#law of diminishing returns

[wonder-worker]

[Edward IV] had two healthy young sons and died peacefully, in the belief that, with his enemies dead or compromised and his family loyalties assured, they would survive to adulthood, securing the future of the House of York. That this proved not to be the case should add a note of pathos to his history which has, in fact, been conspicuously absent.

— Andrew Robert Whittle, “The Historical Reputation of Edward IV 1461-1725”

[incandescentflower]

I have finally succumb to the crazy amount of dramas airing and now have an unwieldy watch list.

Most surprising is my upcoming Wednesday night. How even.

[sennenpharaoh]

Nice try anon, but his magician has that card now.

It's in better hands, and it will stay that way.

[why-bless-your-heart]

Another storytelling rule I think people should remember is the law of diminishing returns. If you keep on ramping up the stakes higher and higher and higher, after a point it gets to where the audience can’t really care anymore.

[wyvernest]

cold nights by the fire

cregan stark x betrothed f! reader

cw: smut, piv, creampie, fluff, slightly typical-medieval sexist views, loss of virginity

summary: your soon-to-be husband keeps you warm on your first cold night in Winterfell

Ever since the war ended, nights have grown colder in the regretted absence of most dragonfire in Westeros. High and sharp winds have started growing in the North, sweeping far south of The Wall and clawing at the gates of Winterfell.

Tonight was no different. You had asked your handmaiden to build a fire in the hearth for both your comfort, but with little gain. As soon as you stepped away from the red, licking flames, the cold took over like shadow vanquishing light.

“It’s all in vain.” you mutter, defeated.

“I shall bring more furs, m’lady.” your handmaiden insists, getting up from her spot by the fire.

“Don’t.”, you chuckle, “Any more and I’ll suffocate. They’ll have to send all the guards to come looking for me amongst them come morn’.”

Your companion lets a shy laugh escape her trembling lips, although short-lived as a tall, broad shadow appears by the door. 

“My lady.” Your heart flutters wildly at the unmistakable sound of your betrothed’s voice, so gentle and concerned. “Are you well?”

Nodding for your handmaiden to retreat to her own chamber, you now become aware of your condition; kneeled on the rough tapestry, crumbled into a ball of pelts, hands above the flames. Sour shame washes over you, for having dared to believe you were one of the toughest of your family during harsh times, yet now conquered by the cold on your first night in Winterfell. 

“Cregan.” you shuffle to raise to your feet but your freezing legs aren’t eager to heed your intent. “I must admit, my northern blood has betrayed me tonight, for the first time.” 

You are startled amidst your struggles to flee from the furs as he braces you with a firm hand on your back, before his other comes around your waist, easily lifting you off the rugs. He walks back, placing you on the soft bed and sitting beside you, the covers rigid with night’s chill underneath.

“I will not have my lady wife quiver in my own keep.” He rids himself of his cloak swiftly, draping it over your smaller frame. The hastiness of the gesture makes a newfound warmth pool in your veins, reminding you of the same way he is to soon cloak you as his lady, in sight of the Old Gods. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, surprised and stunned, as you cuddle closer into his embrace. His body heat soon seeps into you, your trembling diminishing as his strong arms faintly squeeze more and more. 

‘Exhilarated’ didn’t begin to properly describe how you felt when Lord Cregan started courting you not long after he had returned from the southern war of the Targaryens. Your house is pledged to the Starks, but with the safety of the North now secured, he did not deem it necessary to strengthen alliances with marriage anymore, not when he could follow his heart so freely.

A giddy shiver rouses you from oncoming slumber, as the last slither of cold leaves your body in a sneeze you wished you could suppress. 

“Come closer.” You can feel his hot breath on your face as he moves you over his lap, his right arm running up and down your back in hopes of keeping you warm.

“Is this proper? So soon, before the wedding?” You do not wish to so easily disrespect customs and laws, but it wasn't rare that you found yourself fantasising about finally being his.

“I am merely looking after my beloved. I already vowed to shield you from harm.” You cannot tell if there was a trace of amusement in his tone or if it was just your mind jesting.

“Not before the gods.”

“The gods knew of the pledge before I could speak it. The ceremony will be held, but my loyalties will have been with you for long before.” The hold around your waist tightens, affectionate.

You look up at him, pondering your next words carefully; but before you could muster up a word, your eyes drift to his lips, only for a moment. He doesn't need a clearer impulse to proceed.

His mouth meets yours with a warm exhale that seems to bewitch you, all senses and shock diffusing into the need of being with him. Your face is hot, the skin of your waist is buzzing under his touch even through thick clothing. Your kiss is shy, despite his growing hunger. He nips at your soft lips, his right hand cradling your face, warm and calloused, yet so tender.

His left palm grazes your thigh, a reassuring safety seasoned with soft need. 

You cannot dream of stopping him. Your only concern is him ceasing at an awful time, only to return to his usual, honourable self and leave you desperate until the wedding. But he does not back away, more and more enraptured with you, the scent of you, your skin and your soft sighs. 

He kisses down your jaw, down your throat, wet, hot and open-mouthed. Your body has forgotten all about the sting of cold, leaning back onto the furs. He follows without breaking away, climbing on top of you slowly yet steadily. You moan in surprise as he begins to toy with the back strings of your dress.

“If you wish me gone, I will be gone at once, wife.” He vows.

Returning into view, he looks at you from atop, his brows soothing at the realisation that you are about to welcome him.

“Warm my bed tonight, husband.” You utter, a feather’s puff aways from his lips.

With that, he descends upon you, tasting your words on your lips, his hands cradling your liquified body like softened candle wax. You're burning up and twisting with excitement under the blazing flame of his heat. 

His hands slowly rid you of your garments, leaving you in your white shift, before slipping underneath and grabbing your waist. His touch leaves your skin aching and burning behind, his kisses mark you in a scorch palpable only to you. His touch climbs past your waist, coming to fondle the soft flesh of your breasts. Your heart beat is so strong you swear he might feel it as he softly squeezes your tit.

You shuffle in his hold, seeking to press yourself closer and closer into him, as if to become one. He indulges, himself wanting to wrap you up entirely in his embrace. Your soft breasts come flush against his hard chest, legs curling up around his waist as you receive him between your parted thighs. 

His breathing gradually becomes laboured as he moves against you, pulling the covers over you both. As he continues to caress the curves and dips of your shape, his groin brushes up against your flower and your hips betray you, dragging back up against him. With a low grunt, he frees himself from his breeches with one hand, and you pull at his chemise to fully undress him.

“Are you certain?” You inquire, out of breath.

“Always have been.” He soothes your worries with another heart-stopping kiss, sealing the premature bedding with an undoubting vow.

You feel him guide himself into you, the tip of his manhood prodding at the pink petals of your unplucked rose, claiming you. He pushes in and you gladly accept him, wet and wanting. 

“Gods, you feel amazing.” He groans above you, finally settled completely into you, before pulling back out and starting to roll his hips, steady yet hard enough to have you tensing at the sudden feeling of kindles in your womb. 

He sinks deep into you with every thrust, breathing heavy on your neck, groaning in your ear, whipping at the cold and dark of the bedchamber. You can smell the pinewood and musk on him, closer than you’ve ever been before, and it drowns out your senses, reducing you to the rapid waters of a river, bending and breaking against harsh stones of mountains, willing and united. 

You gasp out his name as the air is filled with your moans and pleas, the wood-carved bed frame ramming into the bleak stone walls of Winterfell with an echoless rhythm. 

He worships your body like you were a godly grace bestowed upon him, listening to your every sound and heeding every sign that he could do more for your pleasure. Eventually his thrusts grow urgent and scattered in between breaths, and before he can muffle your ecstatic whines with another kiss, you come, your delicate flower quivering around him, pushing him into the peak of his own satisfaction. 

You feel him throb inside, filling you with a strange, new sensation. He collapses by your side, tenderly dragging you with him. He strokes up and down your back, his breaths calming with a deep sigh.

“Is my lady still in discomfort?” He jests lightly, proud with himself and immensely content.

You snuggle at his side, head on his chest. “No. But I'm afraid I will be in need of your aid every night, my lord.”

[wriokitty]

You believe in soulmates. Alhaitham does not. It’s not as though he loves you any less for his beliefs, but he certainly doesn’t entertain your baseless theories.

You’re determined to change his mind.

“What would you do if we never met?” You ask, staring up at him with your cheek pressed against his chest.

He glances down at you, sighing as he shakes his head. Here we go, he thinks silently. “I probably wouldn’t do anything, considering I wouldn’t know you existed.”

“You wouldn’t be sad?” You frown.

“How can I be sad about something that I don’t know exists?”

“Well, you could know of me,” you insist, “just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean you don’t know I exist.”

“In that case, I probably would not do anything,” he snorts. You don’t like that answer, glaring up at him as he adds, “I wouldn’t know what I’m missing if we never met.”

“You’re a real romantic, has anyone ever told you that?” You grumble. There’s a vibration of his chuckle through his chest, right under your cheek in a soft, rhythmic feeling that you’re so used to, you think it might be familiar from another life.

Over the course of the Akademiya’s years, there have been two prominent theories that have been debunked about soulmates:

1. The law of conservation of mass-energy states that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed—but only transformed. When a person dies, their body decomposes, breaking down into atoms that return to the earth, air, and water. These atoms then get recycled by nature, eventually becoming part of other living organisms, thus reincarnating from their previous life forms. It is possible, then, that two individuals could fundamentally be linked to reincarnate together from the same set of atoms in every lifetime.

It was later debunked by a scholar named Lamiya. Atoms themselves don’t retain information about where they’ve been or what they’ve been part of. They are interchangeable at a fundamental level, which means there is no difference between an atom in a human and a rock.

2. The heart and brain generate electromagnetic fields that extend outward from the body, with the heart’s field reaching several feet. Studies suggest these fields may be sensed by others nearby, subtly shaping feelings of comfort, attraction, and connection. It is possible that certain individuals’ frequencies may naturally align, creating a sense of harmony between electromagnetic fields, thus indicating that two individuals are naturally connected and could be labeled soulmates.

This theory was later disproven by a scholar named Dharmakirti. While human bodies do generate electromagnetic fields, there is no evidence that these fields influence interpersonal attractions or emotional resonance. Fields produced by the heart and brain are exceptionally weak and rapidly diminish with distance, making it unlikely they could be sensed or create harmony between individuals in measurable ways.

They fascinate you enough that Alhaitham pulls strings to allow you access to the archived files, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how he scrunches his nose in distaste as he sifts through them himself.

Soulmates have no plausible evidence of existing, he argues.

Lots of things have no plausible evidence, yet they exist, you always argue back.

You like to think despite all the differences, you and Alhaitham are soulmates—that some form of you, outside of your physical bodies, exists for each other and each other alone.

You think it must be the case when your eyes seem to find his in a crowd without even trying. What are the odds that in a sea of people, they always happen to come across his by chance? And what other explanation would there be for the way he always seems to just know you’re staring at him while he sleeps every morning, waking up not too long after your eyes fall on his face in admiration? And how else would you rationalize the fact that you could tell his presence apart from anyone. You’re certain that if two bodies were standing behind you from a distance, your heart would know which one belonged to him.

Soulmates, you argue. That has to be the answer.

“I think we were always meant to meet,” you murmur quietly, tracing a finger along the pale skin of his chest. “Don’t you?”

“We’ve shared numerous classes together and have offices within within the same hall,” he states blandly, “I think the chances of not meeting would be rather improbable.”

“Or maybe,” you huff, “we were always meant to meet because we’re soulmates.”

“I think that theory has been sufficiently disproven—”

“You never know! We believe in the divine even if we’ve never seen them, haven’t we? Who’s to say Celestia aren’t fake—”

“The Archons have spoken of them multiple times, and The Gods, in fact, do exist for us to see, so I think we can trust—”

“Maybe Celestia decide soulmates,” you reason, raising a pointed brow at him, “how will you disprove that? There’s no evidence that they haven’t, and you can’t collect much evidence about them, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s possible.”

“But then it’s equally as safe to say it’s not possible by that logic, as well,” he says smugly.

“Fine,” you huff, glowering up at him through puffed cheeks, “I guess you’re just too stubborn to convince.”

“I’m not stubborn,” he argues (which he does quite stubbornly, you want to say), “I apply logic and reasoning to my theories. Which is why they are hardly disproven.”

“Do you at least think we’d be soulmates in another world if they did exist?” You ask hopefully.

He looks like he wants to argue about the likelihood of another world existing altogether—it irritates you enough that it pulls a frown on your face before you grumble a quiet forget it, shuffling out of his arms and turning away to face your back at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Something fond blooms in his chest, like a fresh padisarah in May.

“If,” he emphasizes as his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest once more, “if in another world we existed where soulmates were real, then yes. I do think it would be you and I.”

“Really?” You ask quietly.

“Yes,” he whispers. Suddenly, he sounds rather sure about a theory he never even believed in the first place.

“I wonder what we’re doing in that other world,” you hum thoughtfully.

He sighs, bringing the blanket back up to cover both of your bodies and mumbles, “I would hope we’d be sleeping at a reasonable hour before a work day.”

—————

Stay tuned for them being soulmates after all in another world *wink wink* ;)

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: A Human’s Oath

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The Praxis Prefecture was one of the few galactic powers that held on to the notion of kings and queens even as they reached the star faring age of their people. Praxians were largely bipedal species much similar to humans save for their skin being varying shades of crimson and their eyes cold black.

Every few years they would hold a series of games meant to entertain the masses of their realm and dissuade them from thinking about their diminishing lifestyle. At the end of these games was the creme de la crème event known simply as “The Gauntlet” which was the main focus for all who attended.

Comprised of a series of brutal and harrowing challenges, with some even resulting in death should one fail, the reward for passing through “The Gauntlet” and reaching the end alive was the most special prize one could ever dream of; a royal wish granted by the reigning family themselves. A winner could ask for anything should it be within their power, not go against the laws of their realm; nor impact the royal family themselves. That last one was instituted after several winners tried to directly marry into the royal family as their prize.

It had been several long years since “The Gauntlet” had produced a victor and many this year were expecting the same. The bodies quickly began mounting as contestant after contestant failed and died during the trials which only further scared away the previous applicants until only one remained; a lone alien hailing from a species that identified themselves as “Human”.

This seeming paragon proceeded to survive challenge after challenge with nary a scratch on them as they edged ever closer to the end of the deadly encounters. When the final Gorgonuk lay dead, its head caved in from repeated blows from a common rock, the human stood victorious to the cheering throngs who had watched their journey.

A hush fell over the crowd as the royal family descended to the human atop their floating platform and congratulated their victory.

“Name your wish.” The elderly king said.

Without hesitation the human replied “I wish for a place in your honor guard.”

The crowd was silent; perplexed by the insanity of the human’s wish. They could have asked for a fortune so vast it would take three dozen generations to spend, or be given an entire world to rule as a king in their own right, even should they have a darkened heart ask for every first born to swear loyalty to themselves; yet they had instead asked to join the royal family’s personal guard.

No human had ever joined the honor guard as it had been an institutional rule that only Praxians could join. However, this rule was not an official law and as such did not violate the rules of agreement for the wish granting.

“Very well,” the king spoke, “kneel.”

The human dropped to one knee as the king withdrew a slender sword from his cane.

“By the decree of flesh and blood,” the king began as he stabbed the right shoulder of the human and withdrew it dripping with blood, “do I bind you to my family’s service, until the end of time itself. Arise now, and take your rightful place.” The human rose to their feet, blood running from their shoulder wound and gathering as a small puddle at their feet, and nodded thanks to the king as the crowd cheered once more.

The oath had been made and accepted.

 With that climactic ending the games were finished and the realm returned to their day to day lively hoods. The human was inducted into the ranks of the honor guard as was promised and immediately began training.

It was a grueling affair made worse by the general disdain the present honor guard held towards the human. Many had spent their entire lives in service to the royal family and had descended from long family lines whose loyalty had stretched back to the founding of their galactic realm. Yet now here stood a common cur in their eyes, who won their place by sheer luck.

Days of training became weeks, weeks became months, and then finally months became years until finally the human was deemed ready and was given a suit of royal power armor.  Armed with the latest weaponry, armor, and generator systems; the royal power armor turned any individual into a walking tank capable of leveling entire armies by themselves.

Though the human was jubilant at finally donning the armor, times outside the palace were far from pleasant.

The wealth and prosperity of the kingdom had fluctuated greatly and the common citizen now openly questioned the wisdom of their rulers. Some even dared to openly ask if they needed a royal family and if they could not govern themselves better.

Idle tavern talk grew to marches in the streets until one day an angry mob that stretched out to the horizon stood in front of the royal palace and demanded the end of the royal family.

What was worse was that at the head of this violent host stood several royal guards clad in their armor who had defected to the mob’s side. Within the palace the royal family feared for their safety and wept at the notion that this would be the end of their legacy. To their surprise the lone human who had won his place in their guard stepped forward and proclaimed that they alone would handle the crisis and that they had nothing to fear.

Striding outside the palace alone, the human came before the masses and demanded to speak with their former comrades. The gathering slowly parted as the traitor guards stepped forward and faced off with the human.

There were five in total, led by none other than the former leader of the royal guard Dem’va’rok.

“Stand aside human.” Dem proclaimed; their voice booming from the speakers built into their armor. “Your blood is not what we seek this day.”

The human said nothing as they slowly looked across the helms of their once allies.

“Does he speak for you all?” the human asked softly. “You would forsake your oaths of duty to your king?”

One by one the traitors nodded and Dem grinned.

“What is duty compared to needs of our people?” Dem asked.

The human’s hands tightened around their weapons.

“A question you will take to your grave.”

With a swift motion the human lashed out and removed the heads of four of the traitors leaving Dem alone. The clattering of helmets filled with severed heads echoed across the crowd as they watched the purple blood flow from the open neck wounds; the bodies collapsing like puppets whose strings had finally been cut.

Several onlookers from the crowd screamed out in horror and recoiled from the violence. From there it set off a wave of panic that flashed across the mob like wildfire until all of them were scattering across the hills. Dem could hear their screams as they fled in panic, yet his eyes lay focused on the human who stood before him.

Unlike his alien compatriots who had grown lax and slothful with their duties, the human had spent every day training hard to prove their worth and their right to stand amongst them. What had once been a glorious order of wardens and guards of the royal family had become decadent and a mockery of what it had once been.

Dem drew his own sword and prepared to face the human but was surprised when they instead drove their sword into the ground.

“I won’t need that for what comes next.” -----------------------------------

An hour later the lone human returned to the throne room followed by four leaders of the mob.

The royal family watched in horror as each of them carried a severed head of a traitor royal guard with the human carrying the bloody remains of Dem’va’rok’s head. Their gantlets were stained with still fresh blood from where the human had used their bare hands to pull the former master’s head from their body.

“My lord,” the human spoke as they bowed and presented the head of Dem’va’rok “, the fools who cast aside your generosity have been dealt with and shall trouble you no more.”

They motioned to the cowering leaders behind them. “These are some of your subjects that wish to present their grievances to you and seek your wisdom in their resolution.”

Fear compelled all of the former ring leaders to nod their heads rapidly as they held back tears of fear.

“Do not be afraid.” The human counseled them, “For our king is as wise as he is compassionate. He will hear the words of his loyal subjects, but I will suffer none of those who have betrayed such kindness.”

With that the human stepped away and the ring leaders spoke their grievances and to their surprise the king listened to them and did not have them slain on the spot. What had been the day to end a kingdom became the day of a kingdoms evolution into something new.

Not all of the demands were met, but not all were dismissed so easily. New governing bodies were formed under the king to assist the well-being of his citizens while the king remained in complete control. As a result the overall situation of the realm began to slowly lighten and improve as years went by until the loyalty to the royal family was once more shared in every dwelling.

Yet none could say if it was from true love of the king, or from the fear the piercing gaze of the new leader of the honor guard instilled upon all that looked upon them.

[spaceorphan18]

The Contessa (Polin Fic)

Rating: E for very explicitness

Summary: Colin returns home one evening to find Penelope reading his journal. She has some inquires about some undocumented time, and he tells the story of the infamous Contessa...

Notes: I've had this idea forever and just needed to get it out of my system. It's one part slice of domestic life, one part porn without plot, all of it full of love and emotions because how can you not with these two? There's a little pregnancy talk as it takes place in the months between the Butterfly ball and the epilogue.

For anyone wanting to read on Ao3 Here is the Link.

Thanks for reading!!

****

The Contessa

It’s evening when Colin arrives back at the house.  He shuffles through the door, flushed a little from the warm, late summer air, a little from the half bottle of brandy he and Benedict had finished off not an hour earlier.  It is still somewhat a foreign sensation -- leaving the family he had spent a happy afternoon with and the house he had grown up in to return to a place where the halls he now walks feels new and unfamiliar.  But it’s not a bad sensation.  In fact, he relishes the fact that he now has a place of his own.  A home.  A home for his own family. 

He grins, and it’s not just the alcohol that makes him a little dizzy. 

“Pen!” He calls out.  They spend a considerable amount of their time together but on days they’re apart, he’ll usually find her at the desk in the study.  Curiously, she’s not there.  “Penelope?” 

“She’s retired for the evening, sir.” Penelope’s hand maid, Rae, passes him in the hallway.  She points back to the bedroom. 

Colin furrows his brow.  His wife has been fatigued more often than not as of late, and it has had him concerned. “Is she well? Perhaps I should have stayed…” 

Rae holds one hand up, and shakes her head with a smile.  “She is fine, sir,” she assures him.  “And doing well for one in her condition. Besides, her mother was with her most of the day.  Nothing to worry about.  She only wanted the comfort of her bed for reading.” 

“Thank you, Rae,” he says, giving a nod to dismiss her.  

He isn’t entirely comforted.  Lady Featherington has been a source of contention recently; wanting to be at Penelope’s side more often than not.  Never in her life, Penelope has complained to him, has her mother shown her so much attention.  Perhaps it has to do with Prudence and Phillipa giving birth to two, sweet little girls that now Lady Featherington’s sights are set on her third daughter to produce the heir she so desperately desires.  And it would give Colin a slight sense of satisfaction if he and Penelope were the ones to bring that heir into being.  But Penelope’s comfort has always come first, and Lady Featherington’s unusual form of mothering is often too much.  He can only hope that she hasn’t pushed Penelope past exasperation.  

Colin is indignant as he enters their bedroom.  He doesn’t care that it’s evening, or that it might be seen as improper, he’ll head straight to the Featherington estate to give his mother-in-law a piece of his mind if he finds she’s been the source of his wife’s discomfort.  His emotions are easily bubbling to the surface but the minute he catches his wife’s reflection in the mirror, they shift from discontent and worry to… something else.  

He pauses, watching Penelope in the mirror.  After a day of being apart, his chest tightens at the sight of her.  She’s sitting, soundly, on her side of the bed, legs curled under her as she reads.  She is already in her pale, pink nightgown; her red curls down and resting gently against her bosom.  Her skin glows softly in the candlelight.  He has wondered that maybe after months of marriage if the deep desire he felt upon looking at her would eventually diminish or change but it has not and instead he has accepted that it will always be a part of him, always simmering in the back of his mind, waiting for an appropriate time to be unleashed. 

Penelope is too engrossed in her reading to look up.  He notes that it’s his journal that she’s reading so intently, a thought that brings a smirk to his lips, and he can’t help but wonder what part of his journeys has her so captivated.  She scratches a note in the margin, then continues reading, the feather of the quill lightly dancing teasingly against her lips.  He watches, mesmerized.  

“I can feel you staring at me,” she says, suddenly.  She doesn’t look up from her reading, taking the moment to jot down another note, but a smile climbs on her lips.  

Colin crosses the room, over to her side, bending down to give her a kiss on top of her head.  “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to stare at one’s wife.  Especially, when that wife is as beautiful as you.” 

He goes to move away, but she pulls him back, looking up at him with that same mix of wonder and slight disbelief she gets whenever he compliments her.  “You are really too much sometimes,” she says, tugging him down for a quick kiss.  “I am ghastly.  Bloated with child.  Sweaty, swollen, and uncomfortable…” 

Concern crosses his face.  “Is there anything I can do?” 

“I think that you have done enough,” she says.  It’s a gentle tease.  Despite any worries he has, she seems in good spirits, tenderly cupping his face as she draws him in for another, quick kiss.  “Mmmm, you’ve spent a considerable amount of time with Benedict tonight.”

It’s the alcohol on his breath.  No denying that.  “He’s a nuisance, really.  Insisting that we celebrate Gregory going off to Eaton with cards and a drink.”  He moves away, sliding into the chair near the bed and begins unlacing his boots.  

“So he coerced you into it?” Penelope asks, her eyes bright with humor.  

“Of course,” he jokes.  He’s only half in jest about Benedict.  Lately, his usually free spirited, energetic older brother has become listless.  Colin is glad, at least, that Anthony is away in India, handing over the household duties, giving Benedict something to do. Otherwise, he worries Benedict would attempt to find his purpose at the bottom of every bottle.  He tells Penelope as much, but leaves out the part that before them, before her , he had felt the same way. 

“I’m sure Benedict will find his own happiness,” Penelope says, as if she can read his thoughts.  “But what of the rest of your family? Is your mother well?  How is Eloise? I feel terrible that we haven’t seen each other much in the past few weeks.  I do miss her.”  

“Mother is good,” he replies. He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the stand next to the dresser.  “Hyacinth sends her regards.  Eloise is… as Eloise always is.  She talked my ear off about some book that she said I must tell you about.  Some horrific novel about a scientist who creates the perfect man only for it to be a disaster.  She called it a literary masterpiece, and claims that you must pick it up when you have the chance.”  

“That sounds thrilling,” Penelope says, delighted.  “Will you be able to pick me up a copy?  Reading might be the only thing I can do soon, and one can never have too many books.” 

“If it is your wish,” Colin replies.  “It does sound like an absurd tale.  But that might be the way Eloise described it.  She’s always had a flair for the dramatic in her commentary.”  

“And that is why we adore her,” Penelope says.  “I think I’ll try to have tea with her at Bridgerton House.  The fresh air would be nice and I would very much like to get out of this house.” 

“But your condition…” 

“Is fine,” she lets out a laugh.  “I am not bedridden yet.  There is plenty I can do…” 

Her eyes remain fixed on him as he undresses.  He enjoys the way her gaze lingers as he casts off his layers, preening a bit as he unbuttons his shirt and discards it onto the chair.  Her eyes are wicked with want, and after a four day disruption due to her not feeling well, maybe they could return to their usual nighttime routine.  

Pen licks her lips as he approaches the bed, but continues with their conversation.  “It’ll have to be Thursday,” she says. “Friday, my mother wants all of us girls and their husbands for a dinner.”

His trousers remain on (for now) and he comes to the bed, flopping down on his back to stare at the ceiling, letting out a protesting groan as he does so.  “Are you sure we need to be there?” 

“You won’t be forced into conversation with my sisters,” Penelope says, reassuringly.  “You can spend time with Mr. Dankworth and Mr. Finch in the drawing room as you always do.  I promise to keep my mother busy so to keep the two of you apart.” 

He grumbles, turning on his side.  In truth, Albion and Harry have grown on him some.  They’re two of the biggest dolts he’s ever known, but they’re kind and amusing and seem to have embraced him as their leader in the secret club reserved for men who adore the Featherington sisters.  It’s charming, really.  And while he much prefers his own brothers, he’s well aware he could do much worse when it comes to brother-in-laws.  

“So, you mother…” he broaches the subject carefully.  Penelope’s relationship with her mother is fragile but mending, and he treads carefully.  “Was she too much for you today?” 

“She’s too much any day,” Penelope says, though her demeanor remains light.  “She just wants what’s best for me.  She did try to force me some horrid, green drink that’s supposed to manifest a boy instead of a girl.  I really doubt it, but even Varley was swearing by it.” 

“I dare say,” Colin says, “as much as I would revel in you having the heir to the Featherington estate, I would be pleased in having a girl, because it would annoy her so.” 

“Colin!” Penelope says, chiding him playfully.  

“Well, it would.” 

She rolls her eyes at him.  “Let’s move on from my mother.  You’re right, I have had too much of her today.  Besides, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you.”  She looks down to his journal, nervously playing with the pages.  

His curiosity is piqued, and he scoots closer, trying to see the page she’s on.  He can’t quite tell what passage she had been reading, and only sees a few words marked on the page here and there.  “What is it?” 

“I have been reading all evening,” she says.  He takes a beat of pride in how fondly she speaks of it.  “Your words are beautiful.  The way you talk about the moonlight shimmering on the Mediterranean sea; the bustle of Paris and Madrid and Rome; the shady, mysteriousness of the forests of Eastern Europe… It’s like I’m really there.  I can feel it.  Only, I’ve never even stepped foot outside of London.”  

He takes her hand, laces it with his own.  “I promise I will take you, someday.  I’ll take you to see the world.  Wherever you want to go.”  He kisses the top of her hand, as if to seal his promise.  

“I would love that,” she says.  She smiles but looks down at the journal.  There’s more she’s not saying.  “There’s something else that I noticed, though.  There are some dates that don’t quite add up.”  

“Oh?” 

She narrows her eyes, as if she’s hesitant about asking.  “Here you write about Rome, but then here,” she flips a few pages forward. “You are in Milan over a week later.  And yet you don’t speak at all of the journey.  Clearly it didn’t take a full week, did it?  What happened in that time that you do not wish to speak about?” 

He takes the journal, scanning it, wanting to refresh his memory, but there had been so much that had happened in such a short time, he could scarcely remember every detail.  

“Is that when you met her ?” Penelope asks.  He gives her an odd look, unsure as to who she is talking about.  “The Contessa.  I have read all of your journals now.  Twice.  And I haven’t read about her at all.” 

Oh .  He bites his lip to refrain from laughing.  Oh, his dear Penelope.  “How do you even know about her?” 

“Lady Whistledown hears everything eventually,” Penelope explains, she tickles his nose with the end of her quill.  “I have heard stories…” 

“Lady Whistledown…” he lets out an exasperated sigh as he takes the quill from her, and places it in the journal.  He snaps it shut.  “There’s not really anything to tell.”  

“You write extensively about your exploits in Paris, in Berlin, in… every city.  And you never mention her.”  She looks at him, unsure.  “Is the reason you don’t write of her… was she your first?” 

“No,” he says easily, reaching over her to place the journal on the nightstand.  “That experience was bought and paid for.  I have told you about that already - Rosalita...” He shudders to think of his first bumbling time.  Awkward and inexperienced and very short.  But at least she had been kind.  

Penelope’s eyes go wide with amusement.  “The Spanish woman! The one you said had the delectable bosom.”  

He grins, admiring her ability to recall such details, then leans in, giving her a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, while he brings his hand up to cup her breast.  “Mmm, you know I can’t resist a delectable bosom.” 

“I will not be distracted so easily,” she says, it’s a playful warning.  “But how is it that you can boast about this Contessa to the entire male population of the ton and, yet, not tell me a single word about her?”  

He grins as he considers.  There is a reason he’s never shared this with her… And despite whatever she may have heard as Lady Whistledown, no one knows the actual story.  “Okay…” 

“Okay?” she stares at him, wonderingly.  There’s something special about the way she looks at him, so eager to hear any of his stories abroad, becoming especially attentive the more intimate in nature they are.  He once thought he’d never share such private thoughts with anyone, but she makes him want to open up, to share everything.  He could never really withhold anything from her.  Not even if he tried.  

He takes a moment to trace her forehead, her cheek, her chin, wanting to feel close to her.  He combs his fingers through her hair as he begins.  “She had red hair…” 

“Red hair?” she tilts her head in disbelief.  

“Orange-ish, really,” he says, with a small laugh, curling the end of her hair around his finger.  “Wild and fiery.  She was one of our hosts on the long trip from Rome to Milan, which did take nearly a week, now that you’ve got me thinking about it.  One of our horses had trouble and she kindly took us in.  It was a rainy night, but at least not a chilling one, and her cook made us the best stew I’ve ever had.  That evening, we stayed up to talk.  She was an impressive conversationalist.”  

“Oh, was she?” 

“She was,” he continues.  “She was a widow.  A young one.  But she knew things.  Had seen a bit of the world herself.  And I found her captivating.”  He cups her chin and uses his thumb to trace along her bottom lip.  He wants to kiss her. Wants to scoop her up and make up for all the days they’ve missed.  The desire he’s kept carefully at bay is coming front and center again, but he refrains.  

“So you talked?” 

“We did - late into the night.  The others, they one-by-one went to bed, but the two of us.  She said we had a connection and so I stayed.  And talked.”  

“Just talked?” It sounds like disappointment.  

He comes in close, cupping the back of her head carefully, as he whispers into her ear.  “There are plenty of things two people can talk about.”  

“Tell me.” 

He begins to give her feather-light kisses.  “The weather.”  He kisses against her cheek with a grin.  “Embroidery.” Another kiss against her jaw.  “The likelihood of winning at a game of cards.”   He travels down to her neck, but keeps his touch light.  

“Did you kiss her?” She asks.  

He pauses, breathing against her skin.  “I did.” 

“Show me.”  

He kisses her lips.  It’s gentle and tender and as easy as every fleeting kiss they’ve given each other over the past few months.  It’s not enough and he knows it.  

“Show me,” she says again, a harder demand.  

He kisses her harder this time, firm and strong and lingering.  It’s connecting and the heat of his desire begins to grow.  But it’s still not enough.  

“You’re holding back,” she challenges.  

“I am not,” he grins.  

“Don’t tease me,” she says, it’s almost a plea.  

“I assure you, I am not…” 

“Kiss me like you kissed her.” 

“I--” 

He can’t. As much as this had been almost a game between them, he realizes he can’t follow through with that request. Because kissing her is unlike kissing anyone else.  The gentlest brush of skin against skin lights his body aflame in the way that passionate kisses with anyone else does not.  

He pulls back to look at her -- really look at her.  The remarkable thing that he’s discovered since they’ve been married is that there are two of her.  Not her and Lady Whistledown, those are one and the same.  But there is the Penelope whom he fell in love with.  The one he’s always been in love with on some level.  The one who makes him laugh, who grounds him, who always has his best interests at heart.  His dearest friend.  

And then there is the other Penelope.  The woman who looks at him with those darkened eyes; whose lust for him is beyond anything he’s experienced with another partner.  She makes him feel raw and exposed and wanted in the most intimate of ways, even without the shedding of all their clothes.  And he wonders if he’s ever able to fully satisfy her hunger.  

“I cannot kiss you like her,” he says finally.  She looks at him confused.  “Because kissing you is an experience unlike any other.  Nothing feels as good as kissing you.” 

She gives him a proud look as she lunges at him, kissing him fervently.  And this… this is a kiss.  The world melts away, and there’s nothing but her, and her lips against his, her tongue sliding against his own, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer.  He deepens the kiss, feeling her everywhere.  

His own desire is becoming achingly apparent and if he had wanted to, he could end it all in a matter of moments, but he stops himself.  And pulls away, giving them a moment to both catch their breath.  

“This had to have happened after Spain,” she says, breathing heavily, still able to follow the narrative he had been laying down.  “And after France, as you visited Italy after both of them.  You’ve gained some experience by then, so I assume you did not stop with just a kiss.  Tell me, did she have a delectable bosom as well?” It’s her turn to tease, but she does so with the most sultry look upon her face.  

He admires her cleverness.  “Of course,” he gives, and tugs down on her nightgown, exposing her breast.  “As if I would settle for a woman with anything less.”  

He wastes no time latching onto her nipple.  She rakes a hand through his hair, encouraging him to kiss and suck and lick.  He reaches into her nightgown, to grasp at her other breast, squeezing it, causing her to moan and shiver under his touch.  

“I need more,” she manages to cry. 

He keeps his mouth firmly on her, sucking hard, as his hand travels underneath her nightgown.  Her legs fall apart, and he finds her wet and ready for him.  He’s soft at first, teasing where she would like him to be most, then pushes in with two fingers, while his thumb circles her most sensitive of spots.  She lets out a guttural groan that completely undoes him.  He never thought he’d be able to deliver such pleasure to someone else, but she closes her eyes and bucks her hips and lets him take control.  

He begins to kiss up her body as he works her, loving the fact that she has become so familiar to him that he knows exactly the right place to touch, the right pace to move, the right crook of a finger to push her over into release.  She is close, so close and all she needs is a little extra push.  “Let go, Pen,” he whispers into her ear.  “Let go, for me.”  

She screams his name as her release rips through her. He kisses her through it, wanting to feel her everywhere.  

He then pulls away, giving her a minute to come down, and he takes a moment to drink her beauty in.  Her hair is dark red across the white pillow, her breasts out and pink and raw where he’s kissed them.  Her nightgown is a knotted mess that he’ll have to untangle her from.  She has never looked more desirable.  

It doesn’t take long for her to sit up, intense and determined.  She pushes him back, giving herself a moment to free herself from her nightgown.  

“Did she touch you like you touched her?” she asks.  

He scoots back against the headboard, allowing her to undo his trousers.  “...Yes.” He lifts up, allowing her to pull them down and with a few kicks, he manages to cast them off.  

“Like this?” She wastes no time grabbing him.  It’s rough and the angle is awkward but he needs her touch.  

“Yes…” he gasps.  

“What about this?”  

“Penelope, you don’t have to…oh…” 

Her mouth is over him, sucking him down with a sense of determination he’s never seen from her before.  It’s almost too much.  

“Pen…” he says, almost losing himself over to the pleasure of it all.  “Pen, I need you to stop if…”

She pulls off, then straddles his lap.  “Did you lie with her like this?” 

“You really are still comparing any experience with…” 

“Did you lie with her like this?” she repeats. 

“No, but to be fair, we are sitting, not lying down.” It gets her to crack a smile.  “Are you sure you want to continue? Your condition...” he rubs a hand over her stomach.  “I don’t want you to push yourself more than you need to.”  

“Please do not speak to me as the mother of your child,” she says, staring at him deeply.  “Talk to me as your wife.  Your wife who needs you.”  

He nods.  “Okay…” 

They reposition some so he’s sitting on his legs.  She still straddles his lap, reaches between them to grab him, then lowers herself on him inch by delicious inch.  It is ecstasy feeling her around him, warm and tight. She begins to roll her hips, torturously slow.   He wraps his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible, wanting to feel connected in every sense of the word.  She brings her arms around his neck, drawing in for a deep kiss as they rock together.  

They pull apart, and he watches her, lets her lose herself in her own pleasure, lets her use his body for her own needs.  His body aches for its own release, but there’s something beautiful, something satisfying about watching her come undone over him.  

He senses when she begins to tire, when her legs begin to give out and lifts her up to lie her down on the bed.  

“Are you still okay?” he checks in.  

She nods.  “Don’t hold back.  I want to feel it.  I want to feel you .”  

He doesn’t. 

He begins to piston his hips, pushing into her frantically.  She moans into his mouth as they kiss and touch and get lost in each other.  There’s nothing in this world that feels as good as her, as feeling deep in her, as if she’s fully encapsulated him and they are one and the same.  There is nothing outside this room, this moment.  Nothing but her.  His thrusts speed up, become more erratic, and it’s not long before he’s pushed over the edge, spilling deeply inside of her.  

“Colin!” she screams.  His name on her lips, needy and desperate makes him dizzy and he crashes their lips together for another long kiss.  

Coming down, he pumps his hips shallowly a few more times before pulling out. He reaches between them to feel her, to touch her, to let her have her second release that evening.  Her body spasms around his hand, wildly and unyielding.  She calls out his name again, as she clings to him, letting wave after wave of pleasure wash over her.  

He remains over her as they both settle, catching their breath.  She reaches up, cups his face, runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his back. Neither quite ready to be done.  He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, sweet and gentle, just wanting one more taste before he rolls to his side, collapsing beside her.  

“Your time with the Contessa,” she says, “was like that?” She giggles as she says it.  

“Penelope…” he laughs, taking her hand, lacing their fingers together.  He doesn’t have to say it.  She knows. 

She shifts, curling up into his arms, cuddling against his chest. 

“Thank you,” she says.  Her voice is soft and sweet and the first Pen has taken over again.  “I needed that.” 

“I could tell,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  He remains quiet for a moment, holding her tight, enjoying the press of her body into his, the sweet smell of her scent she has after they’ve been intimate, the feeling of deep emotional connection that remains even after the physical connection has ended.  

“I think I’ve figured it out,” she says, a bit unexpectedly.  She looks up at him, her eyes bright and engaging.  

“Figured what out, love?” 

“The Contessa,” she gives him a grin.  “I know your secret.” 

“Oh?” 

“She does not exist,” she says plainly.  “You’ve made her up.”  

He gives her a smirk.  “Have I?” 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Penelope says, as if it’s the most obvious answer.  “There’s no real woman with fiery red hair who happens to be a great conversationalist and has a delectable bosom and can satisfy you so thoroughly.  Not one in Italy, anyway.”  

He chuckles into her hair.  “Oh, I assure you, she is very real.”  

“Real in your imagination.” 

“Real in my bed.”  He leans down to kiss her.  

“What did happen in that missing week then?” she asks.  

“I did tell you,” he says, with a grin.  “We had to get a new horse.  And then stayed for days in the most boring lodge waiting for a storm to pass.  There was nothing to do but stare at the wall…” 

“And create a fake Contessa?” she teases. 

They share a laugh together.  

“Oh, how I love you, Pen.” 

“And I love you .”  

After all of his travels, after all the adventures, he’s glad he’s there now with Penelope; his love, his best friend, his home.  He snuggles her close as his eyes flutter shut, and lets sleep take over.  

[weenwrites]

Can I have a cybertronian S/O with TFP Shockwave who’s really REALLY into weaponry and is really invested in his canon arm? Like, analysing and taking notes and asking questions about it, even manoeuvring it to look it up and down but carefully enough to not distract from his work (when he’s working at least)

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

"Ooh, a vented barrel shroud—or perhaps that's a compensator?"

Y/N leaned over his shoulder here and there, observing the new device as they strode here and there to fetch all the necessary tools to assist him with the new upgrade.

Shockwave reached for the ammunition belt and and detached it from his arm, setting the end of the cord down on the table before he answered, "A fusion of the two devices, in order to ensure that my armament works to its fullest capacity with minimal interference due to recoil or muzzle movement."

"Both in one?" They repeated, passing him a tool as he held his hand out, before laying the rest out all over the table, "Given all your preexisting modifications, I feel like you're going to get less of a return with each new change to your hand gun."

"The law of diminishing returns indeed renders the percentage of the return into an infinitesimal value." He confirmed, attaching the device with ease before tilting it here and there to observe the weapon as a whole, "As such, any further efforts to improve the firearm would prove futile."

"Would? Let me guess, you've already made some ground-breaking discovery that will drastically improve its performance, haven't you?"

"Your hypothesis is a gross exaggeration, yet you are correct." He picked a device from the sea of tools in front of him, "I have engineered a device that will increase fuel efficiency and decrease the time spent reloading the gun, thus increasing the number of shots fired per round of ammo supplied by the ammunition belt."

"And you don't have to make any sacrifices for it? No switching out parts or anything?" They asked as he simply began to install the device without a hitch.

"No, it functions in conjunction with the rest of my modifications seamlessly." He held his hand out, and naturally they passed him the correct tool he needed.

"You have to make me a gun just like that one day. I won't accept anything less if you're planning on making me your official conjunx endurae somewhere in the future." They joked.

"You say that as though I would not give you the magnum opus of my work, that notion is illogical." He momentarily set his tool down and met their gaze, "As my equal, you will be given gifts naturally appropriate for someone of your caliber. Anything less would constitute as unacceptable."

"And here people say that you don't have a way with words!" Y/N smiled bashfully, "ah, they just can't understand your mind the way I do."

[reasonsforhope]

"It was widely described as the week that India’s beleaguered democracy was pulled back from the brink. As the election results rolled in on Tuesday [June 4, 2024], all predictions and polls were defied as Narendra Modi lost his outright majority for the first time in a decade while the opposition re-emerged as a legitimate political force. On Sunday evening, Modi will be sworn in as prime minister yet many believe his power and mandate stands diminished.

For one opposition politician in particular, the humbling of the strongman prime minister was a moment to savour. Late last year, Mahua Moitra, one of the most outspoken critics of Modi and his Bharatiya Janata party (BJP), found herself unceremoniously expelled from parliament and kicked out of her bungalow, after what she described as a “political witch-hunt” for daring to stand up to Modi.

The murky and allegedly undemocratic circumstances of Moitra’s expulsion from parliament was seen by many to symbolise Modi’s approach to dissenting voices and the steady erosion of India’s democracy. She was among several vocal opposition politicians who were subjected to investigations by government crime agencies.

But having won a landslide re-election in her home state of West Bengal, Moitra will return once again to parliament, part of the newly empowered opposition coalition. “I can’t wait,” said Moitra. “They went to egregious lengths to discredit and destroy me and abused every process to do it. If I had gone down, it would have meant that brute force had triumphed over democracy.”

While he may be returning for a historic third term, many have portrayed the results as something of a defeat for Modi, who has had to rely on coalition partners to form a government. The BJP’s campaign had been solely centred around him – even the manifesto was titled “Modi’s guarantee” – and in many constituencies, local BJP candidates often played second fiddle to the prime minister, who loomed large over almost every seat. He told one interviewer he believed his mandate to rule was given directly by God.

“Modi’s aura was invincibility, that the BJP could not win elections without him,” said Moitra. “But the people of India didn’t give him a simple majority. They were voting against authoritarianism and they were voting against fascism. This was an overwhelming, resounding anti-Modi vote.”

During his past decade in power, Modi and the BJP enjoyed a powerful outright majority and oversaw an unprecedented concentration of power under the prime minister’s office, where key decisions were widely known to be made by a select few.

The Modi government was accused of imposing various authoritarian measures, including the harassment and arrest of critics under terrorism laws, while the country tumbled in global democracy and press freedom rankings. Modi never faced a press conference or any committee of accountability for the often divisive actions of his government. Politicians regularly complained that parliament was simply reduced to a rubber-stamping role for the BJP’s Hindu-first agenda.

Yet on Tuesday [June 40, it became clear that the more than 25 opposition parties, united as a coalition under the acronym INDIA, had inflicted substantial losses on the BJP to take away its simple majority. Analysts said the opposition’s performance was all the more remarkable given that the BJP stands accused of subverting and manipulating the election commission, as well as putting key opposition leaders behind bars and far outspending all other parties on its campaign. The BJP has denied any attempts to skew the election in its favour.

“This election proved that the voter is still the ultimate king,” said Moitra. “Modi was so shameless, yet despite them using every tool they had to engineer this election to their advantage, our democracy fought back.”

Moitra said she was confident it was “the end of Mr Modi’s autocratic way of ruling”. Several of the parties in the BJP’s alliance who he is relying on for a parliamentary majority and who will sit in Modi’s cabinet do not share his Hindu nationalist ideology...

Moitra was not alone in describing this week’s election as a reprieve for the troubling trajectory of India’s democracy. Columns heralding that the “mirror has cracked” and the “idea of India is reborn” were plastered across the country’s biggest newspapers, and editorials spoke of the end of “supremo syndrome”. “The bulldozer now has brakes,” wrote the Deccan Chronicle newspaper. “And once a bulldozer has brakes, it becomes just a lawnmower.” ...

“This was not a normal election, it was clearly an unfair and unlevel playing field,” said Yadav. “But still, there is now a hope and a possibility that the authoritarian element could be reversed.”

Harsh Mander, one of India’s most prominent human rights and peace activists who is facing numerous criminal investigations for his work, called the election the “most important in India’s post independence history”, adding: “The resilience of Indian democracy has proved to be spectacular.”

He said it was encouraging that an “intoxication of majoritarian hate politics” had not ultimately shaped the outcome, referring to Modi’s apparent attempts to stir up religious animosity on the campaign trail as he referred to Muslims as “infiltrators” and “those who have more children”.

“The past decade has seen the freedom of religion and the freedom of conscience and dissent taken away,” said Mander. “If this election had gone fully the BJP way, then India would not remain a constitutional secular democracy.”"

-via The Guardian, June 9, 2024

[morphids]

hi!! i just recently found your blog and i love all your hange work 🥲❤️ i was wondering if you could make a fic about detective!hange x vampire!reader ! i thought it could be like season 4 hange where they kinda lost their spark due to the stress of being commander but in this different AU and they gain it back after meeting Y/N. like there’s been many deaths being deaths being reported and hange was spending night after night trying to figure out who this ‘serial killer’ is, only to find out that it’s a vampire! this peaks hange’s interest how they build a relationship is up to you coz i’m not sure but ngl i feel like hange would offer Y/N to suck some blood from their neck for… research purposes and then lowkey be into it and then go into some smut maybe hehe

taste of copper, hange zoë

hey so…? this request eats i’m so excited!! thank u for requesting this <3 hope it’s to ur liking!!

summary: nb detective!hange zoe x vampire!reader, afab bodies!

warnings: 18+ minors and ageless blogs dni!!! explicit sexual content, poc friendly!! mentions of death/dead bodies, murder, blood (it is a vamp fic), um kinky stuff icl, blood kink, tbh hange is p canon i feel like they’d acc be into vampires fr, hange is kidnapped and tied up (sry that ep gave me brain damage) but they’re into it, vamp sex, SUB!HANGE RETURNS, age gap—r is like at least 90 lmao, hange is around late-30s (hot), restraints, fingering, munching, slight degradation, more blood!!

psa— pls don’t fuck cops irl guys, just don’t

wc: …14k … once again i have nothing to say for myself lmao

In the peak of winter, the cold had set over the local town, chilling everything within it. Plants had frosted over, grass was frozen solid and the sun seldom shone.

Hange was Chief Detective, an expert within their field. Had accomplished several degrees in a multitude of disciplines; biochemistry, criminology and law. A jack of all trades, master of all, so to speak. An intellectual prodigy.

The last few years had been slow, crime rates had lowered exceptionally. Logically, Hange knew this was a good thing, it meant that they had been doing their job incredibly successfully. But... it also means that they've been very bored, disillusioned—borderline out of a job. Their days started to merge together, the monotony of mundane tasks repeating themselves everyday left no space for the mind to expand and grow. Hange was bored, the spark they had for their field diminishing with each passing day.

It's hard to be a detective in a low crime zone. The force has been dealing with a lot of ennui lately. Again—it's not a bad thing, in reality. It's just that Hange hates being stuck with nothing to do, and resents being idle, simply forced to twiddle their thumbs.

That is, until a field of bodies starts showing up. Popped up scattered in different parts of the woods. Corpses cold, grey and drained of all of their blood. Completely exsanguinated.

"Heh—reminds me of the ol' chupacabra legends," said one of the interns, rather insensitively, before being hushed by his superiors. Reminded and reprimanded to take the job seriously.

It is curious, though. Corpses left with no visible injuries, except from two puncture wounds in varying parts of the body. No pattern to the location of drainage points, the only consistency being the total drainage.

It had been going on for a few weeks, with one body found hidden in the forest each week. Hange feels a little guilty at how much they begin to relish the thrill of an active investigation again.

Hell, even their coworkers notice. In the mornings, whilst everyone is settling into their desks, Hange hears: "Detective, you're looking well!" and "Glad to see you're feeling like yourself again, Hange!"

It's almost embarrassing, that everyone on the squad can see how much they're thriving with the new caseload. An almost unseemly sentiment within law enforcement. They just can't help it, their brain is working, synapses finally flying to work after being useless for so long as they try to get to the bottom of the new case. Even though there was minimal evidence to work with.

Meanwhile, you had moved into town a few months back. You'd wanted to blend in with human society first, get your bearings within a new location before bodies began dropping as soon as a new person moved in the area.

Being a vampire, it was easy enough to gather fake documents proving your legitimacy—false passports, IDs and new bank accounts in a rotation every couple of years. It was easy enough to compel high rank officials into signing, stamping and creating legal documents for you.

When you first moved, you were disappointed that there were no others of your species living there. Odd considering most towns have at least two residential vampires. Yet the lack of decay and death in the air tells you that you are the only one to reside there. A shame, really, you'd hoped for there to be at least one—other vampires are more fun to fraternize with, easier to band community with than humans.

So you wait, bide your time, feeding on squirrels and wild wolves to get you through for a few months until your body can't survive on it any longer. Animal blood keeps you going, sure, but it lacks the nutrition you need from humans—lacks the taste, too, frankly. Tastes like unseasoned meat that was left to boil in dull water.

You can feel your body growing frail, the muscles in your limbs chewing on themselves. The strength in your body was growing more feeble by the minute, your speed lessening. Icy skin started to feel parched and your stomach constantly feels empty. It's not good enough, you need real food.

So, you begin observing the town. Watch the residents from afar and pick out victims that would be a good source of energy and life. The limitations are already high enough, illness and disease in humans weakens their blood, isn't nutritious and takes like burnt, soiled metal on your tongue. You need healthy, hearty blood.

Preferably, they'd have little to no living family members, fewer people to miss them. Maybe they're lonely and live on their own, maybe they're a regular menace in the town—people who simply aren't going to be missed as much. Anything to prolong the bodies being reported missing and found.

So you gather your intel, and people-watch until you find that perfect person to keep your body going until the next week. Then you'd bring them to the woods, cast your enticing 'spells', enchanting voice and charming eye contact to lure them in. You weren't above using seduction as a feeding tactic. Plus, it helps that vampires have a certain allure that humans find desirable.

The sweet whispers of your voice and the elfin connection of your eyes lure them into a sense of security. The calm that encompasses them grants you time for the spell to kick in until they become a shell of their body. Following your commands, wishing to do anything to please you—pliable. It was just so easy.

Subsequently, it isn't difficult to take them. Almost unbelievable how eagerly they follow you in the darkest depths of the forest, hidden away from street lamps and passing car headlights. Not even the moonlight can penetrate through the thickness of the tree branches, nor a sliver of illumination bounce on the ground through gaps in the leaves.

It's your most perfect spot, you were quite proud of it.

There, you suck them dry. Sink your sharpened incisors into them, calming them down as you drink every last drop they have to offer. Then, once their soul has left their body, once the light has left their eyes, you plant them in different spots. A body hidden under a bed of dead, fallen leaves every week. You had the sequence down to a perfection. You'd try to be as humane as possible, but ultimately humans are just a source of food. The circle of life and all.

You've been doing this for over seventy years. A list of principles and rules had been the mode of operating you followed over the years to keep yourself safe and secure. You don't befriend humans, don't interact with them unless you have to, and you definitely don't fall in love with them. It was a lesson you had learned the hard way a few decades past. Betrayal freezing your heart and halting any attempts of connection.

Leaving behind physical evidence is no concern, the dead circulation from your heart has left you with a lack of fingerprints, a lack of dead, shedding skin cells —things human killers have to worry about, you didn't. Your body is almost in a state of perpetual permafrost, the coldness in your veins preserves your skin. It'd retained its look from the point at which you were turned. The hair on your scalp doesn't grow anymore, and neither do your nails. Stagnancy meant that you took pride in maintaining the length and lusciousness you'd carried when you were still a human, yourself. It helps you feed, after all.

It doesn't mean you didn't have to be careful about other things, though. You had to ensure you didn't make stupid mistakes, even without any physical biological evidence. You may be able to outrun humans, and it's easy enough to kill someone who'd dare to catch you, at a time—but no one could fight against an armed horde ambush if they were overpowered. Stranger things have happened than a vampire getting imprisoned. So you were careful. You didn't want the headache, too high a risk of any potential loose ends ruining your flow of life.

You've done this shit for about seventy years, so how the fuck could you have fucked up, now?

—

Hange is a damned, good detective. Their concentration is aided by the hypnosis of their own hyperfocus, the honed tunnel vision when they're on a case. Countless sleepless nights and a peculiar way of thinking. Hange truly is the very best of the very best, having solved every single case they'd ever been assigned to.

Working on cases back in their more youthful days used to breathe life into them, back when technology wasn't such a huge aspect of catching a criminal. When serial killers weren't as careful about being caught by someone's domestic CCTV. Back when autopsies weren't helped by technological, medical advancements, there had been a lot more murders then. A crazy amount of crime, here, there, and just about everywhere. Nowadays, cases are minimal, the ones that occurred were easily an open-shut case, solved almost instantly.

Which is why their giddiness was now returning to them. At first glance, no one on the force knows how to go about solving this, people working under Hange have no idea where to even begin looking. No viable evidence means there's no plausible cause to question suspects which they don't even have.

The furthest Hange got was extracting lingering traces of an unidentified chemical from the puncture points of every victim— one that Hange concluded was used to knock out and sedate the victims.

The chemical compounds were closely similar to that of the synthetic drug, Ketamine, it just wasn't related enough to be properly classified under that. Plus, the traces found on the punctures were so small, and naturally altered. It was more distinctly relative to that of bat venom, but with a distinctive non-animal chemical formation—it's unlike anything they have ever seen before.

At least, though, it cemented that this was a series of planned serial murders, not a case of multiple, unfortunate animal attacks. Someone must've developed a new drug and have been experimenting it on the locals, Hange hoped there was lead here. Ultimately, though, nothing came of it, no other traces of this unidentified substance had been found.

One night, Hange is working late at the lab, their squad had been sent home to rest for the night. Hange stayed behind, as they usually did, to keep investigating. Looking over the very same evidence they had since the beginning and getting no more results.

It's itching at Hange, this has to be the work of one person, an individual who is careful about covering their tracks, someone who is almost untraceable. Someone smart, they thought, the DNA from the killer in the punctures is simply just.. not there, like it'd vanished, and all that remains is the fleeting chemical traces.

Hange gets a hunch, that the bodies had no more evidence to discover but perhaps the clothes the victims were wearing might? All of that stuff had been sealed away in the evidence locker but no one had looked it over, too busy focusing on the bodies themselves.

On a newfound mission, Hange grabs all of the locked-up clothing from the lockers, deciding to investigate it with the hopes that there was something potentially missed during the first scans.

Lo and behold, after careful examination, there it was. So minute, it was almost missed, almost. Smushed along the cotton sleeve of the most recent victim's jacket, was plant residue. Hange swallowed their growing animation, a less than respectable way to behave.

It isn't much, but they'd take any potential lead they could get.

Deciding to extract the residue, Hange realised they were not going home to rest anytime soon—this was far more important. With the ticking of the wall clock behind them, it prompted Hange to place some of the extracts between two sterile plates of thin glass. Ready for examination under the microscope. With it being so early in the a.m, the toxicology lab had long closed, forcing Hange to look into it themself—which is fine, they tended to work faster when they're left to their own devices.

After a few rather extensive screens and tests, Hange managed to come to the conclusion that this particular plant is toxic, its oils and compounds are consistent with that of black spider lilies. A plant that is not geographically native to this area, and extremely odd that traces of it would even be found around here.

But, looking back... Hange swears that they've seen black spider lilies recently, definitely somewhere close and local, particularly on the windowsill of one specific house. A house that had been deemed uninhabitable a few years ago, had something to do with asbestos trapped within the ceiling and roof. It'd been reported unusable and was left to rot.

It should've raised some flags then, when once Hange was driving on their commute to work and suddenly that house was now back in use. Someone residing there had decorated the outside and the lights were now on. The old, unsanctioned house looked pretty again, refurbished. Hange had just assumed someone bought the place and its problems had been fixed, thought nothing more of it. But now? Things were starting to look good for the investigation.

Absolutely nowhere else had Hange seen this type of flower, certainly nowhere in this town. It's definitely a lead, they thought, something stirring in their gut, intuitive that this was something important.

At the developments, Hange began laughing to themself, almost manically. The thrill of the chase rushed through their veins.

I've got you.

By the time they had finished the tests and tidied the lab, it was already around three in the morning. Perhaps, they should've waited until the first crack of morning, but being the chief detective and having no other reasonable person in the office to warn them against it, Hange got impulsive. They wanted to at least check out the house and its residents tonight.

Maybe they should've even left a note, of what they found and who the new prime suspect is, in the case of anything going awry. Did they? Of course not! Caution was thrown to the wind, logical reasoning overpassed by their giddy excitement with each passing second.

Eagerness clearly too strong a force to fight, as Hange raced to put on their long trench coat, unlock their parked car and drove to the location.

There the flowers were, clear as day, or night, really. Perfectly cultivated and well-maintained black spider lilies, standing tall and sturdy in their vases. Beautiful plants, honestly, but oh, so incriminating. Hange couldn't help the chuckle that slipped from their lips.

Oh, I've so got you.

Perhaps a little silly of them, caught up in their own little wave, Hange ended up jumping the gun. Unlocking the car door to stand between where it connected to the body of the vehicle. An arm perched over the roof of the car as they watched. They did try to be discreet, and hadn't shut the car door with the hopes that the residence wouldn't be disturbed and catch on that they were being watched by a mere door slam.

However, you had heard the purr of a car engine long before it even reached your street, it was a loud bang within your well-attuned sonic ears against the otherwise silent serenity of the night. You had heard the click of the car door opening, followed by a light, low chuckle.

You knew you were being watched before they even began watching you.

Silently, you made your way out your back door, remaining unseen the whole time. Your movements were so quick, that no human eye was able to possibly detect even a mere shadow with the inhuman swiftness of which you moved, placing yourself behind your observer.

Biting back a laugh from behind them, you looked over their body language. This person is clearly a cop, their loud attire told you that enough, a white dress shirt finished with a tie and brown slacks underneath a trench coat. There was a subtle bump underneath their coat indicating the gun holster that was snugly hidden against their torso. A smarter cop than most, if they found you, that's for sure. But not smart enough to think to stay within the safe confines of the car, or to bring a partner along with them.

Honestly, you had expected a cop to have better survival instincts. They hadn't even noticed your looming presence behind them, predatory and proud as you smirked to yourself. Taking the opportunity to observe them whilst they thought they were one step ahead, sneakily observing you, instead.

But, fuck, if their scent wasn't divine, the exhilaration touring through their veins filled your nose. Their ample zeal emanates from their body like a radiative aura. The pumping major vein in their neck pounded just decadently against their skin; its throbbing was so minute only your enhanced eyes could sense it. The keen adrenaline in their blood makes it all the more irresistible.

Blood laced with fear is delicious, but blood laced with excitement? God, it's simply heavenly, nectarous. This is strong, healthy blood, the aroma of warm, honeyed copper pumping down their nerves was dizzying, fuck.

"What exactly are you doing?" your voice broke through the silence like honey, soft against the harsh thumps of heartbeat in Hange's ears. The detective almost jumped out of their skin, the excitement in their blood swished with the newfound fear of being caught. They turned to face you slowly, eyes wide and lips agape, confused by how someone managed to creep up behind them without Hange even noticing. Just how was that possible? They were trained for shit like this.

"I..uh... I'm patrolling the area, ma'am." "Oh yeah? You just look like someone creeping through windows from here."

Truthfully, you liked to play with your food.

The detective flushed, only realising how this could look to a passing pedestrian, but what could they possibly say? Sorry, I'm pursuing an active investigation into a potential neighbour of yours? This begged the question, who even are you and why are you out on the streets at this hour? Hange's head began whirling, a peculiar headache began to ache in their skull. The dull pain was followed by a dizzying, thick sensation in their body, making them flustered.

"Oh, um..." Hange cleared their throat, trying to ignore the growing sensation, "Police business, ma'am, I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."

Oh?

"Well, perhaps you should show me your badge? Seeing as you just look like someone's stalker to me."

Hange swallowed, they'd never seen you before, not in town or any grocery store, nothing. They would've remembered someone who carried themselves the way you did, almost regal in nature, refined and... enticing? Hange's senses were growing lulled, more compliant. Usually, they'd have argued more, hesitant to whip their badge out. Normally, they would be more alert and able to notice the explicit trap. Right now, though, their hand easily slipped into the coat's inside pocket, limbs moving on their own accord as their badge was brought out into the cold air of the night.

Pleased, you smiled to yourself, watching the glaze over their eyes. It was one of your favourite parts in these moments. Watching as their body becomes not their own momentarily until you deem it necessary and let them return to their own senses. You just loved how pathetically pliant they all get, how easily influenced their little minds are until you say so. So easy to compel them to your every command.

The detective slipped the badge into your hand, you didn't even bother to look at it whilst you whispered, "And your gun, too, love."

The words hung like a poison, Hange wasn't in their right mind to decline you, hand slipping into their black holster as they pulled out the sleek, metal weapon. When it was safely in your hand, you smiled sweetly—it's not like the gun could kill you, but gunshots make one hell of a noise. It's smarter to avoid violent confrontation as much as you can, you don't want any more cops sniffing around.

"That's it."

Just like that, within a second Hange was back in their head, their half-lidded eyes reverting back to their regular alertness.

"I—uh," and there was the confusion, it's normal that once the 'spell'is lifted, humans feel a little disoriented, dazed and confused.

"It's alright, dear, just come with me."

—

Hange doesn't remember any of it; the last they recall is parking up and evaluating the suspect house from their car. Their heart began anxiously thumping as they awoke in a dimly lit, lavish bedroom, adorned with lush green velvet fabrics on the curtains. Rich, deep hues of purple coating the walls and lavish textiles on the textured rugs.

The detective's wrists were trapped behind their back, bound tightly with a silky red scarf. It felt plush and tender against their skin, a sharp contrast to the violent, threatening nature of their binds. Hange grunted, and tried to shout behind the gag over their mouth. Jaw slackened as another silk scarf tied around their mouth pressed their tongue to silence, ensuring that any words and shouts would be futile.

Hange thrashed against their binds, panic seeping through their chest whilst dread overtook their features. The scarf began to dig into their wrists, tight and snug against futile movements. Circulation beneath their wrists started to cease. Their chest was heaving, breaths were heavy, and their eyes glanced around the room, checking the surroundings.

Just what the hell happened?

Grunting against the gag, Hange's eyebrows furrowed. Their thrashes increased once they noticed you sat in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom, arms crossed over your stomach with an amused expression plastered on your face.

"I'll remove the gags if you promise to keep quiet."

Hange shuddered in their restraints, what kind of situation did they get themself into? More grunts followed, muffled by the silk stuffed over their tongue as you tutted, shaking your head with minor disappointment.

"Looks like it's staying on."

You stood, powerful and confident in your ethereal elegance as you slowly strut over to their keeled body. Pathetically bound to an exposed metal pipe by an extra length of fabric as it crossed over the silk. With each step getting closer, Hange's blood flowed more furiously, stiffened gaze stuck on you.

The clothes covering your body were dark, there was a black, corseted bell-sleeved top that hung off your shoulders exposing the shadows of your collarbone. A matching, long skirt flowed with your movements. A short golden necklace choked over your neck, with a longer pendant chain trailing down to the valley of your breasts. The warmth of the soft gold emphasised the glow in your skin, radiant and sleek. The pupils in your eyes were dark and coaxing, an almost unhinged tilt in the corner of your lips. Exquisite, in a spine-chilling way.

"You got so close, pity you were so stupid about it."

Hange shook their head at you, wide-eyed and pleading as you leaned over them. Your fingers teased at the hem of fabric covering their mouth, taunting a chance that you'd remove it. The detective stilled, eyes boring into your own defiantly as they swallowed down your words. The confession was pretty much meaningless if they were just about to die in a few minutes. Utterly pointless if it was taken to the grave with them.

"I'd love to know what led you here," you hummed, fingers digging underneath the silk, "How you managed to narrow it down."

At Hange's lack of movement, the threat of noise was stuck in their throat.

"You gonna be quiet for me, love?"

Hange's eyes glimmered with apprehension, it was seeping from their veins, the blood mixing with something else as it pulled towards your nose delightfully. The detective sighed, nodding with unbroken eye contact. Looks like they were braver than most, too. You smiled, tinted dark lips seemed nearly courteous and demure juxtaposing the whole situation, it was almost sweet.

"Perfect."

Fingers trailed between the silk, grazing Hange's warm cheeks so you could drag it down. It had been dampened by their saliva, stuck in their mouth for the length of time it was. You let it hang around their chin, a chilling reminder that you could prop it back up at any given moment.

"So?" You implored.

Hange clamoured, was it smart to attempt a threat or should they just give you what you want? What would keep them alive longer, before their colleagues found them dead in the woods, inexplicably drained of all their blood?

After a beat, Hange responded, "I, uh, I found residue of your plants... you're the only one that has those around here." Your eyebrows rose, astounded that you'd even left a trace, and a foolish one to boot. Never in your seventy years had you made such a laughable mistake. You were losing your finesse. Flower residue? That's a new one. Though, it's not like it matters much, you suppose, in the grand scheme of things. The longest possible life sentence had already been thrust upon you over seventy years ago. At the end of the twentieth year of your human life.

"I see, then I'll just have to be more careful next time," 

The apparent arrogance in your tone irritated Hange, the ludicrous confidence that you simply wouldn't get caught was stupefying and they couldn't prevent themself from interrupting. "There won't be a next time, I'm gonna arrest you and you’ll rot in prison for the rest of your sick life."

Then you merely laughed, a laugh so eerie and haunting, so inappropriate in its context. Their threat seemingly rolled off your back. "Oh, sweetheart, that's utterly brave of you." you sighed, beaming down at the detective, the words taunting, "How could you possibly arrest me when you're stuck right here?"

Hange's chest sunk, heart pacing around in its ribcage at the brutal reality of your words, they were powerless right now, completely at your mercy. Heck, no one in their squad even knew Hange was here.

"I..." "Has it sunk in yet? The fact that you're going to die here and no one will know?

"Shame, too," you hummed, "You're a very good-looking one, Hange, what a waste."

A gulp was swallowed down, unnerved by your haunting words. You knew their name and it slipped from your tongue so easily, like a hunter naming their trophy catch before shooting the animal between its eyes.

"You stole my badge?" Hange muttered, their eyes sinking. The question hung in the air, answered only by a low chuckle and nothing else. The question of the matter was still itching at Hange, though, the nature of the killings still unknown. If they were going to die, anyway, they at least wanted to know the truth of how those people died.

"...How do you do it?" The expression on your face slacked, looking down at them. They were peering up at you with a determined stare, the eager glint in their brown eyes wasn't estranged from their features. Eyes questioning and dead-set on knowing. Their inquisitive spirit was transparent to you, made painfully prominent. "If I tell you that, then I'd really have to kill you,"

"Aren't you, already, anyway?" Your composure faltered a little, frankly, this was a little messy, not aligning with how you normally liked to carry things through. Didn't follow your usual mode of operating, too many loose ends, I mean, they were in your house. You kill them and who's to say their squad doesn't follow the same leads and end up right here, too? Life imprisonment is a little murky when you're immortal. With no access to blood you'd soon perish, they'd find you as a pile of ashes on the ground of a cold cell.

Sure, you could escape and run away, start a new life and begin again, but you'd just gotten comfortable here. It's just another headache to start anew somewhere else, you liked this little house. A single build with a nice lawn, you'd refurbished it and fixed it up, even planted flowers for god's sake!

"It's not an ideal situation, I must admit."

Hange picked up on your hesitance, years on the field made it easy to pick out subtle changes in one's body language and tones. They looked at you, perplexed, their wide doe eyes gaping, you found it endearing, almost charming. The sweetness of their pumping blood was throwing you off, disarraying your head. How the tables turn, I guess.

"You really want to know?" Hange stilled, morbid curiosity eating at them, but they nodded firmly. There returned that determination, again, tugging at you. "..I eat until they drop."

The words from your lips came out with a solemn chuckle attached to an almost weary sigh. You never asked for this. Amidst Hange's horror, they could catch an almost pitiful sparkle in your eyes, their lips split open as they breathed out, "You...what?" There was a slump of their shoulders, finally breaking their gaze away from you and to the floor, "What the fuck does that mean?"

You sank back into your armchair, a red cushioned velvet, "I feed on them," you soughed, "Until there's nothing left." Hange was stirring, you couldn't possibly be saying what they think you were saying. Suddenly, the chupacabra joke from their colleague was no longer a joke. He had hit the nail right on the head. Their heart rate hiked up, you could feel it throbbing from within their veins, booming against your own ears.

"I... don't understand, that sounds like..." Hange couldn't even finish the sentence, it sounded too absurd to even be uttered. Vampires? Existing and roaming? What kind of Dracula sh—

"It is." You confirmed, Hange would've laughed at your trick if it hadn't been so confusing, except they did start laughing - the kind of nervous laughter one pulls out from their chest when they're scared. Shorter gasps mingled along with it, their body actively trying to neutralise a potential panic attack with a different physical respiratory response, especially since you weren't laughing along with them. The stony, faraway stare showed that you meant it.

The exsanguinated bodies, the delicate puncture holes, it all just made too much sense for something that just isn't supposed to make sense. "You're...not—that's not—vamp—they're..not real." You stood, striding over to the breathless detective folded on your wooden flooring. Your eyes met and their breathing simmered, equalising until they were completely calm. Hange drew out the remaining gasp as they caught their breath again. You didn't disorient them this time, you didn't want to.

"I'm afraid so, love, we're very real," "How did you do that?" Hange muttered, baffled by the manner in which you had ceased the onset of a panic attack, with just a glance. They blinked up at you, lashes fluttering behind a layer of thin glasses. Really, they are very pretty.

"Same way I got you to give me your badge and gun—the same way I got your ID and learned your name." "What? You can control minds, too?" "I guess, something like that."

Hange just nodded, you could see the literal cogs turning within their head. Their countenance switched from bewilderment to vague acceptance, then back to confusion. "Well, don't do it again—I don't like someone being in my head."

Your eyebrows tilted up with amusement, that wasn't a response you had anticipated. "That's very demanding, Hange." The detective gave you a look of shock.

"I just found out that va—vampires, exist, okay? Give me some slack." After a few seconds of self-deliberation, they spoke again, "Y-you said we? There's more?" Nodding, you answered, "You have to be turned, can't exactly get turned without somebody else," Hange's expression was undecided, "Think of it like a curse, a lifelong punishment."

Hange sensed resentment, there. An air of hopelessness. You don't even know why you're telling them all of this—maybe years of solitude left you lonely, craving a listening ear. Even if you do have to kill them by the end of it.

"Immortality? A curse?" Their eyes met yours again, searching within them for answers. They were intrigued, to say the least. I mean, years of multiple degrees and doctorates and Hange had been none the wiser to vampires? Of all things? You can't exactly blame them for needing more answers.

"Most of us didn't choose this for ourselves," sighing, you broke eye contact, "We just have to live with it, outliving all your loved ones—forced to drink or perish. Those are your only options." Hange sat absorbing your words, their entire world had been tilted upside down. Yet, they couldn't help but feel a little bad for you, for the subtle wave of melancholy in your tone. Hange didn't quite know what to make of this whole thing.

"So..you do need blood to live?" "I tried to live on animal blood, okay, but... it's not the same. It's like eating a bag of air—doesn't give me what I need." "Like eating junk food?" Hange questioned, "Instead of a real meal?"

The almost innocent comparison made you chuckle, a slight lift at the corner of your lips, "I suppose." Hange let out a gentle, huh, before looking back down. Could they really charge a supernatural being with a crime? But there were still victims, you still killed them, and that couldn't just be ignored.

Hange pulled at their restraints, neck turning to glance at your handiwork, it was impressive—pretty. They looked back towards you, "C-can you take these off?"

Your face hardened into a scowl, eyes narrowing. "I can't do that."

"You planning on keeping me here forever?" "Until I figure out what to do with you, yes." "I promise, I won't say anything."

"Please," you sneered, "Your promise will mean nothing the second I let you go." Hange sighed, "I mean it, you have my word." "That right, love? And what will you tell your fellow detectives?"

Hange blanched, "I-I don't know. We can close the case as cold—leave it as it is, as long as you don't drain anyone else." "I have to eat, Hange." "I know, which is why I won't say anything."

Your fingers came to rub at your forehead, "And how do you propose I eat, then?"

"Do you need to kill when you...feed?" "Not exactly—it's just easier so they don't go running and tell everyone. The compulsion doesn't work for an infinite amount of time—it runs out." Hange nodded, looking around the room in deep thought.

"Then, feed on me."

Shock choked your throat, what? You gaped at Hange from your chair, are they crazy? "You cannot be serious.." Hange shrugged, "It's a mutually beneficial agreement—I stay alive and learn all about this new world 'n you get to stay...well fed."

"And bodies stop dropping like flies.." Hange muttered, at a lower volume. You still caught it, of course. Were they proposing to self-sacrifice their own blood so no one else died? Hange almost laughed at your expression, wordless.

A human offering themselves up? You didn't ever think one would do that. It wasn't unheard of, other vampires had shared plenty of stories with you about their favourite humans—you had just decided, a long time ago, to maintain a healthy distance. However, the detective made an interesting offer and you're certain their blood would sate you for a while, with how loudly it's drumming against their neck. How divine would it taste? As enriching and decadent as you think?

"If it helps—I'm thinking of it as research," Hange explained, a crooked smile hanging on their lips, "All totally off the record—by the way."

Yeah, they definitely are crazy, you thought. Looking them over, in your years you had gotten pretty good at sniffing out lies, but there was thoroughly not a hint of it on Hange. No, it was even worse. That sincere excitement that fuelled their blood earlier had returned, replacing the previous fear. Groaning internally, you knew that they were offering a taste of what would probably be the most incredible bite of your life, right on a silver platter.

"My only rule is none of that creepy mind control shit—freaked me out."

With every new word out of their mouth, you grew additionally stunned. Never in your life had you expected this from a human. A crazy human, sure, but still? Hange seemed to have accepted the situation with basically abnormal ease and made their peace with the new information about the world. Almost lost their shit at the beginning, but you could sense their curiosity. It was outweighing their fear. By a long mile. Hell, they were even demanding shit from you—no one has even endeavoured to try that for decades.

Their blood thumped succulently, fear had long dissipated, replaced only by that delectable zeal. It was tough to decline their offer, honestly. Your mouth watered at the thought of tasting them, and you were hungry. The last time you fed was that fucker that got you caught.

Hange took notice of the darkening pools of black that endured over your eyes, hunger. Your tongue darted out to dampen your lip ever so slightly as you stared down at the tied-up detective in your bedroom. Hange should've perhaps felt more frightened than they were, but they couldn't lie and pretend that their intrigue was due to fear. Hange held eye contact firmly, almost challenging and prepared. You swear you could see a tinge of red splashed on their cheeks, with a glimmer in their eyes.

"I'll untie you," you hummed, "but if you make any quick movements, I catch even a hint of you thinking about bolting—you're dead." Hange shuddered, swallowing, you could see their veins throb before they nodded.

"I won't."

In a sudden flash, you were behind them, your cold hands meeting their warmer wrists as you delicately unlaced the silk scarves. Loosening them until Hange could have free movement. Hange gradually turned to face you, their hands rubbed at each wrist to soften the imprints of the restraints. Their breathing grew hefty, as they observed you, waiting. Tentatively, you reached to remove the silk still bunched around their jaw, before glancing into their eyes. Evaluating if they were going to try and make a run for it, but their scent filled your nose, eager and wanting. They were enjoying this. The realisation was dizzying—Hange was dizzying.

"You sure you want me to do this, love?"

Hange was feverishly warm, nodding, "As long as you don't drain me, yes." you hummed in response, desire fuelling your own keenness as you imagined their metallic taste.

"Where d'you want me to—" "Anywhere."

The corner of your lips quipped up, exposing the fangs protruding from your incisors as they grew longer with your increasing thirst. Hange felt themself shiver at the sight of longing glazed in your eyes. At the sharp points poking out from beneath your full top lip. Kinda sexy, Hange thought, wait wha—

Meanwhile, you were mulling. Blood from the wrist would suffice, it was tasty enough, but blood from the neck was much warmer, hotter, and more alive.

"Take off your coat 'n holster." Hange diligently followed your orders, discarding the heavy garment and unclipping the holster from their torso, throwing them down to the floor near the silk ties. You reached a hand out, inviting—an offer to guide them to a more comfortable place. Hange's hand met your own, a chill travelled down their spine as your colder fingers interlaced with theirs and you led them to your queen-sized bed.

You hadn't even used your powers, and yet they were still following you willingly, completely entranced of their own accord. You found that you liked it, found that it set your cold body alight, as it hadn't done for years. Hange sat at your bed, comfortably sandwiched between two pillows. Doe eyes watched you expectantly, the brown pools behind lenses tracking after your body as you charmingly placed yourself beside them. Thighs were touching against each other. This is kind of exciting, Hange thought.

"I've... been wanting to taste you all night," Hange let out a breathy gasp, the connotation of your words flustered them. The blush of their cheeks returning as you eyed them up, inching yourself closer to their slender neck. Fingers teased around Hange's knee.

"Could feel your blood flowing from across the street," you inhaled, a twinkle coming over your eyes, "just... irresistible."

Hange was lulled into a natural daze, the incitement of your words heating them up more than it should. Inching your head closer to their pulse point, your nose grazed over Hange's tender, shivering skin. The detective sighed, head lolling backwards a few angles to expose more of themself to you; allowing you more access. Hange's knee leaned itself into your palm.

"Wi-will it hurt?" "Not much, my love."

It's true, that after the sting of the initial punctures, fangs naturally seep the chemical Hange found, into their bloodstream. It was an evolutionary mechanism, developed to sedate, designed to be pleasurable. Hange was trembling beneath you, their hands squeezing together atop their thighs.

One of your hands reached out to unbutton the top four catches of their shirt, loosening the fabric around the collar to show their shoulders and collarbone. Looking down at their neck, you could see the raising bumps rising over their skin. You loosened up their tie, too, allowing it to dangle shamelessly over their bare throat.

Pressing your lips to peck at the skin, grazing right over the crook of their neck, you saw Hange swallow beside you. Their eyes fluttered shut, reeling in the sensation of the coldness of your satiny lips.

"Tell me when it's enough," you mumbled, in-between tender kisses, "just tap me and I'll stop."

Lost for words, Hange nodded, "Okay," their lips twitched at the feel of your own. Feeling the way your words blew against their skin, your hand raised from their thigh to grasp their waist. The other lifting to move Hange's hair out of the way. Your lips parted to sink your fangs into their olive skin. A hiss escaped from Hange at the initial sting. Eyes squeezed whilst their head fell back, and you grabbed the top of Hange's spine to provide support.

Their blood began to shed against your teeth, coating your tongue. "Ah—fuck." came from their wispy voice, followed by a lowered sigh, the chemical had kicked in. The pain subdued, easing off as their blood was drawn from your fangs. It was almost sensual, intimate.

A muffled groan reverberated from deep within your throat as you fed, their blood tasted even better than you could've ever imagined. Sweet and saccharine on your tongue. Their taste encompassed your senses, and your breathing heaved. Hange grasped the back of your neck and tightened their warm grip on you, drawing you closer to their own neck. Their lips split to release a sharp whimper whilst your teeth ravenously sunk deeper into the divine flesh.

Your senses were overloaded, Hange's fragrant elation candied their blood—so much different to how fear tasted. Amidst their elation and the overwhelming mouthful of blood, you could sense a dampness gathering within Hange's centre, leaking and sitting in between their legs—oh!

A rasped snarl evoked from your throat, and your fingers came to squeeze tighter into their midsection, just above their hip. Pulling your bodies tighter against one another, relishing and indulging your appetite in Hange's own depraved bliss.

Strength began to return to your limbs, enflaming your entire being as Hange's lithe body twitched and trembled. You were almost full, just a little longer. You'd have expected Hange to tap out by now; but the sporadic tremors of their thighs, the little jerks of their hips unveiled their lustful rapture.

"That feels—shit—f-fantastic," Hange whined, able to catch their voice to whine into the room's atmosphere, their speech soft and breathy. Lighter. You hummed into their neck, intoxicated and relishing in their divinity as you rid them of their blood. You rolled your tongue, lapping over the lacerated punctures. "Ah—" They keened, sinking themself further into your fangs, loving the sensation of the wet muscle passing against their skin. It felt like Hange had no intention of stopping you anytime soon, and if you continued you'd end up sucking them completely dry.

Removing your fangs from the indents in their neck, Hange grumbled beside you. With a closing swipe of your tongue over the fresh wound, you licked the remnants of blood sticking to their skin.

"Wait, wh-why'd you stop..." Hange was dazed, slowly blinking up at you with creeping disappointment, as they attempted to push your head back to where it was. "Love," you chuckled, licking the specks of blood caught in the corners of your mouth, "if I continued, you'd be dead—I've had my fill, thank you."

Hange definitely had not, though, a slight pout lifted their sweet lips. "You taste fucking delightful, thank you, dear." "But..." Hange firmly compressed their thighs together, desire sinking down their diaphragm from your pulling words as they were left with an uncomfortable dampness between their thighs, "..I.. enjoyed it."

"I'm sure you did, but I can't take anymore from you tonight." "I.." Hange's voice trailed off, unsure of whether they should continue speaking. "What is it, dear?"

Hange shied at the way you referred to them, words hesitant, "Can we... maybe, do this again?" "What, y'trying to make me a regular?" your words were teasing. Hange flushed, ears reddening as they fiddled with their dainty fingers. "I just thought that, maybe, this could be a permanent solution."

You studied them cautiously, understanding of what was truly going on here. Hange was hooked, and suddenly this had just gotten much messier than initially thought.

"How often do you...need to eat?" "Usually once a week, if it's good blood then longer—yours should keep me going for a good while."

You could smell Hange's rising disappointment, they nodded, "Oh."

"That's not a bad thing, you know?" you laughed, your posture relaxing as you nudged your shoulder into theirs, "Besides, y'need a few days to recover from the blood loss. So make sure you eat well, dear—get your strength back."

Hange looked up at you, the glasses placed on the aquiline bridge of their nose flashed with the reflections of the ambient lamps.

"That's... considerate of you," they whispered, taking in your words. "Well, I need to keep you healthy now, right?" "So that means, we can do it again?"

Their insistence was acutely endearing, you bit down a smile, "You keep your end of the deal, then I'll keep mine." Hange's lips twitched, stretching into a pleased grin, "I'll close the case as soon as I can—so no more bodies?" "No more bodies."

—

Truthfully, you'd been a little apprehensive to let Hange leave your house for work that following morning. (Yes, they did spend the night, you're not cruel—you couldn't let them pass out on the streets. That's all, nothing more.) A fiendish part of your paranoia was trying to persuade you that the detective had just put up a really convincing act, but you knew that didn't feel right. Humans couldn't hide sincerity like that with you in comparison to how they did with other humans. You could quite literally feel the lies, their quickening heart rates and body language gave them away all too easily.

Thinking back to that night, it felt like a little bit of a dreamy haze, you were surprised with yourself for even entertaining it for that long. Let alone allowing them to give you demands, none of that mind control shit—their words rang louder in your head as you chuckled to yourself. Catching a threatening smile forming against your cheeks as your thoughts fell back to the hopeful glimmer in their eyes as you agreed to feed on them again. Cute.

Excuse me, what the actual fuck? If you could glance in the mirror and actually see yourself, you'd have a stern one-on-one conversation with your own reflection. You'd say, just how the fuck could you let this happen! Should've just killed them and been done with it. But you just... couldn't. There was just something strangely charming about the detective. Intelligent and so, so cute.

That's without even thinking about how wonderfully delicious they were, offering themself to you as if they trusted you with their life. The way they squirmed beneath you, the little gasps that evaded Hange's throat as you drank. The throb between their thighs calling out for you to do something about it and... fuck, you were losing your train of thought.

This definitely isn't good, nor is it even wise. A deal with a human? Add that to your increasing list of recent mistakes. You can't just expect them to sell out their own species—but intuitively, you almost trusted Hange. Their personality felt too genuine, the blush on their cheeks when they got flustered and the pretty sounds they made as you fed, no one could just fake that, right?

Your phone buzzed as Hange's number popped through the notifications, they didn't let up on this that night. Went on a long ramble about how you should both be in contact so that dinner plans could be made effectively. They began a pattern of often texting you over the course of the week, clearly having a lot of questions about the nature of your 'curse', and it was a lot.

Hange tried to secretly code their questions to you in the form of pretending it was about a supernatural book series you were both discussing. Hange stated that you never know when phones and their messages are being tapped or logged; and that it was smart to use the book as a pretence, as if you were both just debating dorky questions within its universe context.

You didn't have the heart to tell them how painfully obvious they came across. Plus, although you thought of it as a little silly, you did periodically get gems like this:

hzoe: hey you think in that universe vampires can read minds? i feel like they could! you: No, probably not.

or:

hzoe: um how do u think they feel about period blood??? i mean what if they're just trying to go about their day and its that time of the month for a lot of people? how could they resist the urge to just stick a straw up there and go ham??

That particular one came in one day at eight in the damned morning, way too fucking early for that sort of question. Your reply never came for that one. Then there was your personal favourite:

hzoe: ya think they've ever gone down to the bottom of the ocean, just to see what's down there?

That one actually made you laugh, unfortunately. You decided that one day you'd actually try it—maybe relay your findings to your little scientist. Hange was clearly bursting out the seams with questions, and who better to ask than their friendly, local vampire? After a couple more days, Hange texted you again.

hzoe: hey, can we have dinner? (i'm not hungry, let's have dinner.)

The senses in your body ignited, thinking about the opportunity of being able to feed from Hange again. They'd been incredibly patient about it, albeit with a few questions regarding whether or not you were getting hungry. It was easily perceivable that they were getting more antsy, it seeped through the messages. And your filling from the last feed was wearing dry.

Hange was due to come down to your place after their shift—it's funny, they never were the type to leave work at the hour the shift ended. Always stayed behind, later than everyone else, focusing on research if there were no cases, which there barely ever were. So it's unusual to their colleagues that Hange is suddenly very eager to leave the workplace.

The detective hadn't shared the evidence they came across, true to their word, so the case had pretty much come to a standstill. People were obviously still confused, with so many unanswered questions and a recent lack of new bodies. Hange felt a little guilty for withholding information about the case from their longtime coworkers, but a deal is a deal. Hange considered themself a person of good faith, betraying your trust simply wasn't in the cards for them.

Hange was behaving normally around all of them, the only difference is that they were suddenly using their phone a lot more during breaks and actually leaving work at the time they were scheduled to. One of their coworkers pulled them to the side earlier in the day, a weird, little knowing glint plastered over his face as he interrogated Hange on if there was a new lady in their life.

Naturally, Hange got incredibly flustered, waving their hands in the air with attempts to refute the idea profusely; though the blush in their cheeks betrayed them. The coworker walked away laughing at them, shaking his head with a 'Sure,' clearly disbelieving of everything Hange tried to refuse. It was damning, for sure. However, Hange supposed it was better that they think this instead of the reality... so they just kind of let them believe it.

Meanwhile, you were feeling especially generous tonight, perhaps because of your own excitement or perhaps because Hange had stayed true to their deal for now. Either way, you decided to cook them a nice meal. It was mainly to ensure they had enough in their system to make up for the next loss of blood, at least that's what you told yourself.

The detective's car was heard before they were seen, you heard the drone of the engine come to a halt and a click of the lock. Hange knocked at your door, so you moved away from the oven top to let them in. Their intoxicating scent was back in your vicinity.

"Hey—wait, are you cooking?" Hange looked past you to the bubbling pot on the flame, "I thought you couldn't eat human food."

Suddenly, you felt sheepish, an unusual emotion for you, turning back to lean over the pot, "Uh, yeah I can't—it's for you." Hange's brows lifted, a quick look of surprise on their face before it switched to slight adoration. They nibbled on their lip, trying to ignore the squeeze that tightened around their chest at the sight of you cooking for them.

They had just finished up at work, and here you were cooking for them? The simple action felt so domestic, so marital, and you felt Hange's heartbeat hike up, thumping in your ears. "That's sweet, it smells great."

Shrugging, you turned back to face them, "I could hear your stomach rumbling from your car, I'm glad I decided to cook." You joked, trying to lighten the sudden severity of tension in your house.

"I did eat! I had a sandwich for lunch," you rolled your eyes. "That is definitely not enough if you're going to lose blood tonight,"

Hange reddened at your words, ashamed to admit they had been looking forward to this more than was probably necessary. Your voice broke them out of their thoughts, reminding them that food was ready and demanded that they sit down.

The detective removed their trench coat and holster, this time hanging it around the edge of your couch, before sitting down. The air was a little tense, filled with smokey anticipation as you loaded Hange's plate with your food.

"I didn't know you cooked," "I used to love cooking," you sighed, sitting parallel from Hange, with only a short cup of mellow whiskey on ice, "It's nice having a reason to do it again, even though I'm a little rusty now."

Hange watched you intently as you spoke, their thoughts haphazard and their hand grabbing a fork to load a bite into their mouth. The delightfully tender meat melted on their tongue, complimented by the combination of aromatics and spices you'd used to flavour the warm sauce.

"This doesn't taste like someone who's rusty—it's delicious." "I'm glad you think so,"

You sipped on your drink as Hange ate, feeling strangely proud that the food was being enjoyed. It was hard to ignore Hange's moans of food pleasure, rocking a little in their chair with contentment as they ate.

"Y'keep cooking for me like this and I'll have to marry you—" Your eyes lifted from your drink to Hange, who was sitting there with a bashful expression. "I didn—"

"No one ever cooked for you?" Changing the subject was a good idea, halt Hange's embarrassment and halt your own speeding heart. This was definitely not good.

"Not for a long time," It was slightly isolated being a chief detective. The social network ends up being the people on your squad or at the lab. Hange lived and breathed their work, relationships never at the forefront of their priorities. That, and the opportunity seldom showed itself.

Nodding, you brought the rim of the glass to your lips, letting the liquor slide into your mouth as Hange finished the meal, complimenting your efforts one last time. "You got a little..." you muttered, glancing at the smallest speck of sauce on the corner of Hange's lips. "Oh—" As Hange fumbled over themself to quickly fix it, you beat them to it. A calm hand reached over to swipe your thumb over their lower lip, effectively wiping the speck off.

Hange's chest rose and sank, frozen in place as your thumb remained hovering over their lip. Almost as if you were waiting for... oh. The pupils within Hange's eyes dilated, allowing the black of their eyes to expand as they split their lips to allow you entrance.

"Gotta have every last drop, right?" Your gentle words were like nectar, laced with a sweet insinuation and thick persuasion. The detective's plump lips pursed over your thumb, sucking the tiniest remnants of the sauce from your skin whilst oceans of black pools held your gaze. Hange's scent was coating the air, the excitement that returned to their blood was driving you out of decorum as it filled your senses.

Their tongue was lapping over your thumb, so obediently, until you popped it out from their mouth. Your lips tilted into a smirk as you took notice of Hange's disappointment. Thumb grazed over their bottom lip once more, smushing the plumpness around, wanting to tease the flustered detective for a little longer.

"Are you h-hungry?" Hange's twinkling, eager eyes pleaded, squirming around in their chair whilst your thumb pressed over their skin. "Starving."

Hange exhaled a heavy breath followed by them leaning closer into your space. "Can we go... into the bedroom?" Their gaze fell to your lips as your smile widened, "It—it's just more comfy." "Of course, dear."

The gulp that spanned down Hange's throat was unmissable, the spike in their heartbeat matched your own as you led them to your bedroom. It looked the same as it did last time, but the energy within it was entirely different, the kind of palpable charge that electrifies the air right before a storm. Closing the door, Hange seated themself on the edge of the bedcover, it was a kind of emerald velvet — affluent and plush. Most things in your house had a look of regalness. Hange's fingers skimmed over the lush fabric, a stim to release the tension building within their limbs.

Sitting across from them, you set a soothing hand on their knee. Hange looked more uneasy than last time, and you worried that they no longer wished to continue with it and just weren't stating so. "You don't have to do this... I can find another source." Hange instantly broke out of their trance, the lid over their eyes enlarging as they shook their head. "No! That's not.. what I'm thinking."

"What are you thinking, then?" "Would it be okay if..." the rest of the sentence retreated, Hange growing timid, "Could you kiss me? Before you do it?" It was hard to not be endeared by the detective, with shrinking words but insistent determination overpowering it.

"Want me to kiss you, dear?" Hange nodded, with a slight circumference of their lip drawn in by their teeth, their eyes trailing down to your silken mouth. Leaning your head closer to theirs, your vision flicked from their eyes to their parting lips. Your faces were centimetres away from each other, Hange's head at an incline to yours, endeavouring to haul you in.

Hange simmered with anticipation as you teasingly extended the process, inciting them with scorching greed. You wanted to draw this out—knowing that once you kissed Hange, both of you could sink into something deeply irreversible. So you waited, breathing Hange's sighs into your orbit as you observed the way impatience began to riddle their face. The subtle tweaks of their eyebrows as their half-lidded eyes lingered on your lips. Hange whimpered when you got a little closer, a slight graze of plumpness against their own led them to believe you'd finally attach, to no avail.

"Please."

Your lips curved upwards as you finally pressed them against Hange's, who felt such a beguiling relief at the connection. Your hands reached up to grasp Hange's jaw, pulling them closer. Hange sighed as your lips united. Softly and hesitant at first, a means for growing comfortability at Hange's request. Then it escalated, the scent of Hange's blood rose with ardour as the kiss intensified. Open mouths split to allow tongues to mix with the heat, wet muscles ravaged one another.

Hange gripped at your neck with a slight tightening of their digits on your skin. You felt yourself reel, their scent kindling carnal want within your stomach, rousing your ferocity. You liked kissing Hange, more than any other in the past, perhaps more than you should. Their little incensed groans that muffled against your lips spurred you to place your hands beneath their thighs, tugging Hange from their position and manoeuvring them between your pillows. Hange's thighs split to accept your placement in between.

The kiss was maddening, Hange's entire being was all-consuming. Lasciviously, your teeth clamped down on their bottom lip, erupting a hiss from Hange as you sucked the tiny beading of blood from their skin, you couldn't contain your keenness to taste Hange again.

Your lips separated as Hange's head nestled between the cushions. Their glasses were a little crooked on the bridge of their nose, dishevelled from when you cruised Hange to lie down, their lips plumpened and swollen from the ambush. With a chuckle, you fixed their glasses for them, straightening them into proper line— Hange was left with no option but to watch you do it as they replenished the air back in their lungs, a deep set in their lower belly as you gently fixed the placement of their glasses.

Lowering your head, your nose grazed up from their hollowed trachea to the space below their ear. Hange freely hung their head back, deliriously exposing their neck further to you. They were gifting you their skin as they waited for you to feed. You pressed a peck against the side of their neck to simply watch the shivers descend their body.

The buttons clasping the fabric of Hange's shirt were now undone, this time it wasn't just the top four buttons. You had every intention of keeping it that way, of leaving Hange with some remaining dignity but they just didn't want it. Their slender fingers unclasped the perilous buttons you had nobly ignored. The two separate sides of their office shirt now disconnected to present an indecent flash of Hange's tanned skin. A delectable contrast against the white shirt, the light in the room shadowed the contours of their sternum leading down to their navel. A little trail of hair guided your eyes down, just to be covered by the waistband of their pants.

You almost audibly groaned, feeling yourself debilitated by Hange's enticing snare. They were trying to lure you in, a tempting song ringing in your ears. The heaves within their chest are more captivating with the lack of any covering fabric, the stiffening of their nipples poked through the half-opened shirt. Hange's collarbone, sternum and tight stomach are all unrestricted, free for you to gaze upon and admire. Hange was simply ravishing.

Placing a hand below the loose fabric, you grasped their hipbone, squeezing once you heard Hange draw in a gasp at the coldness of your fingers against their enflamed being. As much as you tried to withhold yourself, and control your gluttony—Hange was making it exceedingly difficult. Your lips hovered over their neck, on the opposite side of where you punctured last time and licked up a stripe with your tongue. You weren't as gentle with it as last time. Spurred by Hange's sounds and their insistence on sinking you down with them. Hange shuddered underneath you, inclining their neck closer to your teeth as you pricked your fangs deep into their flesh.

The exquisite flavour of Hange's blood once more filled your mouth, coating your tongue. You hummed into their neck, fingers digging into their hip as you drank voraciously. Hushed moans escaped from Hange's lips as your fangs drew the very blood from their veins. Hange was a lot more vocal this time, whimpering at how fucking good it feels to have your fangs piercing their skin again. The slick pooling between their legs reaches your nose delightfully, and you can hear their pulsing clit. Dangerous words slip from Hange's mouth.

"Fuck—" Hange whispered with delirium, their voice was taut and airy as their hips writhed against your body, perfectly nestled between their thighs, "Wish you could do that forever,"

The depravity of Hange's words ensnared you, finding yourself losing your grip on reality. So do I, you thought. In a fit of lust, coaxed by Hange's intensity, your knee pressed itself against Hange's centre. At the wicked combination of your knee and the added exhilaration of your fangs buried deep within their skin; Hange let out a vulgar, insatiable moan. Their hands came to dig into your back as their mind whirled. Hange was in a stupor, clouded by their prurient desires. Obsessed, that's how they felt. Utterly addicted to you, and now that you'd kissed them? Now that your knee was bucking into their throbbing core? No chance. They wanted you to be theirs, they didn't care for the logistics of reality.

Hange had been pining hard over the last week, indulging themself in sordid thoughts of your fingers deep inside their walls. The images kept them up at night, flicking their index over their own clit as they imagined you snug in between their thighs. Hange was aching then just as they're aching now. They felt their head grow lighter with the loss of blood, it was spurring their wretched want for you as they ground their hips against your knee, panting with their head back.

You were in a similar way. Senses overly just full of Hange—their desire was radiating from their body and the copper taste of their blood was so intensely intoxicating. You knew you had to stop feeding soon, though, you'd been full a while ago, and Hange couldn't afford your licentious greed. You want this one around. Rather begrudgingly for both of you, you unhooked your fangs from Hange's throat, licking up the specked remnants splattered on their neck.

"Sublime, as always."

Hange whined as they recognised that it was over, lifting their head to meet eyes with you again. Hange lips stretched to grin up at you, beaming as their luscious left-over blood trickled down from your lips. Shame was way out of the window as they felt themself clench around nothing at the sight. Gathering a good dose of it on their fingers, Hange slipped their blood-covered fingers into your open mouth for you to appreciate. They couldn't help the deviant sounds they evoked, watching you happily lap up the maroon nectar drying on their svelte fingers with your eyes closed, groaning at their taste.

"Every last drop, right?" Hange mumbled, voice thick with wanton need. Their hips started winding against your knee again, causing fleeting bouts of tantalising euphoria to spread in their stomach. Grasping Hange's wrist tenderly, you pushed away their fingers from your mouth, tugging both wrists to a limp above their head. Gazing down at Hange as their lips split with each buck of your knee.

"If you keep looking at me like that, dear, I won't stop," you muttered, your free hand skimming over their stomach, twitching as you grazed past their abdomen and landed just above their waistband. Hange fidgeted beneath you, pulling your lower body tighter against their centre with their thighs.

"That sound good?" Hange nodded, "Please— it's all I've been t-thinking about..."

Loosening the buttons on their jeans, you pulled their clothing off. All that remained was the slutty white top baring Hange's torso and shoulders to you, the long sleeves ended up bunched around their elbows.

"What else have you been thinking about, huh?" Hange glanced up at their crossed wrists, propped up above their head still even though your hands had long stopped holding them. Obedient. "The silk ties.."

"What about them, sweetheart?" "I l-liked them on my skin," Hange sighed when they felt your fingers teasing their inner thighs, "I want you to tie my wrists with them, again, please."

A treacherous heat fevered down to your stomach, you swallowed an exhale. "Well," You grumbled, "How can I say no to that?"

You leaned over to grab the silk scarves from your dresser. Usually, you used them for your hair but this was a great alternative. Slipping the delicate silk around Hange's crossed wrists, you left their arms hanging above their head, tied and trapped.

Hange's arousal was thumping against your ears, increased with the new position. Sitting into a straddle over their pelvis, the slit of your long skirt exposed your lithe thighs as the fabric bunched around your waist. Hange's lensed eyes studied you, heavy and thick as they took in the newly bared skin that they now just couldn't touch. Your chest was close to theirs as you hovered your mouth above their lips.

"I—shit," "What is it, Hange, what else d'you want?" You placed your knee back in between their legs, your other leg was curved around their right, teasing their relief. "Can—can you just fuck me, please—" Hange was pleading, voice embarrassed and their lidded eyes dark. The closeness of your knee to their pulsing core was overbearing, just left in wait for some real touch.

Grazing your fingers down their exposed sternum, you provoked a little pressure with your nails. Light scratches rubbed against Hange's soft skin, leaving pinkish marks on their torso. Their stomach twitched and their pelvis rutted up at the action, causing the skin of your knee to bump against their bare slit. "Hnf—please, I—"

"Need you—so bad," Your hand travelled lower, ever so slow, tormenting. Fingers grazed over Hange's seeping clit, it was swollen and begging for touch. You groaned as you trialled a swipe with your index, feeling how arduously saturated Hange was for you.

"Got this wet just from me feeding on you?" you chuckled, enjoying the little twitches in Hange's facial expressions, "My god, love, you're fucking soaked."

"Pl-please—can't take it any more," "You don't even feel an ounce of shame, do you?" you began rubbing over their clenching, puffed clit, "No, you don't care how twisted this is." Hange whined, rippling their pelvis over your hand, their eyes closing as you finally soothed the fiendish craving.

"You just want some release, don't you, Hange?" Hange cried beneath you, their wrists weakly lowering ever so slightly to rest atop their head. Dousing your fingers over their leakage for less friction, you rolled pressure over their clit with your digits. You enjoyed seeing them like this.

Hange let out lecherous, unstable moans, relishing at the feel of your coldness massaging their swollen bud. Your words were driving them to a growing, rapid insanity. Hange startled when you effortlessly slid two fingers into their heat, curling them up to hit the back of their inner walls.

"Ah—fuck—yes, fuck—finally." Lowering yourself down to their pelvis, fingers ramming inside Hange as you rested your head on their spread thigh. Hange could just stare down at you, sat pretty between their legs with a damned smile on your lips as Hange was coming apart on your fingers.

"You look so p-pretty—like that," Hange mewled, your eyes sparkling as you saw their blissed disposition. "Yeah?" you bit the corner of your inner lip, before grazing your lips over their inner thigh, pecking, "This what you thought about?"

Hange nodded, exhaling deeply as they peeped the expansion of fangs from your teeth. The sharp incisors pulling across the sensitive skin of Hange's inner thigh. Their thigh twitched when you buried a light nip on their skin, a tiny bead of blood drawing out. Not enough to drain them, just a little drop, just a little extra taste. The tied-up wrists above Hange's head were trembling, losing control over their muscles as your tongue poked out to swipe up the small, maroon bead.

"Fuck—that's, hn, fuck." Your tongue left a viscous mark in its wake, you licked up Hange's thigh, leaving them twitching on your fingers. You prodded the squish of their walls, assailing a spot that had Hange shivering and mumbling out salacious cries.

Your mouth was so close to their pussy, Hange couldn't keep their eyes open anymore. Head leaning back into the pillows ruinously as your tongue tentatively swiped along the dewy sap coating their slit. Their blood tastes divine, but this was almost better. Their scent and taste crowded your senses, it was all Hange, dizzying you. Their hedonistic whimpers forced you to carnally crave more of them; the sweetest blood you had ever tasted and the most inviting pussy to ever grace your tongue.

Your muffled moans fell into Hange's core as you ate it, their hips quipped up desperately to feel your tongue, their oozing pussy clenching tight to burrow in your fingers. "So fucking tight, shit," you murmured. Hange's bound wrists and bent elbows were in tremors as they allowed you to have all of them, thighs spreading out further to trap you within.

"Shit—like that, fuck—unh—" Hange's debased vocals made you wayward, incensed to bring the cute detective to their last brink, all splayed underneath you. Your fingers worked steadfastly, kneading into Hange's welcoming heat with an unwavering rhythm. The tension in their abdomen tightened, it flexed and twitched with your movements as your tongue slowly ravished over Hange's swollen bud.

Your free hand slithered up to cup around Hange's breast, tracing around the stiffened nipple. Hange's back arched up to greet your hand and you spread the plush skin between your fingers. Minute grunts were stuck in Hange's throat whilst you tweaked the firm bundle, the nerves eliciting acute thrills down their spine.

"Feels, s'fucking good—shit, love seeing you there."

With half-lidded eyes, Hange stared down at you, gulping, when they witnessed how deeply enraptured you were in between them. Your jaw and mouth buried into their slit, your brows pinched as frenzied mumbles vibrated in your throat. Leftover streaks of blood drying on their thigh from the bite. It was sinful, how miserably turned on they were from it. By the sight of you working them with eager might, and Hange left unable to touch you, can't even squeeze on to the nice, velvet sheets as their peak builds up. Lifting your tongue from them briefly, you mutter to yourself, "Fucking delicious," before delving back in.

That was enough for Hange, "Fuck, 'm gonna fucki—hng, 'm so close—pleas- keep going," The overwhelming bliss of sensations and your carnal words caused the tension to tighten and tighten until their abdomen ruptured their orgasm with a voluptuous cry from their lips. Slight tremors and twitches in the detective's pelvis and legs as they ride their release on your diligent fingers and tongue. Their nails broke the skin of their hands, the only physical outlet to relieve their release within the silk confines on their wrists.

"Fuck..." Hange whispered, blissed out as their ears began to ring. You lifted your head from their legs, impishly checking on them as their chest heaved. Soaked fingers slid out, pulling a final pulsing clench from Hange's pussy.

You kneeled up, sitting on folded calves as Hange's chest attempted to relax into a normal breathing pattern. Reaching up to untie the knots in the silk scarf from around their numbed wrists, which then lowered to bring forth circulation again. Their head was sunken back in the pillows whilst their eyes were on you, suddenly sheepish.

"You okay?" you cautioned warily, grasping their wrist to soothe over the indented marks left over their arms. Hange gaped as you tenderly rubbed over the marks, in such a gentle manner. "Yeah—just a little out of it," Hange lightly huffed, eyes fixed as you continued to caress their tender skin.

You halted your movements on their wrists to request eye contact, a hand grasping Hange's soft jaw to allow them to look at you. Hange's breath hitched, their doe eyes reflecting an unreadable expression within. You smiled at them, rubbing a thumb over their jaw before you fixed their crooked glasses once more, setting them properly on Hange's nose bridge. The cherry on top was a little, light peck you rested on Hange's nose.

Hange felt their heart liquefy, a sturdy weight blossomed in their chest. They hadn't expected you to be so sweet and... loving? A bashful grin quipped on their lips, this was bad. Incredibly bad. Dangerous, in fact. The beating in their chest was thick with a longing admiration, a deep-set yearn burning in their rib cage.

Similarly, as loud as you felt Hange's heartbeat in your ears, it was rivalling your own. An invisible thread pulling you towards the detective as you felt the most apprehensive you'd felt in decades. Hange was giving you the look, their eyes blown out and sparkling, full of expectation and craving. You dreaded to think that yours matched it. They were looking at you like they were in love, and it was terrifying.

This time, your chest rose and sank. With a part of your lips, you sighed. Feeling your own chest betray the steely damn you'd built over the years, full of distance and hesitance. You failed to find the power to re-build it, not when Hange was looking at you like that.

"That... was really nice," Hange chuckled, an adoring glaze struck in the amber of their eyes. You hummed an agreement, securing the loosened strands of Hange's hair behind their ear. Hange was melting right in front of you, your stern boundaries had been long crossed. You didn't quite know what to do with it.

The slight incline of their jaw towards you indicated that they wanted to kiss you, to make a final connection of your lips. The look in their eyes was so sweet, awaiting you making a closer move. You found that you couldn't resist, the thread dragging you towards their lips as you melded them together.

Hange sighed into the kiss, their arms wrapping around your neck to lure you into their close proximity.    After a few seconds of longing connection, after a few swipes of tongue and saliva, Hange's hands travelled down. Lethally slipping their fingers underneath the slit of your skirt, and pulled your thighs apart.

"Hange—wait," you broke the kiss, "You don't owe me anything back, okay?" Hange laughed and shook their head, leaning down to press precarious pecks down the length of your throat, all while their hand inched higher up your silky thigh. "I know."

You had forgotten how much of a determined person Hange is. Truthfully, you were soaked. Had made a mess of your underwear long before you even touched Hange, before you'd even ruined them.

"I just... really want to touch you," Hange muttered, their tongue swiping down to the hollow of your throat. Your skin was set alight again, burning down your cold body as Hange timidly pushed their fingers past your underwear.

"C-can I?" They pleaded, eyes thick with lust, and you nodded.

The fabric shoved to the side to expose your own pulsing heat to Hange, swollen and aching since you first sunk your teeth into Hange. "I mean, shit—you're this wet and I can't touch you?" Hange grumbled, sinking back into delirium as three fingers slipped inside your dewy slit, "Fuck, you feel so nice on my fingers."

You nipped at the corner of your bottom lip, entranced by Hange's keenness. Slowly, you lifted the hem of your shirt, breasts hanging free against your chest. Hange gaped at the sight of you, the stiff peaks edging your breasts and goosebumps rising down your arms. "You're beautiful, fuck,"

"Hange—" you sighed, grabbing a hold of their shoulders when Hange placed your thighs over their hips. Your pelvis began to rock against their fingers, over their hips as they plunged into your walls.

"Fuck—deeper." you ordered, a whiny order but an order nonetheless. Hange loved having you like this, still telling them what to do even if they were the one fucking you.

"I'll do anything you want," Hange promised, their words leaving space for double meanings. It was making you dizzy, they were so eager to please you. All of their own accord.

Hange's dainty fingers pressed further up, curling inwards against your velvet walls, you were using their hand to sate your avid ardour. Losing yourself in the feel of their fingers working so desperately to make you cum.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart—fucking me like that," your tantalising words incentivised the detective with an impassioned thirst. Hange let out little gasps and moans as your pussy sucked their fingers in. Their eyes locked in on the licentious way their fingers were more slicked with your arousal each time they pulled out.

Hange glanced up at you, locking eyes for a moment to catch the minute twitches in your face, before they sunk their head down to wrap their warm mouth around your nipple. Their teeth grazed over the sensitive bud, then licked a few swipes over with their tongue.

"You're so good for me, Hange—fuck—so good, just for me," your voice was breathy, the length of Hange's fingers inside you caused spasms in your abdomen to rip through you. "'m so close, Han—harder-fuck—you're gonna make me come,"

Hange pleaded beneath you, humming with coarse devotion. Whispers of please come for me—need to see you come for me, slipping from their lips. If Hange was hooked, you were even worse off. The pretty detective making you lose any semblance of your own principles as you left yourself attach to them.

With a few more barrages of their fingers against your squishy spot, your hands tightened their grips on Hange's back as you spilled your release over their hand. The muscles in your abdomen convulsed, with a final gasp, you came hard, body trembling above Hange's hips as you slowed your movements against their wrists.

Hange slipped their fingers out of you when they saw your hips steadying. In a daze, you grabbed at their wrist, drawing their soaked fingers along their bottom lip. Hange whined, mouth opening to take them in, lapping up the sweetness of your release coating their  drenched digits.

"Every last drop, right?" you huffed, catching your breath and the look Hange gave you made you clench. A perverse profane glance into your eyes as they groaned, muffled by your fingers sitting on their tongue. Hange nodded pathetically in agreement against your hand, almost gagging on your fingers.

You knew you were done for. Hange had worked their way into deep your heart. An ever growing soft spot for the cute detective. Hange had already been aware they were caught in your trap a while ago, it just took you a little longer to catch up.

Neither of you knew what this meant, an uncertain future for both of you. But Hange knew this:

They'd rather have this be the one case they never solved, than ever turn you in.

—

well… here it is, if u spot any errors im sorry 😭

would love to hear ur guys’ feedback!! leaving a comment or any reblogs are greatly appreciated <3333

[ifindus]

I didn't know norway has interacted with HRE, could you tell us more about that?👁️

Of course!! Don't mind the essay below ✨

A direct relationship between Norway and HRE is difficult to find due to many reasons. One reason is that while HRE existed (962-1806) Norway was for the most part bound to Denmark and becomes non-existent in international relations. Another reason is the way that HRE was organized made it difficult to have a linear and stable relation. We mainly see potential interactions between HRE and Norway in two different ways: the Hanseatic league, and through wars and treaties.

The Hanseatic league.

The ­Hanseatic League was a guild of German tradesmen founded in the early 1100s, growing into a large organization for all German tradesmen by 1282. The guild was a result of common interests in trade and a need to protection; a network of alliances. They were essentially tradesmen based in the German area (HRE at the time) who banded together to make more profit in other cities and nations. Some foreign cities even getting their own areas where the German tradesmen lived and functioned as they would have under German rule. Bergen is a great example of this, and was the only Norwegian city included in the Hanseatic League trading network with an office, where still today there are areas referred to as the German dock. The League had their own laws and rules their members had to align with and had its high point from the 1300s to the middle of the 1400s.

The Hanseatic League founded the German office in Bergen at a time the Norwegian nation was weakened by the Black Plague. The access to grain from the Baltics was important for Norwegians and in Bergen the Germans got access to dried fish that came south from Northern Norway as well as fish oil, beer, iron, and certain fabrics. From around 1560, however, the Hanseatic League’s power in Bergen diminished as the Norwegian townspeople got a stronger trading position. Still, the Hanseatic League dominated the trade in Bergen until the middle of the 1700s. The Hanseatic office in Bergen was one of the last sold in 1754. The German population living in Bergen interacted with the locals through cooperation, competition, and conflict and had a great influence on the city.

The Hanseatic League was a major force in Northern Europe during the middle ages and more or less controlled all trade in the North, stretching from the Baltics to England. Middle Low German dominated the trading sphere and such has had a great influence of the Norwegian language and terms connected to trade. The Hanseatic League also made it easier for Norwegians to get access to continental goods and a more steady access to grain.

Wars and Treaties.

Firstly, there’s the German-Danish War of 974, where Norway fought along side Denmark against HRE. This is perhaps the only time we see a direct interaction between the nation Norway and HRE. HRE wanted to crush the Danish rebellion and prevent Viking raids further south. Denmark and Norway moved into German territory to ransack, and the first battle ended with a surprising Danish victory. After this battle, Norway returned home. A year later, HRE attacked again and this time they were successful, bringing the war into Denmark and even claiming Danish territory. The wat was a Danish loss.

Then we have the Treaty of Speyer in 1544 where the HRE Emperor recognised Christian III as the rightful king of Denmark and Norway and fully supported him against his rivals (just so far as to not aid them). In return Denmark-Norway would become pro-Hapsburg and respect the rights of the Teutonic Order, as they had had some disagreements over land previously.

Then there was the Danish-Norwegian involvement in the Thrity Years’ War (1618-1648) started in 1625. The war was in large related to a religious conflict within the borders of the HRE, and a want for European dominance between the Hapsburgs (Spain and Austria) and the House of Bourbon (France). The possibility to gain territories and seeing the war as a threat towards protestantism was what prompted Denmark-Norway to enter the war. Denmark was already present in German area due to trade and control of rivers leading into the sea around Denmark. The Danish intervention was financed by the Dutch and the English against HRE. The following battles were a massive failure for Denmark.

The Danish-Norwegian participation in the Thirty Years’ War ended with the treaty of Lübeck, signed in 1629, between HRE and Denmark-Norway. After the treaty, Denmark-Norway contributed to the war on HRE’s side and had to relinquish some territories. HRE and Denmark-Norway also ended up on the same side in the Franco-Dutch War (1672-1678), fighting against France, though they were both occupied in different areas of the war and never fought together.

HRE and Denmark-Norway were on opposing side in the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1814), which led to the dissolution of HRE in 1806) and a cede of Norway to Sweden in 1814, but never engaged in any battles against each other.

Summary.

The most extensive and influential interaction between Norway and HRE was within trade and contact through the Hanseatic League, with extensive cultural exchanges affecting language and norms and even local Norwegian politics.

They rarely dealt with each other directly in wars and treaties as the treaties were mainly organized by Denmark and to avoid fighting each other in the wars. The one time Norway as an independent nation fought against HRE in battle, Norway won. And Denmark lost.

[tkdb-hell]

33. Ritsu & MC gn

#33 - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

Kisses Prompt List • Kisses Masterlist

(I do my best to write the reader as gender neutral unless otherwise specified - if you send me an ask and prefer masc or fem, please let me know)

♡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡

The library was quieter than usual, with only the sound of shuffling papers and the occasional cough from a distant corner breaking the silence. You sat across from Ritsu Shinjo, surrounded by stacks of law textbooks and binders filled with case notes. He had been helping you study Anomalous Law for hours now, his sky-blue eyes sharp with focus as he dictated various statutes and interpretations.

“Darkwick regulations are more extensive than most schools, but they still adhere to the national legal framework,” Ritsu explained, flipping through his well-worn copy of the Compendium of Laws. “For example, Article 234 of the Japanese Penal Code criminalizes intimidation, which is relevant when dealing with certain anomaly cases.”

You nodded, only half-listening, your attention drifting toward him. His grey hair caught the dim light of the overhead lamp, and the way he spoke—so serious, so dedicated—made it hard to focus on anything else. You were about to ask for clarification on a point when he suddenly closed his book and stood up.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he said, his voice as composed as ever. “Overworking yourself will lead to diminished returns.”

Before you could respond, he leaned over the table, placing one hand firmly on the surface. His face was suddenly much closer than you were used to, and your breath hitched at the intensity in his gaze.

“Ritsu? What are you—”

Without warning, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It was confident, purposeful—just like him. The kiss was brief, but the shock of it left you frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. When he pulled back, he regarded you calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened.

“Section 177 of the Penal Code states that silence can be interpreted as consent in certain contractual situations,” he said, his tone entirely too matter-of-fact given what had just happened. “Though in this context, I suppose verbal confirmation would be preferable.”

You stared at him, still trying to process the fact that Ritsu Shinjo—pragmatic, disciplined, entirely too serious Ritsu—had just kissed you. “Are you… quoting law at me after kissing me?”

He gave a slight shrug, his expression entirely composed except for the faintest pink tint on his cheeks. “I thought it might help you process the situation more effectively.”

You blinked, then burst into laughter, the tension in the air melting away. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I believe in clarity,” he said, his lips quirking upward in a subtle smile. “But… if my intentions were unclear, allow me to state them plainly. I care about you. Greatly. And I trust my actions just now conveyed that.”

Still caught off guard, you couldn’t help but smile back, warmth spreading through you despite the cool air of the library. “They did. Loud and clear.”

Ritsu straightened, adjusting his tie as if to regain his usual composure. “Good. Then we’re in agreement.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “Shall we continue tomorrow? I believe there are still several sections of the Anomalous Investigation Act you need to review.”

You laughed again, standing up to gather your things. “Sure, Ritsu. But maybe next time, less law and more unexpected moments like that one.”

He gave you a knowing look, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Noted.”

As you walked out of the library together, you couldn’t help but think that Ritsu Shinjo was full of surprises—and you were more than happy to discover every one of them.

[sccpmccabe]

"Women will not be allowed to practice sports that go against their nature, and for this purpose, the National Sports Council must issue the necessary instructions to the country's sporting entities”, said decree-law 3,199 of April 14, 1941. The article was created during the Vargas Era and was in force until 1983. During all this time, he banned, among the sports considered masculine, the practice of women's football in Brazil".

These were years of oppression. Years of struggle, losses, achievements, tears, sweat and lots and lots of blood. It has only been 41 years since the practice of football by women was allowed in Brazil and all the investment and visibility of this sport came in even more recent times, but still and as always, we overcame all adversities.

With just 41 years of freedom we managed to create a name and reputation for our women's team, we brought in important names that entered the history of the sport such as Sissi, Formiga and the most known of all, Marta. With all this history, we have two silver medals in Olympic games, third places in World Cups, several Copa América titles and football that enchants almost everyone.

Tonight, once again, we make history and exceed the world's expectations. After 16 years, the women's football team returns to compete in an Olympic final, beating France, the home team (and this being the first time in history that Brazil has won) and even more recently the current world champion, Spain, a team with countless strong and highly skilled players.

I can't express in words all the pride I feel for these women just for the fact that they exist, but even more so now that we're back to a time of glory even after a terrible group stage, but football is like that, at some point you're at the top of the world and in the next second you could be on your knees on the pitch, shedding tears over a lost game.

Minutes after the match, Jenni Hermoso gave the following statement to Spanish radio: "We conceded four goals from a team that, for me, doesn't play football. But in the end what matters are the goals. I believe these were our faults. We don't play our football. They study us, they know how to hurt us, for me it's not football. I don't like this type of football. Obviously, they gained minutes, they lost you time, and for them, that was worth it. They're in the final and we're going for bronze."

Even with everything we have achieved in such a short time and with immeasurable difficulty, they still try to diminish us, our achievements, our struggles. But the message at the end of all this is this: You may not like us, how we play, how we vibe, how we cheer on and off the field, our celebrations and seeing us at the top, but that doesn't matter because back in 1941, the majority didn't like it either, but still Here we are. In search of glory, once again.

[facts-i-just-made-up]

What’s the history of software piracy?

The first known instance of software piracy took place during the privateer resurgence following the War of 1812 when the pirate Limebeard, under a commission from the British Admiralty, made a copy of “Lemmings” for the Amiga 15 from American forces in Bermuda.

As the first act of software piracy, this was a difficult and unprecedented undertaking. Computer software in those days was inscribed on metal punchcards, and Lemmings took up 8 tons of them. Limebeard had three of his frigates split up to the load, and two sunk on the way to Britain. Their cargo was rescued by the others however and King George was able to play the game, though rumor has it he never got past level 3 before giving up and returning to Shufflepuck Café.

Over the next decades, piracy evolved along with technology. As floppy discs became popular around 1850, pirates such as Napster Rackham began to sail in the Altdotbinari sea and through the Norwegian Torrents. This was known as the “Golden Age” of software piracy when thousands of tons of software infrastructure was stolen from the huts in which it was stored, mostly Adobe huts.

When sea warfare hit its stride in WWI, software piracy diminished and had died out entirely by WWII. Luckily, WWIII, IV, and VII proved a boon to the pirate trade. Russia and America had a battle of interests in which programs ranging from music players to ICBM launch software were traded across the ocean at phenomenal rates. One program, "Hypercard," which was used to hide launch codes from the lower chain of command, sold for $8 million to a bidder in San Francisco known only as "Sjobs69xxx420," who was never found or heard from again.

Entertainment based on software piracy also became popular, and movies such as "Tron" and "Pirates of the Copyrightian: Curse of the Decentralized P2P" made box office history. Today, software piracy enjoys protected status across the globe as an exercise of natural law, and is never prosecuted at absurd degrees given its minimal harm, which is levied strictly upon the richest corporations.

Nah just kidding they sued a 12 year old for $45 million for downloading Metallica’s Black Album. Real justice shit going on here.

[sulphuricgrin]

WIP Wednesday

I always forget that it's actually Wednesday, only to be reminded when I'm tagged to share WIPS.

tagged by @skyrim-forever and @hircines-hunter <33

no pressure tagging: @pocket-vvardvark @sanza-17 @lillxart @illumiera @orfeoarte @theoneandonlysemla @changelingsandothernonsense

@scholarlyhermit @sunlightpassingthroughthewater @yewphoric @flycasual

more Elikar chapter wip. with Alcanaro (Elikar and Lilli's elder brother) and briefly introducing Estatelle. (poor Estatelle) This is just mostly dialogue. Damn chapter is currently 8k, not close to done. But to my shock, I'm finally feeling excited about it. If you see spelling/grammar mistakes, no you didn't. (I'm not at the editing stage yet obviously)

Ignoring the guests for now, he’ll focus on family. Lilliandra had yet to appear, but the rest of his family were with the room. He’ll start with his soon-to-be sister-in-law, an introduction would be best. It doesn’t take long to find her, standing at the side of his brother, who’s talking to a face he’s unfamiliar with. Elikar waits at a comfortable distance away, unwilling to interrupt the conversation. In the meantime, he observes.  First thing he notices is the golden ear cuffs, made to mimic a longer taper of the ear. He was right in his initial impression, finding her to be a drastic contrast to Alcanaro. Round face and eyes to Al’s sharp features. Instead of his overflowing confidence infecting her, it seems to smother her, if the wringing of her hands and downward eyes were anything to go by. The only thing that matches is the rich fineries she wears. It matched his brother’s tastes, likely picked out by him. When his brother begins to turn with his guest, ready to walk off, Elikar steps in to talk to the brunette. She stiffens at his approach, before looking at his brother’s back. As if on cue, he looks back, perhaps wondering where she is.  “Pardon me, my brother seems to finally want to meet my fiance. A few minutes, please,” he puts the guest’s arm before returning to them. Hands behind this back, Alcanaro looks down his nose at the both of them. When the fiance begins to fidget with her hands again, he’s quick to stop it, placing his hand over hers. “Stop that.” Elikar clears his throat, before placing his hand on his chest and offering a shallow bow of his head. “I’m sorry I’m a few years late to personally welcome you to the family. I’m Elikar.”  Her first reaction is to look to his brother for, he doesn’t know, approval? It makes him uncomfortable. “It’s about time you did,” Alcanaro’s quick to comment, trying to reprimand him. “Yes, well, I was busy, in Khenarthi’s Roost, if you remember.” In a bit of frustration, he continues, “If you want to talk, introduce me, you ass.” It surpises him the amount of vitriol that comes from his mouth, all from the silent annoyance that was bubbling during the last few days.  He clicks his tongue, before placing a hand on the back of his fiance. “Estatelle, my… younger brother.”  She smiles, albeit somewhat nervously. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Elikar. How is it being stationed in Khenarthi’s Roost?” He easily smiles back at her. “Boring, if you could believe me. Lots of ships and paperwork, nothing worth talking about,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.  Her blue-yellow eyes brighten at his mention of ships. “What kind of ships do you get often?”  Alcanaro rolls his eyes at her question. “If you’re going to talk about this, then find me in fifteen minutes.” He adjusts his sleeve in boredom. “That should give you plenty of time to idly speak such nonsense. Fifteen minutes,” he repeats before leaving them.  Her smile diminishes with his scathing words, her hands back to fidgeting.  “I,” he pauses, “I hope he’s not like that with you all the time.” Worry gnaws at him. He almost reaches out a hand to place on her arm in a comforting manner, but he barely knows her. (And in the back of his mind he worries that will scare her.) Estatelle offers a tiny smile. “Just the stress, I’m sure. So many important people here. He’s always a gentleman,” she tries to explain. She then waits, patiently, for him to continue their interrupted conversation.  Awkwardly, he asks, “So, ships?” Without his brother’s shadow, she brightens five-fold. She nods to his question, an excited grin replacing her timid smile. This was where he was sucked into a long conversation, answering every question the girl had. From what he could gather, her father had been in the navy and she had grown up on and around ships. She was a pleasant mer to talk to - young, possibly a bit naive, but didn't seem dim-witted.  A shame she was to be stuck with his brother.