#liquid handling instruments

[microlitseo]

The Impact of Temperature on Pipetting Accuracy

Pipetting is an essential laboratory process, and depends heavily on precision instruments like micropipettes. Whether you're using an automatic micropipette for high-throughput experiments or a manual micropipette for delicate tasks, maintaining accuracy is essential. However, one often-overlooked factor that can significantly influence pipetting accuracy is temperature.

Let’s explore how temperature affects pipetting accuracy and how you can mitigate these challenges for reliable results.

How Does Temperature Affect Pipetting Accuracy?

Thermal Expansion of Liquids and Instruments Temperature fluctuations directly impact liquid density and volume. For instance, warmer liquids expand, which can lead to inaccurate volume measurements. This is particularly important when working with nanoliter dispensing or small volumes where even minor variations can cause significant errors. The mechanics of micropipettes, including pipette calibration standards, are also influenced by temperature. Plastic components in an auto micropipette or graduated micropipette may expand or contract, affecting their calibration.

Vapor Pressure Changes High temperatures can increase the vapor pressure of volatile liquids, making precise liquid handling more challenging. In such cases, using specialized micropipette tips designed for volatile substances can help.

Operator-Related Factors Human body heat can subtly affect the pipette price you pay in terms of accuracy. For example, holding the micropipette for extended periods might warm it up, leading to slight deviations in the dispensed volume. Understanding this interaction can help you choose the right types of micropipette for your tasks.

Best Practices for Mitigating Temperature Effects

Use Temperature-Adapted Tools Modern micropipette technology includes tools designed to minimize temperature effects. Investing in an automated micropipette or a well-calibrated micropipette pipette ensures consistent performance.

Pre-Equilibrate the Pipette and Liquid Allow both your automatic micropipette and the liquid to equilibrate to room temperature before beginning your work. This reduces discrepancies caused by temperature differences.

Calibrate Regularly Regular pipette calibration ensures your instrument remains accurate despite environmental changes. Calibration services often account for temperature variations when setting pipette calibration standards.

Choose the Right Tools Selecting the right pipette, whether it’s a micropipette pipette, an auto micropipette, or a graduated micropipette, for your specific application is crucial. For high-precision tasks, consider a pipette with nanoliter dispensing capabilities.

Monitor Environmental Conditions Maintain a stable lab environment to minimize temperature fluctuations. Using precision instruments in a controlled setting ensures more consistent results.

Why It Matters

Accurate pipetting is essential in fields like molecular biology, drug development, and clinical diagnostics. Inaccuracies, even if minor, can lead to failed experiments, increased costs, and unreliable results. By accounting for temperature effects and investing in reliable tools like automatic micropipettes or glass micropipettes, you ensure better reproducibility and efficiency.

Final Thoughts

Temperature plays a subtle but significant role in pipetting accuracy. Understanding its impact can help you make informed decisions, whether you're choosing a new micropipette pipette, comparing micropipette cost, or learning about the mechanics of micropipettes. Regular calibration, proper usage, and investing in advanced micropipette technology can mitigate temperature-related challenges, enabling accurate and reliable liquid handling every time.

Whether you're handling nanoliters or milliliters, accuracy is non-negotiable. Choose the right pipettor at the right pipettor price, calibrate regularly, and always consider environmental factors like temperature to achieve the best results in your work.

[liquidhandlingproduct]

What are the various categories of Medical Lab Instruments

Pharmaceutical and scientific research laboratories conduct numerous chemical and biological tests daily. To ensure precise and accurate results, these labs rely on a diverse array of advanced and sophisticated equipment. Let's examine some of the medical lab instruments, including liquid handling instruments, commonly found in a pharmaceutical research lab and explore their applications.

[0xstarzx0]

NDA: FERAL. (English is not my native language!!)

the request: been begging for a really dark rafe cameron as my husband. I did my best besties 🙇‍♀️

+18

“Are you a virgin?”

Rafe looked at you with eyes filled with lust, his mouth slightly open as his tongue slid over his lip.

You were the sweetest girl on the island. Kind, affectionate, not very loud, easily manipulated, and quite clingy.

When Rafe started dating you, it was just to see how far he could go to succeed in breaking you.

“Yes…” you replied timidly, clenching your fists.

Rafe looked you over once more. You had made yourself look incredibly cute—your hair was smooth and pulled back over your shoulders, and you wore a nightgown tied with a little black bow in the middle. Your candy-pink panties made him want to take them off with his teeth.

"You've never fingered yourself, touched yourself, or even rubbed yourself?" he asked, looking back into your eyes. You shook your head, and he nodded.

He got down on his knees and looked up at you. He truly wanted this to be special-just so he could break you even more.

Rafe didn't care about your feelings. He just wanted to destroy everything you loved. Why? Because you had become his strange obsession, and he didn't know how to handle it.

His large hands traced along your generous thighs, slipping one hand under your nightgown as he looked at you.

He looked at the small fabric that served as your panties and slid them off, gently pushing you back and softly opening your legs.

When he sees your perfectly shaved, gleaming, and dripping-with-excitement pussy, Rafe utters an exquisite smile.

"So wet for me, princess?" You nod your head and he looks at you disapprovingly. "Use words y/n"

You bite your lip and respond shyly. "Yes, Daddy..." Rafe smiles and kisses your thigh. "Good girl..."

Rafe looks at you and begins massaging your clit, you jump and he caresses your cheek. "Don't worry sweetheart...Daddy's going to make you feel good."

You relax against the plush chair, parting your legs wider as Rafe's touch becomes more insistent. His fingers dance over your slick folds, expertly playing you like an instrument. Your breathing grows heavier.

Rafe slides two fingers into your little hole. You gasp, back arching as he curls them upward to stroke your most sensitive spot.

Rafe adding a third finger. You moan loudly, fingers digging into the plush fabric as he stretches you wide. "That's it, take it all,"

"Rafe...it hurts...!" you stammer, completely lost between the discomfort and the pleasure he's giving you. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he scissors his fingers, relentlessly stretching your tight hole.

Rafe leans down and growls in your ear, "You can take it, princess. Show Daddy you're a good girl and take all three fingers."

You begin to spasm around Rafe, and he accelerates, his eyes filling with contempt. Yet, despite the fact that he can't believe he's fucking a pogue but, he also loves seeing the pleasure he's giving you. His jaw clenches as he watches your every reaction.

Rafe's hand moves faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you. The sound of wet, squelching noises fills the room, intermingled with your gasps and moans.

"Rafe I’m—...!" You reached your climax, squeezing around him and almost trapping his fingers. His fingers are drenched in your juices. "Oh god, I'm so sorry...”

Your brain is completely fried, you're more sensitive than Rafe thought.  

Rafe laughs cruelly and laboriously removes his fingers. "It's nothing darling."  He brings his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. "Mmm, you taste divine."

You stare at him, clenching around emptiness. Rafe begins to untie his pajama pants, the outline of his erection visible through his boxers. "Now it's my turn, princess."

He pulls down his boxers, and you gulp at the sight. His member is thick and veined, with a broad, mushroom-shaped head that glistens with a pearly bead of liquid. It curves slightly upward, betraying his eagerness. "Like what you see?" he taunts.

You stare at his erection with wide, apprehensive eyes. "Rafe...it's so big..." You bite your lip, unsure if you can take all of him. He grins wickedly and wraps his hand around the base. "You can take it, princess."

Rafe guides the head of his cock to your entrance and pushes forward slowly, the thick tip parting your lips and stretching your hole. 

You gasp as he sinks in, his length filling you to the brim. "Fuck, you're so tight...I can barely fit."

"Rafe!" You grip the sheets tightly, pursing your lips as he inches deeper. Rafe smirks at your expression. "Relax, sweetheart. Breathe through it."  He grinds his hips forward, filling you completely. "Now it’s all in."

Your eyes widen, and you let out a surprised cry. He doesn't give you time to adjust and begins pounding into you violently. 

His hips slap against yours, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. He pulls back and slams deep, each thrust harder than the last.

You cry out and hit his arm, begging him to slow down. He leans forward, burying his face in your neck, and continues to pound into you mercilessly. His breath is hot against your skin, and his voice is low and menacing. "Take it, princess."

“Rafe, it really hurts!” The only thing you feel is immense discomfort, you didn't think losing your virginity would hurt this much.

Rafe speeds up, lowering his head to where they're connected. As he suspected, blood is present. You were indeed a virgin. 

A sadistic grin spreads across his face. You beg him to stop, but he's far from finished. "Shh, it'll only hurt for a little longer."

"Rafe, I want you to stop!" You shout. Rafe growls and gives you a menacing glare.

"I didn't waste months wooing a little pogue like you just to hear you complain. Shut your fucking mouth and take it."

With a harsh grip on your thighs, he spreads your legs wider and increases his pace. His hips snap back and forth as he slams into you, each thrust punctuated by a wet, slapping sound. Tears stream down your face as the pain becomes almost unbearable.

You dig your fingers into his arms, scraping at his skin, desperate for him to let you go. He hisses at the sudden pain but doesn't slow down. Instead, he leans back, pushing your legs even farther apart, and increases his brutal rhythm. "Keep scratching, baby."

"That just makes me want to hurt you even more." He grins, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he watches you struggle beneath him. 

With a sudden twist of his hips, he hits a particularly rough spot inside you, making you scream in agony. "Look at you, crying and begging."

His voice drips with condescension as he continues to ravage your body. "You're so beautiful when you're in pain." He leans down to kiss your tear-streaked cheeks, licking your salty tears from his lips.

Rafe finds you beautiful, your broken heart only makes him want to lock you away in his home and never let you out. 

His possessiveness surges, the urge to claim you as his own overwhelming. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "I think I love you. And I don’t think it’s normal."

He speeds up, his body starting to tremble inside you as he nears his climax. Unfortunately, your vagina clenches around him involuntarily, prolonging the awful experience. You're nothing more than a sobbing, pleading mess, begging him to stop.

His face contorts in pleasure as he finally finds release. He lets out a guttural grunt, burying his face in your neck once more. 

You can feel his hot seed spilling into you, marking you as his. He collapses on top of you, spent and satisfied. "See?"

"Rafe... stop... I can't take anymore..." You whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. He grumbles and pulls out, the wet sound echoing in the room. He looks down at you, his expression unreadable.

"Pity you were such a pogue. I'd have loved to take your virginity differently." He studies the disheveled sight of you, his gaze lingering on the bloodstained sheets beneath you.

Rafe says nothing more and walks away, leaving you alone and spent. He knows you're in love with him, weak and dependent. He has you right where he wants you.

Though Rafe would never admit it, he's utterly obsessed with you. You're his peculiar addiction, his fascination. He can't get enough, no matter how hard he tries to resist.

MY REQUEST ARE OPEN!!

[calmcoldevening]

Back at it again with a prompt idea!

What if the slasher/s are trying to kill a victim but they are immortal and keep coming back

And the victim keeps following the slasher only to annoy and be a little menace to them >:3

(maybe they fall in love later O.O)

What ever slasher you choose is fine for me ;)

Art the clown x immortal!reader

Tw: blood, murdering, torturing? well, yeah. Art is an ass sometimes

• Art has always been a fan of violent and noisy 'games' that chilled the blood in his veins. That was his sadistic nature, and the whole of Miles County and people for hundreds of miles around had already heard a lot about it. A strange man in a clown costume, who sent at least a dozen unhappy teenagers and adults to the next world. He loved blood and horror, and no one would dare stand in his way, not wanting to become another victim of brutal violence.

• Maybe it was fate's will, or maybe it was just your bad luck or an accident, but one day Art saw you in one of the cafes late at night. He was watching you from a dark alley, so it's unlikely that you would have seen him even if you really wanted to. He clutched his garbage bag in his hands, and a cruel grin appeared on his face. You were a good little thing and you definitely could have brightened up this cold night for him.

• Without thinking for long, Art hit you on the head at the most unexpected moment and took you to one of his 'game rooms', which in fact was just a room of one of the old factories in the city. He wasn't in the mood to hunt you down and catch you in your own house for a long time. This game was supposed to be fast but colorful.

• The clown involuntarily licked his lips, watching you slowly regain consciousness and open your big innocent eyes. He walks around you like some kind of fancy Christmas tree. You're sitting on an old wooden chair, badly scratched and already soaked in blood from past victims. Your limbs are tied in wooden material with strong leather straps, and thick barbed wire with rusty, blunt teeth is wrapped around your neck, chest and abdomen. There was a smell of dampness and fear in the air, which made the Clown giggle noiselessly.

• Finally, Art stopped right in front of you and gestured at the trash bag to your right. Making a playful, almost pretended sweet expression, or reached into the bag as if looking for a Christmas present for a small child. In the flickering light, a long thin tool with a convex handle and a bizarrely curved metal tip appears, more like a sharply sharpened blade. A man comes behind you and caresses your tense shoulders with almost uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are rough and rough. The clown's palms slowly descend lower, sliding along your clothed back through the open part of the back of the chair. The movements are slow and measured. Suddenly his movements stop and in the next moment they are replaced by acute pain. Sparks dance in your eyes and you emit a strangled cry, reflexively your body gives way forward, blunt spikes painfully dig into your tender flesh. Art laughs soundlessly, continuing to press the blade deeper into your spine, and then abruptly moves his hand down. With a nasty creak, the fabric of your T-shirt is torn, and at the same time your soft flesh is torn. Art rejoices, seeing how his hands and white gloves are stained with maroon lingonberry liquid, flowing in a thick stream onto the concrete floor. Tears are pouring from your eyes as you desperately bite your lower lip in an attempt to control yourself. Your back, which was once a flawless canvas of pale skin, is now covered with a network of terrible red lines, each of which testifies to the cruelty of Art's tools and his relentless thirst for suffering. There is a pungent smell of iron in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that remains on your sweat-soaked skin.With deliberate slowness, I pick up the razor-sharp instrument again, its sinister curves gleaming in the dim light. Your body is trembling, every muscle is tense with fear, while the man is preparing to inflict even more torment on you.In the flickering shadows, a grotesque smile appears on his painted face, a silent promise of future torment.

• Suddenly, the blade hits the blood-soaked concrete with a ringing thud and bounces off somewhere to the dark wall. Art goes back to his "magic" bag and takes out some kind of leather strap. With a deft movement of his hands, he hooks the clips connected by a strap onto your wet cheeks, the gloves wet with blood rub unpleasantly against your face. Art smiles his creepy smile and gently touches your chin with his fingers. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were wet from tears and saliva flowing from your open mouth. But not that you can complain here. All you had to do was mumble something, barely moving your limp tongue.

• An unpleasant crunch filled the half-empty concrete room. With a strong crack, Art broke off a piece of your tooth with pliers, the fragment unpleasantly scratched the already bleeding gum. All you had to do was mumble something indistinctly, to which Art just grinned madly and jokingly grabbed your tongue with the edges of the pliers, watching the despair in your eyes. He broke off tooth after tooth until a dozen teeth had been pulled out in his hand.

• Your throat burned from screaming, and your eyes burned unpleasantly from the tears you shed. You wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Realizing that Art won't get the right reaction from you anymore, noticing your exhaustion, he snorts soundlessly, clearly losing interest. With a graceful movement of his hand, Art deftly takes out an old battered pistol from a trash bag. He slides the edges of the gun over your cheek, drawing uncomplicated patterns. His movements are slow and upward. One. Two. Three. Finally, his hand reaches your head, the muzzle of the gun is pressed against your painfully throbbing temple. You wearily close your eyes, feeling a leaden heaviness in your limbs. His arms and legs were already blue from lack of blood.

• Art blows on the smoke coming from the shower of the gun and throws the weapon back into the bag. The man steps back, admiring his work and your smoking wound on his temple for a couple of moments. After that, he carefully removes the straps from the dead body and puts them in a bag, slowly leaving the building.

• Art pinned a young man to the ground, slowly cutting the meat from his face and putting the skin in his mouth. A soft laugh was heard abruptly behind him, and another pair of hands, softer and softer palms, covered his hands. The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and turns back, meeting your satisfied gaze. Your face still looked tired and tear-stained, and there were bruises and streaks of blood on your neck, but overall you looked almost.. normal?

• Without thinking twice, you grab the scalpel from his hand and with a sharp movement stick the blade into the clown's eye. He screams soundlessly, raising his hands to his face. You step back, watching his agony with a satisfied expression on your face. "You didn't think it would end so easily, did you?" You purred, folding your arms over your chest. The clown frowns, baring his sharp black teeth, and jumps up from the lifeless body. He walks towards you with quick steps and grabs your throat with his cold hands, lifting you off the ground. No matter how thin he looks, the guy has plenty of strength. You giggle, covering his hands with yours. You can already feel the air leaving your lungs, being replaced by an unpleasant burning sensation. Without thinking twice, you reach out your hands, touching the clown's face with your fingers, and scratch his painted face, mixing the paint with the blood from his wounded eye. He presses harder, enjoying the crunch of your airways.

• It quickly turned into a constant game of cat and mouse. Wherever Art was, you were always there. And I was in his way. Art was angry, cursed, and killed you. But you were coming back. Each time, your body was still decorated with old scars, but the man added new ones. He realized that the old scars would disappear. He had to make new ones. It was as if he was celebrating his favorite, best victim in this way. He can't be uninterested in your natural stubbornness and immortality.

• Over time, the clown really begins to look forward to your recovery and return, despite the slight irritation that you cause in him. He feels it in the pleasant piercing of his fingers. His hands crave you, your body, his fingers want to touch your scars and leave new ones.

• Your constant presence in Art's life begins to gradually change his thinking and thoughts, your image has settled in his head like a damn poison.

• Your immortality and lack of fear make you a really worthy partner for Art, he realizes this on an unconscious level. There's something about you. Something that makes his blood boil in his head. He's falling in love with you. Yes, in his own way, but he falls in love. Despite your initial maniac-victim relationship, Art is starting to see you as almost an equal. This is surprising. He loves you in his own twisted way.

• Art and you are in a love-hate relationship, constantly joking and arguing with each other. Despite the constant quarrels, you are united by a deep connection and understanding, which becomes apparent in your communication. You both feel extremely comfortable in such a relationship in your own perverted way (this is especially damn noticeable in sex..)

• Art begins to crave your company and gets annoyed when you are not around. There's something nice about knowing that after a bloody murder, he can properly combine his anger and passion on you. Especially in your intimate moments. Playing with blood, strangulation and other elements of bdsm is an integral part of your pleasure. You are a perfect match for each other, you are feared by all the states in the district.

[ninesparrowsoftroy]

For the Mortal and Machine | Viktor | 1.1k | Blurb

Viktor, who, in his pursuit to uncover the secrets of what may lie beneath the metal plates of the Hexcore, disrupts the very equilibrium of the Arcane.

Things to note prior to proceeding: I have absolutely not the slightest of clues if this makes any sense at all, really I just opened a tab and forced myself to keep writing and here we are. I hope this is somewhat even remotely in the realm of his character.

Exposed; paled skin blooming a vicious red where the edge of the scalpel had torn through flesh and muscle, each individual vertebrae aching with the force of a discomforting stretch, lungs pressing against the hollowed bones of a weakened ribcage. Vulnerable; calloused fingers digging the cartilage of chipped nails into the plush of the palm, sunken eyes searching with a feverish desperation through the creased and folded papers on the desk, a dry lip drawn tight into a thinning line, chapped and blushing a violent pink where the skin threatened to crack. Alone; so completely and utterly alone.

Viktor did not resent the isolation brought upon him, nor did he find comfort in its hollow presence, instead he had grown somewhat accustomed to it. The desolation of the four-faced laboratory forced itself to become an inescapable familiarity, the quiet that had once been startling and foreign in the thrumming atmosphere of mechanical discovery and esoteric ambition, was now an instrument of focus not afforded before.

He uncovered in the silence a newfound means of potential, an opportunity to push beyond the limitations of physiological restriction, challenge the notions of scientific sanctity. No longer was anyone who could argue against a hypothesis or dissent to a proposal of experimentation. Now he simply could string out the calculations, weave together the prospects of potential and contrast it against the forces of reality. He could fail over and over and over again and spend however long it took until failure was nothing but a prospect of the past.

It was here in this desolate, haunting lab that the whispers of progress dripped itself into his desperate ears, pushing him further and further down its spiral. A moment longer before the desk, a second more to attune an equation, one step deeper into the labyrinth of something he would claw his way to discover.

Viktor set the metal blade against the cold surface of the desk, bloodied fingers staining the ridges of its handle. The wound stung, the opened nerves unwelcome against the still air of the lab, the muscles within his hand flexing with each drip of the liquid that seeped into the crevices of his palm. His skin itched, hand twitching with a subconscious longing for self-preservation, his fingers instinctively curling inward. It was with a principal force that he willed his muscles to straightened, splaying out his palm and fingers into a flat line, the sting of the stretched wound bitting at his nerves.

For science; for the taming of what has always remained so far out of reach, what has been intangible and arcane.

He let a breath fall from his lips, eyes fixated on the many faced machine that thrummed before him. Its metal plates shifting, clicking into place with a subdued agency, each form of movement accompanied only by a pulse of a cold, muted light. Viktor extended his arm out into the buzzing atmosphere of the core, his palm facing its dancing faces. Faint though it was, the vibrations that encased and coiled around his wrist as he ebbed closer and closer towards the machine were unmistakable. He could feel the buzzing air crawl its way around his forearm, tickling the skin like thousands of minuscule needles all placed onto it at once.

A splotch of red pulled itself from his hand, droplets of red drifting in the air like satellites. He watched with a curious eye as the dots gravitated towards the machine, floating in a slow and meticulous sequence. For a moment they were like stars, a moving constellation of red, outlining vague and unrecognizable shapes in the buzzing air, before they were drawn into a singular line. The metal faces of the core flashed, the specks of red beginning to vibrate as the proximity between them began to wane. They trembled, losing their circular shape as each dot began to bleed into the one behind it, uniform it the way they formed a single line. Then, in the moment it would take to blink, the liquid vanished, sucked into the heart of the machine with a gluttonous voracity.

The reaction was immediate: each of its metal faces jerking with a harrowing uniformity, the buzz of the air growing sharper, what had once pricked at him now pressed with a newfound cruelty into the pale barrier of his body. He drew his shoulder back, attempting to yank his hand away from the machine in an effort of retreat. The open wound of his hand began to burn against the light of the machine. Panic then seized him when he felt the buzzing air lock onto his forearm, his body lurching forward when the core grasped onto the scrunched fabric at his elbow, tugging his body closer. Viktor could feel it pull the blood from his body, coaxing it from beneath the flesh and muscle of his hand.

It spun, breathing with every spark of pain that shot through his body, each runic face trembling as they shifted in and out of place. He bit back the noise within his throat, his lungs withholding any sound or breath as panic gave way to desperation. Its pull grew harsher, tugging at the bone inside his hand, ripping away his skin in search of red and white. Around him the lab grew dark, shadows contorting in the corners behind pillars and beneath desks and equipment. The starless light of the night no longer fell into the room through the window, instead all sources of sight came from the twitching pulse of the core’s glow. It danced between shades of purple and blue, sparks of white garnering black dots in his vision.

Everything buzzed, tilting between horizontal and vertical, spinning as the atmosphere of the machine grew, clawing up his arm until he could it feel it from every limb. His hands, his arms, his neck, his back, his hip, his feet; it was consuming, swallowing him whole. He could feel the weight of its hold against him, the impaling pierce of the needle-like air puncturing into the weakening muscles of his limbs, its low resounding hum pounding itself against the walls of his skull.

The core gave another feral jerk, its mechanical form trembling as it grew unstable, the metal faces colliding and crashing against one another as they began to fall onto the hard surface of the desk. That was when Viktor could feel his eyes roll back, all sound in the room vanishing as a single reverberating shriek splintered through the lab, and all he could do was pray helplessly that he would wake up eventually.

I have given no permission for my writing or work to be posted anywhere else other than this account. I hope you enjoyed. <3

[machine-herald-archive]

House on Emberflit Alley - Rayla Heide

Viktor’s third arm emitted a thin ray of light that welded metal into his left arm with steady precision. The smell of burning flesh no longer bothered him, nor did the sight of his left wrist splayed open, veins and sinewy muscle fused with mechanical augments. He did not wince. Instead, he felt a sense of achievement gazing at the seamless blend of synthetic and organic materials.

The sound of children shouting gave Viktor pause. Rarely did anyone venture down the fog-bound confines of Emberflit Alley. He had chosen this location for that very reason — he preferred not to be interrupted.

Keeping his left arm immobile, Viktor adjusted a silver dial on his iridoscope. The device contained a series of mirrored lenses that angled light to allow him full view of the street outside his laboratory.

Several children were violently shoving a malnourished boy toward Viktor’s wrought iron gates.

“I doubt Naph will last a minute in there,” said a girl with imitation gemstones embedded above her eyes.

“I bet he comes back with a brass head,” said a boy with a shock of red hair. “Maybe then his brain won’t be dull as the Gray.”

“You better return with something we can sell, or we’ll be the ones to give you a new head,” said the largest one, grabbing the small boy by the neck and forcing him forward. The other children backed away, watching.

The young boy trembled as he approached the towering gate, which screeched as he pushed it open. He passed the front door encrusted with interlocking gears and shimmied through an open window. An alarm blared as he fell to the floor.

Viktor sighed and pressed a switch that quieted the ringing.

The skinny boy stared at his new environment. Glass jars, containing organic and metal organs floating in green fluid, lined the walls. A leather gurney stained with blood, upon which lay a mechanized drill, sat in the center of the chamber. Dozens of automatons stood motionless against every wall. To Viktor, his laboratory was a sanctuary for his most creative and vital experiments, but he could imagine it might seem frightening to a child.

The boy’s eyes widened in shock when he saw Viktor at his workbench, arm splayed open on the table. He ducked behind a nearby crate.

“You will not learn anything from that box, child,” said Viktor. “But on top of it, you will find a bone chisel. Hand it to me, please.”

A trembling hand reached to the top of the crate and grasped the handle of the rusted metal tool. The chisel slid across the floor to Viktor, who picked it up.

“Thank you,” said Viktor, who wiped off the instrument and continued work on his arm.

Viktor heard the boy’s rapid breathing.

“I am replacing the twisting flexor tendons — ahem, the broken mechanism in my wrist,” Viktor said, reaching into his arm to adjust a bolt. “Would you like to watch?”

The boy peeked his head around the crate.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” said the boy.

“No,” said Viktor. “When one eliminates the anticipation and fear of pain, it becomes entirely bearable.”

“Oh.”

“It also helps that my arm is almost completely mechanized. See for yourself.”

The boy stepped away from the crate and sat across from Viktor without a word, eyes fixed on his arm.

Viktor resumed welding a new boltdrive onto the tendons beneath his skin. When he had finished, he sealed the flaps of dermis onto his arm. He drew the beam of light across the seam, cauterizing his flesh and fusing the incision.

“Why did you do that?” the boy asked. “Didn’t your arm work fine as it was?”

“Do you know what humanity’s greatest weakness is?”

“No...” said the boy.

“Humans consistently ignore the endless infinity of possibilities in favor of maintaining the status quo.”

The boy gave him a blank stare.

“People fear change,” Viktor said. “They settle with fine when they could have exceptional.”

Viktor walked to his stovetop. He mixed a blend of dark powder and Dunpor cream into a saucepan, heating the liquid with his laser.

“Would you like a glass of sweetmilk?” said Viktor. “A weakness of mine, but I have always enjoyed the anise flavor.”

“Um... you’re not going to saw off my head and replace it with a metal one?”

“Ah. Is that what they think of me now?” Viktor asked.

“Pretty much,” said the boy. “I heard one kid had theirs replaced just because they had a cough.”

“Did you get this information directly?” said Viktor.

“No, it was my neighbor Bherma’s cousin. Or uncle. Or something like that.”

“Ah. Well in that case.”

“Would replacing someone’s head even get rid of a cough?” asked the boy.

“Now you are asking the right questions,” said Viktor. “No, I imagine it would not be much of an upgrade. Coughing stems from the lungs, you see. And to your earlier point, I am not going to saw your head off and replace it with a metal one. Unless, of course, you want that.”

“No thanks,” said the boy.

Viktor poured the thick liquid into two mugs and passed one to the boy, who stared longingly at the hot drink.

“It is not drugged,” said Viktor and took a sip from his own mug. The boy gulped down the sweetmilk.

“Are the others still watching outside?” said the boy through stained teeth.

Viktor glanced through his iridoscope. The three children were still waiting by the front entrance.

“Indeed they are. Do you wish to give them a scare?” Viktor said.

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he nodded.

Viktor handed him a sonophone and said, “Scream as loud as you can into this.”

The boy gave an exaggerated, blood-curdling shriek into the sonophone. It echoed along Emberflit Alley, and the other children jumped in terror, quickly scattering to hide. The boy looked at Viktor and grinned.

“I find that fear is more often than not a limiting emotion,” said Viktor. “Tell me something that scares you, for example.”

“The Chem-Barons.”

“The Chem-Barons are feared because they project an air of dominance and often the threat of violence. If no one feared them, people would stand up to them. And then where would their power go?”

“Uh...”

“Away. Exactly. Think of how many Chem-Barons exist compared to how many people live in Zaun. Fear is used by the powerful few to control the weak because they understand how fear works. If someone can manipulate your emotions, they can control you.”

“I guess that makes sense. But I’m still afraid of them,” said the boy.

“Of course you are. Patterns of fear are carved deep into your very flesh. Steel, however, has no such weakness.”

Viktor retrieved a vial containing miniscule silver beads floating in milky fluid.

“That is where I may be able to assist,” he said. “I have developed an augmentation that eliminates fear altogether. I could let you try it out for a short time.”

“How short?”

“The implant will dissolve in twenty minutes.”

“You’re sure it’s not permanent?”

“It can be, but not this one. You might find that without fear, your friends out there lose their grip. Bullies feed on fear, you see. And without it, they will starve.”

The boy nursed his drink, considering the offer. After a moment he nodded to Viktor, who inserted a thin needle into the vial and injected one of the silver beads into the skin behind his ear.

The boy shuddered for a moment. Then he smiled.

“Do you feel your weakness falling away?” Viktor asked.

“Oh yes,” said the boy.

Viktor walked him to the door and twisted a dial to unlock it before waving him out.

“Remember, you can always return if you wish a more permanent solution.”

A wave of fog created a ghostly silhouette around the boy as he emerged from the laboratory. Viktor returned to his workbench to watch the experiment through his iridoscope.

Emberflit Alley was empty, but as soon as the boy walked out his companions emerged.

“Where’s our souvenir?” asked the red-haired boy.

“Doesn’t seem like little Naph has held up his end of the deal,” said the girl.

“Guess we have to punish him,” added the large boy. “We did promise him a new head today, after all.”

“Don’t you touch me,” said Naph. He raised himself to his tallest height.

The bully reached for Naph’s neck, but Naph turned and punched him square in the face.

Blood streamed from the bully’s nose.

“Grab him!” the bully screamed.

But his companions were no longer interested in grabbing him.

Naph stepped toward the bullies. They stepped back.

“Get away from me,” he said.

The bullies eyed each other, then turned and ran.

Viktor closed his iridoscope and returned to his work. He stretched the fingers of his newly repaired arm and tapped them on his desk in satisfaction.

[scary-grace]

Shigaraki x Reader WIP Poll

I started but didn't finish a bunch of fics for Halloween, and in an effort to distract myself from everything I'd like to get into them! Below are excerpts from four fics I got a decent start on. Once you've read them, vote in the poll at the bottom for which one you think I should finish first!

Necromancer Shigaraki

            Tomura stares at your body, torn. You’re just barely dead. He watched you take your last breaths only seconds ago, and he knows even without touching you that your skin’s still warm, your blood still liquid, your brain still alight with electrical impulses. You’re the perfect candidate for a resurrection, and Tomura needs a perfect candidate, or it’s not going to work. Spirits of the restless dead might be drawn to Tomura like moths to a bug zapper, but the real money in necromancy comes through resurrections, and Tomura’s never done one successfully.

            That was fine while Tomura’s master was still in charge, but when he was captured, his guild disbanded. Tomura and his friends had to find a new home, and their new guildmaster gives zero shits about potential and all the shits about results, which means that Tomura’s inability to manage a complete resurrection has gone from an awkward conversation to a significant problem. Tomura’s friends have made themselves useful to the Hassaikai guild already. If Tomura can’t, he’ll be out on his ear.

            He needs to resurrect somebody, and he needs to do it fast. You’d be the ideal subject if your last words hadn’t been a demand to do the exact opposite.

Demon Shigaraki

In all of Tomura’s depictions, he’s missing something – his index and middle finger off his left hand. Offering him yours should get his attention. You adjust your grip on the handle of the knife and speak. “I conjure you, Shigaraki Tomura, instrument of destruction and symbol of fear. Come to me.”

            The circle hums to life around you. The book said it would do that. The book also said to explain. “Someone took everything away from me. I want to pay him back, but I can’t.” Bitterness fills the back of your throat, stings your eyes. Your hatred for Keigo chokes off your voice for a moment. “Shigaraki Tomura, spirit of entropy, dominion of grief, vengeance is mine. Help me claim it.”

     You set your hand on top of the ninth symbol, spreading your thumb, fourth, and fifth fingers wide, leaving a clear strike at your index and middle fingers. Seeing them there, isolated on the red-chalked concrete floor, turns your stomach. How hard will you have to strike to amputate them? What if you can’t do it? This is insane. You need to move on. Move towns, move countries, dye your hair and change your name, go under and surface again somewhere far from Takami Keigo, where you’ll never hear his name again. Is vengeance against the guy who did you wrong really worth mutilating yourself? Do you really hate him that much?            

Yes. You do.

Crossroads Demon Shigaraki

Tomura doesn’t know how time passes for humans when they’re alive, but he knows how it passes for you because of how you wake up. Most of the souls at Tomura’s crossroads were dead before they knew what hit them, and they wake up slowly, peacefully. They seem to know they’re dead already. They get up fast and walk faster, dissolving into nothingness past the edge of the crossroads before they even realize that Tomura’s there. But you knew what hit you. You know something went wrong. Tomura knows, because when you wake up, you lurch upright, clawing at your chest and struggling to breathe.

You’re dead. You don’t need to breathe. You don’t need to shiver, either, but your spirit’s shaking all over as you press your hands against your chest, touch along your arms and legs, reach up to the back of your head and press down hard. Tomura remembers what your body looked like on the road, and you must remember, too, because with every injury you can’t find, your panic increases. Your hands keep returning to your chest, the back of your head, like you’re trying to hold your body together.

You don’t have a body anymore. There’s nothing there, and Tomura doesn’t like the way watching you makes him feel. “Hey,” he says, and you freeze in place. “Pull it together. You’re dead.”

Cyborg Shigaraki

You work your fingers beneath the net, pulling it up and away from his neck so you can cut it away without getting the knife anywhere near his skin. Once you’ve made the necessary cuts, you get to work unwrapping it, sliding your hand behind his head and lifting it as gently as you can manage as you tug the net free. He’s almost dead weight, but not quite. When you lower his head back to the sand, you take a moment to move his hair out of his face.

            You get a shock from there. His eyes are open, their irises blood-red, and there are scars over his eye and the corner of his mouth. As you watch, he blinks slowly, then focuses on you. The voice that passes through his cracked lips is raspy and quiet, so quiet that you have to lean in to hear. “Leave me.”

            “I can’t do that,” you say. You can’t call for an ambulance – there’s no cell service down here, and in the time it would take you to get back in range, it’ll be too late. “Nobody should be alone when they –”            

“Won’t die.” He coughs, and a spatter of blood exits his mouth. Blood wells up around the driftwood spar, too. “Once I take it out.”

[gurugirl]

This is a Patreon exclusive one shot! If you're interested consider joining my Patreon! xoxo

When your hot waiter offers you a private demo to make a specialty cocktail at his place who are you to say no?

723 word teaser below

“What can I do to help?” You placed your palms onto the kitchen island and watched him.

“Well, let’s see,” he slid the cutting board in front of you before pulling a knife from a magnetized block that hung next to his refrigerator and walked behind you, placing the sharp instrument on the board, “Let’s see how you handle a knife in the kitchen. Can you slice this orange for me? Lengthwise.”

You turned to look at him over your shoulder as he stood close. You laughed through your nose and nodded, “Okay, Harry.” Maybe he really was just going to give you a demonstration.

You picked the knife up and placed the orange steady, slicing through the middle.

“Here,” Harry’s hand wrapped around yours and moved your palm down the handle, adjusting the way you were holding the knife, “Hold it like this, it’s safer.”

He removed his hand from yours, placing his palm on the counter as he kept himself directly behind you.

You sliced through the orange again. A slim cut that flopped to the wooden board and Harry hummed, “Pretty good. Let me see you do it again, this time a bit thicker. We want the slice to be juicy when we bite into it.”

You bit your lip and ran the knife through the flesh of the orange again, cutting a thicker slice and then turning to look up at Harry.

“Very good. You’re easy to train. Do another one for me. Just like this one.”

You could almost feel the heat from his chest he was so close. Part of you wished that he’d just press into you and touch you solidly. Give you a squeeze or something that was a clear signal.

Steadying the orange with your left hand you picked up the knife with your right one and angled it over the rind, slicing down to the board. It felt silly really. You knew how to cut things. You were an adult who’d sliced oranges many times over the years. But even as silly as it felt, there was an aspect to the whole thing that felt like foreplay suddenly when he leaned in closer, his breath cascading down your neck, “Gorgeous. Give me two more just like that.”

You gulped and picked up the other half of the orange and repeated the slices, finding yourself leaning back the slightest in hopes of getting him closer.

“Do you cook a lot?” You spoke when the last bit was sliced and Harry moved away to get the cocktail shaker and a shot glass.

“I do. My father is the main chef. He curated the menu. I help him with it, though. Learned almost everything from him. Now if he’s not there I’m in charge and I run the kitchen. We’ve got a really great chef that we trust who takes our recipes seriously,” he poured the Grand Cru into a shot glass.

“Wow. Are you there a lot? At work?”

He nodded, “Nearly every day. It’s hard work but it’s worth it. I love the job.”

Harry opened up a bottle of red wine, uncorked the top, and poured two servings into the cocktail shaker then added in the Grand Cru, “Stir this for me and I’ll get the glasses ready. We want the liquid inside to be very cold before we pour to serve.”

You took the cocktail spoon and dipped it into the shaker with the liquid and stirred while Harry prepared the glasses with fresh ice and the orange slices and then put the strainer over the shaker, “Pour.”

“This was an easy drink to make, Harry,” you grinned as you emptied the cocktail shaker into both glasses.

“Of course it’s easy.” He took both glasses, handing you yours, and raised his upward to clink, “To private demonstrations,” he winked.

You giggled and took a quick sip, “Thank you. I just thought there would be a lot more to the demonstration.”

Harry moved to stand next to you, and leaned his hip into the island before taking a sip, “Oh yeah? I can give you a more in-depth demonstration. I wasn’t quite done just yet.”

“So there’s more to it?”

Harry licked his lips and you noted the quick glance he gave your cleavage before looking back at you, “I hope there’s more.”

Check out my Patreon masterlist here! xoxo

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[microlitseo]

Top 10 Pipette Maintenance Tips for 2025

Pipettes are important liquid handling instruments in laboratories, ensuring accurate and reliable results. However, their performance can be compromised without proper care. Here are the top pipette maintenance tips for 2025 to help you maintain precision, extend the life of your pipettes, and reduce contamination risks. 

1. Prioritize Regular Cleaning and Decontamination

Pipettes are high-precision tools and need routine cleaning.

Wipe the outer surface daily using a soft, lint-free cloth and cleaning agents like 70% ethanol or 60% iso-propanol.

Clean visible contamination on tip cones and holders, as damaged or dirty components can cause leakage.

A clean pipette ensures accurate results and minimizes contamination risks.

2. Inspect Tip Cones and Holders

Any wear or grooves on pipette tips or holders can impact sealing and lead to errors. Use high-quality tips that fit snugly and inspect tip cones for wear after every use. Pro Tip: Replace tip cone filters after 50-250 pipettings or immediately if over-aspiration occurs.

3. Service Pipettes Annually

Annual servicing by professionals is non-negotiable for maintaining your pipette filler or electronic pipette. In addition to annual servicing, check pipettes every three months to spot early signs of damage or wear.

4. Handle Pipettes Correctly

Proper handling is essential to prevent mechanical damage:

Always use the tip-ejector button instead of fingers to eject tips.

Place pipettes on stands when not in use to avoid accidental drops.

Adjust the volume by starting slightly higher than needed and dialing down to the desired level.

5. Avoid Overwinding the Volume Adjustment

Never adjust beyond the pipette's volume range, as overwinding can damage internal mechanisms. If unsure about the limits, consult the user manual of your electronic pipette

6. Use Autoclavable Pipettes with Tip-Cone Filters

For effortless cleaning, opt for autoclavable pipettes with tip-cone filters. This eliminates the need for disassembly, which can disrupt calibration and lead to inaccuracies.

7. Optimize Tip Usage

To prevent unnecessary wear on tip cones:

Push tips directly downward onto racks—avoid twisting or excessive force.

Switch to racked tips, which reduce the risk of damage and ensure consistent performance.

8. Replace Worn Components Promptly

Keep an eye out for worn-out parts such as seals, O-rings, or pistons. Replacing these promptly can prevent long-term damage to your pipette filler or pipette tips and maintain functionality.

9. Store Pipettes Properly

Proper storage is critical to extending the life of your pipettes:

Store them vertically on stands to prevent internal contamination.

Avoid leaving pipettes lying horizontally, as this may cause liquid to enter the mechanism.

10. Avoid Overheating Pipettes

Holding a pipette for prolonged periods can slightly warm its components, leading to minor volume changes. When not in use, set it down on a stand or holder to keep it cool.

Final Thoughts

By following these Top 10 Pipette Maintenance Tips for 2025, you can ensure the longevity and reliability of your liquid handling instruments, from pipette fillers to electronic pipettes. Proper maintenance not only safeguards the accuracy of your experiments but also protects your investment in these precision tools.

Remember, a well-maintained pipette leads to better results and a smoother workflow. Take care of your pipettes, and they’ll take care of your lab!

[liquidhandlingproduct]

What are the different types of Medical Lab Instruments?

Pharmaceutical and scientific research laboratories conduct numerous chemical and biological tests daily. To ensure precise and accurate results, these labs rely on a diverse array of advanced and sophisticated equipment. Let's examine some of the medical lab instruments commonly found in a pharmaceutical research lab and explore their applications.

[oneshotnewbie]

Can I request Spencer Hastings x Reader where A actually made Spencer hurt someone while being at the dollhouse where she is covered in blood and it's Reader? At the hospital Aria sees that Reader gets stitched up because she is having a deep cut from a knife and tells the other when she goes to Spencer's room? Spencer is all worried because you changed since then and are all quite and not that bubbly she used to know you and she also knows that A took all the anger out of Reader and she had to take the most shit because A thinks that Reader is the weakest member of the girls squad? At home Reader doesn't want to talk to Spencer or the girls at all until Spencer is all messed up on her door and crying her eyes out because she remembers what happens? Angst and fluff please???!

⚠️Trigger warning! ⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of kidnapping, blood, stabbing/cutting wounds. These plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

---

Two months. Your friends and you had struggled to survive for two whole months.

A had played games with you, tortured, despised and treated you as puppets. Asking so much mentally that you all didn't even know what you should feel after your, almost failed, escape. At least not you.

You didn't know how you could ever be around your best friends again after A urged you to shock them, choose who was next to play his sick game and who wasn't allowed to get water for the next few days. But apparently they had taken out their desperation on you too; you didn't get anything to drink or eat for days. A even managed to bring Spencer to hurt you.

And now you were out of the underground hell and had no idea what to do next and how you should behave towards Spencer. She apparently had no idea about the night when you woke up on her bedroom floor, your best friend attacking you like a fury and hurting you; A had probably put her on some kind of drug.

But you escaped the chaos thanks to Alison and were now in the hospital for observation according to the circumstances and the lack of nutrients. Mentally you had suffered a lot and it was not easy for all of you to return to a regular life but you knew that somehow, the girls would get through it.

While the others had probably gathered to talk about what had happened, you were bound to your bed and frankly you were glad for it. Standing across from Spencer would be too uncomfortable for you at the moment.

You looked at the ceiling with your lackluster eyes while you gave the doctor the time to sew up the last few inches of your abdominal wound, not really listening to him or the words that came out of his mouth- Your thoughts completely wandering off.

They were repeatedly disturbed by a gentle drop of the liquid flowing to your vein and it was unbearable for you to hear this noise, it brought you back to the place where you didn't hear anything else except the ticking clock in your supposedly own room.

With a violent pull, the door to your room opened with a loud squeak and you jumped up before you let yourself fall back onto the couch with a wrinkled nose, a pained face and tightly closed eyes.

"I´m sorry. I did not know-eh." the short brunette stuttered as she stood in the doorway and looked at you in shock. Staring eyes and an open mouth embraced the long cut on your stomach, which stretched sideways to your navel.

A little embarrassed, you pulled the piece of cloth you were wearing over the doctor´s hands to uselessly hide the cut - she´d already seen it anyway. The old man in front of you stopped in his movements and put the instruments he had a hold of in his hands aside before turning to Aria. "I am asking you to leave. We´re in the middle of a treatment."

She nodded quickly apologized before she took a few steps back, still confused without further speaking, and the door clicked shut with a soft click.

You actually intended to keep it a secret from your friends, but you knew that as soon as Aria entered the other girls room, she would tell them what she had seen and you had no chance to talk your way out of it.

And then the whole truth would come out.

---

Confused by the imagine she had of her best friend and the huge gap on her abdomen a few seconds ago, the little brunette walked quickly down the hospital corridor to get to Spencer´s room where they all wanted to meet up.

She had not learned anything from just now and threw herself against the heavy door to open it, also without knocking first, and now stood in the entrance of the bare room. Three tired and lost pairs of eyes settled on her and surveyed the enraged statue, which stood in front of them with a wide open mouth.

Completely isolated in her thoughts, Aria sat down on one of the chairs that Emily had already placed in front of Spencer´s bed and fumbled around with her fingers. She bit her lip bloody from sheer worry and not knowing when the deep and long cut on your stomach was made and who was responsible for it, but one thing was clear; if she found out who A was, she would kill him for the pain that person had caused you and the others.

"Earth to Aria.. are you okay?" Hanna tore her out of her thoughts and gently nudged the smallest of the pack. Now Spencer and Emily, who were talking wildly earlier, had stopped and looked eagerly at the brunette. "Yes.. no. I´m okay but Y/n is not."

"What about her? Have you seen her?" Spencer abruptly intervened in the conversation, sitting up from her laying position. Her voice had lost it´s tone, was hoarse and low, even though she had just sounded perfectly normal not too long ago. "What happened?"

"I went to check on her because I was worried and then I saw how she was being treated." Aria quietly informed her friends as she cleared her throat and started playing with her fingernails. "She has a huge cut on her stomach. Something happened to her down there and she has not told us anything."

Shocked looks turned to the youngest of the group and she pushed back in the chair. Crossing her legs and arms, Aria looked back and forth between the girls and caught on to Spencer. She could clearly see the brunettes pulse in the main artery of her neck, the trembling of her dilated pupils surrounded by nervousness.

---

The situation between Spencer and you lay like a stone on the brunettes heart. Through therapy sessions with Sullivan, she had managed to partially bring her memories back to the fore.

The person she did this to was still fuzzy but it must have been you; the wound Aria had told her about matching where the blade in her hand pierced through the body beneath her. She had felt it was you. Of that she was sure.

But you remained silent about this situation as if this event had not happened in your reality. A week had passed in which you were discharged from the hospital with a whole medicine cabinet. Since then, you had been holed up in your room at your family home with no communication to Spencer.

Calls and messages flooded your phone, even literally exploding it with requests about getting in touch with her; at least let her know how you are doing. But she never got a single answer and your chat remained empty from your side.

The paths to your front door were softly lit as she walked through them. Flares were placed to the right and left of the pacing stone and illuminated the entire flower-planet front yard. The sprinkler system whirred next to her as she took one step after the other.

On the way here, she had given herself a motivational speech, but it disappeared with ever step she took.

Reaching the mahogany-like doors, she stood motionless and still on the patio. Her heart raced as she exhaled shakily and began pounding on them. It was a cooler evening, one of the firsts when she thought about it, and it had been too cold to wear a loose shirt. Spencer would have preferred a sweater, but that was of secondary importance.

As she waited, her mind filled with a bitter emptiness. She was terrified of a confrontation with you, but it would help her understand how you were feeling and how she could make amends. If anything. The brunette wanted to be pragmatic- the most efficient way to get a satisfactory answer.

Slow footsteps sounded on the other side of the door and she thumped heavily when she heard your faint voice in the distance. She huffed and ran a hand over her long brown hair before the door opened abruptly, revealing your pale and tired features under the hood of your white hoodie.

"Y/n.." she spoke cautiously and did not dare to look at you any further. She could see the pain you were in and Spencer felt even more guilty than before. She cleared her throat, nervously pulling her hands to strap of her bag that slung over her shoulder. "Before you slam the door in my face, listen to me. Please,"

You remained silent, disbelieving who you had in front of you.

Spencer could judge by your body language that you were more than just uncomfortable. All muscles tensed in your thighs through the dark blue ripped jeans you were wearing, your hands were tucked deep in the kangaroo pocket of your hoodie and yet she could tell you were fiddling with your fingernails nervously.

Without saying a word, you moved to the side and let her into the house. As she passed thankfully with pleading eyes, she breathed in deeply the floral perfume you were wearing. Spencer missed your closeness and your warmth towards her so much that she clung to every breadcrumb that was given to her in that moment.

"Are you home alone?" she asked in irritation as she was enveloped in the silence of the walls and saw only the flickering TV in the living room. You nodded firmly, your hands mostly tucked into your sleeves and positioned in front of your body. "My parents flew to Paris"

"And left you alone after you went through hell?!"

"What do you want, Spencer?" you shouted angrily and turned your head to her with a rigid expression. Your sudden explosion let her loosen from her rigidity before she stared at you with wide eyes and you thought you saw fear flicker in her eyes for a brief moment. "I do not think you came here to judge my parents."

The mood was strange. Cold, distant and restless. The unspoken swelled between the two of you. Sadness and fear burned in your chest while your best friend had a tiny spark of hope that she was trying to weave into normal conversation.

Motionless, the addressed person sat in front of you, looked deep into your pain-piercing eyes while tears stung hers. Spencer's heart was pounding deep in her chest and it had probably reached it´s highest point now. It pounded in her head, throat, abdomen and paralyzed her. It was indescribable.

The brunette swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She rested her elbows on the marble area and buried her head in her hands before rubbing across her nose. Very sheepishly with a shaky voice, she continued. "I know what I did. I remember."

Beside her you gasped and bit your lip, she could not quite identify the emotion she saw in your eyes. Where before there had been a coldness and severity, she now found something else. "W-what?" you said cautiously in a cracked voice.

Spencer kept shifting nervously on the bar stool, her hands alternately clawing at her pants, the counter in front of her or the disappeared back to the shoulder bag. "Just go now, Spencer. Please-I," you spoke suddenly, breaking her train of thought.

You ran a hand through your tousled hair nervously. "Y/n," she cut you off sharpy and your chest tightened. You found it difficult to breathe.

Spencer took another breath, ready to either explain or,what you thought was, more likely an apology. But she did not get around to it; you continued in a loud raging voice. "Do you actually know what I had to go through when you fucking came at me like a madman?"

You practically yelled at her, your voice already hoarse. You saw in your veil of tears how the older one flinched and her shoulders wandered to her ears. Nevertheless, she did not break her deep gaze, but got caught in your teary eyes. They had darkened. "Or how it felt to look into my best friend´s eyes, begging her not to do it while the knife was already penetrating my skin?"

The brunette felt like she was a little kid again. When she smashed the window with the hockey ball and was getting the lecture of the century from her parents. However, she would not end up in your comforting arms after she shed the first tears. You would not reassuringly run your fingers through her hair or insist that it was just glass and could easily be replaced.

No, this situation went much deeper.

Spencer opened her mouth that suddenly dried out. Tears streamed down her face in unison with yours and she let her eyes roam over you again. "I am so sorry.." she could not pronounce it, her throat tightening with every word. "I could never hurt you. A did something to me and that monster was not me. It is not me. I love you."

The leadership she took at the moment, trying to explain her actions, distracted from your troubled insides. You could not completely turn off your heart and the thoughts of the past hours and days.

Still, you knew her words were serious and she was genuinely sorry. It broke your heart to see her so upset. She too was under the influence of drugs that A had given her to commit the crime. You exhaled loudly and just looked at her, could not keep your mind from racing.

Slowly, you circled the counter and stepped carefully to her side. Your fingertips gently touched her cold, trembling and bare forearm. Spencer reacted to the touch she thought was impossible immediately and looked at you. A positive feeling flowed through her and she laid her head at the level of your belly button. You flinched at the pain, but swallowed it to keep her close.

You cupped her sticky, sweaty fingers and intertwined them with yours. Indescribable affection went through the brunette and she drew herself closer to the person who understood her so well. Who went through this hard time with her and who would master recovery together.

Relief flowed through the eldest, you could see it in her face which showed the corners of her mouth far raised. She knew that she still had a rough road with you ahead and that she had to help you to trust her completely again. Above all, you needed someone to overcome the nightmare and the anxiety.

But most of the ballast had fallen off her. A decisive step in the right direction.

[t0ast-ghost]

S3 EP19 (Requiem For Methuselah) let me guess. Kirk is romancing.

Forthwards:

- beaming down together <3

- uh oh a time limit!

- Spock grabs McCoy’s arm to get him out of the way of the fire

- very drawable right here

- Kirk is not fucking around today

- wow. Just wow.

- A SHAKESPEARE FIRST FOLIO?!? This guy is fucking rich holy shit

- She’s just like me when I watch Star Trek

- I like that she wants to talk to Spock about science :))

- “What is loneliness?” “It is a thirst. It is a flower dying in a desert.” Wow

- “Thank you, Doctor. I will have a brandy.” “Do you think the two of us can handle a drunk Vulcan? Once alcohol hits that green blood—” They’re adorable

- fuck off fuck off fuck off (edit: this is probably about them immediately flirting with Rayna)

- Bottles of colourful liquid. You think one of them is ketchup?

- Does Kirk know how to play pool? Is she showing him for no reason? He seems to know what he’s doing…

- I love that Spock likes playing musical instruments

- His boyfriend is dancing with a woman RIGHT THERE. I wonder what a rewrite of this would be like with canonical queer Kirk in a relationship with Spock and McCoy and why he would choose to dance with her. Cause I think he should be able to just enjoy doing stuff like dancing and holding hands without it being romantic. AND THEN MCCOY WALKS INTO THAT OMG THE DRAMA

- Damn Kirk isn’t interested in Spock’s info dump about Brahms. Tragic.

- and they’re kissing

- The way Kirk just pushed her out of the way-

- YEAH SAVE YOUR BOYFRIEND SPOCK!!!

- Flint kinda wishes that the bot killed Kirk

- Yeah it sucks to be home schooled

- This is becoming like Twilight but without the baseball and vampires

- This is a horrible power imbalance between Flint and Rayna

- And they’re kissing (Nichelle nichols futurama clip where she says "I had to kiss Shatner) (edit: here's the clip at 1:26)

- WHY IS HE SHAKING HER LIKE THAT BRO WHAT THE FUCK

- Kirk’s ass damn why is Flint hiding the Ryetalyn

- “(Spock): Captain, I shall get the Ryetalyn.” “(Kirk): Why you?” “(Spock): There may be dangers within.” “(Kirk): Let’s find out.” “(Spock): Let me go alone captain.” “(McCoy): Why? Get to the point, Spock. If there is one.” “(Kirk): We’ll all go.” Kirk and McCoy ARE NOT about to let they’re boyfriend go into a dangerous area alone

- OMG SHES BALD! (She’s bald and she’s torturing people who have hair)

- “Her only flaw, she is not human.” THATS HER FLAW??? First off Spock is RIGHT THERE. Second I'd say the flaw is that she's being controlled by a awful man

- Wait what? this guy is DA VINCI?!? And still no bitches...

- “She is my handiwork, my property.” EW DISGUSTING KILL HIM

- HE JUST BLOOPED THE ENTERPRISE OUT OF EXISTENCE

- I’m giggling

- “Give me back my ship. Your secret is safe with us.” YOU’RE JUST GONNA LEAVE HER?

- “Because you knew I could bring her emotions alive.” Bleh

- Kirk gets absolutely beat the fuck up

- “No. Do not order me. No one can order me.” YES GET IT! YES

- “She’s human. Down to the last blood cell she’s human. Down to the last thought, hope, aspiration, emotion. She’s human. Her human spirit is free. You have no power of ownership! She’s free to do as she wishes.” Kirk’s so happy for her!

- “No man beats me.” “I don’t want to beat you. This is no test of power. Rayna belongs to herself, and she claims the human right of choice. To be, as she wills. To do as she wills. To think as she wills.”

- Okay but she shouldn’t have to choose between two men. There’s so many more out there in the galaxy

- OH NO DHES SEAD

- “What happened?” “She loved you, captain.” Spock just admitted Kirk’s drop dead gorgeous

- This is giving boyfriend vs. father vibes which I hate. I hate that this is how women are treated. As burdens to be thrown from one man to the next. This is reminding me of A Dolls House by Henrik Ibsen it's a pretty short play and the ending is phenomenal for the time

- Kirk is lonely :(

- “If only I could forget.” Spock spends several seconds staring at Kirk and contemplating until McCoy comes in

“Oh thank heavens, sleeping at last.” McCoy just wants Kirk to get a good nights rest

- yeah

- “You see, I feel sorrier for you I do for him…because you’ll never know the things that love can drive a man to. The ecstasies, the miseries. The broken rules, the desperate chances. The glorious failures, and the glorious victories. All of these things you’ll never know, simply because the word ‘love’ isn’t written into your book. Good night, Spock.” “Good night, Doctor.” WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT AND WHY HAVENT I SEEN AN EDIT TO THAT. Also now I REALLY wanna write a mcspirk fanfic based solely on THAT

- “I do wish he could forget her.” BOTH McCoy and Kirk wished for this and so Spock does something crazy for his loves omg omg I’m gonna throw up wtf

- there’s literally romantic music playing in the background as Spock leans down to mind meld and says “forget”

Well

Masterpost

Episode written by Jerome Bixby

[californiaboytoybilly]

Oooh! Okay, um, how about Harringrove + breakfast?

“Hey no! Don’t you dare-” Billy couldn’t help but bark out a laugh as he wrestled a sticky, dripping syrup wand away from his boyfriend, craning his neck as far back as he physically could to avoid having it smeared across his cheek. Steve grunted, still trying to fight back even as giggles started to crack through his affronted expression. “Then take it back! I am not a bad cook!” Billy side eyed the tray table, gaze darting from the plate of more-than-slightly burnt pancakes to the slightly too wet to be edible scrambled eggs sitting in a milky puddle of unspecified liquid. He slid his eyes back to Steve and raised an eyebrow, lip curled a little into an expression that implored ‘are you sure about that?’.

It had been a sweet offer, really. Breakfast in bed to celebrate their first night as a real, adult couple finally living in their own apartment. But just because they’d been together for a year didn’t mean there weren’t new things to learn about each other, including apparently that Steve was an abominable cook. A righteous squawk preceeded a renewal in Steve’s efforts, with an advantage now as Billy couldn’t stop laughing long enough to really put his full focus into the resistance. It was barely fifteen seconds before Steve managed to win out, Billy’s sugary hand slipping off the handle at last. The blonde definitely didn’t shriek when the instrument rubbed against his cheek, leaving a trail of butter flavored corn syrup from his jaw to the edge of his nose- nor did he grin like a lovesick fool when Steve leaned down to lick the syrup off the stubbled skin of his cheek, perched triumphantly on his lap in their brand new bed.

(Steve would not agree with this version of events when later recalling the tale on the day of their wedding, thirty years from their beginning. It had taken the world a little longer to understand their love than they may have hoped in their youth, but they’d stood the test of time and loved each other through every sticky minute.)

[hobeemin]

dangerous pairing ~ (pt. vii)

🌙 genre: supernatural, fantasy, drama, angst, e2l, soulmates, forbidden romance, hybrid au

🌙 pairing(s): werewolf!kim namjoon x vampire!(f) oc; vampire!min yoongi x werewolf!jung hoseok; vampire!lee jaehwan x vampire!(f) oc; werewolf!kim namjoon x werewolf!ahn hyejin

🌙 summary: they were never meant to be together somehow, their lives intertwined, setting in motion a chain of events that would forever change the course of their lives and the people connected to them.

🌙 rating: 18+

🌙 warning(s): swearing, violence, torture, drinking blood, threats, jealousy, exhibitionism, penetration, fingering, scratching, biting

🌙 word count: 3.1k

🌙 inspiration: MB & Playlist

🌙 a/n: credit and many thanks to​💜💜 and @jeonggukingdom for the banner 💜💜 and to the lovely summer @beomcoups for beta reading 💛💛

*-*

🌙 < 🌙 m.list 🌙 > 🌙

“I won’t ask you again,” he said, circling the chair under the dim lights. “Where are the hunters?”

Muffled sounds came from the person tied to the chair. Namjoon motioned to Jungkook to remove the gag from his mouth.

Matthew spit out the blood as a tooth followed. Namjoon stepped back, shaking his head. “Matthew, Matthew. You can do this the easy way or the hard way,” He squatted down, meeting his gaze. The man’s eyes were swollen, but he could see Namjoon’s form before him. His throat dried; he could barely form the words to speak.

“I-I d-don’t know anything.”

Namjoon dropped his head with a deep sigh. “I thought you were smarter than that, Kim. I’m very disappointed.”

He snapped his fingers as Jungkook and Hoseok stepped up to untie Matthew. The man struggled, trying to break free. Namjoon walked over to a tray of instruments, carefully running her fingers along each.

“Most would think I like to leave the dirty work to my pack, but I always felt it showed leadership and initiative to do things myself.”

The serrated blade reflected across Matthew’s face as Namjoon picked it up. 

“Last chance, Kim,” he replied.

Just as it got close to his side, Matthew jerked away with a yell. “J-Jackson!”

“Speak up, leech,” Hoseok snarled.

“The hunter’s name is Jackson.”

Namjoon put the blade down and wiped his hands with a towel. He gave Jungkook and Hoseok a curt nod, and they dropped Matthew to the floor. 

His gaze landed on Hoseok. “Find them.”

Hoseok gave a hum of understanding. “How you want them?”

“Alive for now. Get him cleaned up and back to whatever hole you found him in,” he instructed.

They picked up Matthew and dragged him out of the cellar. “Oh, and Matthew,” Namjoon called. “If I find you warned them, I’ll make a house call to your family. Are we clear?”

“U-Understood,” he whispered.

---

“–And so I didn’t even try to tell my father about it.”

Hwasa’s laugh seemed to echo as she turned to Namjoon. Her smile wavered slightly as she watched his facial expression. He seemed so far away.

“Namjoon?”

No response. 

Hwasa smiled at the people around them as she stepped closer, interlocking her fingers with his. He blinked a few times, feeling the warmth. Glancing at her and the people around him, he gave them a slight grin.

“Sorry. My mind seemed to wander off. Enjoy your evening, everyone.”

Hwasa wiggled her fingers in farewell as they walked away to mingle more. They stopped by the bar, waiting to order drinks. Namjoon raised his hand, giving his order to the bartender.

“Are you alright? You’ve been distracted since we arrived,” she murmured as she grabbed the champagne glass off the counter.

“I’m fine,” he replied curtly, sipping the amber liquid in his glass.

“Then act like it,” she said sweetly, her smile not reaching her eyes.

“I’ll hold my end; you do the same,” he answered, his eyes flashing gold in warning.

Hwasa clinked her glass to his with a giggle. “Cheers.”

---

Eva sipped her champagne as classical music played softly in the background. She handled this gala effortlessly.

Ken stayed by her side as soon as they arrived, ensuring every photograph taken had them together. Reluctantly, she played the part. After all, this was all a rouse to get everyone to see she was a severe threat. Jimin and Yoongi watched around the room with careful eyes. 

Though they had the best security detail money could buy, Jin felt it was better to keep a close eye on Eva. Anything could happen at a moment’s notice. 

Ken introduced Eva to a group of hospital board members working to pass a motion for Ken’s company regarding a new drug on the market. She smiled demurely, leading Ken into a false sense of security.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this exquisite woman from us, Ken. When’s the wedding?” one of the doctors teased. 

His grip tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. He bent down, kissing her cheek lightly. It almost made her recoil. Smiling, he winked at the doctors.

“If I have my way, she’ll have my last name before the year ends.”

Her smile strained before she gulped down the rest of her champagne. “Time for a refill. Excuse me.” Eva eyed Ken with disdain as she walked back to the bar. The bartender greeted her and placed a napkin in front of her.

“Another glass of champagne miss?”

“No, I require something a little stronger. Let’s go with the Macallan, double, on the rocks.”

She nodded once the highball was placed before her and brought it to her lips. Just as the liquid passed her lips, Eva froze. Her eyes widened, and goosebumps formed along her skin. Where did this come from? Her eyes darted around, searching for Jin, Yoongi, or Jimin.

Are you okay?

I don’t know. Something feels strange.

Would you like to leave Countess?

She sighed, shaking her head and taking another sip of her drink.

No, no, Jimin, I’ll be alright.

Jimin looked over at her with concern but stopped prying. If she stated she was alright, then she was until further notice.

She wanted to kick herself. When had she ever seemed this weak?

Get it together, girl, she scolded herself.

She sniffed, swallowed the rest of her drink, and wiped the corners of her mouth. This was her stage, and she wouldn’t be caught slipping. 

The irony.

Dark brown eyes met her own. Namjoon seemed to bore into her very being. Her grip tightened around the highball as it almost slipped. Ken was at her side immediately, a look of worry on his face. 

“Bella?”

She stared at him for a moment with a blank expression. A frown appeared on his face.

“Eva?”

She blinked once. Then, twice before letting him take the drink out of her hand.

“I’m fine.”

“We can–”

“I said I was fucking alright, Ken,” she hissed.

He straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Very well. Let’s continue greeting these donors.”

“Whatever. Fix your tie; it’s crooked,” she said through a smile as they resumed their rounds. Much to her dismay, they walked up to Namjoon and his group. Eva grabbed another flute off a tray as Ken made introductions. 

“Evanglelina Romanus, this is Ahn Hyejin. Her family are patrons of the arts. And this is her escort, er-“

“Kim Namjoon,” he answered, giving Ken a side-eye. 

“Ah, Kim Namjoon. I think I’ve heard of you. Your company deals in construction, I believe?”

“Entertainment mostly. I own Club Lux. Have you been there?”

Ken shook his head with a smirk. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Stop by some time. I’ll give you a good deal,” Namjoon replied.

The tension grew between the two men. Eva cleared her throat, stepping between them.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kim and Ms. Ahn. I hope you enjoy yourselves tonight.”

Hwasa noticed the way Namjoon’s expression shifted slightly when looking at Evangelina. It was subtle but enough for the wolf to see, and maybe it was just plain old female intuition. Either way, she didn’t like it. This woman was a threat. And what did Hwasa do to threats?

Annihilate them.

Ken looked Namjoon up and down, trying to mask his distaste. Something was off about this man. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the aura permeating off of him seemed dangerous. In his mind, Ken wanted him gone and away from him and Eva.

The Countess may have tried to seem icy, but internally she was suffering. She realized her hand had a slight shake to it. Placing the flute down, she gripped Ken’s arm. He glanced at her in concern.

“Are you alright, Bella?”

She ignored the inquiry.

Something about the way Ken said that made Namjoon’s wolf stir. Why was he touching her like that? Calling her names like they were involved? Who was this man to Eva?

Whatever power seemed to roll off Namjoon had some effect on Eva. Her knees buckled as she almost fell into one of the pillars. Ken quickly caught her as Jin, Yoongi, and Jimin appeared at her side.

“Eva?”

She let out a small laugh, pushing away from Ken. It was time to put on an act.

”Goodness, I believe that champagne had more of a punch than I anticipated. I guess I got overheated, if you’ll excuse me.”

She waved them away and headed to the restroom. Namjoon watched her retreating form as Hwasa’s eyes narrowed.

Jin glanced at Ken. “Maybe I should check on her.”

Hwasa stepped up as a smile spread on her face. “Nonsense. I’ll pop in to see if she’s doing okay. It will be better for her to see another lady and all that. Be back in an instant.”

Yoongi nodded as the trio dispersed, returning to his position near the museum's second level. He sighed, drumming his fingers on the railing. His thoughts wandered to Eva, hoping she was recovering.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

A smirk appeared on Yoongi’s face. If his heart functioned, it would have beat erratically. Hoseok oozed charisma from the top of his head to his feet. His regular dark brown locks had been cut short and dyed platinum blonde. It suited him well and contrasted with his black suit. Yoongi appreciated the view before him.

“Likewise.”

Hoseok closed the distance between them, wanting to be closer, but too many eyes were around.

“Miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Yoongi murmured.

“Will you be able to slip away after this?”

“Maybe. I’ll send a message if I can.”

Hoseok smiled with a wink. “The usual meeting place?”

“Always.”

“Hoseok.”

Hoseok’s face paled, giving Yoongi a look before turning back to face Taehyung. The younger wolf raised a brow at Yoongi before directing his attention at Hoseok. 

“So this is where you ran off, too.”

“The view was better from here,” Hoseok lied easily. “Is everything alright down there?”

“It’s fine. Jungkook has it taken care of for now,” he answered, stepping closer. “Who’s this?” he nudged his chin towards Yoongi.

Hoseok glanced from Yoongi to Taehyung, racking his brain for an answer. Yoongi stepped between them, extending his hand. 

“Min Yoongi. I’m head of security for the event. Hoseok had some questions about the entrance and exits in an emergency. I assured him my team had it under control.”

Taehyung paused before taking his hand. Besides being a bit cool to the touch, he couldn’t get a read on Yoongi. He didn’t like it, but the explanation seemed to soothe his curiosity. 

“I’m impressed with it. Hoseok, I’ll be downstairs with Jungkook. See you in a few?”

He gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

Satisfied, Taehyung headed back down the stairs. Hoseok waited until he was well out of earshot to let the breath he’d been holding pass his lips.

“That was too close for comfort,” he said, calm.

Yoongi shook his head. “It was fine. You kept a cool head. There was nothing suspicious about it.”

Hoseok’s lips thinned as he stared at Yoongi. “Even still. Taehyung has found it hard to move up in rank. I don’t need a reason for him to doubt my position.”

“It will work out, Hobi,” Yoongi reassured.

Hoseok sighed, shaking his head. “I have a lot to think about. We might have to postpone a bit more. Is that okay with you?”

Disappointment passed Yoongi’s face, but he held it in as he nodded. “No choice but to at this point. You better get back down there before he suspects anything else.”

“Thanks, babe. I appreciate it,” Hoseok winked before walking away.

Yoongi stared back out at the guests. His mood was much darker than before.

---

Eva stepped out of the stall and walked up to the sink, letting the water run momentarily before washing her hands. She wiped her hands with the towels laid out and adjusted her dress. As she fixed her hair, the door swung open as Hwasa entered. Eva paid her no mind as she approached the sink, washing her hands and fussing with her hair.

The tension crawled slowly between the two until Hwasa turned to Eva with a smile.

“It seems you look much better than before,” Hwasa observed.

“Mhmm, much better,” Eva replied, pulling lipstick from her mini clutch.

“I offered to come in here to see how you were.”

“Aren’t you thoughtful,” Eva answered dryly.

Annoyance flashed on Hwasa’s face, but she smiled wide. This woman was not going to get under her skin.

“You know something?”

Eva snapped her clutch close, feeling her temper rise. “I don’t, but I feel you will tell me.”

Hwasa giggled, aggravating Eva more as she leaned against the counter. “It seems you knew Namjoon before this event.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“I’m pretty observant, and the way he stared made it seem like you two are familiar.”

Eva shrugged. “Wow, you got me there, Ms. Ahn. But if you have any insecurities about it, maybe you should talk to Namjoon about it and not some random woman.”

All pretenses dropped as Hwasa’s wolf let out a snarl. Her voice dropped low. “Listen here bitch. Namjoon is mine. I don’t think I can see through that act you’re giving. You better watch your back.”

Eva let out a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes as she closed the distance between them. “And just so you know, for future reference, when you’re kissing Namjoon, that’s me on his lips. You’re in the big leagues now, so watch your back, dear.”

Hwasa felt her lip twitch as Eva turned on her heel and exited the bathroom without another word. She glared at the mirror before growling as her fist smashed the glass.

“She’ll regret crossing me,” she whispered as the glass shattered.

Eva looked around and saw Ken leaning against the bar, talking with Jin. His eyes met hers, and she nodded, heading towards the botanical gardens. As the chilled air of spring filled her lungs, she gripped the side of the fountain. 

What was happening to her?

I have it under control!

No, you don’t.

Eva spun around to see Namjoon standing there. Her eyes narrowed her body on the defense.

“What do you want? Was Ms. Ahn too much to handle?”

Namjoon snorted, placing his hands in his pockets. “Hardly that. I came to get some air myself. I guess we had the same idea.”

She rolled her eyes, taking a seat on the fountain's edge. “I see.”

“I’m surprised your pet didn’t follow you out here,” he sneered.

Eva ran her hand through her curls, letting out a scoff. “Look at the pot calling the kettle black.” She sniffed distastefully, looking him up and down. “Lay off the cologne, you reek of canine.”

Namjoon felt his wolf paw to the surface as he lunged forward, gripping her arm and bringing Eva against his chest. 

“Still with the insults, Eva.”

She gave him an emotionless stare. “I merely speak the truth.”

“Bullshit," he spat. He glanced down at her hungrily. “He better not touch you again.”

She hissed as her eyes glowed. “Who do you think are to tell me who can or can’t touch me?!”

His eyes glowed back in response as he smirked. “You know Eva. You’ve always known.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue what you mean.”

“Don’t play coy. I saw the look in your eyes. With him, there was no passion, no desire, no love. You’re fooling yourself if you can’t see what I can.”

His lips touched her pulse point, making her squirm in his arms. Every touch he made sent her closer and closer to the edge. She didn’t want to admit it, but Eva was slowly losing this battle with him.

And she loved every minute of it.

“A-And what is that?”

Namjoon nuzzled against her with a low growl. “You want me just as much as I want you.”

“I’ll rip your throat out,” she warned.

“I dare you,” he taunted.

It was as if time itself had stopped. No pretenses. Just a veil seemed to cover the pair as their lips collided. It felt as if a band snapped. No more pretending. They were in their own world. The kiss broke the rules of nature. Each was fighting the other for dominance. Nothing was gentle in that kiss, only the desire for each other.

Namjoon wasted no time picking her up, moving to a corner away from prying eyes. He pulled away from the kiss, making her whimper in disappointment. He grinned, staring into her eyes with utmost devotion.

“I’ve waited so long for this Eva.”

“Stop talking and fuck me,” she ordered, licking her lips at him.

The gold sparked in his eyes as he chuckled darkly. “Gladly.”

The sound of the belt unbuckling excited her more as he ripped her dress open for better access. Lifting her leg and wrapping it around his waist, she giggled. “You owe me a new gown.”

“Fuck that gown,” he laughed as he adjusted himself. Moaning, his fingers brushed her clit, groaning at how aroused she was. He pressed his fingers as she pulsed in his hand. Lifting his fingers, he tasted her essence, trembling with lust. “Delicious.”

Chest rising, she sought out his lips. “J-Just do it, Namjoon. Now!”

He whimpered as he slid between her folds, hugging him just right. Breathing hard through his nostrils, he willed himself to be in control. No way was he going to end this too soon. Who knew when the next time they’d meet?

She wanted him to devour her. Take her for all to see. As his hips snapped, her nails dug into his back, shivering in his arms. This was what was missing, as much as she denied it all these months. It was him. He was her equal.

The grunts and moans filled the garden in shadows under a waning moon. 

Hwasa ran out into the gardens in search of Namjoon. A passerby mentioned seeing him in that direction. She walked out holding onto her champagne flute, wondering why he’d be out there. She paused as she heard noises towards the center of the garden. Picking up her train, she walked in the direction.

There it was. Two bodies writhing in the throes of passion. Hips snapping to an unknown rhythm. And then silver eyes locked with hers.

Eva.

Hwasa felt her lip twitch as the woman gave her a wink as her fangs slid into view. Still staring, she pulled down Namjoon’s collar and sank her fangs into his neck. He let out a howl as he sped up his movements. The flute dropped from Hwasa’s fingers, crashing into the ground. The two lovers paid it no mind. She turned on her heel and ran back inside the museum, quickly vowing her revenge. She didn’t notice Ken standing behind a tree, watching their every move. His eyes narrowed as his fist formed, nails digging into his palms as blood dripped down.

Yes. Kim Namjoon had to die.

[dearestones]

To Resist Human Emotion (Yandere! L x Reader)

Warnings: Yandere character, yandere behavior, implied kidnapping/imprisonment, etc. 

Anonymous Request: Can u do for L with the prompt

" why are you so obsessed with me?"

Btw I live for ur lit !

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.

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Your teaspoon clinked against the side of your porcelain cup, the sound reverberating in the empty space. Although you were not as keen on drinking tea at the moment, you decided to humor your host. After a few more cursory stirs, you place your spoon back down onto your saucer—another clink—before bringing the cup to your lips. 

You didn’t drink. 

“I have coffee available if you like.” 

Refusing to look up from the rim of your cup, you gently blew on the steaming liquid, watching as the ripples spread and ricocheted back into each other. Despite the warm heat emanating from your cup of tea, you felt the room’s temperature drop by several degrees the longer you refused to speak. Because you disliked punishment, you reconsidered your vow of silence, but you also didn’t want to give your host the satisfaction of your voice. 

Finally, when it seemed like you would be given the chance to spend the next hour or so stewing in silence, your host set his cup back onto the table that sat between the both of you. The movement was somewhat elegant, but stilted by the man’s inherent robotic nature. Not once in all the time that you have known him did he ever seem human. He was led by desires like any other human, you supposed, but underneath the facade of a genius eccentric, he was a monster that only did things to alleviate his chronic boredom. 

“You don’t wish to speak with me.” 

He sounded understanding. Almost kind. If it were anyone else, maybe it would have fooled them. But you were all too aware of the teacup that lay heavy in your hands, of the surplus of sweets that towered like mini mountains atop the pristine white tablecloth. This was less a gilded cage and more a prison that taunted you with all the delights that your host could ever offer. 

All the delights in the world… except for the one thing that actually mattered. 

You inclined your head, careful not to shift your gaze from the deep, dark color of your tea. At least a quarter of an hour ago, someone had told you what sort of tea you would be served, but the name slipped your mind. Connoisseur or not, you did not feel like exerting too much effort into finding out what it was. It was earthy and aromatic, but there was a distinct floral scent that gave you a sweet aftertaste after simply smelling it. 

“We cannot negotiate if you refuse to communicate.”

That is true. This clandestine meeting between the two of you had been arranged at his behest, but it was you who held the key to maintaining the uneasy balance. If you wanted reparations, you had to tell him what you wanted. 

But first—

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” If you felt ashamed, you dared not show it. Your voice was rough and raspy, shaky like a mishandled instrument. When was the last time you had spoken? Before you had been tortured in isolation? Or after you had woken up alone and blindfolded after the initial kidnapping attempt? 

You heard the man opposite you shuffle in his seat. “The same reason why you are so intent on staring at your tea.”

Biting your lip, you studiously watched as your knuckles whitened and clenched around the handle of the delicate porcelain. How much effort would it take for you to snap the handle? How fast would you fling the teacup into the man’s face? 

How far were you willing to claim your freedom?

Shaky now, your hands placed your cup of tea onto the table. If you watched closely, a single pale brown droplet traveled from the lip of the cup and down onto the snowy white cloth. 

“And what reason is that?” Out of morbid curiosity, you looked up and studied the strange, dangerous man who had taken your life away as if he were simply ordering a cake from the nearby bakery. 

“There is none.” You looked up at him in surprise. “There is no reason to stare into your teacup, for me to obsess over you as you say. No reason. No logic. There is only human emotion clouding your judgment—mine as well.”

He rose steadily onto his feet before shuffling towards you. Even while his shoulders were stooped, he cut a dominating figure as he loomed above you. 

“And try as I might, I find it hard to resist human emotion.”

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DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

DEATH NOTE MASTERLIST

[iwashie]

"𝘗𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥" (18+) |𝘙𝘖𝘙

ft. Hermes

∗  ˖࣪ ໒꒱  ˚₊· synopsis: Hermes’ hands are too beautiful for you not to notice.

･ﾟﾟ･｡　wc: 969k + warnings- mdni, nsfw content, f!reader, fingering, crying, established relationship, petnames (pretty girl+good girl).

— ☆ A/N: I know he's not a pianist, but hey, look at his hands, they could be and those long fingers don't deny it

----------------------------- ☆ ----------------------------------------------

It was normal at some point in the day for you to hear the sound of the violin, a smile appearing on your lips as you followed the sound to appreciate Hermes playing the instrument so beautifully.

It was magnificent to see him playing; the expressions, the body reacting to the chords, the agile fingers producing beautiful sounds. You loved it more and more. That moment was magnetic, you couldn’t look away from his hands.

Ah, what hands… The long, agile fingers covered by the gloves made you imaginative.

His hands could have been a pianist’s and when asked, he said he could play too and when he showed you; you were more mesmerized by those pretty long fingers.

Those fingers could do so much. You could do so much for those fingers inside you.

“Eh, do you like my fingers that much, pretty girl?” Hermes’ calm voice was so low compared to yours, moaning for him.

You waved your arms, a futile attempt as they were tied above your head and your legs were spread wide, welcoming Hermes in the middle, playing with your wet pussy.

“Use your words, pretty.” You groaned, cocking your head to the side as you felt his bare middle finger slipping inside.

“Y-Yes.” You responded and felt his warm breath on your leg, middle finger in and out and calloused thumb circling your swollen clit.

“Yes, what?” You mumbled, and he pressed his thumb, making you lift your hips off the bed.

“I like your hands…”

“And what else?” He poked another calloused finger, and you squinted, squeezing his digits and sighing heavily. “Huh?”

You writhed on the bed, feeling his fingers slowly in and out and his thumb still playing with your clit, making you wetter. You were already wet enough for the liquid to run down your thighs and smear Hermes’ fingers. His fingers just grazing your folds as you kissed slowly were enough to have you wet, rubbing against his hand.

But Hermes wanted much more than that. You knew he wanted a mess as you moaned his name.

“Your fingers are long… nimble- Oh fuck!” He chuckled softly, and you bucked against the fingers curling inside you.

Hermes continued to pistol his fingers at a slow pace, making you whimper and squirm in search of more. He would twirl his fingers and push them in and out, having you rolling your eyes and moaning his name.

“Her-Hermes, please…” He ignored your plea and continued with the motions, eyes intent on you, receiving every moan, sigh and pleading look you gave him.

“Will you handle one more?” You opened your eyes, staring at him, still feeling his fingers working on you. The dark eyes gleaming and the scarlet drawings contorted by his sadistic expression.

“Hermes, please….” You tried to get up, wiggling your tied arms and legs around his upper body, earning a hand pushing you down again.

“No, no, my love.” His face softening into a sad expression and wagging the index finger of his other hand, still covered by the glove. “Aren’t you my good girl?”

You nodded, shuddering at the feel of another finger teasing your entrance. “So you take one more, like the good girl you are.”

You moaned his name, throwing your head back, feeling three of his fingers stretching you and giving you pleasure as he entered and exited with more speed.

“Good girl.”

You shuddered and squeezed his fingers, moaning for more as you closed your eyes shut. He quickened his movements, thrusting his fingers inside you, making you lift your hips off the bed and beg for him.

Your moans, the wet noise of his fingers going in and out of you, were like music to him as he hummed contentedly, his eyes glued to your writhing figure on the bed.

“Her-Hermes!” He sped up the movements, the muscles in his hand and arm contracting, all to please you.

“Is my good girl close?” He knew the answer just by the way your legs quivered and the way your greedy pussy squeezed and sucked on his fingers.

“Y-Yes! Hermes…” You whimpered his name, your eyes blurred with tears, begging him to give you the pleasure those long, agile fingers were bringing you.

“Then should I…” You choked on a moan as you felt his mouth sucking on your clit and his hot tongue playing in circles. That knot in your stomach is tightening tighter and tighter.

“Hermes!” you moaned, feeling the knot dissolve in pleasure and the liquid gushing out, smearing his face and hand, which were still thrusting in and out quickly, trying to take every last taste from you with his mouth, gulping your juice.

“My good girl…” He withdrew his smeared fingers and brought them to his mouth, savoring your taste and wiped his face with the back of his hand, bringing it to your mouth for you to lick.

He grinned, eyes gleaming at you calming down from your orgasm; chest rising and falling slowly, face flushed, hazy eyes at him, and legs trembling.

Hermes couldn’t hide his smile of satisfaction, knowing that only he could give you the best orgasm with just his long and agile fingers.

You saw him remove his uniform and the bulge in his underwear, soon feeling his weight on top of you as he lowered his waist against yours, brushing your clit and gaining a weak moan from you.

“Will my good girl help me?” You shuddered at the feeling of his waist against yours and the wet kisses on your neck. You nodded, grinding against him, feeling his hard cock throb.

He removed the piece, returning to between your legs, putting the remaining glove in your mouth and with firm hands, caressing your waist, thrust his cock inside you. “Good girl."

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© iwashie 2023, please do not translate, modify or republish my works