#i cannot believe what we were given to work with

[soapskneebrace]

This truly is the last thing I want to say on this blog and then I'm done, but given how the fucking catastrophe started it's only appropriate this is how I end it—

You have racist bias whether you like it or not. Particularly if you are US American, racism was baked into your worldview no matter what kind of household, liberal or conservative, you grew up in. Racism is quite often far more covert than it is overt. It is not just a voluntary behavior; it is more often the subconscious ways you organize and hierarchize other cultures and people.

In the case of Gaz—sure, you might actively believe that he deserves to be more included. You think he's a good character and people really should think about him more! But you personally headcanon him a certain way, and really it's not a headcanon you're actually all that into, so that's why you don't talk about him as much. It's not because he's black, it's because he doesn't fit the thing you like talking about the most. The fact that he's black is really just a coincidence, you're not excluding him because of that. In fact, you're sure other people like him for exactly the reason you're not all that into him, and you'll just leave it to them to pick up the slack. Or you'll get to him later! In fact, you have some ideas for him. You just haven't gotten around to them yet.

Take that and multiply it by thousands of white women in fandom—not just this fandom, not just Gaz's character, but every fandom and every character of color. It doesn't matter that there's no active malice behind not personally liking black characters and other characters of color. Non-white characters still take a backseat to their white counterparts, because white women in fandom cannot wrap their heads around black, brown, indigenous, and Asian characters as complex, complicated characters worthy of their interest or frankly, their desire.

They cannot wrap their heads around this because they were conditioned not to by decades of racist culture.

Case in point; plenty of white women in this fandom have fallen head over heels for Makarov and Graves. The sins of these out-and-out villains are totally forgiven by virtue of their sex appeal, and because they are portrayed by attractive, charismatic men who put a lot of passion behind their performances.

But can we say the same for Hadir? Can we say the same for Hassan?

The sins of these two Middle Eastern characters do not outweigh those of their villainous white counterparts, yet how many angsty fix-it fics have been written exploring Hadir's complicated relationship with violence and imperialism? How many enemies-to-lovers or even lovers-to-enemies fics have been written about Hassan, the face of whose homeland has been irrevocably marred by US interference?

No one who points out the racism of this trend is accusing these white women of active, militant white supremacy. I'm not saying any of you even have to like Gaz, Hadir, or Hassan. But your preferences have been tuned for you by a culture shaped by slavery, imperialism, and white supremacy. That is not something you can escape merely because you support the BLM movement or reblog vetted Palestinian gofundmes.

The only way you can truly fight your own racism is to be actively anti-racist. It is about far more than who you give money to or what graphics you pin on your instagram. It is an everyday practice of learning how racism has shaped your worldview for you.

This is not work that is done in a week, a month, or a year. Becoming anti-racist takes as much time as it took to make you racist in the first place. For some of you, the work may turn out to be easy. For others, it may be hard. You must do it either way.

Some good places to start:

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Ain't I a Woman? by bell hooks

We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity by bell hooks

A Burst of Light by Audre Lorde

The Body Is Not An Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor

Fearing the Black Body by Sabrina Strings

Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

Being Palestinian edited by Yasir Suleiman

[imaginita-est-omnibus]

Okay, given everything we learned about Sutekh in Empire of Death, and how much 73 Yards simultaneously did and didn't matter to the plot, I have formulated what I think is a pretty good theory as to the identity of the figure in 73 Yards:

I believe it is the TARDIS.

What I think was happening in that episode was that the fairy circle the Doctor stepped on was somehow a fixed point, and by breaking it, he broke that fixed point, breaking the universe and creating a branching, doomed timeline, a la Turn Left. In Turn Left, of course, the Doctor doesn't just disappear, but the TARDIS does go wonky because of the temporal weirdness of breaking a fixed point. In this case, the TARDIS broke down, the box becoming an unopenable husk, and the soul of the TARDIS was shunted out of it and into a temporally/spatially weird form. Whether this was a conscious decision on the TARDIS' part or just a result of the timeline breaking, I don't know, and it doesn't matter to this theory. What does matter is what happened to Sutekh.

With the TARDIS broken down, Sutekh couldn't stay attached to it, so it instead attached itself to Ruby, most likely hoping to use her as he had originally planned to use Susan T. as his anchor to the world. The TARDIS would want to prevent this, and so would reveal Sutekh clinging to Ruby, thus causing people to run away from Ruby and preventing her from making the connections Sutekh needed (and Susan T and the other creations were able to achieve) to spread his death. Both Sutekh and the TARDIS were able to cling on to remnants of the perception filter, which is why the TARDIS stayed 73 yards away, so that people standing by it would be outside that range and able to see Sutekh.

(Why didn't people further than 73 yards see Sutekh? Why don't people further than 73 yards take note of the Tardis? The perception filter works past that distance, but it's not actively affecting peoples' perception -- within that range, if the producer of that perception field doesn't want you to see it, you can't take note of it, but outside that range, someone can point it out to you and the filter will be broken for you)

Once Ruby reached the end of her life and died, the TARDIS was finally able to approach her safely, and they essentially merged somehow. The TARDIS in that temporally broken form most likely existed across all of time at once, which is why when Ruby merged with it, she was able to return back down her personal timeline and stop the paradox. However, in merging with the TARDIS, Ruby would bring along Sutekh as well, and if Sutekh was able to exist across all of time at once, well life would be done for, wouldn't it? It was only once Ruby was dead, and therefore Sutekh lost his connection to the living world, that the TARDIS could safely take her back down her own timeline. I think that, if Sutekh hadn't been there, the TARDIS would've somehow gotten Ruby to fix the timeline much sooner, likely with help from UNIT, similar to what happened in Turn Left.

So as one story: Doctor stepped on fixed-point fairy circle, causing the Doctor to disappear, the timeline to shatter, and the TARDIS to break. The TARDIS and Sutekh were both shunted out of the now inoperable box, the TARDIS taking up a form that exists across all of time (or at least all up and down Ruby's timeline) and Sutekh attaching itself to Ruby as his connection to the living world. Both the TARDIS and Sutekh are clinging on to remnants of the perception filter. Sutekh wants to enter into the world through Ruby, and the TARDIS prevents this by revealing to people Sutekh's presence and driving them away from Ruby so that she cannot gain enough influence for Sutekh to enact his plans. Once Ruby dies of old age, the TARDIS absorbs her consciousness (and Sutekh) and brings her back down her timeline to prevent the Doctor from breaking the fairy circle, thus fixing time.

Now, you may ask, where did the Doctor go in all of this? Barbieland, of course.

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

I'm not the person who asked but 👁👁 may I inquire as to the spoilery season 5 problems

Understand that everything I'm about the say Under the Cut, comes from a place of bias. Bias that truly does love the Juno Steel storyline, bias that absolutely hates the plot direction Kabert took with the last two seasons

Slip Jackson. He is the plothole they wrote, the corner Kabert backed themselves into and had to write themselves out of. The one NO ONE ASKED FOR but they wrote in anyways to explain "this is what happened After Nureyev saved NK and killed Mag". I cannot stress enough how pissed off and annoyed Slappery Junkyard makes me from a plot standpoint.

Too many plot devices disguised as characters. Every other episode the listener and Juno is introduced to someone new. And every other episode they are forgotten about and we move on to the next. This is the equivalent I feel to early TMA and early WTNV monster of the week and even early TPP where Juno is solving one case after the next-

Only this time Juno's chasing after Nureyev across the fucking galaxy. I love Juno with all my heart, but it still is super annoying that all of season 5 is spent of him chasing after Nureyev, getting tripped up, chasing after Nureyev, getting tripped up, wash rinse repeat. Especially more annoying and upsetting when you factor in that Nureyev blatantly does not want to be followed (but me and every other listener is a fucking sucker for a hopeful fool and dramatic love story. If this happened to someone you actually knew, you wouldn't encourage or condone Juno's behavior, but because the Lady isn't real and it's all a work of fiction and Juno is the Hero, ofc we're all cheering him on)

Grandpappy's recipe. We're given a hint of worldbuilding to the rest of the galaxy, and Juno shows some appreciation towards Rita, but it is not her storyline. It is not Rita-centric. And the depiction of Nureyev in these couple of episodes (i don't know how anyone else felt) came so far out of left field for me, that I almost didn't believe what Juno and Rita were saying about him. Something along the lines of Nureyev is a con, and he sweet talks and seduces all of his targets into falling for him, before ultimately turning on them and stealing from their pockets. The Homme Fatale thing gets really pushed, and it's like everything discussed in Man in Glass never happened.

The amazing moment in Heart of it All when he reminds Buddy "a legend is a dead thing" (and by extension the discussion he had with her in Man in Glass) might as well never fucking happened. Peter goes the entirety of season 5 with his head so far up his own ass, he can't see past his own bullshit, until it's literally 10 minutes too late.

Nureyev is deliberately rude towards Juno (who did cross a boundary MULTIPLE TIMES) but is also extremely fucking dismissive of the Ruby7 being anything but a car (it's not, it's an alien from outside of this galaxy and Nureyev cannot accept that for some reason, but he can totally get behind reviving his long lost first love???)

OH AND RITA!!! POOR POOR FUCKING RITA OMG- Juno is a massive fuckin dick to her in Season 1, he promises to do better for her at end of Season 2, and she is the first Aurinko he rescues in Season 4 because he knows without her he won't be of much use. Rita is supposed to be Juno's backbone, but she's more like the brace he wears when he needs it. The Rita episode in Season 3 is framed as a good thing for her character and meant to be a confidence boost, but it's really not. And Season 4 I don't remember, but literally in Season 5 Rita is sidelined and put over on the bench because she "makes too many mistakes" on missions. Juno dresses it up as "You're our ace in the hole" but cmon. Come the fuck on.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Claim the Heritage

Pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x First Lady!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Wife

Warning: casual dominance, marital quarrels, tension, vulnerability, explicit smut, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, body worship, brat taming, self destructive tendencies

Word Count: 4364

6 of 6

Coriolanus Snow has a knack of pushing himself too far.

He expects too much from himself and does everything in his power to meet those expectations.

As a student and a starting politician, he has done great things, contributing fresh insights to Panem.  And now that he is the President, he has the power to do things with his own hands.  No longer having to need the approval of people of higher status, not when he’s the President, nobody has power greater than his.

You worry that he might be forgetting his other responsibilities.

He is after all, not just Mister President but also your husband.

You see him often in the corridors and you exchange nothing more than sultry glances.  It was fun the first time you have done it but you are left wanting now.

At night, the two of you come home late, too tired to get some action going.

You have needs that long to be fulfilled.

And your unfed desires manifested in your temper.

The men in the room are discussing the recent power outage that paralyzed Panem for a day.  A malfunction caused by severe water temperatures in the hydroelectric dam in District 5 caused a cascading error in the system.  The Capitol and a portion of District 1 and 2 were able to continue their operation due to generators but the other Districts suffered from it.  And the one day pause of labor caused a slight drop to Panem’s stock charts.

All eight of your husband’s subordinates are trying to raise their opinions about the matter, how they will conduct another investigation as they are quite convinced it was human error, and how they will punish the one responsible for it too.

Their voices are starting to irritate you, making you tap your foot under the desk.  Coriolanus seems to be ignoring them as he reads through the report.  How he can manage to focus, you have absolutely no idea.

You try to regain your composure by taking a sip of water but it does not help, not one bit.  Deep intakes of breath also seem to be not working.

Coriolanus is still reading the report, his back against his chair as one of his hands toy with his pen.  His fingers are looking rather breathtaking today.

You look away before anyone could notice your desperation.

“Frankly, you are all arguing about matters that have been resolved already.”  He murmurs and you are thankful for it as the room quiets down.

“What do you mean sir?”

You bite your cheek to stop yourself from berating the man.  But Coriolanus can see that arch in your brow any day.  You are pissed.

“You have something to say, wife?”  He smiles knowingly at you and you look at him sharply but his smile only widens more.

“Well, all of you are being foolish!”  You finally burst.  Coriolanus leans back in his chair as if he is watching a rather interesting show.  “There is a report given, and a very good one at that.  Do you all have poor reading comprehension that you cannot understand that this is not a human error!”

The room falls silent as the men stare at you with their cheeks pinking in embarrassment.

Coriolanus clears his throat and leans closer to his desk.  “I believe what the Missus wants to say is that we must be coming up with solutions to prevent this from happening again rather than point fingers.”

You glare at him again but Coriolanus is not looking at you but the men who are nodding in agreement.  You hear a chorus of apologies from the men and you can’t help your bottom lip from jutting out in irritation.

“We can strengthen the system.  A collaboration with District 3, perhaps?”  A man says nervously, eyes flitting to you for approval but you don’t acknowledge him.

The other men raise their support.  They have to stay in your good graces.  All eight of them are dispensable.  If you talk to your husband to eliminate them, there will be nothing they can do.

They are proud men, but they too are necessary associates, albeit shortsighted at times.

You lean on your chair and swivel it so you are partially facing your husband.  “Another source of power.”

He nods at you to continue.

“A solar plant.”  You say.  “It is a good back up.”

Coriolanus rubs his chin and considers it for a moment.  “Indeed.  May I ask you to write a proposal, my love?”

“Of course.”  You say and you begin tidying up your stuff.  Coriolanus picks it up and addresses the men in general.

“I appreciate your…enthusiasm in helping our great nation.  Good day, gentlemen.”

They all file out of the room, thanking the President and you.  They all seem to sweat when you dismiss them with nothing but a brief nod.

Coriolanus leaves his chair and he eyes the pout in your lips. 

“Have a great day.”  You say as you stand.

“Leaving so soon?”  He raises a brow.

You stop in your tracks to look at him weirdly.  “You asked me to write a proposal?”

He hums at this and presses a chaste kiss on your lips.  “I will be seeing you at lunch, then.”  He guides you to the door and you both exit the meeting room to go to your separate offices.

His behavior is really really starting to irk you.

You are lying if you were not hoping that he would stop you and at least help out with the tension in your body.

But you guess not, he is a busy guy after all.

Coriolanus buries himself more and more with work.

You worry that he might be close to self-destruction.

The crops in District 9 suffered from a locust infestation and it kept him up very late for a few weeks.

You started to miss him very much.  Try as you might to stay awake in your room, it is not until nearly sunrise when he joins you.

It hurts and you hate yourself for being selfish.

One morning as you share your breakfast, you notice that he is barely touching his food as he reads the report about the red tide poisoning in District 4.

“Corio, eat.”  You say before your lips wrap around a strawberry.

He only hums in response as he flips to the next page of the report.

You glance at him and see the dark circles under his eyes, his skin looking dehydrated, and it is evidenced by the cracks in his lips.

“You will die before you turn thirty if you keep that up.”  You say lowly before you suck on your finger absentmindedly, your eyes now scanning your bowl for the next strawberry you’ll eat.

This caught his attention.

“What did you just say?”  There was a challenge in his voice and you hesitate for a moment, heart wanting to submit and apologize but the Swansworth blood courses through your veins and you fear you will shame the strong women before you if you fold so easily.

You look at him dead in the eye.  “You will die before you turn thirty if you keep that up.”  You smile at him sweetly.  “Was that clear enough for you, or do I have to repeat myself again?”

His jaw tightens, his eyes sharp.  He does not take mentions of his death lightly.  Had you been anyone else, you would have your tongue cut off and live as an Avox.

“You really are your father’s daughter.”  He sighs, trying his best to hide the amused smile you put on his face.

You wanted to retort but your words die in your tongue.  Coriolanus glances up at you when you don’t speak.  Usually, you would have bitten another comment at him.  But you were only looking at your strawberries sadly, finger tracing the bowl that held them.

The sound of paper crinkling had you looking up.  He folded the report away, he had the necessary information he needed anyway.  Coriolanus knows you are watching him and he scoops a mouthful of truffle scrambled eggs.  You gave him the sweetest smile he had seen on your face for weeks, and it was motivation enough for him to eat the breakfast that was served to him.  Yet, he still finishes first.

You pout unknowingly when he wipes his lips with the napkin and walks over to kiss your forehead.

“I will be seeing you later for your report.”

“See you.”  You reply with less enthusiasm.

He watches how sadness swam in your eyes and he leans closer to peck your lips and he is off.

You did not have much energy for work afterwards.

The meeting was at 10 in the morning and you arrived in the meeting room at 10:02.  Coriolanus was not pleased.

He did not back you up when the other men in the room asked questions about your presentation.  It was their job to pick apart your proposal and you only show them how flawless it is.  They are finally satisfied with it after a while, your throat burning from how many questions they asked.

You are infuriated with your husband.  You feel like he is throwing you to the wolves.  Not that you can’t tame the said wolves but it made your blood boil.

“I have decided to call this solar plant, Coriolanus 9.”  You attempt a smile and they actually bite.  “In honor of our President, and us.”  You purposefully let yourself blend in with the men in this proposal.  You need to boost their morale from time to time.

All eight of them murmur their agreement, smiles wide as they feel honored just by being included in the project.

After a few more questions from them, your husband finally adjourns the meeting.

His lack of support was not appreciated and you are determined to get out of this stuffy meeting room.

“Gentlemen, that would be all.”  

What about you?

Your lips part in protest but Coriolanus raises a finger at you, making you close your mouth as you narrow your eyes at him.

After the men filed out, you got up briskly, your chair wheeling back in a great speed.

“Careful.”

“Oh, so you’re talking now?”  You snap, your hand placed on your hip.

Coriolanus only leans on his chair as he looks you in the eye, his chin tilted upwards.

“I am…”  he pauses as he scratches his chin.  “upset with you.”

You scoff.  “You are upset with me? I am upset with you!”  You point at him harshly.  “You were the one who asked me to make a proposal and present it afterwards!  But what did you do?  You did not support me or give me assurance!”

“I was confident in your proposal.”  Coriolanus stands up calmly, his hands in his pockets, his thumb jutting out.

You give him one final glare and you huff, turning your nose up as you look away.  “I am done talking to you today.”

Coriolanus grips your arm before you can walk away.

His hand is warmer than usual and you frown.

“Do you need me to put you in your place?”  

The threatening growl in his voice washed away all the fight in you.

You bite your lip nervously, the entire bottom lip disappearing behind a row of teeth.  You shake your head and you tear up from how pathetic you have become for this man.

He smooths your hair and places a warm kiss against your temple.  “Be good.”  He murmurs.

You watch him collect his things and he throws you one final warning glance and he exits the meeting room.  Your hands grip the hardwood table to steady yourself.

How dare he!

You are his wife, not some District whore that needs to be reprimanded, you will not allow such disrespect again!

Coriolanus is not surprised to see you miss lunch.  His assistant tells him that you are having luncheon with Mrs. Plinth.  And that…you canceled all your plans for the day.  And the rest of the week.

He taps a finger on his desk and wonders if he pushed you too far earlier. 

Coriolanus glances at your photo in his desk.  Your smile was brighter then.  

A slight pounding in his head makes him grimace and he groans.

There were two more bills he needed to get through before he could relax.  Coriolanus inhales sharply, forcing his eyes to read through the files.

It was night time when he came home.  He missed dinner again.

Coriolanus had an unsettling feeling in his stomach when he entered your home.  It was dark and cold.

There was enough security outside but no signs of life inside.

Your servants usually retire after dinner and come back only in the mornings to serve you your breakfast.

But where are you?

Coriolanus doubles his steps to check your bedroom, you are not there.

His heart starts pounding, cold sweat dripping from his temple as he runs around his mansion in his tight suit.  He wanted to ask the peacekeepers stationed outside if you are even in your mansion when he catches a glimpse of your sheer robe in your sunroom.  He steps closer and sees you there, asleep in your plush chair, curled up around a book.

For a moment, he just stares at you, calming himself down.  No one has taken you and you did not leave.  Coriolanus seats himself to the identical chair across you and just looks at the rise and fall of your chest.

You must have fallen asleep as you were having your afternoon read.  It appears you might have missed dinner, as none of the lights are on.  The servants must have left it off so as to not disturb your sleep.

The night deepens and he just sits there, still convincing himself that you are still with him.

Coriolanus believes he will be there until morning comes but fate has other plans and your book slips from your hold, the hardcover making a loud slamming noise against the otherwise silent evening.

You jolt awake from the noise and when you reach for it, you catch a glimpse of him and you jolt for the second time.

“Heavens!”  You clutch your chest tightly, your eyes glaring accusingly at him.  “Do not scare me like that!”

He laughs hollowly.

“Apologies.”  He mutters.

You lean back in your chair, holding your book in your lap.

“Have you eaten your dinner?”  You ask just to break the silence.

“Not yet and neither did you.”  He uncuffs his sleeves and loosens his tie.

You purse your lips.  “I had tea and cakes this afternoon.”

“When did tea and cakes pass as dinner?”  He drapes his waistcoat on the armrest together with his tie.

You choose not to answer as you have a feeling the question was rhetorical.

Coriolanus rests his arms on his thighs and clasps his hands as the silence lengthens.  Moonlight was emitting a pale glow, it reflected on your faces and everything else was still.

“My father casts a very large shadow.”  He tells you.

You nod.  You both have that in common.  But you do not want to tell him as his case was different.  You are aware of his struggle while growing up, the things he has done that could have tarnished his name, and now, he has become the President, a leader of Panem, and the footsteps that his father left for him to follow might be too large for him.

“I wanted to do everything right.  To do things how he would have done it.  Maybe even more.”

You play with the edges of your book as you listen, afraid that if you’ll talk, his walls will come building itself up again.

“He was not the best father.  Nor husband.”  He chuckles bitterly.  “I was sure, I would be just like him too.”

You bite your lip as you will yourself not to cry in front of him.

“But I enjoy your company, wife.”  Coriolanus tells you truthfully.  “I love you.”  He confesses, making your chest tighten.  “I do not wish for this marriage to fail.”

You cannot help how a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Come here.”  He commands and you throw yourself to him, sobbing to his chest.  “I am terribly sorry for being a lousy husband.”

Your tears soak his dress shirt as Coriolanus peppers kisses on your head.

“Been neglecting my wife, how awful of me.”  His hand grips on your bum possessively.  “When she should have been worshiped day by day.”  His tone changes ever so slightly into something you hear only inside your bedroom walls.

You do not protest when he lays you on the chaise lounge.  Your sobs turn to sniffles when Coriolanus parts your thighs and bunches your dress until it shows your abdomen.

“Corio.”  You whisper his name like a prayer and he mumbles yours against your skin.  You watch as he plants his lips on your scar.  A scar that you got from taking a bullet for him.

It was not the last time you whispered his name in the dead of the night.

“Your petals always have the sweetest nectar.”  He groans and you feel yourself shy away, hips hiking up and away from him but his arms tighten their hold around your thighs and he looks at you from there, his eyes giving you a silent warning.

“S-sorry-ah!”  You gasp as his tongue darts out to lick the juices off your slit.  His tongue pokes at your pearl and you break eye contact with him when he wraps his lips on your tiny nub.

Coriolanus looks at you with his eyes now lazy but his tongue, the opposite!

He kisses you and in an act of total impulsiveness, starts tracing his name on your clit.  Coriolanus Snow was owning you in every way possible.

He had you reduced to your most carnal self.  Your hands were on his platinum hair, gripping them tightly in your hold, selfishly pulling him in.  Your thighs are resting on his broad shoulders.  And your cunt, it was making a mess on your chaise lounge and on your husband’s face.

Coriolanus groans as he parts your lips so he could kiss your opening.  His thick finger, that you have been craving, sliding on your juices before he plunges it knuckle-deep.  It might have been a mistake on his part given your sensitivity after having to be forced to join him in his self-induced celibacy.  Your lewd mewl brought rouge to his cheeks.

You bring your hands to your mouth to hush yourself and Coriolanus took that as a challenge.  He sits up, sitting on his ankles to press your thigh to your chest as his finger prods at you from the inside.

You are writhing underneath him.  Telling him how good he is making you feel.  Oh, and he reveled in it.  Every sound that comes from your lips, it fueled his desire more and more.

A second finger was added and you shriek from the stretch, it has been a while, he needs to be more gentle!  But Coriolanus cannot help himself when you look so pretty.  Your cheeks wet with tears, eyelashes clumping up, as your hands formed tiny fists.  Any form of his self control has disappeared when you are gushing and pulsating around his fingers.

He knows you’re nearly there, so close!

You pant, closing your eyes as his fingers massaged your walls, coaxing you to climb higher and higher and-

“Coriolanus!”  You yell furiously when he pulls his fingers out.

Your husband grins at you as he wipes his face from your slick.

“I seem to recall that someone was not a very good girl this morning?”  His hands trailed at your hips and you almost tear up from frustration.

He was supposed to be making it up to you!  He had no reason to bring up the events this morning.

In an act of defiance, you huff and you reach your own sex to flick at your clit.  Your fingers are more delicate, making you gasp at the gentle pleasure.

Coriolanus grins as he watches you play with yourself.  Enjoying how you grow more and more frustrated as you cannot give yourself the same pleasure.  You shriek angrily as you pull your fingers away, you slam your tiny feet on the chaise and Coriolanus laughs. 

“Are you done being a brat?”

You are too stubborn to answer but you do not stop him when he maneuvers you until you are on your stomach, you groan softly in discomfort when he pulls your hips so your cunt is presented to him beautifully.

His fingers are prodding your entrance again and you mewl when he pops his tip in.   Coriolanus stays there for a moment as his hands, rough from his time as a peacekeeper, grips on your waist firmly.

“There’ll be no stopping, alright?”  He reminds you.  “We’re done when I say we’re done.”

You lift your head from the plush of the chaise lounge and you give him a nod. 

“Put your head back down, my love.”

You do as he tells you and you brace yourself.

Coriolanus enters you with a sharp thrust, and your whimper is muffled by the cushions.  Your husband thrusts at a steady speed, his eyes watching the impact ripple on your body.

Your breath hitches with every kiss his tip makes on your cervix.  Every slap of his hips against you makes the crudest sound, sending a jolt of arousal through you.  President Snow is a man of the most refined of tastes, the pinnacle of order.  But when he beds you, he is just as raw, just as unrestrained.

“Don’t know why I deprived myself of your wet cunt for so long.”  And his mouth spewing the most vulgar of things.

He uses his weight to push you further in the mattress so he can fuck you deeper.  Your cunt spasms and you moan shakily, almost sobbing.

“Chase it, my love.”  He groans deeply.

And you unravel, lewd sobs spilling from your polished tongue as your back arches, cunt creaming around his cock.

Coriolanus watches you sob, your shoulders shaking as his thrusts do not relent.  His eyes flicker to where your bodies meet, your warm juices are dripping on his taut sack.

“Corio…Corio please!  I don’t think I can anymore….”

“Hm?”  He reaches to grab your chin.  “Thought I told you that we’re only done when I say so?”

You look at him with tears sliding down your cheeks.  You can’t even focus on him, body shuddering when your tummy feels another tight coil.

Coriolanus inhales sharply when he feels the familiar pulsation of your warm softness.

His tip twitches as it bumps your plump cervix.  And when you call his name with your broken voice as you cum, he shoots his seed in you.

“Hah…hah.”  

He is panting from on top of you, his hand placed against your bottom to keep himself up.

Coriolanus gently pulls himself out, watching the gossamer webbing of your arousal on his cock.  He smacks your bum and you tighten your cunt to keep his seed from spilling.  He scoots closer so he is holding you, your back against his chest as your legs tangled together.

The two of you gaze at the moon from the enormous windows of your sunroom.  It was calm again.  Nothing but your heartbeats and the gentle breathing lulling each of you closer to sleep.

“Corio.”  You call his name softly.

He hums in response as he pulls you closer, just needing to feel you against him.

“The people of Panem are not your fucking masters.”

His brows meet and he glances at you, wondering where all of this is coming from.

“They cannot have you always cleaning up their mess like you are some District servant.”

He shifts you so you are facing him now.  His stern brows meet to let you know you are on thin ice.

“You govern your people.  You don’t coddle them.  Let the District officials do their job.  They must learn to solve their own problems and the Capitol Bureaucrats must see to it that they are doing it in ways that align with your judgment.  And you lead them from the top.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

You yawn like the adorable thing you are.  “So Snow lands on top.”

He clicks his tongue smoothly.  “You are only attracted to power.”

“My love.”  You say rather darkly.  “You are power.”

Coriolanus falls silent, contemplating your words, letting himself process it.

He sighs as he looks at you in endearing defeat.  “You just want a vacation, don’t you?”

You fight back a smile as you smack his chest.

“I am being serious, Coriolanus Snow.”

He pulls you closer, teeth glinting as he snickers.  “I understand that, Y/N Snow.”

“Y/N Swansworth-Snow.”  You remind him and he laughs.

“Of course, of course.”

You lean your head on his chest and your cheek soaks his warmth.

“You know, you are not your father, Corio.”

He winces.  “I know…I’m just-”

“You are better.”

That sinks deep in him.

He now understands why there was something in you that pulled him in.  No one in Panem, or in this world, could understand his soul in its most naked form.  You are his stability.  Someone whom he cannot scare away when he is darkest.

Because it seems like you might be exactly just like him.  Just as cruel, just as evil, with no regards to anyone but each other.

And he is fine with that, even if the world is burned to ash around you.

“My love for you is catastrophic.”  Coriolanus murmurs against your skin and you smile as you close your eyes.

You run your finger on his chest.  “And my love for you is all-consuming.”

Coriolanus and you are obsessive, ablazed with reckless passion, villainous in nature, but it is easy to justify when you are both equally drunk with dangerous devotion.

The people of Panem be damned.  

The odds will forever be in your favor.

Hunt for Glory

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.

masterlist.

You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.

You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.

Dear ________,

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.

I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.

Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.

Sincerely,

[First Name] [Last Name].

You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.

“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”

Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.

Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”

Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”

Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”

“It's Max.”

You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”

That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.

The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.

“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”

That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”

Oh.

He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.

“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure you don't need help?”

You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.

You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.

It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.

What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.

You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.

You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.

“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”

You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.

Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”

Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.

“You're taking good care of me.”

His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.

“Aren't I always?”

You are paid to take good care of him after all.

“Always.”

You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.

You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophie!

You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.

Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.

“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”

“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.

“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.

“I don't know.”

“Okay.”

He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.

Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.

But then, she left. Now what?

“I want to tell you something.”

You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.

“It is in my will that if I die—”

“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.

“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”

“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”

“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”

You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.

Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?

Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.

“Have you told Max?”

The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.

“No.”

“He wouldn't be happy with this.”

You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.

While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.

Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.

"No, stay."

Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."

You did not know why you believed him.

2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.

2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.

2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.

“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."

"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"

It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.

"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."

“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”

Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.

“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”

Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.

“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”

Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.

You get a text from Max an hour later.

him: i feel like shit

him: thanks for the advil and the soup

him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me

Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.

[spencereidluver]

A is for About Time

summary: You’re paired up with Spencer on a mostly physiological case… He’s impressed with how many of his obscure references you understand and how you’re able to carry on conversations with him unlike anyone else.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: details of a case: strangulation, blood writing

“y/n and Reid, I need you to stay here at the station while the rest of us go search the area.” Hotch said, handing you and Spencer each a file. “There’s information about the case in here. The PD thinks we’re dealing with someone who is able to outsmart that of the normal man. We need both of your heads on this. Got it?”

You and Spencer both nodded. You were smart, no denying it, but you know he knows everything you know times two.

You’ve only been in the BAU six months, but you’d only need to know Spencer two minutes to know just how intelligent he is. You don’t quite understand why Hotch wants you to stay back on this case with him, but who are you to deny the man.

You and Spencer take the Manila folders and make your ways to the conference room. He does a little jog to catch up with you. “You know, I’ve never had anyone else stay back with me on cases like these.” He says as he slows his step to match yours.

“Yeah, we’ll maybe you’ve never had anyone quite on your level Dr. Reid.” you joke as you pull the glass door open. There’s a bulletin board with photos from the case. You see Spencer grimace at them out of your peripheral. No matter how many cases you go on, this is one thing that will never be easy for anyone in this job.

Spencer sprawls out his folder on the half-circle-shaped wooden table in the center of the small office. The first image is a photo from the crime scene. It’s a white brick wall with blood writing, it reads:

“in this moment, she was mine, mine, fair, perfectly pure and good”

“It’s a poem.” He says. “Porphyria’s Lover.”

You interrupt him, “a mid 1800’s poem written by Robert Browning.”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“A poem in which a beautiful woman’s lover strangles her with her own hair? Yeah I’ve heard of it.”

He flips through a few more pages in the folder. They’re all just copies of what’s on the bulletin. You’re not too sure why you were each given folders containing the same pictures, but I guess consistency is key in this job.

“I never took you as an 1800s poem freak, y/n.” He says with a smile that you can’t quite tell the intention behind.

“Maybe you’re not as many levels ahead of me as you thought, Dr. Reid.”

_____

It’s only day two of the case, but between stupid jokes and bonding over old literature, there’s only one thing you cannot seem to pinpoint the reasoning for. And probably the only way you’ll be able to directly connect to the unsub.

He’s working off a dating app. He searches for women who meet his physical criteria, then stalks them until he’s able to pounce. Smart guy. Very smart guy.

“The one thing I just cannot understand is why if the poem he’s working off of is so keen on blonde hair, why have only half of our victims been blondes?” Spencer says, reading through a print-out of the original poem.

“Maybe the women with brown hair were just more available?” You say, not sure if you believe it.

Spencer takes a sip of his coffee. “No, a man like this would want blondes. He’s working of the exact motive of the poem.”

“And he must have a lot of time with his victims to be able to strangle them with their hair.”

You and Spencer spend hours reading over the poem and investigating that photos. Hotch comes back to the station to bring photos from yet another crime scene. Another blonde. If anything, that takes you further from figuring him out, messing up the blonde-brown-blonde-brown victim order.

“There’s no way he’s picking these victims at random. He’d have to spend far too long watching them to know their work schedule to be able to get into their apartments.” Hotch says. “I need you guys to further analyze the poem. It could have the key and hopefully we can find him before he strikes again.”

You and Spencer spend a further hour and a half looking over and annotating the poem. You’re both about to give up on the poem when you notice something: the rhyme scheme.

“A-B-A-B-B,” you think outloud.

“What?” Spencer is confused.

“The rhyme scheme, Spencer. It’s A-B-A-B-B. Auburn-Blonde-Auburn-Blonde-Blonde. That has to be it!”

“So he’ll go back to the beginning. He’s looking for his next victim with auburn hair, just like Julia Dempsey and Katie Flanagan. Nice catch, y/n. We’ve gotta call Hotch.”

He pulls out his phone and dials the eight digits quickly. He fills in Hotch on the info you find as you email over to Garcia. It’s only a matter of time before Morgan and Hotch move in on the man, Garcia finding him from a simple categorical search of dating profile preferences.

_____

You’re sat on the jet next to Spencer on your way home. You’re going on about old literature and artifacts pertaining to them. No one else understands a word either of you are saying, but they’re rather in awe of how the two of you are able to bounce off each other and carry on about, what to them, is utter nonsense.

It’s late. Early. Well, both. 2:47 AM. You’re leaned with your elbow on the table and your head in your hand looking and Spencer as he recites an old poem from memory. His voice is calm and warm. JJ and Emily are asleep in the booths next to you, Hotch minding his own in the back, and Rossi and Morgan make small talk a little closer to the front.

“y/n?” You hear your name being whispered.

You hum in response, opening your eyes to see a wide-eyed Spencer looking at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says.

“It’s okay. I’m kinda glad you did, my neck would be sore when we land.”

“We’re still three hours from Virginia. Think you can make it that long?”

“Hell no, I’m exhausted.” You try cross your arms on the table, laying your head in them as you try to get comfortable.

“That position may feel better on your neck, but it’ll do a number on your back in record time.”

“Well, Spencer, there’s only so much room to work with on this jet.”

“I can move so you can lay in the seat if you’d like. But that could also hurt your neck considering you’ll be lying flat and have no incline.”

“Well then why don’t you tell me the most comfortable position and let me sleep in peace.”

“Studies show the best position for sleeping without a pillow is leaning against a wall or something of an upright nature. But there are no walls to lean up against, so you’re pretty much out of luck there y/n.”

He shifts in his seat, reaching for the blanket behind him. He tosses it at you and settles back down. He sips from his coffee. No wonder he’s not going to sleep, he drinks coffee 15 out of the 24 hours in a day.

You scoot a bit closer to him, wrapping the blanket around yourself. You tip your head forward, groaning. Tiredness overcomes you more than it already has, making it near impossible to even keep your eyes open.

“Hey, Spence…” You look up at him. His head tilts down to meet your gaze, flattening his lips in form of response. “Can I…” You let your sentence fade out, pushing yourself closer to him.

He softens his voice. “Hmm?”

Before he can even finish his hum your head has slumped on his shoulder and you’re already falling unconscious on him. You feel him reach his arm around you- pulling the blanket up- you assume. He does that, but his arm never leaves. His head flops gently on top of yours, his one unruly waft of hair falling over his face. You could stay like this forever.

“It’s about time those two realize how similar they are.” You hear Rossi’s gravely voice say.

And just like that, you’re asleep, in what is probably the most comfortable you’ve ever been in your life.

_____

next chapter: b is for Boy Genius

_____

a/n: hiii! i really hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Chapter 2 will be released tomorrow! Sorry if this one was a little boring, I promise the next chapter is more interesting. Im just trying to set up the story a little before we get into it!

[multific]

Black Quill

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: You never liked Umbridge, but who did? The woman was miserable and cruel. Her power in the school grew day after day.

You knew about her pen, you heard the tales from other students long before you entered detention.

Seeing the smirk on her face, the power-hungry bitch handed you a piece of paper.

"Now, Miss Y/L/N, today we are going to learn a really important lesson."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, now you didn't feel so confident.

Earlier that day, you were late for her class, and on top of all of that, you even said that her dress as ugly, detention was a given at that point. But you didn’t care.

However, what she made you write was something way more sinister.

You were prepared for a 'I must not be late' or 'I have to respect my teachers' but not this.

You only felt a tear escape your eyes when you left the room, you weren't ready to give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

You headed back to your room, not wanting to see anyone but of course your friends had another idea. You ran into all of them in the corridor. You assumed they have been waiting for you.

"Ah! Y/N! Finished with detention are you?" Asked Theodore as he was the one to first see you. Mattheo, Pansy, Theodore and Draco were all there, just chatting.

"She made you write with that pen?" Pansy asked and you could only nod.

"I cannot believe they are letting her do this! It is torture!" spoke up Draco.

You stood next to your boyfriend who offered you a warm smile, you smiled back but you could tell he was worried. He moved his arm around you as he smoked and you leaned into him, smelling him and just having him there did help you calm your nerves.

Soon, all of you decided to head back to your dorms to sleep but Mattheo followed you into your common room.

"What did she make you write?" he asked and you turned around to look at him, you opened your mouth to say something but couldn't. "I always know when something is off, and you have been hiding your hand. If it was something simple, you wouldn't hide it in front of me and your friends."

You let out a long sigh before moving your sleeve and showing him your hand.

You watched him closely, you watched his face as sadness turned into anger.

Pure rage.

---

"What?" you asked Umbrige, looking at her in disbelief with the quill in your hand you looked up at her..

"You heard me Miss Y/L/N, start writing." she said as she took a seat at her desk.

"But I-I am here because I was late to class, not b-"

"Stop it. Start writing," she said as she started to sip her tea looking at you with a disgusting smile on her face.

---

"I will kill her."

"Mattheo please." you grabbed his arm as he tried to leave, turning him back to look at you, he was angry, you have never seen him this angry before. "I don't want to be alone." you said, voice barely above a whisper and you knew, this would work, he would stay and hug you. 

And that is exactly what he did.

You felt so safe in his arms, not even the burning of your skin and the words on your skin could distract you.

'I must not love a Riddle.'

But you did. You loved Mattheo and nothing will change your mind, not the pain, and not Umbridge.

You knew this wasn't the end. You knew Mattheo more than anyone. 

After all, when you two started dating almost two years ago, he promised to you and to himself that he will never let his last name be a burden to you.

He will have his revenge.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  @mandoloriancookie​ @noname2246​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[bucketsofmonsters]

In the Name of Science

cw: voyeurism, mutual masturbation, vaginal penetration, non human genitalia, knotting, size difference, fainting, chronic illness, implied animal death, medical abuse of the monsters

male werewolf x afab reader

word count: 9k

“Have you lost it? Absolutely not!” You snapped at the three scientists in front of you, the anger evident in your voice. 

“You will have complete privacy and it’s not like we’re asking you to sleep with him…” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Yeah, I certainly hope not! This is so absurd, I cannot believe you’re asking me this.”

You went to storm out of the room when one of the scientists who had sat you down to very gently talk to you grabbed your arm. “Listen, you are the only one he responds to. We wouldn’t ask you this if there was any other way to do it, if we want to study his reproductive system...”

“No! It’s invasive and weird and I’m not doing it! You put him through enough as it is.”

That seemed to spark their interest. “Hold on, are you saying no for his comfort or yours?”

That was a question you weren’t prepared to get into, at least not with three scientists. “It doesn’t matter. Anyways, I have shit to do, can I go now?”

They didn’t want to drop the matter but you were clearly not changing your mind so they let you storm out and go about your day. 

You weren’t a scientist. Your job leaned closer to zoo keeper. Someone had to take care of all the monsters that were being studied here and the scientists certainly weren’t doing it. 

They weren’t entirely wrong. Most of the creatures here responded better to you than anyone else but in all fairness, you were the one who was feeding them and talking to them, everyone else they saw on a regular basis spent most of their time poking at them and doing tests on them, of course they liked you the most. 

With many of your monsters you were friends. You had developed truces of varying strengths with most of them and at the very least, you attempted to understand them. That’s more than most of the people who worked here could say. 

They were all sentient, most to human levels, they deserved more respect than just being experiments and you seemed the only one inclined to give them that level of dignity. 

Sometimes subjects would mysteriously drop off of your roster, nowhere to be seen. A few weeks later their room would be filled once more. You always prayed they couldn't sense that they weren't the first to live there, that creatures here didn't tend to have particularly long shelf lives. They were going through enough without that fear in them. The most you could do was give them all the dignity and companionship you could. You tried not to think about it too much but it haunted you all the same.

You had a favorite. Everyone knew it, him included. All he had was a number, subject 251. You would never call him that, call any of the subjects by their numbers. You opted instead for pet names and terms of endearment, which none of them seemed to mind. 

This one in particular, subject 251, had taken a clear interest in you. That was how they saw it, a sudden and unexplainable attachment to you. You could have told them otherwise if they ever bothered to ask. But that was most of the problem you supposed, they never did. 

He’d been an issue when you’d first arrived, the one monster you were warned about over and over again. ‘Be careful with 251.’ The idea of letting anyone get near him was so far from anyone’s minds. You were the newbie so you were given him on your roster. 

You understood it. You too would be difficult if you were imprisoned and studied. 

You’d given him what you could in terms of privacy and respect. You never tried to push, gave him as much autonomy as you were able to, despite him being a prisoner here. You spoke to him like a person, not an inconvenience or a rabid animal. 

Most importantly, when he got angry or lashed out, none of that changed. Human decency was never something he had to earn, no matter how many times he threatened to slash your throat open.

Eventually, he started to talk back. At first you just thought it was because he was lonely, of course he would be when he was stuck in a room by himself, day in and day out. But after a while, it became clear that it wasn’t conversation just for the sake of it. 

When more newbies came you refused to give him up, making as much space for him in your day as you could. You knew that he noticed the way you were staying longer and longer but he never called you on it. In fact, one day he asked you to stay. 

After that you were inseparable. His attitude hadn’t shifted with anyone else but with you he was perfect. That became a bargaining chip, both of you swearing he’d behave better if you were allowed to give him his food in person, if you were allowed to stay longer, if he could have some little things to make his life easier. 

The two of you had formed an alliance and more importantly, a friendship. 

A few months ago you’d taken a vacation for a week and had been immediately called back because he’d become unmanageable. From what you’d heard, he almost ripped his temporary handler in half and managed to get halfway out of the facility before they were able to neutralize him.

When you came back you tried to explain to him that he couldn’t be doing this, that sometimes you might leave for a while and he needed to not massacre the staff. He was virulently against it, telling you he needed to keep his eye on you, to make sure you were okay. 

No amount of reassurance stopped this instinct and just like that, you became vital personel. In his frenzy to get you back he gave you something else, job security. 

That was why you could tell those scientist in no unclear terms to go fuck themseleves. But then again, your relationship with him was the reason they asked you about it at all. 

You shook your head, trying to forget your discussion with them. You were glad you were there to shut them down, to be able to provide even a modicum of privacy to at least one of your creatures. 

As you pushed the interaction out of your mind in favor of starting your day, you noticed someone you’d never seen before. She was a new keeper, one like yourself. You’d asked to be able to vet new employees but you’d been denied. Despite becoming vital personel, they still didn’t take you seriously. 

She seemed nervous but in all fairness to her, it was probably her first day. Most people were a little on edge on the first day on any job, let alone one where you were caring for restless, angry creatures that could kill you in a heartbeat. 

You gave her a wave before you picked up the big, metal box off the table, shifting it towards the metal door it was destined for. 

“Hiya, what’s your name?” you called as you heaved the box over. Surely there was a less heavy mechanism you could use to deliver dinner, you’d have to pester the scientists about that when you got the chance. Everything in solid metal seemed like a great idea when you were planning but they didn’t have the carry the things. 

“Sam,” she said, hurrying over to help you carry the box the last couple of feet before you both dropped it on the floor. 

The second it touched the ground, something from inside rammed into the door, sending a crash echoing through the hall. As soon as Sam heard the noise she screamed and went running. 

She wouldn’t last a week. The easily spooked ones never did. 

This was why you wanted to help with finding new keepers. They never prepared them right, never asked the right questions. People got in with promises that they loved animals and that they were ever so caring as if that was in any way relevant. 

What you really needed was to be good with people, really weird nonhuman people, and be very good at conflict resolution. You weren’t caring for lions and zebras, these were intelligent, terrifying creatures. It was hard to know exactly what kind of person would thrive here but it was easy to tell who wouldn’t be able to last. 

You banged back on the door as you turned from the hallway Sam had gone running down. “Behave or you're not getting lunch,” you called through the wall and you hoped they’d understand.

You slid the metal box right up to the hatch at the bottom of the door, hooking them together so the room was still airtight, and slid the door of the trap upwards. 

The faint sound of a bunny hopping across metal floors hit your ears and you shut both panels, unhooking the box and carrying it away as the creature was left to hunt.  

That was mainly what you did, feed them with no contact allowed. They wouldn’t let you inside most of their rooms, you had to fight for the few that you did get to see. For most, you were lucky if you got to see them through a window. 

Your favorite part of the day came last. It didn't previously but you’d had to push it to the end of the day lately because you were never sure when you’d be able to leave. He always tried to convince you to stay just a little longer and you rarely had the heart to shut him down, at least not the first time he asked. 

Eventually you did always have to leave. You couldn’t stay in the sterile, white room lined with metal forever. 

Before the decontamination chamber, there was a big observation room you had to pass through with a window facing into his cell and you could never quite help the massive smile that plastered itself across your face every day when you first laid eyes on him through the glass. 

All of the blankets and pillows they’d given him were scrunched up in the corner, a little pile he was often laying on when you came in. Not today though. Today he was waiting by the door and as soon as he spotted you through that window his tail began to wag furiously.

You couldn’t help but giggle, eagerly running through the decontamination room so you could see him. 

When you first laid eyes on him on your very first shift, you’d thought he was a werewolf. Most of the creatures here were hard to understand but a few were familiar concepts, things you’d seen the likes of before in movies. 

The scientists had scoffed at you, told you he was nothing like a werewolf, he didn’t even have a human form. You still thought the comparison was apt.

He was undeniably wolf-like, covered in silver fur, with pointy ears and a muzzle and a big fluffy tail. There was something undeniably human about him too. He stood on two legs and spoke like a person and there was something in his eyes that felt so familiar. 

“Hey buddy, how’re you doing?” you asked as you entered the room and were finally able to properly set eyes on that familiar face. 

He couldn’t get too close. You both knew he couldn't or, despite the massive fit he would inevitably throw, they wouldn’t let you come back. You could see him holding himself back every time you came near him, clearly wanting to smother you in affection. 

He responded quickly, eager to check in with you. “I’m fine. How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

No matter how many times you told him that you were fine he was always worried. 

You brushed him off with a gentle, “I’m alright, like I always am,” while carrying his dinner in. 

He mostly ate meat, although he was alright with not eating live animals, unlike many of the other creatures here. That was why you’d been allowed in here at all. No matter how well they got along with you, you were never allowed in the room with any of the active hunters. 

It was probably for the best. At least that way they wouldn’t bond with you the way this one had. 

You dropped the tray of raw steaks near his pile of blankets, his eyes tracking you as you moved. His head lifted and he sniffed the air. 

“Still gotta take care of the others, bud,” you said, preempting the inevitable comment you knew he was going to make about your scent. 

He grumbled. You knew he didn’t like it, them getting near you, the way he could smell the others on you, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. No matter how many times you decontaminated yourself, he always seemed to be able to smell it. 

He dropped the issue, though you could tell he didn’t want to. Instead, his head fell to the side and he asked, “Are you upset about something?”

You were never sure how he managed to read you so well. He kept telling you it was because you were bonded but you weren’t certain what that meant. He didn’t seem capable of explaining it to you. The concept was just second nature to him and you couldn’t ask any of the scientists about it. Perhaps more accurately, you wouldn’t ask the scientists about it. You weren’t sure if they knew themselves and you’d die before giving them any more information than they already had. 

“Did my scent tell you that?” you asked with a smile, trying to brush past it.

He was undeterred. “Did they do something to you?”

You waved off his concerns. “No, don’t worry about it, they just wanted me to do something weird and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“What?”

You had no clue how to explain it to him. 

You attempted to put it as tactfully as you possibly could. “They wanted me to… stimulate you. Just visually, I think, from the observation room. They want to study your reproductive system and they think that’s the best way to go about it for whatever reason. It’s super weird, I obviously said no so you don’t need to worry about it.” 

“Stimulate me?”

“Like, touch myself or something. I don’t know, I didn’t give them the time of day so I’m a little foggy on the details. Not that it matters, it’s creepy either way.”

“They made you uncomfortable?” You could see him getting angrier. 

“No! I meant creepy towards you! It’s invasive. I wouldn’t mind but I’m not the one being observed and documented.” That came out wrong. “Not that I wouldn’t mind!” you quickly added defensively. “That’s not what I meant! Just that I’m not the one who should be made uncomfortable by all this, you know?”

He seemed confused by your words, trying to parse their meaning. You couldn’t blame him, you’d turned into a bit of a mess for a while there. After a long deliberation he finally responded, “I don’t mind either.”

“What?”

“I’m observed either way, this way I get to see you.”

He’d always been direct but this was a bit much, even for him. “Are you saying you want me to do it?”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“Not really.” Feeling a little shy right now, maybe, but you certainly weren’t uncomfortable. 

“Then I want you to do it.”

You weren’t sure what to make of that. You had his permission now, so it was all on you. If you did do it, you certainly wouldn’t be doing it to help out the scientists. So why would you be doing it? Because he wanted you to? Or maybe you felt a tug towards saying yes for more selfish reasons. 

“Your face is getting hot,” he noted, ever so helpful. 

“Yup, that it is. Well, this has been a fun meeting, I will see you tomorrow bud.”

Now he was upset. “You just got here.”

“I’ll stay extra long tomorrow,” you promised. “I just got a headache and I need to go lie down for a while, I’ll see you later.”

You hadn’t completely been lying. You did have a headache, although that was more the norm these days. 

You’d started to feel sick more and more frequently. You were convinced it was this place, with all the creatures and substances here that you knew little to nothing about. Being here so often couldn’t be good for you. You had no other explanation for why you felt so woozy all the time, why you couldn’t quite shake these headaches, why your legs sometimes just gave out on you. 

Before you headed home and took a well earned painkiller, you stopped by one of the control rooms that always had a scientist or two milling around inside.

You poked your head in the door and just said, “I’ll do it,” not staying to witness the aftermath. 

The next day you were a bundle of nerves. You probably looked like Sam had the day before. You felt like you were floating through your duties, thinking about the end of the day. That morning you’d been pulled aside by the same three scientists and told that today you’d have to slide subject 251’s meal under the door and then you were to stimulate him as best you could from behind the glass. 

They’d reassured you dozens of times that there would be no record of your activities. Subject 251 got no such reassurances.

He lit up as he usually did the second he saw you but instead of decontaminating yourself and stepping inside, you slid the plate under the door. 

“I can’t come in today,” you said as you walked up to the window, cursing the upset written all over his face. 

“Why?” He searched your face, trying to understand. It didn’t take long before it clicked. “Oh. I won’t get near you, I know I’m not allowed to. Or hurt you, if that’s what they’re worried about.”

“I know you won’t, they just don’t trust you when your hormone levels are high. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“So you decided to do it?”

“As long as you're alright with it, I couldn’t see why not.”

You probably should have. Somewhere in you you were aware that most people would see why not, that this would be an insane decision. But the only barrier in your way had been his comfort and he seemed more than comfortable with the idea. 

As much as you knew he was the one being investigated, you could help but feel like you were being studied under his unblinking gaze. His eyes refused to move anywhere else, content to just stare at you through the glass as you tried to figure out how to proceed. 

You were the one to break the silence. “I’m not really sure how to do this, there isn’t exactly a manual for this sort of thing.”

“What do they want your goal to be?” he prompted you. 

“To arouse you.” Those three words were the gist of it, despite the lengthy, boring mission statements you’d been given that morning. 

“And what is your goal?”

That one was harder to answer. Maybe you should start writing mission statements for yourself as well. “I’m not sure.”

“But you’re here.”

And so you were. 

“What do you want me to do?” Your chest felt tight as you asked, like you couldn’t quite manage to get enough oxygen. You’d meant the question genuinely but it felt like it came out sounding suggestive. 

“Can I see you?”

You understood what he meant but you paused anyways. You didn’t know what you were waiting for, you’d made your decision the second you said you’d be here and yet, you still hesitated. 

You checked the room for cameras again, making sure there were none. You knew there weren’t any and it honestly felt like you were stalling, trying to give yourself more time to think. Not that you could think properly right now.

He didn’t have the same luxury of knowing that he wasn’t being watched. The cameras pointed away from the window, positioned tactically so they didn’t look through but he was being fully captured, no matter where he stood.

Once you’d taken your moment and given yourself time to think that you hadn’t used, there was nothing left to do. As you started to get undressed, you rushed to take your clothes off. Anything slower felt like teasing and that was the last thing you wanted. You looked back to him when you’d finished pulling them off, not sure what for. You know exactly what he wanted to see next but you wanted to hear him say it.

His eyes roamed over you, they couldn’t seem to get enough, darting across your body. 

You felt incredibly warm, despite your lack of clothes and the cold environment. 

He was much closer to the glass now, practically pressed against it. You could tell exactly how slow and belabored his breathing was as it fogged the glass in front of you. You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at the sight, him peering through the newly frosted glass.

His head cocked to the side at the sound. “Are you having fun torturing me?” he asked, his tone playful.

“I’m not torturing you,” you insisted. “You’re the one who wanted me to do this.”

“I said I want to see you.”

You hopped up on a chair, spreading your legs for him as you did. You knew he could see exactly how wet you were.

It was almost embarrassing, all you'd done was strip for him and you were already soaking.

Your onlooker didn’t seem to agree with that assessment, instead pressing up even closer to the glass, pawing at it. 

You’d believed him when he said that if you were in there with him he wouldn’t touch you but you didn’t appreciate until now just how hard that probably would have been for him. Maybe the window separating you was a small mercy, although it certainly didn’t feel like that as you dipped your hand slowly down, becoming more comfortable with putting on a show for him, until you reached your center and pressed your fingers inside yourself. 

You could see his nostrils flaring, wanting to be able to smell you but unable to. 

The tip of his cock poked through his fur. That’s what they’d wanted to see, you supposed the scientists would be pleased. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off of it, couldn’t stop imagining it inside you, how strong he was, how effortlessly he could pick you up and thrust inside you, how he’d fill you up so completely. You couldn’t even see the whole thing, much of it hidden within his thick fur,  but you could tell it was big. 

He wasn’t even touching himself, just staring at you, watching how your lips fell open and your forehead creased when you rubbed over your clit, listening to the little noises you let out despite your attempts to be quiet. You wanted nothing more than to go to him. 

“I need to touch you,” he whined, sharing your sentiment. 

“We can't, this is all we get.”

He huffed as he fell back, bucking forwards into the air against nothing, his desperation clear. You should be in there, helping him, but instead you were getting off watching him rutt into nothing

“This was a bad idea,” you said, your motions slowing as guilt washed over you.

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded. “Need you, just stay.”

His hand wrapped around his dick and you sped up your motions, set on at least putting on a good show for him. 

He was rutting desperately into his hand, his eyes never leaving you. You thrust three fingers inside of yourself and still it didn’t feel like enough.  

You were sure he felt much the same way and yet you could see him getting closer to his release.

You watched, entranced, as he came. Thick ropes of cum shot out of him all over the wall and the glass in front of him, his hand still tight around his cock. 

As soon as he came you stopped, your fingers pulling out, refusing to come, like some sort of self inflicted punishment. He pushed up against the glass once more as you stopped but there was nothing he could do. 

With no better options, you wiped your fingers as best you could on your clothes as you pulled them back on, promising yourself you’d wash them as soon as you left.

You rushed out before you had the chance to talk and regretted the decision the whole night. It had seemed like the easier option at the time, to not have to talk about it when all your conflicting feelings were swirling but now you just wished you’d gotten the chance to confirm that you hadn’t messed anything up.

The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough. You did your best to not rush through your duties, knowing exactly how costly a mistake could be in this place. 

Finally, the time arrived and you were back in that observation room again. This time you mercifully were able to enter, no longer stuck behind that damn window.

He seemed as composed as ever and you got the feeling that he hadn’t been worrying the way you had. The thumping of his tail behind him gave away his excitement, as it always did, but you detected no signs of nervousness. 

He studied you as you came in. “Something’s wrong,” he noted.

He always understood how you were feeling, he had some sort of sixth sense about it, but this time you were fairly certain that you weren’t difficult to read. You were sure you looked as worried as you felt. “Was it weird?” you asked, needing an answer as quickly as possible. “Please tell me I didn’t mess anything up between us.”

His head fell to the side. “Why would it be weird?”

“I don’t know, I think I feel like I helped them observe you.”

“They’re already observing me, why would it ruin our bond? Did you not want to?”

“No, just wanted to make sure I didn’t break anything.”

“You’re fine, we’re still intact.” He said it so plainly, like he was stating a fact. 

It all seemed to come so easily to him, his biggest problem was being locked up in this place. Much of what he did seemed like it was based on instinct. There was less thinking required that way, it seemed nice. 

He did, however, seem concerned about something.  “You didn’t finish.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden change in topic. “That wasn’t really the point.”

“That’s always the point, making each other feel good. That’s what mates do.”

You mulled the word over in your head. Mates. Is that what he meant when he talked about your bond? Is that what you were? It didn’t feel right, like it couldn’t be a title that belonged to you. Surely you hadn’t earned that as you kept him here, trapped against his will. 

“What does that mean to you? Being mates?” you asked. 

You were afraid of giving intel to the scientists running this place but you wanted so badly to understand what that word meant to him, what you meant to him. 

As he spoke you started to feel woozy and your ever-present headache worsened. You leaned on the wall beside you as you tried to focus on his words. He reached out his arm to help you before quickly withdrawing it, remembering that he wasn't allowed to touch you or he could lose you. 

The dizziness got worse, despite your attempt to take some of the strain on your legs and you went to sit on the floor. You went down faster than you’d intended, your legs giving way underneath you as the headache overtook you and you hit the floor hard. 

When you woke up, your back was pressed to the wall and you were sitting on top of some blankets. The pile of blankets in the corner of the room, to be more specific. You were fairly sure you’d passed out across the room and you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d gotten over here.

As you cracked your eyes open, you saw subject 251 standing over you defensively. The food you’d brought him was still sitting at the end of the makeshift bed, completely untouched. That was odd, he normally ate it right after you left. Although, you supposed, you hadn’t quite managed to leave yet. Nonetheless, it did feel like a significant chunk of time had passed. 

“Hey,” you said, your voice low and wavering from your bout of unconsciousness. “You keeping me safe, big guy?”

A rumble came from deep in his throat as he continued to stand over you protectively. 

“What time is it,” you asked, trying to gather your bearings. 

“You’ve been out for a few hours,” he informed you. “They’ve been trying to get to you.”

Shit. Of course they had. You’d passed out next to what they considered to be one of their most dangerous creatures, of course they’d been trying to get to you, to get you out of there. 

As you tried to get up with a groan, he settled down next to you, pulling you back towards the blankets. You didn't try to fight him, knowing you didn’t have the strength to get up right now. You needed rest more than anything.

You quickly realized as you felt his warm fur next to you that this was the first time the two of you had ever touched one another. 

He’d always been good at following your rules, even if he wasn’t particularly fond of the scientists, and thus he’s always kept his distance, just as you’d informed him he had to. 

But now, after you’d collapsed, vulnerable, in front of him, you appeared to have found his limit in regards to following the rules. 

The beep of the intercom sounded and you heard a monotone voice fill the room. “We understand this is a delicate situation and we trust your instincts on the matter, if you need any kind of aid we have teams ready to go. Our first priority is your safety, do you have a way out of the enclosure?”

Your safety? After a moment it hit you what they were implying. 

“Don’t worry about me,” you called out. “I’m fine. If anything's going to kill me it’s whatever this damn lab has done to me, not this guy.”

The intercom beeped off but you knew they were still listening. 

His gaze immediately turned to you, his face questioning. “What did you say? Is being here killing you?” he asked, his voice soft and measured. 

You’d avoided mentioning it for so long, not wanting to worry him, but now you didn’t really have a choice. “I don’t think this place is good for me bud. To be honest if it weren’t for you I probably would have left ages ago but I just can’t stomach the idea of leaving you here alone.”

His head cocked to the side. “It’s… hurting you?”

A wry chuckle escaped you. “Well, something certainly is. People don’t typically faint for no reason.”

“Why are you here if it hurts you?”

“I can’t leave you behind, it’d break my heart.”

“You’re hurt because of me.”

“No!” you immediately replied, refusing to let him blame himself. “That’s not it, I want to stay.”

“But it hurts?”

“But it hurts,” you conceded. 

You couldn’t stand to look at those sad eyes, opting instead to shut yours and snuggle into his warm side. “Listen, we can talk about this some other time, okay? Right now I’m just going to enjoy this.”

He nuzzled right back into you, immediately giving in to your actions. “Little mate.” he purred, curling around you protectively. 

You didn’t have the heart to correct him. And maybe it wasn’t just for his sake. Maybe now, curled up, feeling safe and warm, you wanted to pretend you really were his little mate too. 

You woke up to the sound of the intercom going off once again. 

“He called you his mate,” it stated. “This isn’t an ideal scenario but we don’t know much about mates and you’re already in there and anything you might do would be extremely advantageous to our research.”

You groaned in annoyance as you leaned back into your warm, living blanket. His ears perked up as he tried to understand what they were saying. He looked to you for clarification. You were often the translator between them, the scientists always speaking in stilted language and hidden meanings that many of your creatures had a hard time parsing. 

“They want me to have sex with you,” you clarified and immediately he hunched further over you. 

“I won't let them see my little mate like that, no. Absolutely not, no no no.” The mere idea immediately worked him into a little frenzy, leaving him muttering to himself as he tried to shield you from the cameras. 

Your hand rose to caress his face and he leaned into your touch, calming down again. It didn’t take long before he fell back into place, curling around you once more. 

Being able to touch you seemed to bring out a whole other side to him. You’d never seen him this affectionate or possessive, something seemed to have been set off in him that hadn’t been before. 

Something had changed within you as well. The idea of having to return to the way things were before made you feel sick, you wanted to be able to hold him and comfort him like this all the time. Now you knew what you were missing as you stood away from each other, unable to get close. 

Even breaking the rules as you were, it couldn’t last forever. Eventually you could no longer ignore your growling stomach and you convinced him that you needed to leave, that you’d be back tomorrow. 

He told you not to come.

Your heartbreak barely had the chance to set in before he was quickly elaborating, telling you again and again that he didn’t want you to stay if it was hurting you. 

You brushed him off, at least that time. 

A few weeks later, it was your last day of work you’d ever attend. Ever since that day when you’d fainted and subject 251 had stood guard over you, he’d been insistent upon you leaving. It was quite a change from the norm, he went from being the reason you were guaranteed a job here, why you didn’t want to leave and go home in the evenings, to being the thing pushing you out. You could tell it was eating him alive, the thought that you staying was hurting you. He was obsessively insistent that you leave and get yourself to safety.

You’d never been good at saying no to that face.

So, after agonizing over the decision, awash with guilt, you turned in your two weeks notice. 

You were selfish about it. You didn’t tell him for a while, wanting to pretend that everything was fine for just a bit longer.

You let it go on longer than you should have. 

It was your last day here, the last time you’d ever see him, and he had no idea. 

You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry, for his sake more than yours, but you kept finding yourself tearing up no matter how hard you tried. 

As you opened the door to the observation room and headed through decontamination, your stomach dropped. 

He wasn’t excited this time. 

He didn’t say anything. He just looked down at you, not asking if something was wrong as you’d become so accustomed to him doing. He didn’t have to

You didn’t speak for fear of immediately bursting into tears and eventually he spoke for the both of you. 

“You aren’t coming back.”

You buried your face in your hands, trying to make sure he didn’t see you like this. You wanted his last memory of you to be better than this, to give him something more solid to hold onto.

The best you could manage was poorly stifled tears. 

All you wanted was to hug him. To lurch forwards and wrap your arms around him and never let go. 

But you couldn’t. If you did, you weren’t the one who would be punished. You couldn’t do that to him. 

You spent the rest of the day just sitting there, existing in one another’s presence. Trying to soak one another in before it was too late. 

You didn’t speak. There was little to say that wasn’t understood between you. You finally got it, that last day. You felt the pull of his grief on the other end of your bond, something connecting you.

You weren’t sure if it was something undefinable and otherworldly or just complete understanding of one another but either way, it was real. 

As you stood up to leave you searched for something, anything you could say to make all of this right. 

“You know I love you, don’t you?” you asked. It was the most important thing in the world to you right now, you just needed to make sure. 

“Of course I do.”

And then you left your mate behind. 

Nothing felt real after that. You knew you couldn't stay there but the idea of there being an after hadn’t really occurred to you. 

What were you supposed to do now? Just live knowing he was out there, alone? You couldn’t make sense of anything, the whole world seemed muted and suffocating. 

An alarm blared suddenly overhead, making you jump. It wasn’t an uncommon experience. Most of the creatures here were difficult to hold, whether it was because of inhuman strength or an unusual viscosity or any other number of oddities they held. It wasn’t your problem anymore, you thought as you gathered your things, trying to get near an exit so as soon as the lockdown cut out you’d be able to leave.

You wanted to get home and wallow, to mourn the loss of this place, of your friend. 

You were more careless than you should have been. Normally you were tactful and moved with intention but not this time, this time you just wanted to get out. That was your mistake. 

Something massive and vaguely reptilian came smashing around the corner, immediately setting its sights on you. You could tell it was in a frenzy, that it was out for blood after breaking out of its hellscape of a prison.

You couldn’t blame it, even as it came barreling towards you to rip it in two. It wasn’t the creature's fault, you wouldn’t blame it. 

It never made it all the way down the hallway. Instead its scaly feet came to a screeching halt as a wall of fur blocked its path, growling at the creature. It clearly didn’t want to test its luck and went barrelling down the hallway in the other direction, looking for easier prey to take out its wrath on. 

Subject 251 turned and made eye contact with you, looking uncertain. He used to break out frequently, he’d taken out plenty of humans when he had, but since you’d formed your little truce he’d stayed put for you.

You wondered if his breakout this time had been because he could somehow sense you were in danger or because you were leaving and he no longer had anything to keep him where he was. 

It didn’t matter. At the end of the day there he was, in front of you. You had a decision to make. One look at that big, eager face and you instantly knew it wouldn’t be a hard one. 

You reached out towards him and he instantly came to you. 

As many times as there were breakouts, the creatures rarely made it outside the facility but then again, they also rarely had the facility’s star employee at their side with nothing to lose. 

“I think I can get you out, do you want to go?” Your words were frantic. You needed to move quickly if you wanted to have any chance to get out of there.

He didn’t even have to think about his response, nodding eagerly and trailing behind you the second you took off.

The alarms were still blaring overhead, screeching and causing your ears to ring. You knew exactly which doors would have the least guarding, especially in the middle of a breakout. 

You knew all the override codes and quickly ushered him through doors that otherwise would have been deadlocked. 

As you headed out the last doorway you ran straight into a scientist, one you’d seen in passing before. 

He was clearly already panicked from the breakout, the sight of a massive werewolf standing behind you was probably not helping matters. 

“You’re going to want to let us through,” you informed him.

Behind you, the monster that they’d kept imprisoned for so many years snarled and the man looked like he might drop dead from fear, quickly sidling up to the wall and getting as far out of your way as possible. 

You’d never been so grateful that you lived a short walk from the lab. You had no idea how you would have gotten the two of you home if you’d needed to drive. Eventually it would prove to be a problem, when they inevitably came for him, but that was an issue for another day. 

He ducked his head to get inside, taking in your home before quickly moving towards your bed and stripping it of all its blankets, instead opting to make a little nest out of them on your floor. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You could give up your bed for a little while, he’d more than earned some comfort after everything he’d been put through. 

Before you even realized what was happening, you were being pulled into the small pile of pillows and blankets beside him.

The warm comfort of him by your side was more than welcome. You’d been dreading the idea of coming home to a cold, lonely house all day, knowing you’d lost your best friend. Your mate. 

Having him here was all you could ever ask for. 

“They’re going to come after you, you know,” you informed him, the thought endlessly circling your mind, refusing to die down.

He seemed to misunderstand your concern for him as worry for your own safety as he pulled you into his side protectively. “I won’t let them get you.”

You quickly succumbed to the closeness, cuddling into him in the little nest. “As long as you don’t let them get you either.”

You felt a rumble run through his chest and you couldn’t tell if it was in acknowledgement of your words or if he was amused that you thought you even had to ask. 

He started rearranging the blankets around you, making sure you were comfortable before fully setting in, manhandling you around as he sorted things out. Finally, as he settled, you ended up basically in his lap.

Then you felt his tongue lap over your shoulder, him readjusting you to best be able to lick you.

“What’re you doing?” you asked with a giggle, partly at the situation and partly because he was tickling you.

“Grooming you,” he said before getting back to work, his tongue slowly lapping over your arm. 

You let him carry on with his work, trying your best not to focus on it. He was just trying to clean you, it wasn’t a big deal. 

Still, the endless sensation of his tongue roving your body sent sparks of arousal through you.

You heard him sniff the air and your face immediately warmed, knowing you’d been caught. 

“Couldn’t smell it through the glass,” he said, nose burying itself in your hair, as if he couldn’t get close enough to you and your scent. 

“Couldn’t feel you through the glass either,” you murmured, pushing back into him.

He started slowly pulling your clothes off but the grooming didn’t cease. He needed more skin to skin contact, removing the inconvenient barriers in his way. He worked slowly, drawing this out as long as possible. You could only guess he was attempting to torture you. His tongue was pressed against your bare skin, roving leisurely across your newly exposed chest and stomach. You could feel his hardening dick start to poke into you but he just kept licking. 

Eventually you grew impatient, your hand wandering down to grab his cock. It was hot and bigger than you thought it would be, its size disguised by his thick fur. He thrusted into your hand, a whine escaping him.

Your impatience proved to be a success as he wrapped his hands around your waist and lifted you. His hands almost completely encircled your midsection as he moved you effortlessly over his dick. 

His claws were digging into your sides as he positioned you, looking to you for permission. 

You nodded and you felt the tip of his dick press against you as he pushed you down onto it. He moved slowly, giving you time to adjust as he pressed into you, stretching you open. 

Finally, you felt your thighs meet his fur, straddling his waist with his hands still wrapped around you. 

He was everything your fingers could never be. You’d never felt so full and beautifully stretched in your life. 

You attempted to ride him, lifting up as best you could, but he was too big, it was too difficult to do. It didn’t take long for him to pull you back down anyways, his hands never straying from your sides. 

“It's my turn this time. And I promise you, this time you will come.”

He lifted you once more, thrusting you swiftly back down. You could see the bump it caused in your lower stomach when he thrusted all the way in. You barely had time to look at it before you were being lifted once more. 

“Touch yourself,” he said, his movements never faltering. 

You shifted to rub your clit as best you could as he pumped you up and down his shaft, using you like a toy. You had no control over the pace, being moved at his whim. 

The loss of control was exhilarating. The sharp movements inside you touched places you hadn’t even known existed, places you’d never be able to reach on your own. 

He was dead focused on you, intent on keeping his promise. Every time he did anything that drew a pleasured cry from you he’d chase after it, finding everything that made you tick.

“Let go for me, please,” he said, thrusting incessantly into you at the perfect angle, everything rapidly becoming overwhelming. Part of you wanted to stop touching yourself to lessen some of the all consuming stimulus but more of you wanted to be good for him, to do everything he asked. 

You were too far gone to respond to his plea, your head thrown back as all the pent up energy that you’d been ignoring for so long was released. He pumped you up and down his shaft as you touched yourself, guiding you through your orgasm. 

As you came down from your high, your eyes opened to meet his watching your face intently.

“Can you keep going?” he asked, holding you up so only the tip of his throbbing dick was inside you. 

“Please, I need you, want you to come,” you begged. 

He mercilessly thrusted you down again, now only concerned with his own pleasure. He chased his orgasm and you completely surrendered control, letting him move you as he pleased, do whatever he needed to in order to come. 

“You’re so soft, so tight, so perfect.” He started rambling, sounding like he barely knew he was speaking. “Wanted this for so long, to touch you. Dreamed about this.”

“Me too,” you gasped out, his pace still relentless. “I wanted you so badly.”

His breaths were coming faster and faster and he quickly asked, “Where should I…”

You didn’t even let him finish. “Inside”

He buried himself fully inside and you could feel the base of it swelling just inside your entrance, holding you two together as he filled you. He whined and grunted and held you as close as he could as the sticky fluid flooded your insides

“You’re going to be stuck like this for a while,” he said as he came down, still cradling you close to him and almost sounding sheepish.

“Good, I like how you fill me up.”

The words pulled a soft, instinctual thrust from him and you both whined at how sensitive you were.

“Stop flirting,” he hissed into your hair, hands resting on your hips, keeping the both of you from moving. 

“For now,” you conceded.

“Thank you,” he said, his hands roving over your form, claws lightly being drawn over your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“For what?”

“For everything. For saving me.”

“The breakout was mostly you bud, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His grip on you tightened, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers despite the fact that you were tied together and you couldn’t go anywhere even if you wanted to. 

But of course you didn’t want to. If you had anything to say about it, you wouldn’t be leaving him for a long long time. 

You didn’t know how you were going to move forwards, where you’d take him, how any of this would play out. Maybe they wouldn’t want to chase him down, it being a hazard to try and catch a creature that had been such an issue even when they were holding him in their specialized facility. Maybe it’d take years for them to give up. Maybe they’d never stop chasing him and you’d have to keep running and fighting for the rest of your lives. Maybe they’d catch you and all this work would have been for nothing. 

But it wasn’t nothing, you thought, wrapped up in his arms in the little nest of blankets he’d built for you on your floor, no looming goodbyes or rules against touching, no more being alone. Whatever happened, it was already worth it.

[f1girliefics]

In Love with a Red Flag

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: To say that you hated him wasn’t accurate. But you didn’t like him. He was exactly the type of guy you kept a distance from. And yet, he will be the closest to you.

A/N: I realise this idea is not unique, shout-out to all the other amazing writers who wrote a similar piece!

“Ferrari PR team came up with a solution to solve the problem. Together with the Mercedes PR team, we agreed that the best course of action would be to have you and Charles play pretend.”

You looked at Toto in disbelief. 

You and Charles? Play pretend?

You knew that due to Ferrari’s latest issues with their cars, along with Mercedes’ own issues became such an issue that the teams began to lose fans.

So, PR being PR sat down and came up with a wicked idea.

Having you and Charles date, well, fake date. 

According to both teams, you would become the next phenomenon and the fans would come right back.

All Toto could do was simply nod.

You let out a long sigh.

You have always tried your best to avoid Charles. He was exactly the type of guy you kept a good distance from. You knew about his method of dating. 

The women he dated and how often he changed girlfriends. It was a huge red flag. 

Much like his car, red all over.

You turned and looked at Charles who was just as surprised if not more than you. 

“I will be looking forward to working with you, Charles.” You said with a smile as you looked at him. 

You were on a yacht with him.

Soft launch as the teams called it. They knew the paparazzi would be watching. All you had to do was to act all lovely-dovely but not do too much.

You two being on the same boat would be enough.

With an ice cream in one hand, you headed to the deck, trying to get a little tan during your weekend off.

Charles soon joined you, sitting down next to you, you moved a bit closer to him.

“There’s a guy on the boat in front of us, he has a huge camera, and yet he thinks we didn’t notice him.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Charles smiled and so did you. “You know last year… in Hungary… you had that press event with the fans.”

“Oh, yeah! That was fun, I even wore a traditional dress. Kalocsai, I believe it’s called.”

“That one, yes. I remember, what about it?”

“I remember you being so… beautiful.”

“Thank you. But where did this come from?”

“You avoid me. I noticed you avoid me and Carlos. Why? Do you hate Ferrari that much?”

“Red is not really my colour.” You say, avoiding his eyes. “Especially not red flags.” You said before you got up and headed into the yacht. 

The paparazzi sure got a nice picture.

The same afternoon, you were all over the news. You did it. One step closer to the finish line.

You thought of this as if it was another race.

You just had to get to the finish line. This time around, you didn’t care about the placements.

You just wanted this to be over with.

The next time you had to go out with Charles was during a charity event. You were given a beautiful silver dress to wear while Charles was in a black suit.

He looked good. Probably way too handsome for his own good.

You didn’t like how he didn’t make it easy to keep a distance. He was kind, attentive, and really fucking handsome.

He had an arm around you at all times.

“I will bring us something to drink.”

“A gin tonic would be lovely.” You replied and he nodded.

This was the only time he let you out of his arms. And if you were honest. You kinda missed it.

No.

This can’t be. 

You cannot fall for him. You will not!

Toto walked over to you, complimenting your dress and dedication.

“This little PR thing works like a charm. Our team gained almost half a million new followers since last week.” Of course that is all he would care about. For now, at least, Toto had a sweet spot for you so it was only a matter of time for him to save you from this.

Fans come and go.

But your contract with him was clear. And even without that, he liked you very much. He often said you are like a younger sister to him.

“Good to know at least the plan worked.” Was your reply?

“And what about you and Charles?” He asked and you were a bit taken aback. “You two play your parts a little too well.”

“Oh please, like I would fall for a guy like him.” You replied and took a sip from your glass.

Toto only laughed a little. 

You however failed to notice that Charles heard everything you said.

He simply paid his part and handed you your new drink.

On your way back home, Charles was sitting in the back of the limo with you.

“What did Toto say to you?” He asked suddenly and you turned from the window to look at him.

“He said our teams gained a lot of new fans. He looked excited about it.”

“Anything else?” 

“Hm?”

“Did he ask about anything else?”

“No, he then just started to talk about the new sponsors.” 

“I see.” Was his simple reply. 

The next planned date was a dinner in a restaurant.

You got to wear casual clothes and feel like a human again. 

You planned on eating possibly the best food you can find.

So you ordered a nice juicy hamburger with fries and a huge lemonade. Then you ordered a steak with mashed potatoes.

Charles looked rather impressed that you could eat so much.

If you were honest, you had a great time with him. You two were talking a lot. He showed you a side which not many people could see.

“Can I ask you something?” He said, suddenly becoming very serious. 

“Sure.”

“When you were talking with Toto last week, you said something which really stuck with me. You said you wouldn’t fall for a guy like me. What did you mean by that?”

“I-“ this took you off guard. Should you be honest? But you also didn’t want to lie. “Everyone knew about your dating life. It was no secret and… it is a huge red flag.”

“Red flag?”

“Yes. You date one woman then you date their friend… it is a red flag.”

“And that’s why you avoided me?” 

“Yes.” You said right away, which probably wasn’t the best.

You could see your words hurt him. 

You wanted to say something else but then he suddenly stood up and excused himself to the bathroom.

You should have said something. 

But you didn’t. And it hunted you for the upcoming weeks.

“You did good, Y/N. P3!”

“Thank you, Toto!” You drove another round, smiling and waving at the fans even if they couldn’t see you. 

Max, P1, Charles, P2 and you, P3. It was a good race.

But you felt so awkward around Charles.

As they took you to your interviews, you suddenly stopped Charles.

“Charles.”

“We have an interview to do.” He wanted to walk away but you caught him.

“I misjudged you. I wanted to tell you back at the restaurant. I misjudged you. I had a great time with you, even if it was all pretend. I needed you to know.” Your assistant came to get you to see why you weren’t coming, so you headed to the interview.

Charles soon followed you. 

You had one week left.

One week of fake dating.

The last seven days. 

Why did it make you sad?

You should have known, but ultimately, you fell in love.

You fell in love with a red flag.

And you wanted to tell him, but how?

It was all too much.

For the last week, the teams came up with a simple idea, something to give a base to your upcoming breakup.

It was meant to be easy.

You should act like you hate each other, possibly even argue a little here and there. You two should look like you two hate one another. 

But, it didn’t exactly go as planned.

You smiled too much, you laughed too hard. It didn’t look like you were a couple ready to break up, you looked like the exact opposite. 

You were a couple fully in love.

At least you were.

You two ended up in a café, enjoying your coffee and tea while you had a small conversation. 

“What you said, before the interview last week. I understand how my actions can seem, and how my dating life looks from the eyes of an outsider. It looks bad… very bad and I don’t blame you or anyone for thinking that way about me. But I’m thankful for your kindness. It took me a while to realize that I used to do those things because none of them was the one I was looking for. But you… you are so different from them. I understand this might be sudden but I cannot be the only one who feels this way.”

“You are not.” You interrupted him, hoping to ease his inner dilemma. You smiled at him as he visibly let out a long sigh. 

He moved closer to you, and you leaned into him, pulling him down for a sweet and short kiss.

You could almost hear the cameras click. Instead, all you could focus on was his scent, his smile and his taste.

You sat back down in your chair, enjoying the sun, smiling.

The next day you broke the news to your teams. Toto was the first to congratulate you. 

He knew, of course, he would. He knew you and Charles would end up together. One way or another.

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[angstmachine-rw]

Can I talk about this image from Rivulet's ending for a second?

(edited to add a break because the post is very Long TM)

If Five Pebbles knows that you are delivering the Rarefaction Cell, Moon pulls this message up alongside the dialogue;

"I cannot run away from my mistakes forever; Please understand." Five Pebbles, what have you done… I've been given so much already, and now you've given all you had left.

Based off of Moon's dialogue, this seems to be an inbox of some sort. We can assume that the orange symbol is basically Five Pebbles' profile picture. Which would mean that the pictures to the side are unread messages from other iterators, some more clear than others.

Based on what we know of other iterators, it is probably safe to assume that the green diamonds are No Significant Harassment, while the red sun is, well, Seven Red Suns. We also see that Pebbles' message got greyed out when Moon opened it. Now, this is all well and good for understanding another aspect of how iterator communication works, that being that they can basically send emails to each other. However, that brings up a few questions; one, who the hell is this blue iterator?

This iterator's symbol is a bit different from the rest, seeming to have the third and fourth karma symbol in their profile picture, alongside a diamond in between. There are three possibilities in my mind. I'll go from most likely to least likely:

This is Chasing/Grey Wind, trying to check up on Moon before or after her collapse. This would make sense, based on their dialogue in the pearls.

This is Unparalleled Innocence. Despite being a jerk to Pebbles, perhaps they checked on Moon at some point.

This is Looks to the Moon, sending a message to herself, perhaps in hopes of using the inbox as a secondary form of memory if she is able to access it. The inbox has at least lasted all this time, for as long as the broadcast networks have been down.

My second question would be; what is the content of the messages from Sig and Suns? I believe that, for Sig's messages, they're the broadcasts that we see him send to Moon before her collapse. However, they could also be Sig's attempts to get the slag reset keys to her without needing his messenger to do it.

As for Suns, they could be apologizing to Moon for what had happened. After all, they were indirectly responsible for her collapse.

I suppose my ultimate takeaway from all of this is; I like getting a glimpse at what iterators can do, and how they interface with each other and the world. I also enjoy speculating about trivial things, lol.

Anyways, thank you for reading my ramblings. It means a lot. Now, though, I must return to my work (aka calculus homework :P). Have a good night y'all!

[lilacargent]

Soooo first post ever and it is because i have gone down the #humansarespaceorcs rabbit hole, and my train of thought was:

Yes humans are weird and do strange things to survive. But more specifically we do weird things to our surroundings to survive, many different things.

What if, it has been a decade or two since the humans joined what ever coalition or council of aliens that work together and as a species they are mostly well known for their ability to grow crops under the worst circumstances (soil, climate anything) ofcourse the other deathworld apex predator human traits make the rounds but over time they seem to assume we cannot surprise them anymore.

Everyone knows that if a planet is ‘owned’ by a certain species they have to pay tax to the coalition, so planets that aren’t particularly useful are undesirable.

This particular planet p-jx-5£2 has been moved around endlessly, given with trade deals to get rid of it. P-jx-5£2 is 97% water, with a very high salt level so inhabitable for all developed aliens. Even though the atmosphere is a nice oxygen base and the gravitational pull allright most for the coalition members the fast spinning moon and the planets quick pace around its sun make the water move and tides switch every 2.5 hours keeping no land dry outside of low tide.

~~~~~~~~

The tall Avian alian il’trexz was elated this day was going to be great, a trade deal with the hardy humans and getting rid of a useless money drain, they didn’t have a clue what they were signing up for!

Turning towards the much smaller bipedal species standing in front of the window looking down on the blue planet that just came into their possession the strange creature mumbled something to them selves, frowning Il’trezx asks ‘im sorry what did you say, you spoke but the translator didn’t pick it up?’ The human (Steve) turned to him away from the window ‘my apologies, i was talking to myself, i said that we had to send the dutch.’ Il’trezx looked befuddled ‘the dutch? Is that some kind of animal?’

Steve threw his head back and made a series of sounds that ruffled the Avians feathers and had he not known it was a laugh it would have made him run for the hills ‘HA I’m going to tell Andreas you said that, no the Dutch is what call people from a country on earth that specialise in these kinds of climates, they’ve been begging for a challenge since they stopped the flooding on the umavi home world.’ With feathers puffed up Il’trezx wonders ‘and they are going to do what? This is an impossible planet’ immediately clasping his beak he looks a the human to see if he seemed angry at being swindled, but to his surprise Steve just looks at him ‘hm so you believe we can’t use this planet. Allright let’s make a bet.’ Interested Il’trezx leans in closer ‘what kind of bet?’ A predatory grin spreads on the bipedal aliens face ‘if we make less of this planet than the amount of tax we have to pay over it we will cover all trade costs for this quarter, insurance, travel all of it.’ Eagerly Il’trezx starts nodding ‘but’ Steve keeps going ‘if we do make more of this planet you will do the same.’

The bet is put onto paper and the higher ups of both parties also agree. In 5 years the Avians would be back and they would balance the costs to the benefits. When they departed Il’trezx says too Steve ‘you must have a lot of faith in these “dutch” ‘ the man grins teeth bared ‘ofcourse, after all they conquered water before’

The five years pass and stories have been going around of a new energy supplier from the humans, producing enough energy to run 78% of their ships and several facilities. Nobody seems to know where it is coming from but no new pollution is measured in any of these facilities. None of this bothers the Avians, after all humans come up with new things all the time.

The five years are up and Il’trezx is invited to the planet with a group of advisors and other officials, the planet which apparently they have renamed to ‘posy’ which is supposed to be short for some kind of sea god from their olden days.

On arrival the amount of coming and going baffles them massive groups of ships docking or docked and all somehow attached to wires that run into machines.

The planets change alone was awe inspiring, two cities on opposite sides of the planet and what seems like millions of weird blades attached to high poles every where. Strange wheels and long walls between towers rising from the rapidly moving waters.

This… this was their new energy source. They somehow made a battery of this uninhabitable planet and then built a home.

On the meeting place Steve is waiting with a man slightly taller than him. Spreading his arms the smaller human says ‘welcome to Poseidon, this is Andreas our main mechanic here. He has been here with planning since orbit 1.’

After the introductions were done Andreas led the group through what they called the Northern city and showed on his device the steps it took to get a foothold and how they proceeded from there, mentioning that many of these steps his home country had used thousands of year ago to gain land from sea, and energy from the movement of water and air. They specialised in this form of terra forming and it showed.

The Avians were astounded, not having realised that there was more than one kind of way the Humans had battled their environment even beating back the waters of their world.

Without a doubt the humans had won the bet and had another legend added to their name. More and more humans showed that with the right motivation they could settle right about anywhere.

********

So yea… my stupid little idea. Hopefully someone will enjoy it. I just liked the idea of specific cultures and stuff. specialising in certain things.

Edit: im amazed people seem to like it! If people have ideas or other cultures they think would baffle aliens, im certainly willing to try and write something

[thisisnotthenerd]

the ratgrinders' potential levels

cannot believe i was right about the xp reqs. the bad kids & the seven get 'special treatment' (milestone leveling and saving the world), while others have to work with xp. which tells you a lot about why people fled during prompocalypse.

ok getting into the algebra now: the rat grinders have gone into the far haven woods every day for the last two years, for 3 hours after school, and 9 hours/day on weekends. presumably they keep this up during the summer.

they have supposedly defeated 80,000 or more of three types of creatures: rats, spiders, and twig blights. there are some variations to what these could be, so here's a list of what this could encompass, assuming the ratgrinders are not facing creatures over CR 1.

giant rat: CR 1/8, 25 XP

swarm of rats: CR 1/4, 50 XP

giant wolf spider: CR 1/8, 25 XP

swarm of spiders: CR 1/2, 100 XP

giant flying spider: CR 1, 200 XP

giant spider: CR 1, 200 XP

ice spider: CR 1, 200 XP

twig blight: CR 1/8, 25 XP

needle blight: CR 1/4, 50 XP

thorn slinger: CR 1/2, 100 XP

vine blight: CR 1/2, 100 XP

razorvine blight: CR 1, 200 XP

thorny: CR 1: 200 XP

the full list is a little difficult to do calculations on, so let's condense it. assume a quarter of the 80000 creatures were CR 1/8, a quarter were CR 1/4, so on and so forth.

how much xp would they earn? how much would they level for the amount they ground? grinded? for?

critical assumption here: in the games i've played, we've always done milestone or zeroed out xp with each level, i.e. after earning 300 xp to get to level 2, you have to earn 900 xp to get to level 3, not 600. this analysis assumes that you have to earn the next levels xp reqs on top of your current total. i'm including the xp chart here to clarify:

level 1: 0 XP, +2, total 0 XP

level 2: 300 XP, +2, total 300 XP

level 3: 900 XP, +2, total 1200 XP

level 4: 2700 XP, +2, total 3900 XP

level 5: 6500 XP, +3, total 10400 XP

level 6: 14000 XP, +3, total 24400 XP

level 7: 23000 XP, +3, total 47400 XP

level 8: 34000 XP, +3, total 81400 XP

level 9: 48000 XP, +4, total 129400 XP

level 10: 64000 XP, +4, total 193400 XP

level 11: 85000 XP, +4, total 278400 XP

level 12: 100000 XP, +4, total 378400 XP

level 13: 120000 XP, +5, total 498400 XP

level 14: 140000 XP, +5, total 638400 XP

level 15: 165000 XP, +5, total 803400 XP

level 16: 195000 XP, +5, total 998400 XP

level 17: 225000 XP, +6, total 1223400 XP

level 18: 265000 XP, +6, total 1488400 XP

level 19: 305000 XP, +6, total 1793400 XP

level 20: 355000 XP, +6, total 2148400 XP

if we went cumulatively, based on the number of creatures the bad kids have defeated, they'd be getting up there in xp. we know they've had opportunities to defeat creatures outside of the quests that we've seen, given the oneshots. thus, i'm going with the second explanation, because otherwise the ratgrinders would be 19th level, and i don't think they are, because it would make any pvp setups super unbalanced, which are neither fun to play nor watch. this puts them on a little more even ground and emphasizes the amount of work it takes to xp grind to level against milestone leveling.

for the CR 1/8s: assuming roughly 20,000 creatures, they'd get 25 XP per, which means 500,000 xp. that's cumulatively enough to get to level 13, on just those creatures. divided 6 ways, assuming the ratgrinders have 6 members, it's 83,333.33, which is enough to get you to 10th level cumulatively and 8th non cumulatively.

this scales up to the 1/4s, 1/2s and the 1s since the xp gains double for each challenge rating rather than plateauing as they do at higher levels.

for the CR 1/4s: 1,000,000 xp. that's cumulatively enough to get to level 16 on just those creatures. divided 6 ways, assuming the ratgrinders have 6 members, it's 166,666.66, which is enough to get you to 15th level cumulatively and 9th non cumulatively.

for the CR 1/2s: 2,000,000 xp. divided 6 ways, assuming the ratgrinders have 6 members, it's 333,333.33, which is enough to get you to 19th level cumulatively, and 11th level non cumulatively.

and for the 1s, 4,000,000 xp. well over what you'd need to get to level 20, on just the CR 1s. divided 6 ways, assuming the ratgrinders have 6 members, it's 666,666.66, which is well over 20th level cumulatively, and 14th level non cumulatively.

using this estimate and adding all of this up, each member of the ratgrinders would have gathered enough xp to be level 20 cumulatively, and level 17 non cumulatively.

obviously the actual numbers would scale differently; initially, they would likely have to tackle these creatures as a party, but over time would take care of them individually. this is a bunch of kids doing the intro to class assignment for every assignment for two years straight.

level 20 seems extreme for the aguefort adventuring academy; let's scale it down a bit. the creatures specifically mentioned are probably giant rats, giant wolf spiders, and twig blights, based on the descriptions from jawbone.

all of these are CR 1/8, or 25 XP each. 80000 would give an xp total of 2,000,000, which would put each of the ratgrinders at around 11th level, a little higher level than the bad kids at the moment. however, since their fighting prowess scaled up, and they're probably going out in elmville and actively hindering the bad kids in some way, that level is very likely to increase.

what we saw in the episode

now the sticking point is mary ann rolling a 35. we know she got some kind of transmutation buff. a little tricky wording from brennan; fabian had enhance ability on, which is a transmutation spell. he did not say it was enhance ability.

mary ann is a barbarian, so she already gets advantage on athletics if she's raging, which i assume she was. the buff probably wouldn't be something that grants advantage.

assuming the lower estimate of 11th level, mary ann would get a +4 proficiency bonus, and i'm assuming she has 20 in strength, so +5 to her strength based skills, for a total of +9. at the high estimate of level 17, she would have a +6 to her proficiency bonus, which would give her a total of +11 to athletics. this is still not high enough to get a 35, even on a nat 20, which brennan would have declared if he had rolled one. she could conceivably accomplish this with the brawny feat, which allows for expertise in the athletics skill, which would give her a +17, meaning she could hit a 35 on a 18.

or, the buff was something like skill empowerment, which is a 5th level transmutation spell that gives the target expertise in a skill that they already have proficiency in. this spell is available to bards and wizards, among other classes, both of which we presume are in the ratgrinders. ruben could have cast skill empowerment on mary ann and given her bardic inspiration (lower estimate: d10, higher estimate: d12), both of which would have enabled that 35.

judging by the implication that she could not accomplish that feat without some kind of buff, i'm going with the latter explanation.

anyway i did too much math for this to not go in the stats series, or the school series. so this will be added to the spreadsheet later.

i hope this is useful.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - mentions of kidnapping, controlling behavior, lyla is both Miguel's number stan and number one hater, and blood.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Hey, show a little faith. Have I ever steered you wrong before?” LYLA whispered, hovering just above your shoulder. You paid her a skeptical look, and she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever, but you know who programmed me! You cannot believe Miguel would be able to give me this shining sense of humor.”

That point, you couldn’t argue – even if you still had your reservations. With a deep, faltering breath, you slipped through the barely cracked door and into Miguel’s shell of a bedroom. It was dark, save for the faint red glow emanating from some half-finished electronic weapon he’d been revising and adjusting for as long as you’d known him, and of course, Miguel was still asleep. It looked like he’d made a half-hearted attempt to pull one of his thin sheets over himself before collapsing face-down on the center of his bed – which was, in all fairness, probably exactly what happened. You’d learned his routine, by now, knew that he’d likely only sleep for another three hours or so before dragging himself out of bed and back to his surveillance room. This might’ve been the first time you’d actually seen him in bed, rather than hunched over one of his many consoles or laid across a bench in one of the lesser-used hallways, having given into his exhaustion before he could make it anywhere more private. You didn’t like it. It reminded you too much of waking up in the middle of the night to Miguel looming over you, silently leering as you pretended not to notice him, even if there was a world of difference between what he’d done to you and what you dreamed of doing to him.

You stepped over the threshold, then paused. “Why am I here again?”

“Blackmail.” Miguel had mentioned off-handedly that LYLA couldn’t feel human emotions, just imitate them, but you could’ve sworn you heard a note of pure zeal in her voice. “You get the picture, I spread it around, and we both benefit.” Your phone buzzed, and you fished it out of your pocket. It was practically a brick (being locked inside Miguel’s spider-fortress meant you were blocked from contacting anyone outside of that fortress, apparently), but you still liked to keep it nearby. In the futile hope that you’d be able to call someone, anyone if you did ever make it out of Miguel’s reach, one day. “He still hasn’t gotten over the 2099-Burger. You’ve seen it, right? That was some of my best work, you should’ve seen—”

You shushed her, and LYLA flickered out of sight before reappearing on the foot of the bed, a polaroid camera now hanging from her neck. Slowly, carefully, you moved forward, only to pause when you actually reached Miguel. He wasn’t wearing anything, because he never wore anything aside from his nanotech and maybe a threadbare pair of sweatpants, if you caught him after a shower. It’d been too long since his last haircut. It was already splitting at the ends, fighting against his half-hearted efforts to comb it back and falling over his face, distorting part of his (relatively) peaceful expression. Even unconscious, he was frowning, but the dark circles under his eyes were less pronounced, his lips contorted into something that was more of a pout than his usual scowl. No wonder LYLA wanted a picture. There had to be more than a few Spider-People who’d want proof that their irritable leader could be something other than angry.

Half stalling for time, half trying to talk that better taste off of your tongue, you turned to LYLA. “Remind me why you can’t just take you own pictures, again?”

“Some of us are just a bunch of flashing light. Hot flashing lights, but y’know, lights.” She held up her miniature camera, and you looked away before the flash could blind you. “C’mon, you can’t say you don’t want to get back at him.”

Right. Getting back at him. This was supposed to be your way of getting back him. He kidnapped you, tore you away from your loved ones, locked you in a case of glass and metal, and you were going to help his AI assistant take a picture of him sleeping. The perfect revenge.

Digging your teeth into the inside of your cheek, you raised your phone, but before you could take LYLA’s picture and retreat back to your own room to sulk, an alarm you hadn’t set went off at full volume. You cursed under your breath, stabbing blindly at the screen in a panicked effort to shut it up before Miguel woke up, but an arm lashed out from Miguel’s heap before you could, catching you by the waist and dragging you into his chest just as the alarm mysteriously when silent. You clenched your eyes shut, bracing yourself for his claws embedded in your skin, for a growled threat, but nothing ever came.

You forced yourself to open your eyes and found that, despite everything, Miguel was still unconscious. You heard a camera shutter behind you – LYLA, her grin too smug not to be genuine. No doubt, you’d be able to see her handiwork on every screen she had access to by tomorrow morning - meaning, of course, every screen in Nueva York. “I thought you said you couldn’t—”

“He’s a deep sleeper. Very reactive, though – did I forget to mention that?” There was a pause, a wink. “Oopsies.”

You grit your grit your teeth. “Are you at least going to make him let me go?”

“Ah – flashing lights, remember?” Again, she flickered, reappearing an inch or so away from your face. “I’ll see you in the morning, lovebirds!”

You opened your mouth, but she was gone before you had the chance to protest. Still, you squirmed against Miguel’s vice-like hold, attempting to shove at his arm only for another to wrap around his midriff, only for him to pin you that much more tightly to his chest. There was a low, heavy grunt, then his nose nudging against the side of your throat, his lips ghosting over your skin. Slowly, instinctually, his fangs pushed into the curve of your neck, drawing out a pained whimper, a thin trail of blood. His teeth lodged in your throat, his body wrapped around yours, he settled against you, his breathing falling back into a steady rhythm. Making sure you’d stay where you were until he woke up – whether that was in one hour or eight.

It was all you could do to take a deep breath, close your eyes, and hope LYLA would lead you to a swifter death, next time.

[ventique18]

Papa 🐉 with triplets HCs

When going overseas for official duties, he prefers not to be cooped up in that weird iron bird creature (it's an airplane, hun). So he instead flies to the country in his dragon form. Imagine people's awe when this gigantic, magnificent creature lands gracefully, lowers his head down carefully, and out of his mouth hops not one, not two, but three little dragons. They're so tiny you could swear they're cute little dogs.

He always goes to meetings clad in heavy robes. More often than not though, his mysterious cloak has a peculiar feature: it produces three sets of giggling voices every once in a while, especially when the room goes deadly silent.

Once an hour passes though, three little tykes get magicked out of the cloak like how a bunny hops out of a magician's hat. The wyrmlings like to climb on and off papa's back and munch on his horns. Everyone could only glance in amazement at how strong their Majesty's neck muscles must be to withstand the weight.

The three siblings still have very small wings but would always attempt to fly. 🌸 always almost has a heart attack when they inevitably come crashing down from their disproportionate weight, but 🐉 would save them the last second with his magic. He'd laugh loudly and hug 🌸 to reassure them none of their babies would get into accidents while he's alive.

I say accident because the three would frequently get hurt on purpose anyway. Their parents don't understand why, but one of their hobbies seem to be beating each other up in any way they could think of. 🐉🌸 would often wake up in the dead of the night because one sibling hurled another off the bed, simply because he/she was hogging 🌸's chest apparently. 🌸's chest is their favorite snuggle spot.

While 🐉 frankly doesn't have all the time in the world, he strictly employs a 8-5 work hour like a regular person. He doesn't really mind working but ever since he's started a family, he believes this is finally his god-given grace so he'll do it properly. His spouse is very capable in assisting him so they never really had problems with this arrangement.

So he likes to be closer to his babies and feeds them personally while it's still normal. He kinda just force-feeds them mashed food with a spoon in a row though. "Can't you make it more fun? Like, open wide, here comes the flying broom!" "I am simply not a sappy person." "You feed me while saying cheesy shit though..." "I cannot very well say those kinds of things to my children."

When he bathes them, he makes them line up and dunks them into a pool one by one. When they're in their dragon form, he scrubs them with a brush like he's doing laundry.

He hangs them on a clothesline to dry them on a sunny day lmao. "What are you doing to our babies??" "What? They enjoy it." Fair enough, the little gremlins are giggling.

When 🐉🌸 gets one those snazzy refrigerators with a water faucet and ice dispenser in front, the siblings like to sit on top of each other's shoulders so they could steal ice cubes for themselves. Or lap at the running water like thirsty dogs.

Grim has dedicated water bowls all over the place because he finds it hard to pour from a pitcher, and the feral siblings actually prefer lapping from those than go to the refreshments table to fetch a drink. The first time 🐉🌸 saw this, they were so shocked they kinda just stared blankly.

"Are... Are they actually dogs..." "I do not know, at this point." "Did you do this too when you were little?" "We did not have any semblance of a pet so I do not think so." Lilia reveals later though, that 🐉 drank from the damn toilet once.

He likes teaching them all manners of things. He gets a bit too intense sometimes though, what with them failing over and over again on what he thinks to be simple tasks, so 🌸 has to remind him gently that they are not him and shouldn't ever be him. He lets up and smiles. Yes, this is what children are supposed to be.

He legitimately doesn't have any ounce of experience with fatherhood and was suddenly thrust with three, so 🌸 honestly thinks he's a bit clumsy when it comes to taking care of them. Really clumsy and callous, actually.

But when 🌸 chances upon their three babies curled up against him, with him napping soundly and still holding an illustrated book on gargoyles and their history (goodness, he never changes), they thought he wasn't so bad after all.

Thinking harder about it though, what with him carrying the weight of the country while carrying the weight of three chubby babies and a feral cat, he might be the best father ever, after all.

[aveloka-draws]

I would like to preface this with an apology for the Asgardian-sized wall of text I want to throw at you. If you've ever seen the movie Hot Fuzz, I just had a massive brain wave in regards to that recent interaction you made between the Lamb and Theon. So here we go, lots to unpack.

What I find very curious about that little interaction was how unintentionally massive its impact was. It was just a short exchange between the two but the ramifications could be severe. Whether the Lamb meant to or not, they might have made the situation for Theon significantly worse or perhaps more accurately, far more unstable and given their own current nature, that is not too surprising. Theon was suspicious that Leshy is hiding something and the Lamb says 'Do you want me to tell you what it is?'. The Lamb just confirmed that Leshy is hiding something. Now in all fairness the Lamb could be lying from Theon's perspective. Getting some kicks out of their followers and seeing the madness unfold is becoming of them. However that likelihood is vastly nill. The Lamb seems to like Theon for starters and thus would not be inclined to lie in the first place. Plus regardless of the Lamb's intents, they are the Leader. So by default, Theon is inclined to believe their word.

Thus with that statement, the situation is already far worse. Now Theon knows Leshy is in fact hiding something, and his brain can start to work the pieces out. He is not a stupid cat by any means, and he can already tell that the area of soreness relies around Darkwood. That is where Leshy seems to clam up. He already suspects they were a disciple and given Theon's nightmares, this narrows his suspicions down. If Theon wished to really investigate this down to its roots, he could go behind the scenes to attempt to acquire a tiny dot of ichor. He wouldn't need much, all he'd need is a single drop to taste. Hopefully in a dose that would not burn his insides like those of the uninitiated. Whether that meant striking a deal with a disciple or through the Lamb, who knows how. But if he tasted it he could compare it against the taste of Leshy's 'odd' blood and tell how similar they tasted. If the taste was close, Theon would have his answer and from there the harrowing realities only close in with two distinct scenarios. Bad case, Leshy was in fact a disciple of the God of Chaos. Worst case, he was that God. Thing is, if Theon was really paying attention he'd have his answer without Leshy saying anything at all.

Whether Leshy realizes it or not, he completely revealed his identity by waiting to tell Theon. Leshy waited this long to tell Theon anything, by this point they have grown extremely close. Had Leshy told Theon who he was, shortly after they met or starting getting close, the impact would be far less significant. Theon would have been shocked, gone through his reactions, and likely distanced himself. However, now they're both madly in love. By waiting this long Leshy has single-handedly sown as much Chaos into Theon's life as he possibly could, thus betraying his efforts and revealing his true nature. Theon has now an impossibly difficult situation to contend with. He has been in love with the very god that he was to be sacrificed for. In all technical details there really is no reason why Theon cannot continue to love him. Leshy would never hurt Theon intentionally nor do something truly egregious against him. However the very fact that Leshy has put Theon in the situation where he has to relive his nightmares everyday is only made worse by the inescapable chaos that surrounds Leshy. Whenever Theon gazes upon him, he knows chaos will follow. Suddenly all of his actions will enter a new light. The five-finger fillet, the midnight hi-jinks, other follows becoming mischievous. It turns from, "Leshy is just a bit out there." to, "He is Chaos incarnate." Theon, should he continue by Leshy's side, would have to live with that everyday for the rest of his life. No matter how much Leshy attempts to change himself it's impossible to escape the chaos, it's akin to commanding a Sunflower to cease being a plant. Chaos is in Leshy's nature. Asking him to subdue the chaos would mean he ceases to be Leshy. It's the classic paradox of the very thing that drew Theon in in the first place is now the most painful reality.

Whether the divorce truly happens or not, as our expectations could be subverted, Theon will never be the same afterward. He will have to find some way to make peace with the nightmares one way or another, and accept that chaos will follow him no matter how good a life he lives. It is quite fascinating too. Leshy is now responsible for damning a second loved one to Hell.

I thank you again for your amazing work and taking the time to read this.

Dont apologize i loved this i agree thank you for the asgardian sized wall of text hshsh

[macabresymphonies]

(minor TMA spoilers and general TMAGP spoilers) Having so much time to think about incidents in TMAGP due to hiatus made me realize that all of them, to some degree, contain the theme of "sealing your own fate" or "consequences of greed/hubris".

You see, while I do not believe that TMA had a consistent theme every statement was based on, the overall messege seemed to be that horrors are inevitable. Once you've been marked you cannot escape, no amount of therapy or running can release you from it. I think Michael Crew is the best example of that:

"The thing that chased me, you see, it was an arcing branch of the Twisting Deceit, taken shape to follow me. (...) And I knew within that book was something that could not only release me from my pursuer, but chain my being to that rush of wind and vertigo forever." Michael Crew in "The Coming Storm"

You cannot escape it once you've been marked, only bind yourself to different one and this marking is, most often than not, nonconsensual. Jane Prentiss would run around and infect random people, Not!Them didn't need anybody to come to them before it was sealed and Peter Lukas also tended to just disappear random people just to feed. The fears were very predatorial and active and the victims were selected based on their own fears and anxieties. This is not to say there weren't victims who failed due to their own curiosity/hubris/greed, but I think it's telling that few of the most greedy/curious people in the series, Mikaele Salesa and Jurgen Leitner, stayed largely uncorrupted by the fears not cause they avoided interacting with them, but simply avoided getting marked by them.

Now we come to protocol and every incident so far has the main subject of that incident actively engage with the horror and have one or multiple points at which they could stop and leave, but they do not. Daria went to the tattoo shop on her own accord, Harriet wanted her husband back no matter what and even Dr Webber was described to be able to leave the garden whenever he wanted, but, due to hiding from authorities, chose to stay until it was too late for him. Every incident so far seems to have this theme of consent, characters detailing very clearly that consent was given to engage with the abnormality:

"Ah well that’s a tricky one. Sort of? In many ways he stabbed himself on me. By the time he saw the needles we were already very close. Close enough to smell his sweat and cheap aftershave. In fact, he barely had time to be afraid before we embraced. He’s terrified now of course…" Needles in "Introductions"

"The young man's interview was not exceptional as he had no experience in charity work, no driving license nor any demonstrable experience in retail. He claimed however, to know the Hilltop Centre better than anyone and as he was the only applicant in the role I elected to give him a try." Dianne Margolis in "Give and Take"

"I hesitated a moment but before I could consider her strangeness a particularly high tide of color swept down the corridor toward me. I panicked, and before I realized what I was doing I had darted inside the lift and slammed the close-door button." Terrance Stevens in "Running on Empty"

It does not matter some of these are under duress or deception, all of them contain some type of action "confirming" consent. Mind you I do not believe all the victims of of these horrors confirm consent in some way, like people who get killed by Bonzo probably didn't agree to it (though considering he's most likely a hitman, some degree of "you agreed to this by overstepping your boundaries" philosophy could be applied), but subjects of the incident very much pay for consequences of their own actions.

That brings us to OIRA itself, and how every character so far seems to actively dig themselves deeper by their own accord, Gwen wants position of power, Colin wants to figure out the system, Sam wants to know why he wasn't chosen and Alice is in it for the money (for her brother which still counts as consent). This is literally said directly to us in episode 1:

"If you hate working here so completely, you are perfectly within your rights to resign. No one is forcing you to stay here." Lena to Gwen in "First Shift"

All of this, all this horror is happening due to their own accord, curiosity, obligation, greed for knowledge or just for the money, it does not matter, the choice is there, but they delve deeper anyway. We will see how long it holds up, but I will be on the look out for this theme in the future.