smile.

“I think I’m more than capable of keeping track of one woman’s responses to a single, one-time use drug, Y/N,” he said to her. “We don’t need anyone else.”

Her heart was still pounding, and she didn’t miss the fact that he used her first name again.

“I don’t have an approval from my primary physician — we have to provide that for them to consider the results valid and prove that it was done safely.”

Jonathan gave her another look.

“I’m a doctor, Y/N. I can properly administer a shot, and I can attest here and now that you’re in a safe environment and are a valid participant. That is, unless you’ve suddenly become pregnant, had a pacemaker implanted, or begun smoking since you were last in my office.”

Despite her nerves, Y/N couldn’t help but release a short laugh at Jonathan’s little joke as she looked down at her lap. It was odd to see him suddenly so...casual, but it was also very appealing. Her cheeks rosy, she looked up at him through her lashes.

“No, none of those things,” she said with a shy little smile.

“Then there’s no issue. I’ll administer it to you, observe the effects, and we’ll add the results to the trial. This way, we won’t waste time finding someone else and waiting for their physician’s note.”

“I…” Y/N didn’t know how to respond. She badly wanted to appease Jonathan, but she was also nervous. The idea of being so vulnerable in front of him was nerve-wracking. Granted, he would only be keeping track of things like her pulse, blood pressure, and reflexes, but what if she accidentally said or did something embarrassing?

“You’re perfectly safe with me, Y/N,” Jonathan assured her, his tone soft. He looked in her eyes and he could see the slight uncertainty, but more so the desire to please him. Just like always.

To Y/N’s surprise, Jonathan reached out then and gently laid a hand over hers.

“You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

Looking down at his hand on hers, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. The mood in the room had changed entirely, and she wasn’t quite sure what was happening. But she knew she could never say no to him.

“Do you trust me?” Jonathan asked as she looked back up at him.

Taking in a deep breath, Y/N pulled herself out of falling into those eyes of his and quietly answered him, her hand still beneath his.

“Yes,” she said.

Slowly smiling, Jonathan squeezed her hand.

“Good girl,” he said.

Y/N blushed fiercely at his words, feeling incredibly nervous but also giddy and pleased at his praise. Again, this was a side of him that had only ever appeared in her private fantasies, and the fact that he was suddenly looking at her the way he was felt almost surreal.

Reaching up behind her on the shelf where the leftover vials of the Thiopental from the first trial sat, Jonathan pulled one down and set it on the lab counter. He then opened the container of supplies kept beneath the shelf and retrieved an alcohol swab and some rubber gloves. Still sitting in her stool, Y/N watched his every move.

Jonathan had her right where he wanted her, and he was even more in tune than usual with every silent signal Y/N was giving off. As he placed the supplies on the counter, he looked at her again.

“Sit up on the counter,” he softly ordered her. “Then your arms will be level with mine.”

Self-consciously, Y/N shifted, trying to be as graceful as possible in the skirt she was wearing. Bracing her palms behind herself on the ledge, she then hoisted herself up from the stool onto the countertop, scooting back slightly as her legs dangled over the edge. She was now at the same level as Jonathan, and she awkwardly cleared her throat as their eyes met again.

“Let’s lift this up, shall we?” Jonathan then said to her as he reached forward for the sleeve of her lab coat and pushed it up to reveal her forearm, folding it behind the bend of her elbow.

Goosebumps immediately appeared where Jonathan’s fingers brushed her skin as he adjusted her sleeve, and Y/N blushed, not looking at him but knowing there was no way he didn’t notice her reaction.

“Will you…I mean…we’re just tracking things like my vitals, right? That’s it?” Y/N asked him quietly as she watched Jonathan put the gloves on.

“Why?” he teased her then as their eyes met again. “Keeping some secrets, are we?”

Blushing again, Y/N couldn’t speak, instead only pursing her lips as she shook her head.

“Don’t worry,” Jonathan said then, “something tells me we’ll get the answers we’re looking for.”

Y/N’s heart pounded again at his words, not even knowing how to respond. She felt the way she always felt around him, both nervous and protected, but it was magnified by about a hundred, and although his words and actions were soft, Y/N still picked up on that hint of intimidation and danger he brought her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she acknowledged the fact that she was squeezing her thighs together beneath her skirt.

He could see her pulse point at her neck jumping, and he spotted the tightening of her muscles as she squeezed her thighs together atop the counter. As he reached over her once more to grab a syringe and needle, he intentionally lingered, and he heard her inhale near his neck as he did, smiling to himself at her response to him.

Donning the rubber gloves, Jonathan then assembled the needle and syringe, then loaded it from the vial, Y/N's eyes on his every move. Setting the prepared syringe down momentarily, he then opened the packet containing the alcohol swab and then removed it, swiftly swiping it across Y/N's skin as she looked down at her arm. Goosebumps appeared again as she felt the cold piece of gauze on her skin.

Quickly disposing of the swab, Jonathan then retrieved the syringe once more, and just before bringing the needle to her skin, he gently grasped Y/N's arm with his free hand and looked at her.

"Ready?" he said, although it wasn't really a question.

Meeting his eyes, Y/N nervously bit her lip, but as she felt Jonathan gently squeeze her arm, she found herself nodding her permission.

Wincing at the sudden sting from the prick of the needle, Y/N briefly squeezed her eyes closed, but forced herself to inhale steadily as she felt the liquid enter her vein. Jonathan lifted his eyes from her arm to her face as he finished pushing the last of the dose through the syringe, and he smiled to himself once more as he knew it was now only a matter of minutes before he'd get everything out of her.

Gently retracting the needle from her arm, Jonathan placed a clean square of gauze over the site on her skin to catch any small bit of blood that may have followed, and Y/N automatically lifted her other hand to hold it there as Jonathan disposed of the syringe.

"Don't be nervous, sweetheart," Jonathan said as he saw Y/N watching him again, her face slightly pale and her nerves clearly affecting her. "You know exactly how all of this works."

Completely taken aback by the unexpected term of endearment, Y/N's heart raced again, and she felt both giddy and hazy. While it was supposed to take several minutes for the drug to reach full effect, she'd had no idea how quickly it would begin taking over her system. She already felt somewhat like she was functioning in slow motion, but with Jonathan's unexpected affection, her heart was still pounding like crazy.

"We'll just give that a minute to take full effect," he said then, very nonchalantly.

Still speechless, Y/N watched as he opened a cabinet off to the side and pulled out a pulse oximeter and electronic blood pressure cuff. Preparing to use each of them, Jonathan then shifted again and stood directly in front of her, and Y/N lifted her head to meet his eyes.

"How do you feel?" he asked her, the clinical tone back in his voice.

It took her a moment before she could respond, the words taking their time to travel from her brain to her lips.

"Slow," she said simply as she looked back at him. "Everything feels slow."

Nodding, Jonathan picked up the items he'd retrieved from the cabinet. He spoke as he placed the oximeter on her finger. Although he had no real intention of tracking any of this, he wanted to give her another minute to absorb everything. After the oximeter beeped with her numbers, he placed the blood pressure cuff on her wrist.

"How about now?" Jonathan lifted his eyes from the display on the cuff to Y/N's gaze. "Your heart's racing. Not common, seeing as this typically causes the opposite effect on heart rate. What's got you so nervous, hmm?"

Y/N felt somewhat cloudy, still fully functional, but once again in almost a slow motion way, as if everything she thought and did took twice as long. After registering his question, she answered Jonathan with the first thing that came to her mind.

"You," she said simply.

Jonathan smiled, giving her a look that only intensified her pulse, and he then reached up and removed his glasses, placing them in the breast pocket of his blazer.

"Me?" he questioned her teasingly. "Do I make you nervous, Y/N?"

"Yes," she answered after a beat, still looking at him. She found that if she tried to turn her head too fast, it made her feel woozy.

"Hmm," said Jonathan, and then he reached down and slowly unstrapped the cuff from her wrist.

Thoughtlessly lowering her arm, Y/N took another deep breath, feeling her pulse in her veins.

"Let's just start with the typical questions," Jonathan said then, and although he'd told her they'd only be monitoring her vitals and outward reactions, Y/N had no ability or desire to stop him from asking her anything.

"Tell me your full name and date of birth," Crane said as he looked at her. After a moment's beat, Y/N responded with the (obviously) correct answers.

"And what's your home address?"

Again, she rattled off the information after a second's pause.

"Now tell me, how long have you worked for me?" Jonathan said then, his tone changing slightly.

"Just over a year," Y/N replied, and then she noticed somewhere in the back of her mind that she was beginning to feel very hot.

"Right. And for how long of that year have you had sexual thoughts about me, Y/N?"

Despite her body heat, Y/N could feel her face suddenly blanching, but as she processed his question, there was only one possible outcome: the truth.

"The entire time," she said, and she felt the blush creep back over her skin as the words left her mouth.

"Are you surprised that I just asked you that question?" Jonathan asked then, that smile of certainty taking over his face again.

"Yes," Y/N answered, her heart skipping a beat as she saw him smile. She was now fully aware that she was powerless to say anything but the truth.

Reaching out to her then, Jonathan gently laid a palm on Y/N's thigh and slowly slid it up her leg, over the fabric of her skirt. Then their eyes met again.

"You thought I didn't know, didn't you?" he affectionately teased her, his voice soft and his gaze intense as he looked at her. Somehow, his entire aura was contradictorily both soothing and intimidating, and Y/N's breath hitched in her throat as he stepped even closer.

Automatically, and feeling somewhat hazy, she spread her legs to allow Jonathan to stand between them, and as he did, he reached up and gently grasped her chin, stroking it with his thumb as he looked down at her. Nervously, Y/N's eyes kept darting between his eyes and his lips, her heart pounding and her body flushed as he spoke again.

"Trust me, sweetheart, I knew. I've known all along."

His affectionate words and his touch once again caused Y/N's heart to race, and she felt both embarrassed and helpless, but also immediately aroused.

"I'm sorry," she heard herself say suddenly, and Jonathan, still grasping her chin, looked at her with that unnerving affection.

"Sorry for what?"

"For thinking about you like that," she said. "I tried not to."

Chuckling, Jonathan released her chin, instead planting each of his palms on top of her thighs.

"You don't have to apologize," he spoke soothingly, giving a small shake of his head. "After all, why apologize for something we both want?"

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, and she felt a dampness forming in her panties as Jonathan squeezed her thighs.

"You're quite the little eye-catcher yourself, Y/N," he responded. "I've spent the last year watching every move you make, every look and unspoken hint. And never before has anyone caught my attention quite like you."

Floored at this admission, Y/N could only say one thing.

"Really?"

Chuckling again, Jonathan leaned in closer to her.

"Isn't that what you were always hoping to hear?" he asked her.

Her eyes quickly darting to his lips, Y/N then responded.

"Yes," she answered him. "I wanted to be perfect for you. I wanted you to want me."

Immediately, Jonathan's cock twitched in his pants at her admission. Despite knowing this information already, nothing beat hearing it come straight from her lips.

"And is that still what you want now?" he pushed her.

She nodded her head.

"Yes."

Smiling again, Jonathan pulled back from her slightly, noting the heat radiating from her body.

"You're burning up," he said as his eyes dropped to the buttons on her lab coat.

"I'm hot," she confirmed mindlessly.

"I can see that," Jonathan replied.

"Is that bad?" she asked, concern momentarily replacing the desirous look on her face.

"It's expected," Jonathan dismissed with a shake of his head. "Your body's trying to compensate for the delayed response signals by sending blood through your system more quickly."

"I'm hot," she repeated dumbly, unable to comprehend enough of what Jonathan had said, as her brain was processing everything slower.

"We can take care of that," Jonathan replied, and he reached up and began undoing the buttons on her lab coat. He intentionally went slowly, savoring the moment of finally undressing her as he'd imagined a million times.

After her coat was open, Jonathan reached up again and slipped his hands underneath the shoulders, slowly pushing it off her and down her arms. Silently, Y/N turned her head and watched as his hands pushed the coat off her body. But instead of stopping there, Jonathan then lifted his hands once more and hovered them over the buttons of her blouse.

"Should we take this off, too?" he asked her — again, less so for permission and more so just to hear her response.

"Yes," she replied, and nodded her head.

As Jonathan worked at the new set of buttons, the porcelain skin of Y/N's chest and the lace of her black bra was gradually revealed, causing Jonathan's cock to stiffen further.

“Have you thought about me undressing you before, Y/N?”

She could feel his cool fingertips grazing her skin as he worked down her chest.

“Yes,” she replied. Her heart was pounding and her nipples stiffening at his question.

“And when you think about that, how does it make you feel?”

Of course, there was still nothing she could do but tell the truth. As badly as her mind wanted to come up with an answer that wouldn't embarrass her, she couldn't form the fib; she could only voice facts.

"Excited," she replied, "but nervous, too. I like to think about it."

"What else do you like to think about?" Jonathan urged her as he undid the last button on her blouse. Y/N's face flushed again as she answered him.

"You kissing me and touching me. I think about having sex with you and what it would be like."

"And do you enjoy those thoughts?" Jonathan placed his palms back on her thighs, her blouse hanging open.

"Yes," she replied.

"Why?"

"Because I like you. You’re so smart and accomplished, and you’re intimidating, too, but I like that. And you’re so handsome and sexy. When I’m around you, you make me feel safe but also scared at the same time. I like that. I think about what you'll do to me."

"And what do you think I'll do to you? Tell me."

Again, Y/N was helpless to anything but the truth.

"You'll kiss me. Touch me everywhere. I think about your hands on my breasts. Or your lips on me. You'll put your fingers inside me, and then your cock. You'll pull my hair or spank me. You'll fuck me and make me come. Then you'll come inside me."

He could see the shock and embarrassment on Y/N’s face as she heard herself uncontrollably admit everything out loud, and after each mini declaration she made, Jonathan's cock stiffened further.

Lifting his hands to Y/N’s shoulders once more, he slipped them under her blouse and pushed it off her, fully revealing inch after inch of her flawless skin, enhanced by the contrast of her feminine, lacy black bra. Her breasts molded perfectly to the cups and he could see her hardened nipples through the material.

"And how about if I tell you to do something? Would you do it?" Jonathan prompted her.

"Yes," Y/N said.

"You want to please me, don't you, Y/N? Make me happy with you? Do anything I say?"

"Yes."

"You just want to be my good girl, don't you?"

"Yes," Y/N nodded at that, feeling her body flush again. "I want to be yours."

Lifting his hands to her face, Jonathan cradled Y/N's cheeks in his palms and looked in her eyes as he spoke.

"I want that, too," he said. "And we can make that happen. Would you like me to fuck you right now?"

Y/N nodded again, having a hard time believing this was actually happening. "Yes."

Lowering one hand from her face and moving the other lower, he grasped her chin again and held her eyes as he spoke.

"You're going to be a good girl for me, Y/N. You're going to let me do everything to you that I want. You're going to show me how much you enjoy it. You belong to me, do you understand that?"

"Yes," Y/N replied, her heart pounding at Jonathan's words. Unintentionally, she slightly arched her back, subtly pushing her chest out towards him.

Jonathan smiled again.

"So eager," he cooed. "You've been mine all along, haven't you?"

"Yes; always," Y/N said.

At that, Jonathan lifted his hands once more and reached behind her, making quick work of opening her bra clasp. As the garment loosened around her, he traced his fingers up her arms and hooked them under her straps, hesitating for a moment as he savored her reaction.

"Shall we take this off?" he teased her.

"Yes," she answered quickly, her voice sounding desperate. "Please!"

Jonathan shook his head with another smile.

"Always so well-mannered. My good girl."

Pulling the bra from her chest, Jonathan dropped it to the floor and his eyes were glued to her breasts. They were plump, pert perfection, her nipples hardened from equally both arousal and the chill of the cold, sterile laboratory.

"Do you want my hands on you, Y/N?" he asked her, his palms already only centimeters away from touching her.

"Yes," she nodded fervently.

Immediately, Jonathan cupped her breasts, squeezing her flesh as it filled his hands and stroking her eager nipples with his thumbs. With every swipe along her buds, Y/N released a tiny gasp, arching into his touch.

"You like that, don't you?" Jonathan asked her as he lifted his eyes to hers. He could feel his cock straining against his pants as he watched her arch into him again.

"Yes," she replied. "I don't want you to stop."

Jonathan shook his head.

"We're not stopping until I have you coming, sweetheart," he said to her soothingly. "That's what you want, isn't it? For me to make you come?"

"Yes," she replied, and she squeezed her thighs together again.

"Then let's make that happen."

His hands still on her breasts, Jonathan leaned forward and pressed his lips to Y/N's, her eyes fluttering closed as he came closer. As soon as his lips came in contact with hers, she released an audible sigh with a little whimper, and when Jonathan stroked her nipples again as their lips moved together, she leaned into him even more.

He started off gentle, but soon, Jonathan was kissing her with more aggression, the sounds of her desirous desperation and her needy reaction spurring him on. After a moment, he felt her squirming beneath him, and he pulled back to look at her.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"I..." Y/N blushed again. "I want to touch you."

Jonathan smiled.

"Then touch me," he said, then leaned in again and connected their lips once more.

Whimpering again, Y/N lifted hers arms to Jonathan's neck, wrapping them around his shoulders as she scooted closer to him. Her bare breasts rubbed against the scratchy fabric of his blazer, and as she leaned into him, Jonathan lowered his hands to her hips and pulled her to the edge of the counter. Her fingers hovering over the nape of his neck, she suddenly tangled them in his hair and tugged in surprise as she felt Jonathan squeeze her hips.

Pulling away from her once more, Jonathan grabbed the fabric of her skirt and slowly began pushing it up her thighs, watching her every reaction as he did so.

"Let's see just how excited you are," he said. He then pushed her skirt the final inches to bunch it up around her hips, revealing her smooth thighs and the black panties clothing her pretty little mound.

"Spread your legs for me, Y/N," Jonathan ordered her, and she obediently responded, parting her thighs fully to reveal herself. The subtle yet obvious patch where her arousal had temporarily stained the fabric of her panties darker immediately causing another smirk to cross Jonathan's face.

"So wet, aren't you?" he affectionately teased her. "So wet and so ready." He hovered his fingers over her. "Do you want my fingers?"

Her breath hitched slightly before she answered.

"Yes," she said in a breathy reply. "I want them inside me."

Slowly, Jonathan skimmed his fingertips over the fabric of her panties, eliciting a whimper and a thrust of her hips as Y/N felt him touch her. He then lifted his fingers to the hem of her panties and hooked them inside. Instinctively, Y/N briefly lifted herself off the counter to allow him to remove them, but then her mind was completely blank when she suddenly felt Jonathan's fingers delve inside her dripping folds.

"Ohhhhh," she moaned, and her hips thrusted again as Jonathan curled his fingers inside her, the lewd sounds of her wetness accenting the air as he began pumping his fingers in and out of her.

Her pussy was soft, pink perfection, and Jonathan curled his fingers again as she moaned over and over.

"You're not just wet; you're soaking," he said to her, his cock now rock hard as he watched his fingers moving in and out of her. Whining again, Y/N grasped the edge of the counter with her hands and slightly leaned back, pushing her lower half closer to Jonathan, seeking more of his touch.

"Such a needy girl," Jonathan said. "You want more, don't you?"

"Yes," she nodded, her face twisting in pleasure as Jonathan pumped his fingers faster. "More." She was panting now.

"Just wait until you get my cock, sweetheart. You're going to let me fuck you, aren't you?"

"Yes," Y/N answered, her pussy clamping around his fingers. When Jonathan curled them inside her once more and moved his index finger back and forth, an embarrassingly loud moan escaped her, the pleasure incredible as he hit that spot inside her.

"Next time, you’re gonna be bent over my desk," Jonathan said to her as he withdrew his fingers from inside her and swiped his thumb over her clit instead, eliciting another loud moan from her. "From now on, you’ll let me take you whenever and wherever I want. Do you understand me, Y/N?"

"Yes!" she cried out desperately as he swiped her clit again. Her head was still slightly foggy, and Jonathan's words had her ready to do anything he said. Her heart was racing as she met his eyes.

"You pretend to be so proper, but you're not. You want to be a naughty girl, don’t you?" Jonathan said.

"Yes!" Y/N cried again, Jonathan's thumb repeatedly circling her clit having her eyes practically rolling to the back of her head.

"You sound like a broken record,” Jonathan said then. "So beautifully pathetic." He ceased his ministrations then, and at the loss of his touch, Y/N was practically crying.

"Jonathan..." she breathed out in need, feeling so delirious that she didn't even realize she'd said his first name, which she'd never done before. "Jonathan, please!"

At the sound of his name falling from her mouth in that desperate, whiny voice, Jonathan was moving his hands to his belt, unfastening it and opening his pants, the clinking sound of the buckle sounding louder than it actually was in the otherwise empty lab. He then reached out and grasped Y/N's wrist, pulling her hand to his briefs and slipping her hand inside, guiding her palm to feel his bulging firmness.

"Please, what?" he said as he held her hand in place. "Is this what you want, Y/N? You want my cock?"

"Yes!"

"Where do you want it? Tell me."

"I want it inside me. I want to feel you fill me up."

Feeling the heat of Jonathan's stiff shaft, all she could think about was having him fuck her, and she knew that she would forever do whatever he told her as long as she could feel him inside her.

"I'm going to fill you," Jonathan assured then, roughly pulling her closer again and hovering his mouth over hers as he spoke. "And you're going to take everything I give you, do anything I tell you to. You're going to be my good girl. Always."

Jonathan caught the obedient little nod Y/N gave just before he connected their lips again, and as he did, he raised a hand to grasp one of her breasts again, massaging her and pinching her nipple before doing the same to her other breast, and then moving his mouth to her neck, sucking her flesh and following it with a soft kiss.

"Jonathan..." she breathed again.

"Are you ready, Y/N?" he said lowly against her neck. "I think you are."

"Yes," she breathlessly whispered again for what felt like the hundredth time that night, and Y/N felt her wetness nearly ready to drip from her folds as she heard Jonathan draw himself out of his briefs. But her weeping pussy was then immediately met with the feel of his hot tip prodding her entrance, and she whimpered again.

"You're so ready," she heard Jonathan say, and then she was suddenly momentarily thoughtless from the insane pleasure of his cock slamming inside her.

"Ahhhhhh!" she cried out, feeling like she was being split in two as Jonathan's hips became flush with her inner thighs. She desperately reached up and grasped the lapels of his blazer, the stars in her vision slowly disappearing as she continued to adjust to the feeling of him inside her.

"Ohhh, fuck, sweetheart," Jonathan groaned as he felt her walls clamp needily around his shaft. She milked him without even trying, and he immediately began thrusting in and out of her, unable to go slow any longer.

"Oh, God!" Y/N panted as she gripped his jacket tighter, instinctively wrapping her legs around Jonathan's waist as he began to move in and out of her. She clamped around him with each thrust, and she felt his fingers digging into her hips as she began to meet each of his thrusts with a rutting of her hips.

"That's my girl," Jonathan said roughly as he continued to fuck her. “Taking me so well."

Her chest was heaving, and Jonathan was having a hard time deciding where to focus his eyes — on her beautiful breasts bouncing with each thrust, on her plump, parted lips as she gasped again and again, or on the sight of his thick cock slamming in and out of her drenched pussy. But he relished in knowing that he'd now have countless opportunities to see each of these delicious sights again and again. He'd fuck her silly before he'd ever have enough.

In the future, Jonathan would draw everything out, make her squirm, whine, and downright beg for release. But tonight, he'd make it easy on her, to show her just how good he could make her feel...if she earned it.

Returning his thumb to her clit, he again stroked her over and over, and as he watched her face beautifully contort in pleasure again, he grabbed a fistful of her hair with his free hand, tugging it roughly enough to force her to look at him, her eyes widening in surprise and mild pain as his pull on her strands stung her scalp, causing her to whimper again.

"Do you want me to make you come, Y/N?" Jonathan asked her as she met his eyes.

"Yes! Please!" She thrusted her own hips into his once more, seeking what he was offering her. "And...and..." she couldn't think anymore.

"What?"Jonathan asked her. "Say it."

She clamped around him again.

"And I want you to come inside me."

Jonathan gave her a devilish smile.

"That was happening whether you asked or not," he replied. "You're going to take everything I give you."

Her heart racing, Y/N nodded obediently once more, and with a final, sloppy kiss between them, Jonathan then resumed his previous pace, fucking her hard and fast as he alternated between stroking her clit and pinching her nipples.

With every touch and thrust, Y/N could feel herself unravelling more and more, and she reached up and desperately gripped Jonathan's shoulders as she felt herself nearing the edge.

"I...Jonathan, I..."

"Are you close, sweetheart?" he urged her.

"Yes," she panted.

Jonathan once more pulled her closer, his hands on her hips like a death grip as he prepared to bring her over the edge and finish inside her.

"You're going to come now, Y/N," he commanded her.

In a final push of thrusts and strokes, Jonathan had her mewling in desperation, and when he lowered his mouth to her neck and nipped her skin as he thumbed her a final time, he felt her suddenly clamp around him with insane tightness as a high-pitched squeal escaped her and her body tensed.

Her eyes squeezing shut and her heart pounding in her ears, Y/N was once again thoughtless, only registering her reactions and responses to how Jonathan fucked her with intention, and when he commanded her in that voice and bit at her neck, she was gone. As his thumb stroked her a final time through her wetness, she came with an uncontrollable squeal, gripping his shoulders so tightly that her knuckles were white against the fabric of his jacket.

Hearing her desperately pleasured whine, Jonathan let himself go, pounding into her with determination until he himself was coming, releasing inside her with rope after rope of cum, imagining each bit of his release painting her walls and marking his territory as he finished inside her, hearing her still panting against him as he groaned deeply.

Eventually, the sounds between them lessened, and finally, Jonathan pulled himself out of her as Y/N's hands slipped from his shoulders, whimpering a final time as she felt him leave her body. After tucking himself back inside his briefs, Jonathan fastened his pants again and re-buckled his belt before looking up at Y/N, who still sat on the counter before him, slightly shivering with her naked chest still exposed and her legs still spread, her bare pussy leaking with his cum.

When Y/N lifted her eyes to meet his, Jonathan reached up and stroked her cheek before he spoke again.

"It shouldn't be long now before the effects fully wear off," he said, reaching for her lab coat on the counter, picking it up and encouraging her to slip her arms through the sleeves as he helped her put it back on, never minding about her discarded bra or blouse. He buttoned it for her before then lowering his fingers to her pussy and pushing his escaping cum back inside her. Y/N's thighs quivered as his fingers briefly entered her again.

"Once you're feeling back to normal, I want you to go home," he continued softly. "Don't wash yourself until the morning. Then I want you to come straight to my office tomorrow, and I want you wearing nothing but that lab coat. Do you understand?"

Pressing her thighs together, Y/N silently nodded, her heart still pounding.

"Good girl," Jonathan said, and he stroked her cheek one more time before leaning closer once more.

"You'll always be my good girl, won't you?" he said to her, already knowing her response.

"Yes," Y/N breathed out, nodding slowly. "Always."

With a satisfied nod, Jonathan leaned forward a final time, placing a soft kiss on Y/N's lips before backing away. Then he turned and walked out of the lab, Y/N looking after him as she slowly began to feel like herself again, but with a renewed desirous anticipation, wondering just exactly what Jonathan had in mind for her next.

@nyxxie-pooh @xsweetcatastrophe @allie131313 @empatheticlove @febris-amatoria

@hannibellector @meister95 @alltoowellbeneaththemangotree @beastofburdenxo @aphroditeslover11

@galactict3a @lyarr24 @wild-rose-35 @4ria790 @judig92

@cillmurphyslover @ladyvenera @karah-bear @k1ng-l3on @ceirinen

@peskybinders @fuseburner @shaddixlife @neonpurplestars89-blog @garrison-girl-08

@devotedlyshadowytheorist @mischievouslittlecreature @muhahaha303 @mostly-marvel-musings @cillianmurphyfanatic

@an-eclectic-of-mass-destruction @vervainandspritz @novashelby @wonderlanddreamer @honeymoon8

@cardan-official @pkmonka @meadows5 @mamawiggers1980 @fmo166

@vastcapacity @mspookington-blog @teawonderfultea-blog1 @fkmarrycill @sl-newsie

@mrs-bond @shopgirl6us @cillianbabe @myers-meadow @fracturedhaven

[cenorii]

In 2021, dirty secrets about the use of bioweapons are revealed inside BSAA + there are direct hints in Umbrella Corps that Wesker is alive. I just combine the two puzzle pieces together in my head. So let's look at another interesting post-2009 scenario.

AU - ELEGY OF FREE RADICALS

Chris was once careless about eliminating Wesker. Knowing his nature, he still didn't check Wesker's presumed place of death properly. Relying on his own luck, Chris left the place of battle and never returned there. But he had to go back. It has become his mistake.

Chris reported the scene of the victory to the BSAA. Rotten BSAA could have used that data in any way they wanted. Like going back there and checking out the volcano. They could have indicated on the documents that they were headed to clear the area of the remnants of Uroboros, but in fact to search for Wesker's remains to get rich off the sale and study of his unique biomaterial. But what they didn't expect was to find him alive. Badly injured, helpless, but somehow alive.

Taking advantage of the weakness of the still living organism, he was taken to the secret laboratory of the headquarters. Now Wesker could be under the supervision of BSAA scientists for a very long time. He's much more useful alive than dead. His knowledge, skills, all of it could be utilized. And it was also possible to conduct endless experiments on his unusual body... Testing the limits of his abilities, testing various poisons, looking at the lethality of their new weapons, and etc. He was once again a puppet, as he had once been in Spencer's hands, from which he had miraculously escaped.

The BSAA kept Wesker's abilities under strict control, he was trivially stripped of any PG67A/W injections, replaced with an alternative that was only necessary for his body to regenerate damage after the battle in the volcano, but didn't provide any additional benefits. So he would remain weak but healthy.

Another remedy was also applied to him, eliminating the consequences of merging with the Uroboros, which modified his body in a volcano. It was discovered in 2011, after the events of Revelations 2. It was rude to call it just a serum, it was something more, because it did not remove the virus itself from the body, but brought it into a more stable form, allowing Wesker to take his ordinary appearance. With him, in this form, it became easier for employees to work.

The BSAA restored Wesker, stripped of his strength, any dignity, as well as his freedom. He was bedridden for several years and various weapons were tested on him, then recorded how his body reacted and at what rate it recovered. An immobilized lab rat, a deserved punishment for someone like him? Perhaps. It was thanks to his "sacrifice" that the anti-regeneration weapon was invented, which had once come in handy for Chris in the battle against Mold.

Just think… how many things could the BSAA have invented using the infinite resources of Wesker's body? He was terrified of these thoughts. Terror at the realization that he had no chance of escape, that he was trapped here forever, that he would continue to have his organs taken out of him and be forced into endless pain. He reflected that he hadn't actually managed to do so many contradictory things to deserve eternal torment. And it's better to let him die than to endure this hell. But his own body played a cruel joke without dying. It was an expert on regeneration. His pride was trampled when he begged for death.

BSAA absolutely did not spend any painkillers and sleeping pills on Wesker, absolutely all experiments were carried out when he was conscious. They had already spent a lot of money on him during his recovery, it was a waste to spend even more on someone who could repair any of his damage.

Pain and terror haunted him for six years. He cursed what he used to idolize in himself.

And then he was forced to work for them. In 6 years he had grown accustomed to the constant pain and had already learned to see himself as nothing, sending his consciousness into free floating. Deep in his thoughts, he created a place where he learned to ignore the endless physical torment. But when he was put on his feet and pulled out of this place… Wesker was even more devastated.

It was unusual for him to suddenly return to normal work, all this created a mess in his head, reality seemed to be nonsense. The usual paperwork after hell? Are you kidding me?!

Morally, he was destroyed. His psyche was severely damaged. Wesker from the "torture room" was locked in a cell that looked like a combination of a room and a laboratory. For fear of being put back on the operating table again, he dutifully began to work and develop various things that BSAA would use in the future. But it wasn't life either. Weakened body, lack of abilities... he wanted to die, but he couldn't afford it, because he was practically immortal. Although, even if he used a weapon that stops regeneration on himself... he still wouldn't kill himself.

«Not here»

«Not like this»

At times he thought he was balancing on the fine line between normalcy and insanity. He saw people at best once every two weeks who came to check on his work and were not at all talkative. Wesker had always been convinced he didn't need company, but 12 years without socializing had made him question his beliefs.

Once a month he was provided with food, and then carelessly, because he didn't need food. His body, experiencing hunger, could devour itself and regenerate immediately.

The only reason he was given a room and released from the operating table was because the organization wanted to see what he could offer them. Of course, they didn't stop studying his unusual body and conducting experiments, but Wesker was already in charge of the process himself. Independently amputated his limbs and so on. Only closer to 2019 were these experiments stopped, because they had extracted all possible benefits from his body.

Wesker remotely, horrified, realized that thanks to his body he would live much longer than the average person, if not forever. Which led him to believe that he would be kept in this cage for centuries. BSAA would close, others would take their place, find him, torture him again. And so on in a circle, for all eternity, as long as human society and greed existed. This had to end... but how? A plan was needed, a complex one that could not be unraveled.

His life and existence was a BSAA mystery from 2009-2021. For 12 long years he was not allowed out of the walls of this cell.

Of course he wanted to escape, he had many unrealistic thoughts in his head about it. He was also interested in meeting Chris, aged, changed. To see his reaction, genuine shock rather than the anger he'd reacted to Wesker's earlier 'resurrections'. Is Chris even still alive today? What year is it now?

But this life couldn't go on forever, the BSAA was cracking at the seams. In 2021 it was revealed that they were using B.O.W. soldiers, something Chris couldn't ignore. So he headed over to European headquarters to deal with it - right where his nemesis was located, a complete headache. Chris couldn't accept that his organization, which was fighting biological weapons, would use them. It didn't fit in his head. He had long ago stopped trusting the BSAA, but this was the last straw.

Arriving there, Chris did not expect to meet someone in the basement laboratories whom he had buried a long time ago.

What was he going to do with him? Shoot him in the head without any thought? That would have been logical and in Redfield's character, but over the years he'd stopped being a complete hothead, learned to think first and then act. Gained a little equanimity.

It will turn out that it was Wesker who was involved in the creation of the B.O.W. in BSAA. Especially since these soldiers are improved clones of Chris himself. Who else could have come up with such an idea? Only to a man who thought Chris was "one of his best men".

For the past 6 years, Wesker has been forced to be an advisor to BSAA, sharing all the knowledge and ideas. He might have been able to pull it all off, if only to get back at that organization, turning Chris' anger on it, and turning his attention to himself at the same time. After all, only this "one of his best men" was the only one who could save him. Yes, Wesker was pathetic. He felt he wasn't even worthy of his former name, being so pathetic as to enlist the help of his enemy. But it was the only option. There was no more talk of pride.

However, it didn't matter now, Chris had come here to punish the founders, so their prisoner, their chief counselor, might prove to be the best informant. And an ally.

Natural intuition made Chris believe his former enemy, the biggest manipulator of them all. As if he was definitely not lying now, because he was in such a big asshole that he couldn't let his words sound unconvincing. Earlier, Chris would have easily recognized his lies, but not now. Right now, completely honest and dull eyes were looking at him from beneath translucent glasses. So damn pitiful that Chris automatically assumed the role of the hero rescuing the damsel in distress.

Chris was quickly combine the information together in his head: the situation, the physique, the setting... His opponent had been held hostage by his own ambition, it couldn't help but bring a smile to Redfield's face. But he hid it in his thoughts, because he deemed it inappropriate once he read Wesker's imprisonment papers. Chris had some free time to devote to the situation.

He read about what had been done to Wesker. About all the torture. And Redfield clutched his head, when he got to the description of his ammunition that he'd used against Mold a couple years ago. He was terrified that this weapon had been created in such a gruesome way... through the suffering of his enemy, who, even considering all his guilt, didn't deserve all this. Chris felt that Wesker should have died and rid the world of himself rather than suffer endlessly. Even for him, he thought it was inhumane.

The first thing Wesker said to Chris was: - Now you've taken on the role of captain of the «alpha» too. This jabbed Chris slightly, but he noticed how the hostage said it without malice. Redfield involuntarily remembered 1998, the mansion, the betrayal, the deaths of the Alpha and Bravo group...

The compartment Wesker was in was to him both an office and a laboratory, and a room. A kind of prison, which he could not leave on his own because of his weak physical condition. He was weakened by the daily injections putting his viruses inside his body to sleep.

Releasing him and examining him at arm's length, Chris made sure that in the state Wesker was in now, he posed no danger, just an ordinary disgust. He resembled only a pale copy of his former self.

The BSAA operative dragged him carelessly behind him like some sack of garbage, concerned only with keeping the information in his head intact. But in his mind Chris still held images of what the BSAA bastards were doing here to Wesker. He didn't want to feel sorry for him, but he couldn't control it, Redfield had never been heartless. Initially he had only cared about information, but it wasn't long before he didn't even notice how protective he had become of him. As if a friend, which in truth, he never was. His captive's behavior was different from what Chris remembered. It was different, like a throwback to the past. Perhaps 12 years of imprisonment had had that effect on him.

He was docile, which wasn't surprising, since Wesker had been treated like an object by the organization, and the operating table had been a good teaching moment. Chris couldn't believe that after so many years of hell his former enemy's mind was still intact, that he hadn't lost his mind and was capable of dialog.

Time passed unnoticed during the proceedings with the BSAA about B.O.W., eventually the organization was destroyed and all its equipment, along with Chris's squad, transferred to TerraSave.

Chris during all of this had to sign Wesker into the Hound Wolf Squad as either a prisoner or an advisor. To keep him from getting shut down again, that was the deal. He helps them, they help him. Over time, he was getting back to normal. The food and good company had done their job.

However, Chris didn't know that his new ally hadn't lost all of his strength, and the ones he had were sleeping under the influence of the medicament. But time passed, the medicament slowly stopped working without new doses, and Wesker understood it perfectly well. And felt it. It didn't affect his appearance, so he could play his role for as long as he wanted. But was it a role? Sure he was portraying a courtesy that annoyed Chris to the point of nausea, but it was partially sincere. Having broken with his past at the fault of the BSAA, Wesker could only hope to find a new purpose. After all, as Spencer had raised him, there is no life without purpose.

Therefore, was it so necessary for him to betray Hound Wolf Squad? Would it be beneficial to him? Chris is a strong point. He has no doubt that if he kills Redfield - another will take his place, and will definitely get him into the basement wheel of samsara. So Wesker had no grand plans yet. After all, any of them would be doomed to failure as long as there was anyone in the world capable of resisting.

But Chris risked to give him a goal, which, however, called impossible - to become the best version of himself. To help the Hound Wolf Squad, to work with TerraSave, to use his knowledge for something other than endless failed experiments. Stop being Spencer's failed experiment. The only option Chris would give him a chance at.

Those words stuck in Wesker's head for a long time. Mentioning the old man was like a low blow. Chris knew where it hurt the most.

It had been several years since Wesker had joined Redfield's team. All that time he'd been hiding his abilities so as not to lose the fragile trust in his person. But the truth couldn't help but surface one day....

On one of the missions connected with B.O.W., the blade of an exploding helicopter blew off Wesker's head, and then another piece of debris cut his body in half.

But he didn't die.

Chris was enraged. With resentment, he felt cheated. What else could he have expected?

First, the black mass connected the body, restoring functionality to it, and then this silent carcass picked up the head. It was slow. It looked helpless and creepy. Chris's squad was on edge, but he ordered to wait. The black substance emerged from the base of the neck and attached the head to itself, then the calm expression on the reanimated head changed to horror. Was he in unbearable pain from the newly received oxygen? Or from the fusion of tendons?

When Wesker recovered, he couldn't at first think of a response to Chris' "explain yourself!"

Everyone's fragile trust collapsed, but not Redfield's, for he knew that if his former adversary had wanted to betray him, he would have betrayed him long ago, he wouldn't have let himself be so ridiculously exposed. Especially after all the torture he'd endured. Chris could understand why Wesker was hiding his powers. Redfield had stepped on the same rake of trust again, convincing himself that he had everything under control.

Wesker, ever since the prototype had merged with Uroboros in his body, had acquired a number of flaws, chief among them an unbearable sensitivity to pain. The only time he could not feel pain was when he was BSAA injected with force restraining drugs. But without them, all the disadvantages came out.

Whereas before he could recover from any wound without feeling anything but minor damage, now the pain was so obvious that every regeneration was accompanied by agony. Especially if it was a burn, for heat is a major weakness for Uroboros. The healing places on his body, after that helicopter situation, hurt like hell.

He was closer to human now than he had been before, and Chris seemed to realize that. That was why he hadn't killed him a second time, but had accepted him back into his squad. It was not only a gesture of goodwill, but also a precaution, a way to keep a dangerous object as close to him as possible so he wouldn't do anything.

How long will they have to cut off the heads of hydra in the face of the creators of bioweapons?

- Why do you trust me, Chris?

- I still believe that anyone can become the best version of themselves. We should prioritize fighting for the future to give someone a quiet life that you and I have been robbed of. I know about Project W. Together we can stop new organizations and prevent many tragedies like this from happening again. And you can help us, Wesker. BSAA took away your choice, but I'm giving it to you now.

Wesker at first couldn't find the words to respond, but after a moment he barely audibly whispered: "Thank you."

From a man who never thanked anyone, Chris was shocked to hear that. And he was proud of him. Had he forgiven him? No, his deeds were unforgivable. But Chris wasn't the kind of man who would turn his back on his one chance to make things right, to make things right on Earth, to save someone's life. In this truce, he sees a future that's bright for everyone.

[felassan]

Story elements, Campaign Map, and Garrus character sheet from the Mass Effect The Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz Rulebook [source]

bonus: move names of Garrus' and Wrex' that just made me happy :)

Text version of first three images under cut -

Opening blurb:

"In the year 2186, the civilizations of the galaxy are at war with a relentless, artificial enemy called the Reapers. Commander Shepard’s warnings of their arrival were all ignored, and now the Reapers have invaded the galaxy in force, crushing all resistance. Earth has fallen. Palaven, the turian homeworld, is under siege, and their military might barely holds the enemy at bay. The Reapers are pressing into the galaxy on all fronts, and it is only a matter of time before the races of Citadel Space are crushed beneath their onslaught. But there is still hope. Commander Shepard has assembled a crew of trusted allies aboard the Systems Alliance stealth frigate, the Normandy. They have the schematics for the mysterious Prothean superweapon, the Crucible, but constructing it alone will not be enough. Shepard and the Normandy crew are racing to forge alliances, build a unified front capable of defeating the Reapers before they overtake the galaxy and complete their harvest of all biological life. All the while, the insidious terrorist organisation Cerberus advances their own agenda of human supremacy at any cost, led by the mysterious Illusive Man and his army of ruthless operatives."

Note from Admiral Hackett:

"“Commander Shepard, Since you took out the Cerberus lab on Sanctum, N7 Special Forces have hit every other lab we could find. Cerberus has caught on and moved their research efforts off-world. They’ve retrofitted one of their cruisers as a mobile research facility and now keep it on the move. I’ve received reports of more abductions, like the one you stopped on Benning, and several refugee ships have unexpectedly dropped off the grid. Cerberus could be holding those abductees on that cruiser as hostages, or worse, as test subjects. Their latest hiding place was the storm above Hagalaz. Taking a page out of the Shadow Broker’s book, I suppose. We only found them because the cruiser appears to have suffered a massive systems failure and crashed on the night side of the planet. Although these nights are a lot longer than Earth’s, unfortunately it’s almost morning and daybreak will bring the most powerful storm on the other side of the Attican Traverse. The Normandy is the only Alliance ship in range. I need you to see what Cerberus was up to. Interference from the storm is degrading comms, so there’s no way Cerberus can get their research off-planet except by portable data transfer. We have recovery assets on the way, but they won’t arrive until after the storm hits and tears that ship to pieces. Shepard, your orders are: Whatever you do, keep that research data out of Cerberus’ hands. When the storm is over, I don’t want them to recover their work from the wreckage. Denying them those assets will be a major blow. Retrieve the research if possible, or destroy it if there’s no other choice. Alternatively, find a way to fortify the ship until the fleet arrives. If you find prisoners along the way, get them out of there. The storm is coming, Shepard. Get it done.” – Admiral Hackett"

Note from EDI:

"“Shepard, analysis of the crashed cruiser has isolated three primary objectives. The reactor, the research data core, and the kinetic barrier generator. You only have time to reach one of those before the storm arrives. Accessing the data core will allow us to steal Cerberus’ research, but they could salvage the ship’s wreckage after the storm has passed. Overloading the reactors will destroy the ship – and all hope of any data recovery or salvage. I am also detecting signs of the captives Admiral Hackett mentioned. By diverting power from the research core, you can boost the ship’s kinetic barriers long enough to preserve it and protect the prisoners until the Alliance arrives. However, if you do this, the data banks will be lost. The storm is only a few hours away, Shepard. I recommend moving fast. Displaying potential routes to each objective. The mission is yours.” – EDI"

[britt-kageryuu]

Donnie was playing through a game where he was being attacked by what looked like cutesy Mascot characters. While the player character, in a cybernetic bodysuit and had a ghostly overlay of a Foxgirl, was wielding a beam sword.

After the battle was over it moved onto a cutscene where a helper is mentioning that they collected enough Oshi remnants to 'rescue' and 'release' a VTuber whose mascot they were fighting.

"Well chat, I hope you all are enjoying my grand premiere of 'Data Recovery: Project VTM'. I know many of you worked very, very, very, Three Verys, hard to help me get this game complete." Donnie boasts while moving to a make a Hard Save. They were still dealing with a problem with the Auto-Save not actually saving with the initial release.

The softshell was still annoyed with the few bugs that were persistently avoiding being fixed.

"And as promised there will be the special distributions for those who backed the game on different tiers. These include an extra branch to the story to retrieve a hidden character depending on your backer tier." While explaining this Donnie brings up images of a Turtle character just palette swapped with different element symbols. Some of these palette swaps were obviously themed to the VTurtles and their Mascots.

Donnie opens up one of the menus to swap out the Foxgirl named Kitsu Nene, with the Dee themed Turtle Character.

"This is Kame Colours. They will be available in the base game as a hidden character, but some of their forms are the Backers Gifts. Including this Purple Hacker form based off of yours truly. Which changes their typing as you can see."

Donnie starts a few battles with multiple different enemies, and shows off some of the weakness and resistance mechanics.

"I won't show much more, because I don't want to spoil to much of the game for those who were not around for the Testing Phase."

The screen changes to show Dee standing in a version of his lab, just with some of the Mascot characters flying around in the background.

"With this, I end that portion of the stream. And we will move on to trying out this mech game we found the other day."

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

Masterpost

This kinda describes a game idea I had, and decided to just have Donnie 'make'. I don't have alot figured out, and will likely never have the skill or time to create said game.

Yeah, something steals VTuber Models, and turns them and their Mascots into enemies you have to defeat and rescue. Rescued Model then can be used as power ups with type effects.

[stars-obsession-pit]

Danny Phantom AU where Jack and Maddie find out about Danny’s ghost powers basically immediately after the accident.

And they’re fully supportive, of course! He’s their son!

But also… think of all the data! They’ve never seen anything like this before, and it opens up entirely new opportunities for research! It could upend whole swaths of the current understanding of ectobiology!

So they rope Danny into being their lab assistant / test subject. But like, following more standard medical procedure stuff. Medical scans, blood tests, and so on. There could maybe be some exploratory surgery but it’d involve like, using anesthetic, trying to minimize harm, and supporting his recovery.

They’re still definitely not perfect at lab safety, but they’re not gonna do anything to intentionally harm or endanger their son.

[pandemic-info]

What Is Long COVID? Understanding the Pandemic’s Mysterious Fallout > News > Yale Medicine

Originally published: April 15, 2024. Updated: June 4, 2024

Just weeks after the first cases of COVID-19 hit U.S. shores, an op-ed appeared in The New York Times titled “We Need to Talk About What Coronavirus Recoveries Look Like: They're a lot more complicated than most people realize.”

...

Unlike most diseases, Long COVID was first described not by doctors, but by the patients themselves. Even the term “Long COVID” was coined by a patient. Dr. Elisa Perego, an honorary research fellow at University College in London, came up with the hashtag #LongCOVID when tweeting about her own experience with the post-COVID syndrome. The term went viral and suddenly social media, and then the media itself, was full of these stories.

Complaints like "I can't seem to concentrate anymore" or "I'm constantly fatigued throughout the day" became increasingly common, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. With nothing abnormal turning up from their many thorough lab tests, patients and their physicians were left feeling helpless and frustrated.

The World Health Organization (WHO) has defined Long COVID as the "continuation or development of new symptoms three months after the initial SARS-CoV-2 infection, with these symptoms lasting for at least two months with no other explanation." This deliberately broad definition reflects the complex nature of this syndrome. We now understand that these symptoms are wide-ranging, including heart palpitations, cough, nausea, fatigue, cognitive impairment (commonly referred to as "brain fog"), and more. Also, many who experience Long COVID following an acute infection face an elevated risk of such medical complications as blood clots and (type 2) diabetes.

In April 2024, an estimated 5.3% of all adults in the United States reported having Long COVID, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). Data from the CDC suggest that Long COVID disproportionately affects women, and individuals between the ages of 40 and 59 have the highest reported rates of developing this post-acute infection syndrome.

...

Inderjit Singh, MBChB, a YSM assistant professor specializing in pulmonary, critical care, and sleep medicine, and director of the Pulmonary Vascular Program, is actively engaged in clinical trials aimed at uncovering the fundamental underpinnings of Long COVID.

...

Through this work, a significant revelation emerged. They observed that patients grappling with Long COVID and facing exercise difficulties were unable to efficiently extract oxygen from their bloodstream during physical exertion. This discovery identifies a specific cause underlying the biological underpinnings of Long COVID.

... Dr. Singh, along with other researchers, is focused on the identification of blood-based markers to assess the severity of Long COVID. For example, a research group, led by Akiko Iwasaki, PhD, Sterling Professor of Immunobiology and Molecular, Cellular, and Developmental Biology, and director of the Center for Infection & Immunity at YSM, most recently created a new method to classify Long COVID severity with circulating immune markers.

Further investigations conducted by Dr. Singh's team identified distinctive protein signatures in the blood of Long COVID patients, which correlated with the degree of Long COVID severity. Researchers identified two major and distinct blood profiles among the patients. Some of them exhibited blood profiles indicating that excessive inflammation played a prominent role in their condition, while others displayed profiles indicative of impaired metabolism.

...

Researchers currently believe that the impairment of a spectrum of key bodily functions may contribute to these diverse symptoms. These potential mechanisms include compromised immune system function, damage to blood vessels, and direct harm to the brain and nervous system. Importantly, it's likely that most patients experience symptoms arising from multiple underlying causes, which complicates both the diagnosis and treatment of Long COVID.

...

The last word from Lisa Sanders, MD:

I’m the internist who sees patients at Yale New Haven Health’s Multidisciplinary Long COVID Care Center. In our clinic, patients are examined by a variety of specialists to determine the best next steps for these complex patients. Sometimes that entails more testing. Often patients have had extensive testing even before they arrive, and far too often—when all the tests are normal—both doctors and patients worry that their symptoms are “all in their head.”

One of our first tasks is to reassure patients that many parts of Long COVID don’t show up on tests. We don’t know enough about the cause of many of these symptoms to create a test for them. The problem is not with the patient with the symptoms, but of the science surrounding them. If any good can be said to come out of this pandemic, it will be a better understanding of Long COVID and many of the other post-acute infection syndromes that have existed as long as the infections themselves.

[noctivagant-ghost]

The job was simple: Monitor the woman in Room 6. She’s been asleep for 42 days.

(an r/nosleep style story)

I took the job because I needed quiet.

I had just moved back into the city after a really bad year - breakup, job loss, a fire that took half of what I owned. I was couch surfing when I saw the listing. Overnight shift. Private sleep study. No experience necessary, just basic data entry and the ability to stay awake. I figured I’d get some peace, maybe save up enough to afford rent somewhere that didn’t smell like damp carpet and stale weed.

The company was called SomnoTech. I Googled them. Not much came up. One old article in a university medical journal talking about “experimental treatments in chronic sleep disorder recovery,” and a barebones website with a contact form. The building I was sent to looked more like an office for defunct insurance than a lab. Beige, windowless, buzzed me in through two locked doors. Everything inside was silent and clean. No logos. Just halls that didn’t echo.

They gave me a laminated badge and walked me to Observation Room 6. It had one long window, a chair, three monitors, and a clipboard. That was it. Beyond the glass: a white-walled room, padded corners, one hospital-style bed with a woman laying perfectly still on it. Wires across her scalp. Pulse oximeter. Blood pressure cuff. Breathing tubes. The usual. The kind of image you’d see in a medical drama.

Her name was Marla. That’s all they told me.

“She’s not in a coma,” the lead technician - Dr. Ellis - said. “She’s asleep.”

I asked how long.

He said, “Forty-two days.”

That was when I almost walked out. But the pay was too good, and I told myself it was harmless. Just keep a log. Note her REM cycles. Don’t go in the room.

They emphasized that. Over and over.

Never enter the room.

I asked what would happen if she woke up.

Dr. Ellis paused for too long before he answered,

“That’s… not expected.”

That first night, nothing happened.

She lay still, vitals normal. Every couple hours her eyes flickered beneath the lids. Standard REM activity. Once, around 2:30 a.m., her hand twitched. I logged everything. I didn’t sleep, didn’t even look away much. Just sat and stared, drank vending machine coffee, and listened to the soft beep of monitors that never changed.

It wasn’t until the third shift that she moved.

Not much. Just shifted in bed. Rolled slightly. Her breathing deepened. That’s when I noticed something strange - the audio feed picked up sound from her room, but it was... too clean. No background noise. No rustle of sheets. Just her breathing.

Then she said something. A whisper.

I hit replay.

She’d said a name.

My name.

My full name.

No one else at SomnoTech knew it. I’d used an alias on the application, something I did out of habit after a few years of gig jobs. But what she said - what she mouthed - was my real name.

The one I haven’t used since I left home.

I showed the recording to Dr. Ellis.

He watched it, twice, without expression.

“It’s likely a coincidence,” he said. “The dreaming brain replays fragments of memory. She may have seen you on the way in.”

“She’s been asleep for six weeks.”

“She’s responding. That’s good. Keep documenting.”

He walked out before I could ask anything else.

The next few nights, I tried to convince myself it was nothing. I told myself it was a coincidence. That it didn’t mean anything. But she kept saying it.

Night after night. Just my name. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. No sound - just the shape of it, over and over. Her mouth moving in that same rhythm. I stopped drinking the coffee. Started staying stone-cold sober for every shift.

On the 23rd day, everything changed.

At exactly 3:07 a.m., Marla sat up in bed. Her eyes were still closed. She turned her head, slowly, toward the camera in the top corner of the ceiling. And then, without hesitation, she pointed at it. At me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared as she pointed, waited five long seconds, then laid back down. 

I radioed it in.

“She’s dreaming about you,” the tech on call said. “That means it’s working.”

“What’s working?”

No response.

When I arrived the next night, I was given a new form to sign. It was labeled ‘Phase Two Observation Protocol.’

Most of it was boilerplate NDA language, but two lines stuck out:

Observer must not leave the premises until Phase Two is complete.

Observer must report all subjective experiences, including dreams, during or between shifts.

They were asking me to log my own sleep. When I pointed out that I wasn’t supposed to be sleeping on shift, the night tech said,

“You’ll understand soon.”

Marla began crying on Day 31. At first, it was soft. Then sobs - raw, broken, painful. Her vitals didn’t spike. Brain activity remained stable. But the sound of her grief came through the speaker like it was close. Not recorded. Not filtered. Like she was in the room with me.

I started sleeping in two-hour blocks. I couldn’t stay awake anymore. My body was shutting down. 

And then the dreams came.

First night: I’m standing in the hallway of the lab. Only it’s longer. The walls are too narrow, the ceiling too low. At the end of the hallway, there’s a door. Behind it, whispering.

Second night: Marla is sitting in the chair I use. Writing something. Every time I try to speak, she looks up and smiles. Her eyes are still closed.

Third night: I’m in the observation room, but the monitors show me, sleeping. Marla’s bed is empty.

I started documenting the dreams. Every detail. I showed them to Dr. Ellis. He didn’t even blink.

“You’re syncing,” he said.

“Syncing with what?”

He just said, “The bridge needs a guide.”

I stopped asking questions. I stopped pushing. I didn’t have much choice.

I started working double shifts. Eighteen hours on, six off. I slept at the facility. They put me in a bunkroom in a hallway I’d never seen. I thought it was just exhaustion, but when I tried to leave the building after that shift, my badge was deactivated. The front doors stayed locked. I went back to the observation room.

Marla was sitting up in bed, hands on her face, still crying. She’d been crying for nine days straight.

I didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. I started taking the pills they left by the coffee machine. They didn’t help. My vision blurred. My hands shook. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw bags under my eyes, my face pale and gaunt.

I wasn’t there anymore. I was just in the room. Staring. Always staring.

And then Marla opened her eyes. Just for a moment, just a fraction of an inch, but they were open. Not white, not rolled back. She was looking at me. Her pupils were there. Focused. She held my gaze for a breath, then closed them.

I tried to call Dr. Ellis. My radio didn’t work anymore. The lights went out. The only thing left was the audio feed. Her soft crying. And then, she said my name again.

That’s when I noticed.

My clipboard was empty. Every log, every note, every dream I’d written down - gone. I grabbed for the stack of old forms from the drawer under the monitor. They weren’t there. Not even the signature pages. Just hundreds of blank sheets.

I looked up at the monitors. The leftmost screen was blank. I hadn’t noticed it. Was it always like that? It was dark. No vitals. No video. Just a black screen with a single white label - my name.

Marla pointed at it. The crying stopped.

She stood up and walked to the window. I felt cold. My blood slowed. My heart pounded in my ears. Then she reached out and touched the glass. And for the first time, the audio picked up more than her breath. It picked up mine.

I backed away. But there was nowhere to go. The door was locked. Marla stared at me through the window, and her expression changed. Her brow furrowed. Her mouth opened. I watched the shape of a question form on her lips.

Suddenly, I was in the room. Not the observation room. Her room.

My hand touched the bed. Cold sheets. The air smelled sterile. There was one window. No monitors. I was on the other side of the glass. I was in the bed.

I looked over the edge of the mattress and saw myself. I was sitting in the observation chair. Writing on a clipboard. My eyes were open but blank. The rightmost monitor showed vitals, but they weren’t Marla’s. They were mine. My breathing, my heart rate.

And on the leftmost monitor, just darkness.

Marla stood in front of the window in the observation room and pointed at me. She mouthed something over and over again. Not my name. Not this time. I couldn’t understand it. I tried to get up. To reach for her. But I couldn’t move.

She took one step back and turned toward the door. I heard it open. Someone walked in, someone I couldn’t see. Marla said something else and then walked out. The audio feed stayed active. I heard footsteps. A new set of footsteps, heavier, slower, dragging. And then a new voice. It wasn’t Marla’s. It was mine.

I tried to scream. The audio feed went dead.

The next time I woke up, the observation room was dark. The silence was too deep. It felt like the building had been abandoned for years.

I pulled the blanket off me. My legs were weak. My mouth tasted of copper. I stood up, slowly. The air was freezing. My breath came out in clouds. The window was dark. All the lights were off.

But when I looked at the ground, I saw I wasn’t standing on the floor. I was standing on glass. 

And on the other side - a new girl in the chair. 

Only, she wasn’t looking up at me.

She was looking at me - straight on - as if her world tilted at a different angle. As if she were seated upright in a room that existed sideways beneath mine. Her gaze didn’t drift. Her neck didn’t crane. She met my eyes like we were sitting across from each other, not separated by gravity and glass. 

I dropped to my knees, pressing my hands to the pane. 

She watched me. Pale, shaking, eyes wide with fear. She looked like she’d been crying. Like she’d seen something she didn’t understand.

I recognized myself in her face, but it wasn’t me. It couldn’t be.

Because behind her, on the far side of the darkened room, there was a figure standing in the corner.

It was me. The other me. The one that sat in the chair. Its eyes were open, and it was smiling. And on its lap: an empty clipboard, waiting to be filled.

********************************************************************************

It’s been four months since I arrived at SomnoTech. I haven’t slept in three. I’ve written all of this down. I’m not sure how many times. I don’t know how much is real.

The girl in the chair doesn’t look at me anymore. She stopped crying. She stopped moving. She’s becoming like the other one. The smiling one. The one in the dark. The one who’s waiting for its turn.

I don’t want to know what comes next. I don’t think anyone does. But it doesn’t matter what we want. All that matters is what it wants. And it’s getting closer. I can hear it in the walls. I can feel it in my skin. I can see it in the reflection.

And once that happens, there’s only one thing left. One final step. One last phase.

This isn’t a dream. It’s not even a nightmare.

It’s the thing waiting after.

And we’re already in it.

We’re all already asleep.

And we don’t even know it yet.

[holly-fixation]

Imagine CC Sephiroth finding a CCTV footage of something related to his early developement where in the background he can see a woman (Jenova, from his photo) and can faintly hear her screaming at Hojo "let me hold him" and "you can't take my son away from me"

Snooping around the data room was bound to cut through the web of Hojo's lies and half truths eventually, which is exactly why he kept going back. Occasionally, he found old tapes and took them to his apartment for further inspection, hiding each one under his long uniform coat and returning them before anyone noticed.

At first he doesn't believe what he's seeing.

It was his recovery from his first mako procedure, long before he could speak or crawl or remember. He was in a pod not much larger than he was, an egg of glass protecting him and regulating the oxygen levels as necessary.

The baby in the incubator shivered, scratching at the wires in its skin in an attempt to break free. Each wire was anchored with metal shackles, presumably one of the only things it couldn't break, probably also reused from the many dogs Hojo bred for the President's son. The first five minutes only showed his cold and discomfort as he struggled to heal.

But he recognized the woman in the observation glass. He heard her muffled cries and chose to ignore them until her face entered the frame. A face he held close to his chest for as long as he could.

It was her. It was Jenova, her brown hair in the exact same ponytail as her photo. Her pleas no longer drowned in his ears.

"Let me hold him!"

Then Hojo entered the screen as well, though his face was cut off Sephiroth knew every mannerism of that wicked man like the back of his hand. Every step, every gesture, every shift of dark glasses.

"Just once! Please!"

His heart ached. He felt his hand move to his chest, to where her photo used to remain.

"Absolutely not. Your presence at this stage will damage him beyond repair. I will not allow you to ruin this with your meddling."

"Hojo, please!"

He did not budge. "I allowed you this far. You may look at him through that window before security escorts you out."

"You can't take my son away from me!"

"This is my laboratory, and I will do as I please. You have seven seconds."

She surrendered, placing her hands against the glass, turning away from the scientist with tears down her cheeks. "Sephiroth!"

His breath hitched. His name. Her voice. Her undeniable care.

"Sephiroth, my son, know your mother loves you! I love you so much and I would break you free if I was strong enough! I love you, my son! I would do anything to be by your side!"

The helmeted officers came and pulled her arms back.

"Sephiroth! SEPHIROTH!"

A door opened and closed, and the recording continued as if nothing happened.

Sephiroth ejected the tape before taking his weapon and rushing to the labs, the evidence again hidden under his coat until he met his target.

The scientist's side glance infuriated his already burning nerves. He said nothing as he pushed the scientist away from the desk and inserted the tape into an old player connected to a CRT screen. He skipped ahead and paused the video when Jenova came into full view against the window.

Hojo groaned in annoyance, literally rolling his eyes. "Why are you showing me this, boy? I was there, you know."

"You said she died in childbirth."

"I said she died after you were born."

"You ripped me away."

"And I made you better for it. Do you have any idea how pathetic you'd become under a mentally unstable mess like her?"

"Don't you dare speak of my mother that way!"

"I knew her well. I will speak of her as I please."

"...where is she?"

"Pardon?"

"Where. Is she?"

"I just said she's dead."

"And why would I believe you?"

"You're wasting my time."

"Why would I believe you?"

The room turned cold. "Because I am the only source you have, and you know it."

That deep reality tainted the entirety of the interrogation, and Sephiroth was forced to leave with the exact same knowledge he walked in with. He couldn't stop hearing her voice. He couldn't stop the looping plea in his mind.

Know your mother loves you!

Sephiroth!

Sephiroth.

[notwiselybuttoowell]

Wildfires engulfed vast swathes of South America last year, devastating ecosystems, closing schools and grounding flights. With its worst fire season on record, Bolivia was especially hard hit. “We felt powerless and angry to be unable to protect what is ours,” says Isabel Surubí Pesoa.

Large ranches and farms often use fire to clear land for crops or to graze cattle. Chronic drought, fuelled by the climate crisis and El Niño weather patterns, combined with weak environmental governance, made it easy for these fires to spread out of control, destroying forests and grasslands.

Industrial-scale land clearances without fire is also a major cause of deforestation, undermining the resilience of communities and ecosystems alike.

With insufficient local and national government support, many people are left to battle fires with little more than shovels and small water bottles. “As elected officials, we feel impotent,” says Verónica Surubí Pesoa, a city councillor in San Javier and Isabel’s sister.

Forest loss in Bolivia and across Latin America is part of a broader worldwide trend. New data released earlier this week by World Resources Institute’s Global Forest Watch found that global forest loss reached record highs in 2024, with almost twice as much tropical primary forest lost in 2024 as in the year before. That is equal to an area larger than Ireland.

Deforestation in the Amazon means warmer temperatures and decreased rainfall, with consequences for farmers and food production. When fire is involved – as it increasingly is – communities report issues from water pollution and smoke, which might increase lung cancer and susceptibility to infections, to disruption to education when schools are forced to close.

Historically heavy rainfall followed Bolivia’s drought and fires in 2024, flooding towns and destroying crops. In the Surubí community, in the country’s tropical dry forest region, they disrupted growing seasons and damaged roads and bridges, further complicating recovery efforts.

Fire – which is not a natural part of tropical ecosystems, as it is in much of Australia, for example – was the leading cause of the loss of tropical primary forest for the first time recorded. Forest loss in tropical regions is especially grave as these ecosystems are some of the world’s most biodiverse and serve as key carbon sinks.

The greenhouse gas emissions from tropical primary forests lost in 2024 alone exceeded the annual carbon emissions of India. Major fires swept Canada and Russia’s boreal forests as well, and overall tree cover loss reached all-time highs across the globe.

Peter Potapov, co-director of the University of Maryland’s GLAD Lab, which collected the data, says: “If this trend continues, it could permanently transform critical natural areas and unleash large amounts of carbon – intensifying climate change and fuelling even more extreme fires.”

Although the loss of vegetation occurs across the world, Latin America has witnessed much of this catastrophe with Brazil losing the most tropical primary forest of any country. The Amazon biome saw its worst decline since 2016, with primary forest loss more than doubling, driven by fires and agricultural expansion.

After a dip in 2023, Colombia’s primary forest loss rose by 50% in 2024, though fires were not the main driver. Joaquin Carrizosa, an adviser for World Resources Institute Colombia, says: “Most of the deforestation dynamics are associated with larger macro-criminal networks interconnected through the basin and … with other countries. This is not just a Colombian problem.”

Loss of primary forest surged elsewhere across Latin America. Fires were the biggest cause in Belize, Guyana, Guatemala and Mexico. Nicaragua lost nearly 5% of its primary forest in 2024 – the highest proportion of any country.

Bolivia’s primary forest loss increased by 200%, reaching 15,000 sq km (6,000 sq miles) in 2024. For the first time, it ranked second to Brazil in tropical primary forest loss and surpassed the Democratic Republic of Congo, which has more than twice its forest area.

This “signals that Bolivia has become a major driver of the global climate and ecological crisis,” says Stasiek Czaplicki Cabezas, a Bolivian environmental economist.

Czaplicki Cabezas says the expansion of industrial-scale farming and cattle ranching, weak enforcement and oversight of environmental regulations, and a legal and political framework that values land conversion over protecting forests drove the increase in Bolivia.

“What makes 2024 particularly severe is the convergence of these structural drivers with a deepening ecological and economic crisis,” he says.

Isabel Surubí Pesoa says of the latest data: “We’re the guardians of our territory, but this is out of our hands.”

Yet, the data showed some successes. In Bolivia’s southern Chaco region, Indigenous communities, public institutions, civil society organisations and volunteer firefighters banded together to protect the tract of land that spans national parks and Indigenous territories.

After a devastating 2019 fire season, they invested in early warning systems and enforced land-use policy better. It helped them successfully fight back the wall of flame that had enveloped nearby areas in 2024 and 2023.

Collaboration across sectors was fundamental, says Arnold, whose Fundación Nativa supported the effort. Just as crucial were the local monitors – mostly Indigenous Guaraní park rangers – who know the area and track conditions all year to enable a fast response.

In San Javier, Isabel and Verónica Surubí Pesoa are looking towards the next fire season. The organisation of Indigenous women Isabel leads is holding workshops to train women in fire prevention and management, and a municipal strategy is being drawn up.

They are also seeking support from conservation organisations to equip a local fire brigade, as the group has no boots, helmets or fire-resistant clothing.

“Last year, we often went to fight the fires in shoes or sandals, and the fire burned them quickly,” she says. “We’re fighting so we don’t have to suffer the fires again.”

[duckapus]

You Wouldn't Download a Godparent

Had an idea for a Fairly Oddparents/Mega Man Battle Network crossover.

In this universe, Timmy and his friends live in the Electopian city of Dimmsdale, and instead of magic we have Netnavis and the Cyberworld (though admittedly we do still have some magic because Mega Man is weird like that). Timmy's still a pretty average kid with a pretty lousy homelife (his parents are still That Bad. Vicky and Crocker aren't but they're still not great), apart from the fact that he's stumbled into being one of the few people to have more than one Navi.

Wanda.EXE he obtained and customized one of the usual ways, while they found Cosmo.EXE one day while they were virus busting. Poor guy was a mess of junk data and poorly installed customizer programs, seemingly stuck in a slightly unstable WindBug Style Change, and clearly in pain. They took him home, got AJ's help fixing him up, and he kind of just never left. Based on his abilities some of his data might be from the long-deleted Darkloid CosmoMan.EXE, but given he acts like his canon self there's clearly not that much left.

Wanda is Null-Element and favors Sword attacks, while Cosmo is Obstacle-Element and just throws everything but the kitchen sink.

As for some other pairs:

Timmy's Dad has a Wood-Element Navi named PencilMan.EXE. Given what he's like with other living things he's supposed to take care of (hamsters, snakes, his own son...) you can probably imagine how healthy their relationship is.

Chester has StrikeMan.EXE, a baseball-themed Null-Element Navi that belonged to his mother before she died.

AJ has AstroMan.EXE who acts as a lab assistant. Despite being Number-Element and who his Operator is he's a bit spacey and honestly not very bright.

Vicky has Vile.EXE, a Break-Element Navi who's just as mean as she is. He was actually a HeelNavi before he was customized, and they didn't actually change the design that much. Well, apart from his left arm being a massive cannon by default.

Tootie has QuakeWoman.EXE, Tempo to her friends. They're apparently massive fans of Dex and GutsMan.EXE, to the point where they've managed to customize Tempo into the second ever Panel Destruction-Element Navi (GutsMan being the first and for a long while only, of course).

Elmer has SplashWoman.EXE, who's a lot more confident than he is, likely by design. You can probably guess her elemental affinity.

Sanjay has the explosive Ballade.EXE, a Null-Element Navi who probably could've been Fire if he'd really wanted to.

Mr. Crocker has the powerful Elec-Element Navi DynamoMan.EXE. He's not as fast as you'd expect an electricity-based program to be, but he makes up for it in raw strength and voltage.

Trixie has Quint.EXE, who's actually possibly one of the earliest NetNavis to have ever been made. Trixie found his PET in a box in her attic, too damaged to turn on but its data apparently retrievable, and found what was left of Quint inside. She managed to get him fixed up and give him some upgrades to bring him up to modern standards. He doesn't remember much of his life before due to the damage and degradation. (I thought it would be cool if Battle Network Quint came from the past in contrast to Classic Quint coming from the future).

Veronica has Gemini.EXE, a Break-Element Navi with a very split personality.

Francis has OilMan.EXE, who's basically a giant blob of tar with oil drums for hands. You'd think he'd be Fire-Element, but he's actually Wood. Oil burns and came from prehistoric plants after all. He's also a lot friendlier than his Operator.

Chloe has Ciel.EXE, a Recovery-Element Navi who has the unofficial full-time job of helping her deal with her severe anxiety (that girl is a tightly wound bundle of nerves with no real outlets and you all know it).

Jorgen is a Net Official and has Signas.EXE, a Null-Element Navi who's coolheaded and calculating demeanor sharply contrasts his Operator's hot temper and gung-ho attitude.

And there's Catman.EXE, an excentric crime-fighting vigilante Solo Navi who's taken a liking to the kids.

There's also two villain groups, the newest Netcrime syndicate the Network Killers and the mysterious Project X, but they deserve their own posts.

(Network Killers) (Project X)

[covid-safer-hotties]

Long COVID is a $1 trillion problem with no cure. Experts plead for governments to wake up - Published Aug 9, 2024

For months, governmental officials around the world have appeared to want to forgo discussing the specter of long COVID. As a new review makes clear, that is wishful thinking—and the latest COVID variants may well kick long COVID into overdrive, a scenario that researchers and experts have been warning about for some time.

“I think they (government agencies) are itching to pretend that COVID is over and that long COVID does not exist,” says Ziyad Al-Aly, director of the Clinical Epidemiology Center at Veterans Affairs St. Louis Health Care System and lead author of the review. “It is much more pleasant to pretend as if emergency department visits and hospitalizations haven’t been rising sharply this summer.”

In a Nature Medicine review this week, Al-Aly and several other top researchers lay out a difficult truth: Long COVID has already affected an estimated 400 million people worldwide, a number the authors say is likely conservative, at an economic cost of about $1 trillion annually—equivalent to 1% of the global economy.

Moreover, the risk of a person being hit with long COVID rises with repeated infections of the virus itself, and recent COVID activity has experts watching closely. As review co-author Eric Topol noted in a recent blog post, the current COVID incursion is ramping up quickly, with one modeler estimating 900,000 new infections per day in the U.S. alone.

“The new significant wave,” Topol said via X. “It’s hard to believe the we are well into our fifth year of this virus and not taking the requisite steps to gain control.”

The virus is evolving incessantly. Multiple COVID subvariants, collectively nicknamed FLiRT, are powerfully present in the U.S., and reports from California indicate that some patients are complaining of throat pain so strong it feels like they’re “swallowing razors or broken glass,” according to the Los Angeles Times. Topol, meanwhile, says the Sato Lab in Japan has characterized one of the newest COVID strains, KP.3.1.1, in a preprint as having “the most immune evasion and infectivity of any of the variants” derived from previous powerful iterations of the JN.1 strain, which was prominent last winter.

Although the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says that severe outcomes and deaths from COVID have decreased substantially overall from the pandemic’s early days, wastewater data shows viral activity is “high’ nationally and COVID-19 infections are growing or likely growing in 35 states. More COVID infections mean more cases of long COVID. And long COVID is already exacting an enormous toll on both the people and economies of the world.

Those are words you aren’t hearing from many government bodies. But, the researchers say, the evidence tells the story.

“Despite the dire impact of long COVID on individuals and society, I fear that many are still unaware of the danger,” says Akiko Iwasaki, professor of immunology at Yale School of Medicine and co-lead investigator of the university’s COVID-19 Recovery Study. “There is an urgent need to provide proper diagnosis and treatment for people living with long COVID.”

Read the full report at either link! (covidsafehotties is always free of annoying in-line ads, jsyk!)

[cerebrum-cupcakez]

Ilayda

Species: Human

Clade: Unique GMH

Nationality: WIP

English Pronouns: she/her/hers

Gender Identity: woman

Age: 26 Earth years

Birthday: WIP

Education: WIP

Ilayda works as a data recovery specialist, and is currently working with a team of people dedicated to recovering lost parts of the early internet. Outside of work, she can be found enjoying various forms of early 2000s media, exercising at her local pool or gym, or campaigning for various social causes with a focus on GMH rights. While relatively laid-back most of the time, Ilayda gets riled up when excited or upset, which can make her seem overly emotional.

Ilayda's parent is a rich socialite who wanted a "naga" GMH but couldn't outright design her with no legs due to laws surrounding GMH. Their solution was to pay off the natal lab they commissioned to pretend that Ilayda's disproportionately small legs were an accident and not an intentional design choice. While there wasn't enough evidence to get her parent in legal trouble, Ilayda figured out her parent decided that having their kid fit their aesthetic was more important than her ability to walk, which led to her distancing herself as she grew older. She remains in minimal contact solely because she doesn't want to deal with the inevitable fallout that comes from cutting off your family members.

Being an off model GMH means Ilayda is saddled with a few different health problems. Her legs are too small to support her full weight, meaning she is incapable of walking or even standing for more than a few seconds at a time. Not only does this affect her mobility, but also her general health, as laying down for too long with a bodyplan like hers can lead to muscle and nerve damage as her underside is put under pressure. She has a specialized electronic wheelchair and home setup to accommodate her needs, but she still needs to do frequent physical therapy to prevent things like muscle deterioration, as well as undergo several different medical treatments in order to improve her quality of life.

(Nude drawing for pattern display purposes under the cut so Tumblr hopefully doesn't crucify me for daring to post boobs)