#t: disaster suite of the obscure

[vgtrackbracket]

Video Game Track Bracket Round 1

Move Me from R4: Ridge Racer Type 4

vs.

Disaster Suite of the Obscure from The New Order: Last Days of Europe

No propaganda was submitted for either track.

If you want your propaganda reblogged and added to future polls, please tag it as propaganda or otherwise indicate this!

[myhockeyworld87]

What Happens In Vegas...Doesn’t Always Stay There - Jacob Markstrom - Part 2

Word Count: 4,845

POV: Reader

Warning: Language, NSFW, Smut

Notes: Well you guys have spoken and it looks like this the fic you wanted posted. Don’t worry, I’ll be posting the others soon. But in case you were wondering where we left. Our reader was in Vegas at a bachelorette party, when she had a few too many drinks and wound up married to one Jacob Markstrom. Let’s see what happens next. As always feedback is welcome. Happy Reading!

What Happens In Vegas...Doesn’t Always Stay There Masterlist

"Fuck," you yelled, once you realized that you were now Mrs. Markstrom. This couldn't be happening. Your brain couldn't be remembering things right.

"Vad? Vada r fel?" Jacob mumbled in a haze of sleep, lifting his head to check on you. You had no idea that he was asking you what was wrong, as he automatically defaulted to Swedish in his drowsy state. "Are you ok?"

"No, no I'm not." Your voice was panicked and you were starting to break out in a cold sweat. "We're married!"

 His head flopped back down on the pillow. "Oh, that."

 Wait he knew and wasn't saying anything. "That," you said with a note of distress in your voice. "What do you mean 'oh, that?'"

 He turned his head so that he faced you, as you straightened your body so you could rest against the headboard; fighting the urge to get up and pace the room. "It was a joke. We just took a couple pictures with some Elvis."

 A joke? Ok, that kind of seemed like drunk you, after all everyone said you were a fun drunk. You sagged back against the mattress, breathing a sigh of relief. "So that's all it was, a joke?"

 "Mmmhmm." Well, that made you feel a bit better. "From what I remember it was. Things are a bit hazy." Jacob saying that, did not. He got up then, rolling onto his side and propping his head up. "I vaguely recall saying we were just going to snap some pictures and show your friend how silly it was to rush into things. I'm sure that's all we did." He had to be right, that part of the night still eluded you, though you do remember wandering into the chapel. "Though we can still pretend we're on our honeymoon if you want."

 His free hand, the one his head wasn't propped up on, slid under the duvet and across your midsection. His fingers wandering down to your core. His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, a silent plea for you to let him keep going. Now that you were a bit more relieved at knowing your marriage to him was some elaborate rouse, you were a bit more inclined for that second round with him, so you smiled giving him the green light to continue.

 Jacob didn't need to be told twice, as you felt his fingers widening your legs to give him access to your pussy. His fingertips lightly brushed against you and you sucked in a breath. "Fan du ar vat." You had to admit that Swedish wasn't the most seductive language, but when it rolled off his tongue it turned you into jelly. He recognized that you didn't know what he was saying and translated for you. "Fuck, you're wet." You were, there was no denying that, as this man just did things to you by simply giving you a look.

 He wasted no time sliding a finger inside you while his thumb brushed against your clit. You couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips as he made your body tingle with delight. "So sensitive, prinsessa. I love that." His mouth kissed the outside of your thigh as he still laid on his side, his fingers torturing you. "I may not remember all of last night," Jacob admitted. "But I remember hearing you moan." As if on cue, you groaned out when his finger hit your most delicate spot. "So pretty." He removed his fingers and you whined at the loss of contact. "Ride me, prinsessa." He rolled onto his back, giving your thigh a squeeze.

 There was no denying your needs right then. You wanted him inside you, so you straddled him. Knees on either side of his hips, you positioned his cock right at your entrance. You savored the feel of him sliding inside you as you sunk down on him slowly, fully engulfing his dick inside you. Jacob's hands slid up and down your sides caressing your body. After your tumble with him last night, you knew your hair had to be a disaster, so you ran your fingers through your locks, hoping to at least make yourself a bit more presentable as you rode him.

 Unbeknownst to you, the picture you painted Jacob was nothing short of pornography; arms raised above your head, tits bouncing, as you slowly moved your hips against him. While his memory of last night was a bit hazy, being buried inside you wasn’t. He clearly recalled needing to get ahold of himself before he spent in you too soon. Now was no different, as he gripped your hips hard then wildly bucked up into you.

 His movements thrilled you and had you bracing yourself against the headboard as he fucked you. He had told you to ride him but wasn’t willing to give over the reigns completely, but that was ok with you. He slowed his thrusts, giving you back just a bit of control, yet his hands lingered at your waist ready to take it back at any minute. You ran your hands up your side, then cupped your breasts, gently pulling on the nipples. “My god, you’re beautiful,” Jacob panted out as you looked down at him through hooded lashes.

 The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room. Jacob’s fingertips dug into your ass cheeks as you picked up your pace, riding him earnestly now. His hips met you every time you ground down on him. At one point Jacob couldn’t take it anymore and he moved his one hand so he could toy with your clit. “Oh fuck,” you breathed out when he rubbed the little nub. “Jacob…I’m gonna…” The rest was a garbled mess as you came hard grinding down on his rock-hard cock inside you.

 “Yes, prinsessa.” Jacob watched you fall apart loving every emotion that played across your face. It pushed him over the edge and with a few more thrusts he spilled his cum deep inside your cunt.

 Your body was spent as you sagged forward on top of Jacob. You were both breathing hard, chest heaving in an effort to draw in more air. After a few seconds, you felt his lips on you; kissing your forehead, your nose, and then finally your lips. The kiss was sweet and loving, perfect after the sweaty and exhausting sex that had just happened. “Min vackra prinsessa,” he whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear as it had cascaded around the two of you obscuring his view of your face. “Too bad our marriage is a joke, for I could get used to that.”

 “We don’t have to be married for you to enjoy that again.” You pecked his lips then lifted off of him and rolled onto your side of the bed. “Come see me in LA anytime.”

 “You realize I’ll be there at least four times with my schedule, and San Jose isn’t too far from you.” His body was turned towards you so that you could see the seriousness in his face.

 “Well, I expect to be seeing my fake husband when he’s in town.” You gave him a little wink before adding, “And I think the trip to San Jose would be totally worth it.” He got up then and walked to the bathroom. You heard the water running and it wasn’t more than a minute or two before he was back at the bed.

 “Here.” He brought you a glass of water and a couple aspirin. It was exactly what you needed.

 “Thank you.”

 “Sleep, it’s still early, then we’ll shower later.” He dropped a kiss to your lips while tucking the covers up around then crawling into bed with you. He tucked you into his side and you swiftly drifted back to sleep.

 It was a couple hours later that Jacob woke up before you. His mind troubled with thoughts. It wasn’t a bad dream so much as a nagging feeling eating away at him. He carefully removed himself from the bed careful not to disturb you as you continued to sleep on peacefully. Covering himself with a pair of boxer briefs, he grabbed a bottle of water then sat down on the sofa in the suite. On the table lay the pictures from your fake wedding. He picked them up, laughing to himself at the photo on top. It was a dramatic shot of him asking you to marry him, and you acting shocked. He vaguely remembered doing that but the rest was all a blur. He leafed through the other shots. One of a fake Elvis, which seemed to be typical Vegas style, another of you kissing him after the proposal, still more of you being married by Elvis. They would all make for a cute memory of his time with you. Hell, part of him wished that he was married to you. He wouldn’t mind being buried balls deep in you every night.

 Jacob finally got to the last photo, or what he thought was the last picture; only it was some sort of document. He flipped it so that he could read it better. “Fuck,” he whispered softly as he read the words so nicely scripted across the paper. It seemed to be a marriage license, signed not only by both of you but the Elvis impersonator as well, whose name wasn’t Elvis and seemed to be a legitimately licensed marriage officiant.

 He needed to find out if this was real, so grabbing the hotel phone off the end table, he called the chapel. “Hello Mr. Markstrom, how can I help you?” An overly cheerful woman answered the phone.

 “Um, yeah, so I was wondering…I was there last night with…” He had to look down at the license to remember your last night. “Ms. (Y/LN) and I have our license in my hand. I was just wondering how valid this is?”

 “Oh, I can assure you Mr. Markstrom that it is one hundred percent authentic and has been filed electronically with the courthouse. You and Ms. (Y/LN) are indeed married. We make sure to dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s before we let you leave.”

 Jacob covered the phone then muttered, “Fuck.”

 “Is there anything else you need?”

 “No, um…I’m good. Thank you.”

 “No problem and congratulations again to you and the new Mrs. Markstrom.”

 Jacob hung up the phone and swore furiously in Swedish. You stirred, hearing something but not really registering what was going on, as you blinked your eyes several times clearing the sleep from them. The bed was empty next to you, and you found yourself sitting up looking for Jacob. He wasn’t in the bathroom, so you got up and padded out to where the seating area was. Sure enough there he was sitting with his head in his hand. “Head hurt that bad?” He groaned in reply. “Come back to bed and I’ll make it feel better.”

 He lifted his head up and turned to you then, a serious look in his eyes. “You’re not going to like this, prinsessa.” Well, if he was calling you princess again, it couldn’t be all bad. You raised an eyebrow in query. “Apparently, we’re married.”

 “Right, you told me it was a joke.” You sat down on the couch beside him, noticing the scattered photos on the table. “See, like I would ever get married by some Elvis doppelganger.”

 “It wasn’t a joke.” He handed over what looked like a marriage license, a very authentic one at that. Leave it to Vegas to be thorough even in practical joking. “There’s a seal on it and everything.” He was right there, but that would mean that this was real.

 “Oh, no….no, no, no….no. This isn’t real. You said…”

 “I know what I thought, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. So I called.” There was a look of dread on his face. "The paperwork has already been filed at the courthouse. Yay for technology."

 You knew he was trying to find a bit of humor in this mess, but frankly, you didn't find it funny at all. "Now what?"

 "I was just trying to come up with that when you came in."

 It hit you then, the solution to your problem. Maybe if you hadn't drunk enough alcohol to float a small ship last night it would've come to you sooner. "We'll just get an annulment."

 "Is that possible, after last night and well this morning?"

 "Hmm, I hadn't thought about that. Well, divorce it is." It wasn't ideal and you can't imagine having to explain it down the line, years from now, when you finally found someone you wanted to be tied down to, but it was the answer to your problem.

 Jacob seemed to mull it over a bit, and it struck you that he might be religious and that this might not be an option after all. "I'll make a phone call," he finally told you and you breathed out a sigh of relief. It took the two of you several minutes to locate your phones but eventually, you found them. While Jacob called his lawyer, you checked your messages. There were several texts from the girls saying they were heading to breakfast, so you shot one off yourself. There was no way you were meeting them yet, so you cried off stating that you were still hungover from the day before. You were really going to need to patch things up with Kennedy after all this trip was about her. Hopefully, you could share a laugh with her about this whole mess.

 A curse word muttered, or at least you thought it was, one in Swedish, brought you back to the situation at hand, and you looked at Jacob expectantly. "Apparently, it's not as easy as we think." He blew out a very frustrated sigh. "It's still doable, but it's going to take a lot longer than I expected."

 "How long?"

 "A couple months after the papers are signed and filed, possibly more."

 "What!?! You've got to be kidding me." That didn't make any sense at all. Shouldn't you be able to get a quickie divorce in a week when both parties were in agreement?

 "Well, my citizenship is one factor, but apparently it just takes that kind of time."

 "We got married in like, what...seconds. I don't understand." You started scrolling through your contacts looking for Aaron's number, then hit it and started to walk away.

 "Who are you calling?"

 "A friend, who's also an attorney." Aaron worked for the same firm as you, only in the legal department. Surely he'd dealt with a celebrity or two that had this same problem.

 You gave Aaron the condensed version of what happened, hoping that he'd come through and be your savior. "I hate to say it (Y/N), this Jacob's attorney is right. It's going to take you that long, if not longer." A growl of frustration was all you gave as an answer. "Cheer up babe, it could be worse."

 "Really? How so?"

 "Well, you could've picked some homeless guy off the street. At least this one sounds decent, and it's not like you have to move to Canada or Sweden while you wait this out. Just go on about your business."

 "I know, you're right. Thanks for your help, Aaron. I'll see you in a day or two." With that, you hung up the phone and headed back to Jacob.

 "Looks like you didn't fare any better."

 You sat heavily down on the couch. "No, not at all. Looks like we better start filing so we can get this done sooner than later." The look in Jacob's eye had you questioning things. You had thought you both were on the same page. Sure last night and this morning were fun, but what did you really know about each other. He couldn't really be thinking about staying married. When you couldn't take it any longer, you blurted out, "what?"

 He shook his head. "Nothing." When you gave him that look that said you didn't believe him he finally fessed up. "You're wearing my shirt."

 "Oh, sorry. I realized when I was on the phone I didn't have anything on. Hope you don't mind."

 Jacob actually didn't mind at all, in fact, he kind of liked you in it, which was a new feeling. "No, not at all. Though I'll admit I like you without anything on as well."

 It was hard to stop your eyes from rolling at his words especially at a time like this, but somehow you managed to. "While I appreciate the compliment, we should probably figure out what we're going to do." It was then that you looked at him, in only his boxers. His washboard abs calling out to your fingertips to just run over them, not to mention the strain of his cock against those briefs. You bit your lip just thinking about the things that you wanted to do to him and have him do to you. "And once that's done, then we can celebrate our divorce."

 "I like the way you think." He scooted you closer on the couch so that your legs were draped over his. "I was thinking that while you were on the phone, that I can just have my lawyer handle things. He said he could have everything drawn up in a couple days since we don't have to split up a house or any belongs."

 "That's fine. You can email me them and I'll just sign and send them back."

 "He did mention one thing, though I'm loathed to bring it up." His hand was traveling up and down your shins making it hard to think, but you were intent upon getting this divorce started.

 "Just tell me, after all, we are married, and married people shouldn't have secrets right?" I mean it was a bad joke, you'll admit that, but then if you couldn't laugh about this shamble of a mess you may start to cry.

 "He wanted to make sure that you weren't after, well...you know."

 Your eyebrows drew together as you tried to figure out his meaning, and then it hit you. "Oh my god! No, I'm not after any money. I would never and it's not like I don't have my own. I mean it's probably not anything close to what you make, but I do bring in quite a bit. Oh my god, I'm rambling. But no, no, I don't want a cent from you."

 "I told him I thought that was the case, but he wanted me to be sure."

 "Ok as long as you didn't think that."

 Jacob was quick to tell you he didn't. "No, not at all. If I'm being honest, I think getting married was my idea, if I remember right."

 "I wish I could remember more, though these pictures do bring back a few memories. I can't remember how we got these rings though. What is this cubic zirconia?"

 "Umm, nope." His cheeks started to turn a delightful shade of red. "My credit card tells me it's a diamond."

 "Oh Jacob," you exclaimed, taking off the ring. "This has to be a fortune. It's at least three carats." Quickly, you put the ring in his hand as if it was going to burn you. This fake marriage had caused enough damage that he didn't need to be on the hook for a ring that you'd never wear again.

 "You know I can afford it right?"

 "Of course, I know that. You just shouldn't have to pay for my mistake."

 "It wasn't just your mistake." It was sweet of him to try and shoulder the blame, but if you wouldn't have had that tiff with Kennedy, then you wouldn't have gotten drunk ass stupid and married him. "We both did this, but there's no point in arguing about it. In a few short months, this marriage will be over."

 "True."

 "Let me give him a quick call and get things started." You went to move but Jacob stilled you with his arm. The conversation was brief, his hand was inching further up your thighs during the entire call, sending delightful tingles all over your body. As soon as he hung up, that same hand reached your core. "So now that that's settled. What about that celebration? You know while we're still married and all."

 You'd already said you weren't making it to brunch with everyone, so there was really no reason, not to indulge in what you wanted. Scooting up a little further onto his lap, you grabbed the back of his neck and drew his lips down to yours. One kiss melted into another and another until neither of you could take it any longer and Jacob took you there on the sofa. After that, it was round 4 in the shower.

 You and Jacob exchanged numbers so that you could keep in touch while the divorce papers were being worked on by his lawyer. Since both of you were still in Vegas another night, you agreed to meet up a little later. Jacob claiming that it was safer to be with his 'wife' than out looking for another one.

 It was an hour after leaving Jacob before you were knocking on Kennedy’s door, there to apologize for everything you said to her the day before. She opened the door, and without so much as a hello, grabbed your arm and hauled you inside. “You have to tell me everything that happened?” How the hell did she know what had happened with Jacob. She was your best friend and all, but the last time you checked she was not a psychic. “I called Ryan and he told me those guys were from the Canucks, which happen to be his favorite hockey team in the world.” Somehow you really weren’t shocked to find that out. Considering Ryan was from Seattle and an avid sports fan. “When Jade told me, you were hooking up with one of them, I died. I need to know everything.”

 Oh, you weren’t sure if she was ready to hear everything. “Can I first apologize for being an absolute asshole to you yesterday?”

 “You can, but there’s no need. I know your feelings about marriage and how you think we’re rushing into it. I get that you were just looking out for me and only want me to be happy, and you know I’ll be happy with Ryan. I wasn’t really mad at you, per se. It was more about smoothing things over with Gretchen. You know how she can be.” You did know how Gretchen was, which was why you felt even worse for saying what you did, when you did. “(Y/N), you’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister, and nothing you say is ever going to change that.”

 You enveloped her in a massive hug. There were times that you felt as if you and Kennedy were twins separated at birth and it was nice to know she felt that way too. “I really am sorry.”

 “It’s already forgiven. Now, tell me everything that happened, or more importantly; can you get any of their autographs so I can take them back to Ryan?”

 “Oh, I’m pretty sure I can get us seats to any game if he wants to go?”

 Kennedy's face was filled with a mixture of shock and joy. “Really?”

 “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they have a family suite or something for wives to sit in.”

 This time you watched as that same shocked look turned into confusion. “I’m not following you?”

 “Well…I kind of sort of…” Kennedy might be your best friend, who knew you better than yourself, but you still didn’t know how to tell her this. It was always easiest to just rip the bandaid off, you supposed. “That is…I got married last night.”

 “YOU WHAT?”

 “Little louder, Kenny I don’t think they heard you at the Bellagio.”

 “I’m sorry but you cannot just drop that bomb on me and expect me not to shout at you like you lost your damn mind.” Ok, she had a point. You had in fact lost your mind and your memory. Damn alcohol. “You need to tell me everything right now.”

 It took you a half hour to tell Kennedy all the details of what had happened with Jacob. She was stunned, to say the least. In the end, the only thing she wanted to know was if you were now her matron of honor instead of maid. Leave it to Kennedy to make you laugh at a time like this. She agreed to keep your marriage a secret from the other girls and you hoped that she didn’t blurt it out like she did your little sexcapade with Superman, though she insisted that all of you meet up with Jacob and some of his teammates that night.

  Like you, Jacob had only told one other person about what happened that night, his friend and teammate Chris; to everyone else, it just seemed as though you two were very interested in one another. At the end of the night, you were fumbling back into his suite, divesting him of every garment he had on, while he did the same to you. The next morning, you said your goodbyes but decided to keep in touch. Jacob promised you there would be tickets with your name on them anytime you wanted them in Vancouver and that he’d definitely see you when he was in LA. It was something you were definitely looking forward to. Despite the whole marriage debacle, or maybe because of it, you had to say that your trip to Las Vegas was one you were definitely going to remember for a lifetime.

 Twenty-four hours later, when you were back in your own place, still trying to rehydrate from the past seventy-two hours, is when you received a phone call from Jacob. He called to make sure that you got back to Los Angeles and that everything was fine. It was actually kind of sweet. It was about sixteen hours after that, that you found yourself calling him after his first practice. One conversation rolled into the next and so on until you were talking at least twice a day. He talked about hockey and his life in Sweden as well as Vancouver, while you told him about LA and your job there. Family and friends were a topic that came up often, almost to a point that you felt as if his teammates were your friends as well. Sure, there were the occasional nights where phone sex ended up taking place, though you had to admit it was much better than some of the dates you’d gone on in the past. If one was on the outside looking in, they probably wouldn’t understand why you were actually going through with the divorce. That thought didn’t stop you from signing the documents and sending them back to Jacob though.

 As the season started, Jacob still made time to talk to you every day. He even started to wonder if the circumstances had been different and the two of you had met in Vancouver or LA, would you be an actual couple at this point. He had to admit that your conversations were the highlight of his day. You were smart and funny with a wit about you that he enjoyed, and well to say that you were attractive was a complete understatement in his book. If Jacob was being honest with himself, you were his ideal woman.

 Which is why when the divorce papers came in, almost a month after he met you, he simply threw them on his desk and vowed to take them to his attorney soon. Unfortunately, he forgot he had an extended road trip coming up, which made him forget about them completely. They only crossed his mind once while he was gone when you’d asked him if he got them. He tried to make a mental note to remember them when he got home, but not only did they slip his mind, but they also got buried in a mountain of mail on his desk.

 The following week when he got home was a bit crazy. He missed a night in calling you when a game went into overtime. When he tried to the next day you didn’t answer. Jacob tried not to give it too much thought or take it personally, though his mind told him differently. He knew that you had a big ad campaign coming up and that work had started to consume your life. He just hoped it wasn’t with some hot male stripper or movie star.

 When you didn’t answer the phone the following three days, Jacob started to believe that what the two of you had or were starting to have, never really existed. He had resigned himself that he’d probably never see or hear from you again. Oh, how he was wrong.  

.

[tomsrebeleyebrow]

attraction |  hs vampire au

moodboard made by me so don’t use pls

Pairing: Vampire!Harry x NewbornVampire!Reader

Warnings: major mention of blood, basically a slow burn with sexual tension/teasing, SMUT including unprotected sex (wrap it up before ya tap it), kids), voyeurism, oral (f receiving) and so much more, fluff and a tiny bit of angst

Word count: 10.9k (oops)

A/N: well... hi again? i guess?? 🙃 back from the dead agaaaain 🙌🏻 okay but i had a major writer block since my last one shot and oof, was it tough... but now i’m back! more relax and feeling inspired for halloween? so hope you will enjoy this special oneshot about one of my fav brit boys ❤️💞

masterlist  |  tag list

Somewhere near London, UK – year unknown.

Tonight was probably the worst one you ever experienced in your life – well, afterlife –, aside from being turned into a monstrous blood creature against your will just a few months ago. Despite your new inhuman abilities, the mob running and screaming after you still gains ground since you’re leaving a most vivid trail for them to follow.

Though your heart no longer has a normal pulse it feels as if each thump is excruciating pain. The obvious reason might be because you haven't been able to feed yourself properly since you've been... reborn. And so very little human blood was running through your veins because you couldn’t seem to control the hypnosis power. That’s why you’ve been sticking to animal blood but if you were honest, it didn’t give your body the same strength.

Now your body starts to grow heavier by the minute, along with a most painful throb to your fangs that threatens to turn you into a mindless monster that will slaughter aimlessly just to get fed. But that's not what you want. No. No. It may have been four or maybe five months since you could no longer be considered as normal, but still you thought of yourself as a human. And hurting any human was just not conceivable at all for you. You just couldn’t... But sometimes, even the biggest will in the world wasn’t enough anymore.

I feel so sick, I can't go on much longer...

If only these damn hunters knew I wasn't going to kill anyone...

All I wanted was some of her blood because she was alone... just a little bit...

Tears form in the corner of your eyes, feeling like a lost and hopeless child despite being in your twenties. Though you suppose you won’t age anymore now? Or maybe age in such a slow manor you will not be able to see the changes until dozens of years pass. You have no idea at all. The person whom turned you didn't even care to explain a damn thing and just left saying it would be “quite amusing to watch you struggle”.

Your fangs grit in anger just by remembering all this, remembering how and why you could have been so naive – stupid being the right word actually. Willing the tears away you jump into the nearest centenary oak on the side and climb as high as you possibly can. The leaves and branches obscure most of your body, making it easier to hide yourself as you wait in breathless silence for several long minutes. The humans bellow carry guns and crossbows, even torches with blistering fires waving in the cool British wind so hiding from them is definitely the best solution here.

They seem confuse at losing sight of you and your tracks, but the conversation you pick up with your improved hearing foretells how they believe you're still in the area. A tall man with a buff body and dirty blond hair seems the most knowledgeable and well prepared as he dictates how everyone should fan out to cover more space.

Sweat is now dripping all over your body in a way that lets you know your consciousness is going to fade if you don't feed yourself soon. So you use the little strength you have left to escape their sight, silently crawling from a branch to another to reach the next tree. Your senses are becoming dull as well and you know by now you’ll never be able to put up much of a fight if they spot you.

Since there is no one around right now, you decide it may be the best opportunity to climb down and try to get further away into the forest. However, you barely make it to the ground, crunching some leaves beneath your feet before a bullet was fired directly at you. With the quickest slam of your body to the ground, you avoid being hit. For the moment, at least.

“Don't let her get away!”

“Shoot her down! She's weak now!”

Your head shakes, body shivering in a sense of mixed cold and fear, hearing dozens of weapons getting loaded before bullets and arrows start whizzing your way, thanks the lords most of them missing you due to your astute senses. Like blondie said, you are now really weak and can’t help but fail to avoid all of them as one wooden arrow pierces through your shoulder, sending you tumbling to the floor with a screech of pain.

It hurts more than you expected it to, but you grit your teeth and yank it from your skin in one motion. The wound may not be that deep but you can feel blood oozing down your back, staining the fabric of your long dress. After forcing yourself to stand you try to keep running, but after a few steps your body succumbs to your fatigue and falls, noticing the humans have now formed a pretty wide circle around you to cut off every single path possible to escape.

If you weren't this weak and starving for blood, you could fight them off and get away but at this moment, that’s completely impossible. A man with long black hair approaches, extending his hand forward as he’s holding out a wooden cross. The closer he gets the more a headache pounds inside your head, causing you to hiss in agony, tears swelling in your eyes and claws scratching the muddy ground.

Is this the end?

I never got to really live...

I never got to properly love... Love in a way that was true and fulfilling.

A tear slides down your cheek but it's too late. Everyone readies their crossbows and guns to fire at the behest of the long raven haired man. Both of your eyes immediately clench shut, preparing for your upcoming death...

But it never came.

Suddenly, screams and several wet crunches invade your ears while your eyelids slide open the moment you feel an imposing shadow looming over your body. A broad but not too bulky back comes into view as you note a peculiar style of clothing, the vivid red suit they wear contrasting with the dark surrounding of the London outskirt. However the smell of fresh blood rushes through your nostrils, causing your eyes to pulsate and your fangs to throb hungrily.

“How dare you filthy humans attack one of my kind.”

A deep unfamiliar voice penetrates your skull, making you lift your head and discover a tall man with dark wavy hair. He slightly turns towards you, sending you a stoic yet piercing type of glare with intense scarlet pupils that causes goosebumps to bubble all over your body. You have no idea who he is but you can feel in your guts that not only he is indeed a vampire as well but that he's extremely powerful, as demonstrated from the way he dismembers two humans with the vicious dart forward and jerk of his hands. The corpses join the other four on the floor who you discover have their heads decapitated in a clean swipe, no jagged edging to the flesh around their torsos.

The imagery is whiteout a doubt disgusting to even look at, but it's even more appalling that all you can think about is how delicious all this river of bloody disaster smells and how exquisite it would be sliding down you throat. You start to salivate heavily with the madness of hunger, the extreme sensation almost completely overwhelming you but you try your best to hold yourself at bay.

“I didn't expect to see ya again thi' soon, Harry...” your blonde pursuer sighs, his facial expression clearly showing that now, tables have turned.

“I don't want to hear it" interrupts your saviour (at least you hope he is?), his intimidating hoarse voice bringing chills to everyone – you included – while still in front of you. “Leave right now, Niall or I won’t hesitate to rip off y’head too.”

The man named Harry flares all ten of his claws to life, also baring his fangs to definitely reveal that nothing of this was just for show. “'m sick of you killing my people. If they're slaughtering the humans, it would be different but this one–” He turns pointing his finger at you, “this girl hasn't killed anyone. I can smell it... You're chasin' her down for no reason.”

“T-That's not– she was attacking someone, dat's why she got caught–”

"If you speak one more word to me that isn't beggin' for your life followed by leaving, I'll rip all of your limbs before I even go for y’head.”

Harry and Niall stare each other down, the tension as shape as a knife. The human may know how to counter his vampire foe but in all likelihood with most of their numbers dead or bleeding to death, he's aware that right now he has not a single chance. And once again, cohabitation seems the only way to get out of here in one piece (hopefully).

“Fine... we'll be goin'. I know thi’ is yar territory mate, we crossed da border” Niall apologises, a hand over his chest and a small bow before telling his fellow hunters to retreat back to the city.

Though Harry isn't usually happy about letting humans go his posture is finally relaxing a bit, claws retracting as he death glares everyone down until they are no longer insight.

With a long and heaved sigh he fully turns around, finding you holding your head and gritting your fangs in disarray. It's quite clear you are probably not even aware of your surroundings, the blood shot vessels in your eyes telling the brunette your current state of hungriness. As soon as he's by your side in a blink of an eye, he bends down on his knees in front of you, pushing your own hands away so he can clutch your cheeks.

“Calm down, dear, relax your mind. Open your mouth and let me see your fangs, please.”

Though you whimper in uncertainty, that man in front of you is after all the vampire that slaughtered those humans to save you. So you still let him give a look at your small white fangs, your whole jawbone hurting as if you just got punched right in the face.

“I see they haven't grown completely... You must’ve been turned recently, am I right?”

Harry seems slightly angry, though you're not entirely sure it's directed at you but more at his findings. When he pulls back, you follow his body as he grabs a nearby severed arm and brings it back to you. His brows raise in surprise, not expecting this reaction when you whine and push it away, clearly disgusted by it.

“There’s no time to be picky anymore, darling. Y'need to stop thinkin' you're still human, so drink the blood.”

Your head slowly raises, panting as you stare right into his most mesmerising green eyes, some scarlet red from before still outlining his pupils, with your own sorrow filled orbs. Though Harry knows what that look represents, he could hold no sympathy for your lost humanity as he delicately brushes his hand through your hair before pushing the flesh into your mouth for your own good.

It only takes a second for your fight to disappear, the taste of blood that your veins and taste buds have longed for these last weeks finally flowing in your system. Like a wild beast your fangs sink deeper into the arms flesh, sucking and gulping greedily until it's nothing but a shrivelled and discolored severed limb.

The older vampire watches your irises glow with the brightness of your eye colour. In like a snap the strained vessels inside your sclera dissipate bits by bits, assuring that the wound on your back would heal after some minutes as well. Harry expected it when you flicker with your new found strength over to one of the corpses and starts bleeding it dry.

He stands here, crossing his arms over his classy red velvet suit while watching over you. Once he judges you had enough and didn't want you to become addicted in a way that would drive you insane, he carefully but still kind of strongly grab your wrist. You let a little hiss at him, defiantly, which makes him smirk in a way that lets admire his now noticeable dimples and handsome features. Within a few seconds you calm down but Harry is now holding both of your wrists in his grip

“Stay still, dear” was his command, simple yet strict so it feels like you have no choice but to obey.

After letting go of both of your hands once you calmed down, Harry cups your chin with his thumb and index finger, gently turning your head back and forth. You are not sure what the brunette is doing until he finds feint punctures on the side pale skin of you neck. The wound itself seems healed but you still have little small bruises.

“How long ago were you turned and who was it? Why are they not here watchin' over you?”

His array of questions makes you frown, wiggling free of his grasp just so you can huddle your hands around your trembling sorrow body, memories getting their way back into your brain. Memories you consider more as nightmares that keeps hunting you like a damn curse, only to remind you at each breath you take that nothing will be like it was before.

“He was... s-someone I cared about. We'd been seeing each other for a while, and then one day... H-he bit me... a-and forced his blood down my throat.” Telling the story doesn’t really make you feel any better, specially when you let Harry know that the man you trusted only wanted to watch you suffer for his own pleasure.

Seeing a newborn vampire like yourself, looking as lost and fragile as a deer into the wildness, really gets to him. Harry lived for countless centuries he forgot the exact number, but he definitely knows since day one that turning people was against the rules for the most part. At least turning someone and not helping them come into their new desires, powers and hunger. Honestly he is quite impressed you lasted so long on your own when he heard you say it has been nearly five months.

“Come this way, darlin'. The air reeks of human filth out her’.”

With a sudden but graceful turn the vampire starts walking away and finds it amusing how you scamper behind him like a lost puppy. Even your hand grabs the back of his velvety suit, like you dread the feeling of being alone. His comparison to you as newborn is not to be mean or even condescending. You are just so new to your turning that it is perfectly plausible to be scared and anxious about literally anything in your surrounding.

Harry doesn’t mind at all and pretty soon, you both are stepping deeper into the forest your attack happened for a good twenty minutes if not more. Then in front of you slowly appears what looks like a field, a large meadow embraced by the night and in its middle a quint little cottage. It looks nice and homey, but not what you first expected from a fearful creature like him.

“It's not a castle...”

The older vampire sneers at your remark and then turns to you, showing a surprisingly charming grin before pointing to the east. “My real home's far away from here, that's where the castle of y’stories will be. It's vast an' much larger than y'could possibly think, but I don't really fancy it.”

Your eyes blink curiously at him before gasping and pointing your finger in disbelief, a sudden realisation sticking your mind.

“O-Oh my god– are you from r-ro-royalty?!”

“You could say that” the brunette grins while pushing some curly locks back from his forehead. “Lord Harold Edward Styles, is what they call me. Harry for short.”

He merely cackles when your eyes start to swirl in confusion, before babbling nonstop that you didn't know and hope in the same breath with fearful eyes that he won’t kill you. Harry can’t help but frown at this, letting out a sigh.

“Come 'ere and tell me your name, dear. I have no reason to kill ya.”

For some reason, the peaceful and serious expression on his face feel trustworthy, offering his hand like a safety net he knows you need to feel secure. So after a small nibble of your bottom lip, you slowly place your petite hand in his and let him pull you inside his home.

“My name is (Y/N)... Thank you for saving me, my Lord.”

It honestly feels awkward to refer to him like that but maybe was it his rightful term? Being now a vampire yourself, you assume your “rank” is probably way lower than his so “serving” him seems... obvious, right? Yet anything that was happening since you began this new life was a matter of pure confusion to you, even more now since your new encounter with this vampire from royalty.

“You wanted to know who turned me... well, his name was Nick. I don't know if he's still around here, I'm sorry–”

“Just call me Harry, darlin’. I don't care at all for useless formalities unless y’break the rules or try to attack me.”

You viciously nod your head. Never would you do that, you still feel incredibly grateful and intimated by just being in his presence.

“The name sounds familiar as well. A fugitive whose turns 'umans against their will for dozens of years...” Harry mutters to himself, looking pissed that the enforcers in charge of catching people like that still haven't.

And so over the next few days, you learned about your new species in details and got a low down on all the rules you must do your best to follow at all costs. Harry even began to teach you about your abilities and how to tame your appetite for blood, though he commented once again that you were handling yourself well from the beginning.

Harry is for sure a mysterious man and doesn’t honestly act like someone whom is probably rightful King to the vampire’s world. It’s pretty clear he lived a long life while yours had just started. He appears to you as a ray of hopeful guidance in a world that becomes murky and malleable.

“(Y/N), dear, come 'ere.”

At his beckoning call, you place down the book you're reading and come to sit down next to him on the couch. At this point you've been staying with him in the cottage for a few months and knew what to expect when his hands approach your visage to cup your cheeks. Though it’s still a little embarrassing, but still you part your lips and let him examine your fangs like he has many times before ever since you met.

“They're just 'bout fully grown, since you've been fed regularly.”

Your head nod as his hands delicately slide away. It looks like there is something going on his mind, an internal struggle based on his body language that you get used to understand by now.

“Are you still havin' headaches and painful pulses?”

Honestly you wish to say no so he wouldn't worry. But the man likes the truth and only the truth as if the word is his middle name, and you own him that.

“Sometimes... but I'm fine right now. I thought it might be a form of withdraw?”

“You're not too far off. That piece of– person who turned ya didn't give you enough blood. Your human cells an' new vampire ones were basically fighting for dominance at the beginning, but it's clear which one will win in the end.”

Lifting his hand he uses the sharp claw of his index to slice a gash across his palm. Instantly his dark red blood pools in his grasp, before holding it out towards you.

“Drink.”

“I... c-can't?” It comes out as a question because you are indeed confused. “I mean– am I even allowed to? You're the vampire Lord after all... I–I don't want you to get in trouble–”

Harry chuckles immediately, like there isn’t a being alive that could punish him for breaking the rules. With a lift of his unharmed hand looping around your hip, he has you feeling all kind of dizzy when he clenches his fist and dripped his blood onto your plump pink lips.

“Just drink, dear. Maybe I need to start teachin' ya not to question my decisions, mmh?”

His words and your newfound position that has you sitting in his lap makes you feel bashful. You barely begin to lick your lips when the brunette lets you grab his hand to hold it up against your mouth. He feels your warm tongue lap lightly at first along his cold skin, before pursing against the wound and slowly starting to suck.

“That's it... You can sink y'fangs in if you want. The wound will heal faster than you think.”

You blink your big doe eyes at him, your face wondering without a word if all this is alright but you know Harry doesn’t want you to doubt him. Pulling back for just a second you take a breath and bare you fangs again, gently pressing into his skin enough to gulp a little more of his blood. As soon as he decides you had enough Harry pulls back and to your surprise, his wound and marks of your fangs both disappear within a few seconds.

The corners of his pale lips edge up, amused by your astonishment but he startles you with a reposition of your body before you can even realise anything. Now your legs are suddenly straddling either side of his hips, both of your hands pressing timidly at the turquoise suit covering his shoulders with confusion and shyness as the vampire brushes back your hair and leans down to your neck.

“My turn, now” his voice enticingly rasps against your skin. “We can replenish each other thi' way... though my blood is more to stabilise your vampire genes.”

Harry aires the hottest breath along your neck as he then bares his long fangs and sinks deeply into your flesh. You can’t help but gasp, but it sounds more like a moan that you aren’t completely aware of as he starts sucking your warm liquid.

“O-oh Harry–”

He smirks at your honesty, looping both of his hands around your backside. Within seconds he feels your own unsure sway, with the slow pet up against the back of his dark curls. It's been awhile since the brunette had a woman in his arms so his instincts and desires are telling him to take advantage of it.

But in the end Harry resolves against himself as you are still new to his world, and just wants to help you without adding strings. After a handful of seconds and a gulp or two of your sweet wine he pulls back, tenderly lapping up and down the holes until they heal properly and then help you sliding off his lap to make you sit next to him, catching sight of a shy blush of your cheeks and slightly faze expression.

“You shouldn't experience headaches anymore, darlin'” he begins almost too indifferently, “just don't do anything futile an' you’ll get used to bein' a vampire in no time.”

Next Harry sits up more comfortably, flattening his cream oversize pantsuits over his thighs as he side-eyes your cute expression – though is kind of displeased that you’re not looking at him anymore. But he does have to admit that teasing someone was such a nice sensation.

"I’m goin’ to make us some food, so relax in the meantime.”

You simply nod as an answer, definitely not trusting your voice since only stutters would come out if you try. But Harry doesn’t seem to pay attention to your lack of vocal answer, a satisfied expression on his face since he keeps enjoying the reactions you get over anything he does. And as much as he could simply use pressure to dominate and have you sweating in fear, all the man wants is a companion that won’t mind being at his side for awhile.

And so that's exactly who you became to the vampire.

Even after a few months and display that you were functioning perfectly as a vampire and could live on your own without trouble if you desired, you stayed. But the disheartened expression you showed him when Harry said you could leave struck a chord inside his chest. It was clear you thought he’s got tired of you or that you weren't allowed to stay with someone like him for very long because of his status.

Instantly the older vampire put a stop to any of those thoughts by saying that if you wanted to stay, you could. He wasn't kicking you out, he was only giving you the opportunity to leave and see the world by yourself. You were still a young and inexperienced vampire after all. Though the thought of traveling didn't sound like a bad idea, the year you spent with Harry up to this point had been very enjoyable. He held a most gentle yet imposing aura, which was only right since he was not just Lord in name but mostly in power. However that wasn't why you wanted to stay.

Harry had taken care of you and made you feel safe. The feeling you began to experience for him was new but somehow, you wanted to nurture the desire to be with him and make him happy if possible. The way he talked, teased, touched, held you in his grasp and let you feed off of him felt so intimate and somehow romantic.

In this respect time flew by and in a way felt like it had frozen since neither of you would show any signs of ageing. Both of you grew closer and found out that Harry was (surprisingly) a great cook, received visitors from the castle he told you about almost all the time and had a soft spot for the graceful beauty of nature. It was not that hard to tell because the brunette admitted right away that he enjoyed wandering outside the cottage, might be only to walk around or appreciate the first rays of dawn or sunset. And you could tell he took care to not trample the flowers under his steps and sometimes, you saw him watering the ones around his front porch. Some days you would even notice a new bouquet freshly gathered, settled in a Victorian style vase on the living room table. It was a small most insignificant trait, but you adored finding out those types of mannerisms.

“Harry?” you call softly with a thoughtful finger under your chin. At first you thought he was reading in his study since he had a nice little library, but the room was empty. Turning back, you check the living room and kitchen but they are both empty as well.

For a moment you wonder if he stepped out without saying – he's done it multiple times before. However you stop in front of his bedroom and get the feeling he might be taking a nap, another thing that isn’t uncommon. If he indeed is resting you don’t want to disturb him but after a small knock, you peak your head inside the room.

Low and behold there the brunette vampire is laying sprawled out on his bed, the silly thought that it should have been a coffin makes you giggle but you learned with him that many stereotypical aspects of vampires are so wrong – though it's true you can't walk in the sunlight, that crosses can cause pain and any significant damage to your body will kill you.

Now that you know he's asleep, you can't ask him what you wanted. Without getting too close you watch him sleep for a second and find his peaceful expression alleviating. Every now and then, you get the feeling the weight of the world was on his shoulders. And inside your heart, you know he was such a good man. After maybe a minute you turn back, ready to head out the room but his low and raspy voice calls out to you in a way that has you tripping over your own feet, bumping into the nearby wall.

“What is it, (Y/N)? Aren’t ya a bit clumsy, dear?” Harry snickers while sitting up, watching you rub your shoulder with a flustered expression.

From the look on your face and the way you avoid eye contact, he can clearly guess what you are bashfully unsure of if it's alright to ask of him.

“If you want to be fed, come ‘ere.”

The fact that Harry always knows what's on your mind is a little scary and reassuring at the same time because he has never used any of his power to harm you. With soft eyes, you step over to the right side of his bed and watch as he unbuttons the first few around the collar of his extravagant flowing shirt. As soon as his neck is exposed from the lacy collar, the vampire leans to the side beckoning you to take what you want without a word.

A gulp slides down your throat as you sit down on the edge of the bed. With the lift of your hands, you slowly push his pearly necklace up then press them on each of his shoulders before brushing your nose along his neck, fanning an ever soft breath against his skin with the bare of your fangs.

“I really like your personality, Harry... I-I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your tender confession catches him off guard more than the actual prick of your fangs, not that any bite you'd already given him comes with very much force. The brunette can feel himself enjoying the way you suck his blood out of his system. It’s definitely a hard thing to play off for him right now, and it has actually been every single day you shared with him.

When you had a gulp or two you then part a little and tenderly kitten-like lap at your punctures, speeding up the healing process for him.

“... do you want to bite me as well?”

Though your cheeks are a little warm you show a most candid smile, brushing back your hair to display your neck for him just as he has done for you.

“I do, but... I'll decide where I want to bite ya. Just relax, darlin'.”

Despite a little confusion, you don’t mind the tug of your body closer to his own. Both of his unblinking emerald orbs glanced your body up and down in a way that makes you feel embarrassed. If he’s not going to bite your neck, where else is he going to sink his fangs?

The dress you have on is a simple long white off the shoulder variety that honestly displays some of your skin while still letting you look sweet and innocent. Honestly Harry likes it a lot – maybe a bit too much actually – just because he would wickedly enjoy defiling that imagery in his mind. You are a kind and sweet woman, a total sweetheart indeed, but the man already found out vividly that you liked pleasure just as much as anyone else does.

Without thinking very much his cold hand raises up against your right knee, the tail of your outfit covering it. The way you shyly bite your bottom lip with your fangs is a hell of a nice image. Harry only caresses a little bit along your inner thigh before sliding his hand under the fabric, and then rest it directly on your skin. Edging his head forward he startles you with the way he tugs down the middle of you dress with his fangs, until he can see perfectly between your cleavage.

The location Harry chose is so confusing that your frame jolts the moment the vampire sinks into your flesh. Both his hands are against your body, enjoying its shape as he gulps your sweet nectar greedily. He savours your startled grasp on his shirt but the uneven pulse he feels beneath your flesh encourages him to keep going, his now scarlet orbs flickering with heavier desire.

All it takes is another small tug to reveal your bare breasts to his lidded sight. By time you realise his lips are already pursed around the closest nipple, warmly lapping the flat of his tongue in a way that feels exquisite. Like the male vampire you quickly get caught up in the moment, leaning your head back to moan and enjoy the added fray of his hand squeezing the other breast.

For a moment, you briefly thinks about how his saliva and tongue are both so warm as they suckle and lick your skin, when his flesh is cold and pale like your own. The answer doesn’t matter specially as his fangs tease your little nub. It’s clear Harry can’t hold back no more, now sunking savagely into your mound.

“O-oh my–!”

A ripple of pure ecstasy slides all over your body, causing you to moan Harry’s name not just once but a couple of times. The pleasure is so unexpected yet your arms circle around his shoulders, curving along his fine muscles but that’s when he realises how he’s letting his lust for you take over him.

Abruptly the brunette detaches from you, a small pop making you gasp but for the most part your hazy expression questions him with such want that he has to look away for his own sanity. The unhindered view of your breasts really dulls all of his develop senses. It had been awhile since he felt such powerful sexual desire for a woman, definitely way too long since his body was apparently getting out of control and a mind of its own. 

“Get out” Harry suddenly growls, making you frown and wonder what you’ve done wrong. “I didn't mean to do that– I just got caught up in trying to tease ya. If you're still hungry, go find a human.” When you don’t seem to move, still shocked at his harsh way of talking that rarely happen (in fact it never happens with you), the vampire turns his head back while flaring his menacing dark embers at you in a way that makes you tremble.

With a hurt expression you quickly cover your chest, trying to fix your dress the best you can before apologising like a hurt puppy and simply scamper at the speed of the light out of the room. Once alone, a now heavy silence settled in, Harry’s fists bowl-clawing his palms but it was the least he cared about. He didn’t mean to scare you, in fact he's been trying so hard not to use any of his powers on you.

The man is centuries older than you and shouldn't care about trivial feelings you may have, but both of you had such a good relationship since now and a part of him doesn’t want it to change... though Harry has always seen you as a beautiful woman. It’s not like he can’t admit that much at last, the man was kind of bad at expressing himself out loud most of the time. What he was most unsure about is if you really wanted him or if it was your vampire senses that tells you to submit to him like that.

With a heavy sigh he buttons his white shirt half way up, arranging his long and floating sleeves while deciding he should at least check on you. After all Harry won’t blame you for leaving if you want to create space between you two. Because now that he thinks about it, never did he ever speak to you like he did five minutes ago, and repeatedly calls himself a douche for that. 

The thought quickly – and thankfully – dissipates the moment he steps into the hall and hears the running water from the shower inside your bedroom. A relived expression formed on his face, glad that you didn’t leave. Abandonment was something he was used to over the centuries and had lived through many times. It’s honestly a miracle it had been about three years at this point and you maintained a good playful relationship with each other – well, until a few moments ago.

Soundlessly, Harry edges down the hall and notices the door of your bedroom open. As he approaches towards it, he finds himself inside the room before advancing to the closed bathroom door. Now in front of it he closes his eyes and place his hand on the wooden doorframe. His senses are far more astute than your own so every subtle breath you take, movements through the water or flex of your hands as they rubbed soap against your pale body... he could picture it pretty vividly. Just imagining the curves of your body is turning him on, specially thanks to the welcomed sneak peak at your chest from earlier. His fingers silently curl around the door knob, a light voice in his head reminding him once again he should stop before reaching the point of no return, that he should leave you in peace to wash up and later and offer you a nice meal as an apology for being a complete jackass earlier.

However, he can't. His senses twinge with the soothing aroma of lavender tickling his nostrils, knowing that's the soap he got you some weeks ago. With the slowest of movement that you won’t hear nor sense if you don't focus on it, the brunette opens the door wide enough to allow him a peak through the crack.

The first thing his eyes drag over is your long dress crumpled on the floor along with a soft cotton pair of light blue panties. Without waiting a second longer he tilts up and gets a completely unhindered view of your backside. His eyes follow the dip of your spine to the soft plush curve of your ass and long legs. Just observing this much of you has him gulping down hungrily but the moment you turn, using both hands to accentuate your breasts and stomach, there is no path to return to. All Harry can do is pant an uneven breath as you sway the water over your womanly shapes, washing away the soapy sheen of bubbles and suds.

The content and relaxed hum you air echoes inside the small space of the glass shower, bringing the man goosebumps of delight like a moan without sexual inclination. The more he watches your body and the subtle move of your fingers, the more Harry can't stop his own from unzipping his pantsuit to free his cock. His strong fingers curl around his girth, slowly pumping himself up and down as he watches you bend over just a bit to let water cascade down your back. An instant burn of want invades his entire body, the desire to squeeze those fine cheeks or even offer you a naughty little spank not leaving his mind.

Harry watches your hands do exactly what he desires when they pet down your hips and accentuate the shape of your bottom, like the water feels particularly nice cascading against it. Honestly, the smirk can’t leave his face. You're incredibly and undeniably sexy in a most natural way, so why holding back? His palm squeezes the tip of his manhood with excited fervor, still watching you smile shyly at the barely noticeable bite marks on your chest. You like to an extreme when the brunette vampire bites you, there’s no denying this fact as you moaned it to him many times. And Harry has a feeling you would have let him go further if he didn’t get confused about his fantasies.

The claws of his other hand dig into the frame of the door, scratching it all up as he pumps himself with the unbearable desire he has inside his guts for you to touch him. It doesn't even have to be his cock, he'd be fine with you admiring his body like you have before or stroking through his hair with that soft content smile on your delicate pink lips.

Thoughts inside his head become more erotic when he looks up at the sound of your soft voice humming a little tune. Both of his now dark scarlet eyes end up focusing on your mouth and gritting his teeth in a haze of wanting to feel those plump appendages against his girth. The movement of your tongue and warmth of your throat he can picture so vividly bring him closer and closer to the edge with each squeeze along his base and tip.

He even finds the way you rinse your hair to be erotic because you look so whimsical. A thought of wanting to devour you in every single way possible is what officially sends him over the edge, causing him to grind his teeth and grunt your name as he comes all over his hand.

His mind is so cloudy and hazy he doesn't even care that you’ve finally noticed him. Your eyes widen in total surprise, but your complexion darkens at the lewd sight of his arousal dripping from his fingers. Your head turns away before you can implode from embarrassment, hot water still running along your naked skin. You can’t help the deepest thoughts running wild and wondering if Harry was watching you shower to eventually pleasure himself to your body while doing so.

“Don't act shy now, my dear. I'm about to join you.”

At first you blink in confusion, glancing back in his direction to watch as he shuts the bathroom door to be inside the room with you. This signature showing-dimples grin enlightens his face in a way that reveals his pearly white fangs, before letting his already oversize black pantsuits fall to the floor. Harry is pretty quick to unbutton his shirt again, the soft and almost see-through fabric sliding off his shoulder to cascade on the floor soon followed by his trousers and underpants, leaving him absolutely naked for your eyes only.

Harry is the most attractive man you've ever laid your eyes on. A tall and sculptured vampiric body that probably hasn't changed for hundreds of years. With a few steps forward the brunette is on the other side of the shower glass door and wraps his fingers around the handle, ready to erase any distance separating you both. He pauses his movement for a few seconds, letting both of you take in each other’s new found appearance and what might be about to happen.

“If I join you, (Y/N)” begins Harry almost in a whisper, his eyes never leaving yours, “... I won’t ever be able to leave ya alone.”

Your eyes rise in surprise, his expression reflective of how serious he was being. For a second or two you turn away, your hands covering your face which is giving him the impression you might be having second thoughts. Though the croak of your voice and the tender expression you offer when you slowly spin back proves how you've been able to constantly surprise him these past years.

“Is that a promise?"

Without a second thought Harry is right by your side and looming over you in a possessive dominating way. Both of his hands pet along the warm and wet edge of your stomach, before gripping your hips and tugging you completely into his body. Without pretence his expression represents just how much he enjoys your whole and can’t wait but brush some of your hair sticked on your face, assuring you he can't wait another second to kiss you.

The distance between you both closes with the warmest capture of your lips that quickly becomes some passionate tongue action. It honestly feels that divine you couldn't stop yourself from moaning into the kiss. The warmth of the water doubles nicely the little fire forming inside your guts, in a way that affirms you’ve never felt such a discombobulating kiss before.

Right away Harry greedily begins stroking, groping and petting every single supple curve your body has to offer. Even your own hands note the nice shape of his back and every defined dreamy muscle. His lips curve up as he tugs playfully at your bottom lip, the gentle way you appreciate his shape really has him feeling some type of way.

“Give yourself to me, darlin’, this time I won’t be holdin’ back.” 

The air of his wanting rasp meets the underside of your chin, of which Harry is currently kissing his way down. With a press of both his hands on your lower back he has you arching and moaning as he licks between your breasts. When the vampire starts to nip at your plush skin, it’s even more overwhelming because not only is he pursing his lips but his tongue is gliding all over you. The flat of his wet muscle makes sure to whirl around the ridge of your nipple, assuring it’s perfectly erect before nibbling on it with his fangs.

“Oh Harry, that feels so good...” 

Hearing your honest pleasure encourages him to absolutely cover your breasts in love bites both a literal and physical way, each mark more blissful than the next. Your mind becomes so consumed you don’t even know Harry is backing you up until you meet with the wet and slightly cold tiles.

Just looking up to admire the shower water perfectly cascading over his rippling muscles – his weirdly yet attractive inked skin on full display and usual necklaces in place – is the most blessed image you could wish for. This Adonis of a man looks so perfect that you lean up to offer him your own slow and sensual desire filled kiss. Little do you know he enjoys your initiative, specially since you’re kitty licking around his tongue.

Slowly Harry begins to take over such as his more dominate nature, but you oh so don’t mind. In fact you’re getting lost in the way his strong hands fondle and squish your chest. The thumb of his left hand even circled around the perky tip, while his middle and index on his other give you some slow pinches like he’s determined to have you mewling into his mouth.

“I must ‘ave been out of my mind to wait three fuckin’ years to ‘ave you...” Harry growls while baring his fangs, pressing into the top area of your shoulder. The bite he gives isn’t even painful since the puncture is slow and the suckle he drinks your blood feels so pleasurable.

“H-Harry, I’ve never felt any pain w-when you bite me” you start, stuttering from all his attention on you. “I-I thought I was weird, b-but I can't help but want so much more...”

Harry’s lips curve up against your skin as you let a louder and more frequent moan, not only because the vampire leaves deep red hickeys on your neck and collarbones, but because his hand slides down to rest between your legs.

The moment you sense it outlining your womanhood, you arch your back while clutching your hands tightly around his shoulders. Without waiting his index and middle finger caress your lower lips for just a second or two, before encouraging your legs to spread further apart so Harry can thrust them effortlessly into your core.

“A-ah– feels so good!”

Enraptured by your praise, Harry increases his rhythm and feels the thump of your slow heartbeat. His own is probably pulsing in the same way, it's been so long since the man felt this exhilarated. With a caress at your hip for you to steady, the wobble your legs frays at his kisses all over your breasts and even a slippery curl with his tongue down to your belly button.

By the time you try to follow what’s happening, the brunette is already on his knees between your legs, kissing nonstop at your inner thighs. Out of the corner of his eye you can tell Harry is actually watching himself glide his fingers in and out of your slippery folds. It should be embarrassing, but you find that more thrilling than anything else. He’s so passionate as a lover, the attention he gives being excruciatingly euphoric whatever he does.

“Earlier” his raspy voice mumbles against your thigh before he proceeds, “I was so tempted to push y'down an’ bite your thigh...”

As he licks hungrily at your skin, you recall how he caressed up your upper leg earlier, the touch offered when you woke him up was oddly intimate. It made you bashful since it was so sudden, but if he had done as he wanted you wouldn't have stopped him.

“Now I’ve a second chance... so don't mind if I do, darlin’.”

Your chest heaves with the warmth bubbling all over your skin as you watch the bare of his pointy sharp fangs and the immediate pierce into your inner thigh. A loud moan echoes around the shower, the vibrations prickling Harry’s ears and assuring he won’t part from your delectable flesh until he gives you his most vivid love bite.

Your head shakes at how all consuming the pleasure you’re gladly receiving feels. And as he sucks the sweet blood from your thigh, he doesn’t hesitate to add a third finger into your fold, now working a pace that lets you know in accurate detail that you're indeed incredibly wet. It’s not just the shower anymore, both of you know this for a fact. By now you have no problem admitting you’re turned on like a thousand lightbulbs.

“Your smell’s drivin’ me insane...!” came his lidded snarl, some little blood dripping down his chin but quickly washed away by the shower. Harry is darting for your womanhood like a famished animal, the instant curl of his fingers along your slit having you whimpering and yanking at his wet hair a bit too hard.

“F-fuck– I’m sorry Harry” you whimper out your sincere apologise along with a moan, the back of your head bumping on the tile wall as if the king of vampires like the one kneeling between your legs could get hurt from such a small type of friction. “It feels like I-I can't breath– feels so good!” 

"If you're that out of it, y'can be rougher...”

His warm breath hazes over the sensitive bead of your clit, making you convulse in pleasurable disarray. With his hands taking a fist full of your ass, Harry pushes you deeper against his tongue to then curl it up and down. The sensation of him lapping against your slick inner walls has you seeing stars, knowing a man has never eaten you out so hungrily before.

With the constant pant of your moans filling the primal space inside his head, there is only one and simple desire he has: to make you cum on his tongue and no matter what, he will not pull away until you do. It’s more rewarding than you'll ever know to have your writhing body in his grasp, not just your trembling legs when he had the chance to have you innocently straddle him, but the arousal coating his lips and the subtle desire filled push of your hands that want him even deeper inside you were exciting in a maddening way.

“A-ah please Harry, I c-can't–!” 

You are barely able to tell him how close you’re feeling right now, as drool ebbs heavily down your lips. Harry is already aware though because of the curl of your fingers, each tugging at his hair in your peak of utmost disorienting pleasure.

With a gentle pat over your soft wet body, he squishes both of your breasts and thrusts his red muscle in a most detail oriented type of way. Your praises grow in frequency as well, telling him how utterly euphoric you feels and how hot the knot in your stomach makes your skin burn, bringing you closer to your end. Everything kinda rushes to the tipping point with a pinch to your buds, causing the instant convulse of your folds and drench of your fluids flow down his chin, assuring the fangs in his mouth are vividly pulsating.

It takes everything not to sink in to your most sensitive body part. Harry manages to calm himself down with the caress of your hands falling limp, feeling one curve around his ear to hold him gently where he is. With the thought of how much he needs to claim you, the brunette gulps down your nectar and even laps the slippery sheen coating your slit.

As he raises back up to stand, all it takes is a small hazy blink for you to miss completely the way Harry yanks up both of your legs and positioned you right against his cock. “’m gonna take you hard an' fast– can't wait another second to make y'mine.”

Your lips part but all you’re able to say is a pant of his name, while coiling tightly around his neck and nodding your head.

“Have all of me, take me Harry–”

The vampire most certainly doesn’t have to be told twice, so without hesitation he thrusts deeply into your slippery folds. His speed is just as instantaneous as the pleasure you start to drown in. You never knew your voice could go so loud and high pitched until a man with much vigour and strength named Harry came along, thrusting his hips in a way that fills you to the brim with every movement he makes.

“S-Shit you're so fuckin' wet– so tight ‘round me, only for me–”

His fangs are on domineering display, getting off on your pleasurable honesty just as much as the throb of your tight folds. You don’t get to see his expression though as you leaned your head back again but this time caused by a every aggressive slam of your ass on his thighs. That gives him the perfect opportunity to enjoy your neck, so the vampire doesn’t mind.

Each electrifying kiss left on your skin feels exceptional, every sway of his hips lets you know he’s a well endowed man and quite honestly just being in his arms has you feeling this way. This man didn't have to save you or take you in and just could have gotten rid of your at any time. But the instant he's allowed you to stay and gave you a comforting space to get used to your knew desires and vampiric body.

There is a part of you that wishes you still has a conventional heartbeat just so you could feel how erratic it could be thundering against your ribcage. However, even without a human heartbeat you still knew you were excited beyond all belief. Just being able to run your hands along his shoulders, maybe even brush up against the back of his head has you feel like his long time lover.

“Fuck, I can't get enough of ya” Harry suddenly growls in madness, dropping one of your legs back against the floor while he pulled the other higher up and hold your thigh, basically watching himself rammed his thick cock into your body. There’re not a single word forming on the tip of your tongue other than whimpers and mewls of ecstasy.

His speed and precision to hit your most sensitive spots are probably only possible due to his improved senses and longevity. No doubt in your mind Harry probably had many past lovers before you but you don’t really care. He always tells you to live in the moment and not muddle through just because of your past.

“You're now a vampire, (Y/N). Act like one for your own sake.”

These are the words he told you over the past shared years together, which became your mantra to feel validated in your new life. Speaking of your new desires, your fangs are constantly throbbing and pulsating for the past minute, reason why your eyes have been glued to his neck and shoulder ever since. The need to bite him is so overwhelming that you simply don’t care to ask before diving forward to sink deeply into the space right bellow his ear.

“H-hah, y'little vixen– that feels so damn good, have your fill” the brunette encourages you with no malice but utter pleasure.

In fact he’s enjoying the twinge of your fangs so much his fervour keeps increasing. His hips edge even closer while his clawed hand takes a hold of your waist and starts slapping at your inner thighs in a way that have your arousal dripping profusely onto the shower floor.

You can’t stop yourself from moaning against his skin or salivating heavily as you absorb down his delectable blood. You swear his nectar tastes even more delicious then it ever has before, like the most finest aged wine. It's a thought you can barely focus on as you suddenly toss your head back, feeling yourself reach a most blissful end.

The moment Harry senses your insides clench repeatedly, he shoves his tongue down your throat and becomes enraptured in the way you meet his every slapping movements. Heavy saliva from both of you mixes together, dripping profusely down your chin as soon as you feels the deeply penetrating thrust of his cock slam into your womb. His arousal fills you to the brim in a way that makes you drift through euphoria.

After some time the brunette parts from your kissed swollen lips, a thin sheen of saliva still connects you together before quickly breaking when he licks his fine pale lips. The vampire smirks at you in complete satisfaction while ever slowly edging his girth away from your wall, not without admiring how thickly coated in your juices his manhood is. Maybe Harry even salaciously admires the dribble of your combined arousal from your slit, but it’s clear you are feeling utterly spent and can only keep yourself up by pressing a bit at his chest and shoulders, leaning your back against the tiles behind you.

With a soft expression that suits him so heavenly, Harry tenderly strokes his hands up your body while admiring once again the plush shape of your stomach, breasts and the slender trail up your neck to cup your soft cheeks. The smile you give him proves he’s offering all the affection he is able of with the sensual touch of your lips with his. This kiss is the slowest and most romantic you ever felt from him yet, while the brunette lifts you in his arms properly again before pulling away from the kiss.

“I'll help you dry off, dear. ‘think we've soaked in the shower long enough.”

“Thank you Harry” you thank him with a slight smile, your cheeks nuzzled into his wet chest before placing a kiss there that has him avoiding your gaze and wondering where a romance like this has been all his long life. 

You sit still once he settles you on the sink counter, wiggling cutely as he dries you off with purposeful caresses of your more intimate body parts. When he also dries himself both of you get dressed – you into the long nightdress you took before your shower and him back in his oversized pantsuits only. Afterwards, you take his hand as Harry walks you both out of your bathroom. It’s clear you wish for him to lay with you in your nearby bed but he hesitates at the edge of it, looking towards your still wide open door. It seems like Harry wants to escape but that’s not it at all. He is looking towards his study at the other side of the hallway where an item he had hidden was secretly and well kept.

“I'll be right back– hey, don't make that face, darlin’... I'll lay with ya when I come back.”

You lean into the palm of his warm hand that softly strokes your cheek, adding a hopeful nod. Your soft eyes trail behind his tall figure as Harry steps out into the hall, leaving your door cracked open behind him. With a little doubt forming in your heart you lay on the silk mattress of your bed and turn, rolling back and forth like a restless child waiting for time to fly as fast as possible.

It took him longer than he wanted as he struggled with whether this was the right thing to do or completely the opposite, tons of questions invading his mind: did you want him as much as he wanted you, and so should he trust you with a secret only a handful of the Royal vampires know? His hundreds of years differs so greatly from your barely twenty-five-ish ones. The brunette keeps rushing his thoughts because first, he wants you to be happy and second, he doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

With the item in his hands, Harry clenches his fingers tightly around it and makes his way back to your side. As he enters the silent room, smelling some faint aroma of lavender from your previous shared (hot) shower, you’re actually snoring softly while sprawled out in a way that takes up nearly the entire bed, which makes the brunette slightly chuckles at how silly yet adorable you are. He shakes his head with the soft expression you love so much on him, effortlessly scooting you further to one side before climbing in next to you.

For a couple of minutes Harry strokes your hair and caresses your skin, before taking your right hand and placing on your fourth finger a gold ring with a glimmering ruby jewel in its middle. Your eyes flicker open at the feeling, followed by a small yawn while watching the careful placement of your new jewellery with a bashful smile.

“... Are you asking me to marry you, Harry?”

His emerald eyes open wide in shock, skin darkening more than you thought a creature like him was capable of. Instantly the brunette uses your palm to cover his face and slowly shakes his head, the white pearl of his necklace softly jiggling around his neck at this. The breath from his parted lips tickles your skin and honestly makes you fall at peace.

“N-no– well n-not yet at least, uh–” Harry stutters, still hiding his face with your hand. He clears his throat before continuing “though this is my gift to you, love.” 

You can’t see the way he actually bites his bottom lip, but your eyes notice both his hands covered in rings that he always wears. And one catches your attention, the one with a similar ruby jewel in the middle yet of a different shape.

“This will allow ya to walk 'round in the sunlight, this way it will no longer cause you any harm, my dear.”

“Really? But you said that it would always hurt...?”

“Without an amulet blessed an’ enchanted by a powerful witch, the sunlight will cause us vampires harm. That’s why you must always wear it.”

Harry lowers your combined hands so you’re finally able to see the serious expression on his face. “You must never tell anyone abou' this. Not a single soul, vampire or human alike, my dear. No one.”

“I would never cause you trouble, Harry. And I promise I'll take this secret to my grave” you respond back, arms sliding around his hips like a silent wish to lay your head against his bare torso, a motion which your lover gladly welcomes by sliding his fingers through your hair. 

With a thankful smile you get comfortable, closing your eyes in hopes to snuggle with him while you sleep.

“People will not question it if y’tell them you were sired by me” proceeds the brunette vampire abasing your hair, fingers still entangled in your soft locks to massage your scalp. “It's a misconception tha' pure royal vampires are born immune to the hurtful rays of sunlight... Most of our kind think a person turned by us will also be immune.”

“I wish... I had been turned by you” you let out in a whisper while keeping your face nuzzle against Harry’s chest. “I want to be with you for as long as I'm able to.”

The vampire can’t resist but leave feather-like kisses on your forehead and hairline, your confession definitely making him feel... alive. His hot breath hitting your skin gently soothe you and so are his kisses, the sudden brush of his nose against your face bringing a delightful giggle out of you which Harry would never get tired of.

“Maybe I'll be the one to ask you to marry me, who knows...” you add, your index finger sliding over his pearl necklace with a define grin on your face. 

No words could describe how you make Harry feel. Never has he been more grateful for the quick way you fall asleep just so he could hug you tightly against him. Maybe later, he will be able to tell you that, as surprising as that may sound, the man has never been married in his long life either. There has never been someone this special to him to go for it. It's indeed hard to say if Harry wants to make that commitment with you at this point either the thing he’s sure of is his wish - no, his desire to be with you. Forever. 

“Good night, my love... Maybe tomorrow I’ll take ya to the castle y’ask me about all the time.”

* * * 

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[fymagnificentwomcn]

Farya was not only a bad and unnecessary character, but was also sooo annoying, not only for me?

I mean…

outside how her character was out of the place, she wasn’t even likeable? My mum knew nothing of Ottoman history & how her character is so ahistorical and she hated Floprya so much, you cannot imagine.

Her ranting that if Mu/rat does not kill Ayşe, she will do it herself & being all “Damn ilahtar and Kösem, they will try to convince Murad not to kill Ayşe, and otherwise he’s so merciless DANG”.

Her feeling of superiority and being special truly shows you why she had best relations with

Mu/rat and Atike in the palace lmao.

She’s also repeatedly completely ignorant of Ottoman system & yet thinks she can be Valide (ater)?

Kösem, Gevherhan, and Ayşe told her multiple times how it works and what might ultimately befall her. Of course Ayşe wanted to just piss her off, but she actually told her truth – Murad was keeping her as his mistress closed in golden cage and just waiting when he decides to grace her with his presence, mostly at night to have some fun ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) . Living outside harem meant that (surprise!) She had a worse situation than slave Ayşe, who had an acknowledged & legitimate position as haseki and mother of princes. Being a foreign princess meant nothing there – she was kept in hiding, had no clear position in Murad’s life, and was actually living in sin with Mu/rat (yes, Murad was so mad about Kasim breaking the rules, but he was doing something far more scandalising himself when it came to sexual propriety & he was the ruling padişah). Her being so happy about not being placed in harem initially & thinking how she was so special she was given a separate palace.. shows precisely how ignorant she was of the system she CHOSE to live in.

Kösem and Gevherhan warned her how not having a kids meant she would later fade into obscurity & even legal marriage could not change it – she completely dismissed it because of “their great luv” & stuff.

Kösem knew Murad much better than Floprya did LBR and when she said his “great luv” would pass, she knew what she was talking about – she was even shocked when Mu/rat gifted Farya with necklace because it wasn’t in his nature to do romantic gestures and caring about giving his women gifts. And even if you don’t trust these women because they don’t like you much, look at how this man is truly behaving towards you (if you ignore his behaviour towards Ayşe because yes we know you are a special snowflake).

Ignoring stuff such as period-appropriate behaviour (Murad laughing at Farya wanting to command an Ottoman army, I guess even less misogynistic men would laugh her off), he calls her his prisoner even before the pig incident, and afterwards…. 1) he hits her without even asking her why she put a freakin’ pig in; 2) keeps her wounded and bleeding in cell while making his decision, at the same time being all emo about how poor HE is because he loves this woman and she hurt HIM so; 3) when he (graciously, please everyone clap) decides to spare her, he doesn’t just let her go, he makes a show in which he scares her and “shows her her rightful place” aka on her knees before him; 3) continues to be offended and passive aggressive towards her afterwards; 4) gives her throne away behind her back without even asking her if she wants to stay with him; 5) rides after her, tells her “you slept with me, so you are my woman & you belong in my harem” & takes her on his horse forcefully (it doesn’t matter if she secretly wanted it inside); 6) didn’t explain why he gave her family’s throne to someone else even after he took her back to the palace, Atike had to do it; 7) yes, kept her without any status and intention to change it hidden in another palace, without any participation in his daily life and only visiting her when it suited him, not even sticking to any promises to come if he decided so, only the terrible incident with Farya’s miscarriage made him marry her and seeing how his “great luv” began to die after it, one does question whether it was out of love or him simply wanting to show everyone (both his mother and subjects) that he could do as he pleased, even against any rules; 6) he actually never promised her he would marry her and not have other women, it was only Farya always saying this – conversely, in MY Suleiman DID actually promise this to Hürrem and then did not keep it [doesn’t make Murad less of a dick, but shows how delusional Farya might be because he never actually said so himself or agreed to it].

And I said in one of my previous posts how Hürrem (and any harem women) weren’t homewreckers because it was indeed their only chance to have a family & love, but damn Floprya is a homewrecker because she truly didn’t have to stay with Mu/rat – she had her family, her throne, friends to come back to… please you knew what mess you created by coming there, and you had all the signs how violent this guy was and about his attitude to women… you could truly do a lot better, honey.

Murad never saw her as a consort of importance either. He never asked for her opinion on anything (he’d sooner even ask his mother) and when she got an accidental chance to say something (pleading with him not to execute a poor guy who forgot his lamp to bring his dad dinner, nota bene an incident described by Ottoman historian Mustafa Naima, just without Farya in the picture obviously), he completely ignored her and looked pissed she even dared to do so. It was frankly the only instance Floprya tried to talk Mu/rat out of something bad – even when he executed people who simply had been on the market during the attack on her (and even completely unrelated ones as later turned out), even though Kosem had already punished the actual attackers, our “kind-hearted” Floprya did nothing…. I’m not surprised he didn’t consult her before because he never does & well… talking sense to him never works because Kösem tried to reason with him it’s wrong, even for him because it provides people who want to go between him and ordinary people with great opportunity… and he didn’t give a fuck as always, but Farya never said anything, even following this? It was a matter closely connected with her and we never even see them talking about this or Floprya’s reaction to it? I can’t believe she didn’t hear about this… she likely just didn’t care.

Kösem also told her that marrying a sultan is not enough, and (since we know she couldn’t have kids) she should at least drag her ass and do something useful, like take care of people? Well, it was the only time we saw Floprya doing charity.

 Following the wedding, Mu/rat began to gradually lose interest in Farya, including going after Sanavber after he saw her with dagger pointed at him because it seems he has a dagger-fetish & now Floprya  even stopped wielding his favourite toy to have his attention… And again never forget Atike’s “Murad finally met a woman worthy of him, she can wield a sword like A MAN!” (STFU ALREADY ATIKE).

Speaking of Atike… Floprya encouraging Atike to pursue Silahtar even if it’s clear from Atike’s words he isn’t responsive to her, bah, even after it’s known he loves someone else… how stupid you can be to encourage Atike to get the guy who loves someone else and keep telling her again how special & daring she is, so go on and take what you want? Or Floprya threatening Silahtar to expose it was Gevherhan because he called her out on threatening Ayse at night with knife (yes, Ayşe was guilty, but there was no evidence at that point & it was not for her to go and punish somebody without evidence like that). He was just doing his job.

Farya later begins to openly mention her frustrations and how she’s now sidelined because she cannot have children… which of course makes her more the bitter and angry at Ayşe & striving towards revenge so bad – she  isn’t satisfied that Ayşe got exposed and would be punished, she wants her DEAD & would not accept any other option (never mind that poor, innocent children would be orphaned in such a case).

Even after  the matter is revealed and she does regret what she did, she’s as defensive as ever and tries to put all blame on depressed, abused woman aka Ayşe… she sees no fault of Mura/t’s there.

Still, she didn’t deserve execution for that, especially from hands of person who was chiefly responsible for the tragedy aka her husband… and her being pregnant saving her was meaningful.

Yet she continues to be ignorant about Ottoman system – now that Mura/t continues to pay her little attention even though she gave birth to two sons and instead spends time on drinking parties with Yusuf & other male buddies, she wants to be Valide and supports changing succession law back to the one involving fratricide… Okay, she doesn’t care about Murad’s brothers, but her own sons? Mu/rat being all “I don’t give a fuck” to Kösem pointing out one of his sons will kill the other is… well, him being himself, but Floprya should get worried about implications for her sons, right?

The scene with Sinan is SO indicative of Farya later on – she sits on balcony frustrated because she sits at palace all alone with her sons, while her hubby spends time on one of his parties & watching some (sexy!) dancer after promising her he would be now focused on his family (and even in that scene she still looked so scared of him), Sinan comes, calls her future "Valide Sultan”, she smirks, brightens up & already feels relevant and in better mood, so immediately does what he wants her to do and sends message to Mura/t about Kösem holding meeting with statesmen and ulema about changes in succession law.

Yet another win for Sinan!😂

Farya and Mu*rya stans claiming she was sooo "good-hearted” and they were equals.. were we watching the same show, eh? He didn’t treat her as her “equal” or whatever, even in “their best days”. The relationship was a disaster WAY before he tried to kill her.

I really never hated MY/K ship as much as I hated Mu*ya, a total disaster that really had nothing appealing to me – it was straight-up abusive plus it wasn’t even interesting. I swear even Mihrimah and Rüstem, while thouroughly dysfunctional, were more interesting to watch as a totally fucked up, toxic couple ugh.

- Joanna

Tagging @onlythelonelysurvive because it might be of interest to you and maybe take your mind off your worries :)

[fightmeyeats]

Let’s Make it That Deep: Thinking about the Surveillance State, Racial Politics, and Humanity in Terminator: Dark Fate

This week I watched Terminator: Dark Fate, which carries forward from the second Terminator film, Terminator: Judgement Day (1991), wisely ignoring everything that happened in movies 3-5. Dark Fate is set in the year 2020 and follows Dani Ramos, humanity’s new hope to survive the future robot apocalypse, as she, Grace (an augmented human from the future), Sarah Connor, and Carl (a T-800 model terminator) fight against a Rev-9 sent back in time to kill Dani. Overall, to quote my sibling, the movie “isn’t a literary masterpiece,” but it is fairly enjoyable--especially if you’re thirsting over the main leads. However, because I have a feral academic-garbage brain I also wanted to spend some time unpacking what I saw as the film’s three major discourses: surveillance/technological inevitability, race politics, and human exceptionalism. These are fraught discourses, often represented in contradictory and confusing ways over the course of the film, but I think it is generative to sit with them and to try to work out what messages are intentionally and/or unintentionally being conveyed through the movie, as well as what the potentials and limitations of these messages might be. 

Spoilers ahead.

i. Surveillance & Technological Inevitability

Before getting into the content of the film, one thing which may be useful to consider is how the movie previews shown in the theater before the start of the movie contextualize reception and engagement with the actual story Terminator: Dark Fate tells. There were quite a few trailers before the movie--enough so that one patron a few seats down in my row loudly commented “is the movie going to start now or what??” as yet another trailer started playing, the majority of which were either for war or horror movies. The two in particular I am interested in discussing are The King’s Man (2020) and Midway (2019), and the way that they both glorify and justify the imperialist/security state. The King’s Man trailer, for example, positions the titular agency as being an “independent intelligence agency” which essentially is able to actively “protect” people while governments fall short. In between clips from the film, title cards read "witness the rise...of the civilized," a shockingly open and yet seemingly unconscious connection between the King’s Man narrative and British colonialism/imperialism. Immediately following this trailer is one for Midway, a WWII moving centering on the aircraft carrier USS Midway immediately after the events of Pearl Harbor, which a character in the trailer calls “the greatest intelligence failure in the history of the US”. The reason why these trailers are important to keep in mind is because they implicitly respond to some of the anxieties articulated in Terminator; if Terminator films speak to fears of technology and surveillance, these trailers argue that really technology, surveillance, and military power are all important aspects of “civilized” nations, necessary for security and safety. 

This actually ties in immediately to the opening of Terminator: Dark Fate, and the death of John Connor which can be interpreted, in one sense, as a failure of surveillance. This actually specifically made me think of Inderpal Grewal’s article “Security Moms,” and the rise of the neoliberal female citizen subject as an agent of security through motherhood in the post 9/11 U.S. The “security mom, essentially, is a “conceptualization of women as mothers seeking to protect their innocent children - a figure that is not so new in the history of modern nationalisms, or even American nationalisms and racism” (Grewal 27). Much like the King’s Man trailer suggestion that private intelligence is better suited to save lives than governmentalized intelligence, “neoliberalism suggests that the state is unable to provide security and thus it disavows its ability to protect all citizens”--only in here, it is the figure of the mother rather than a private agency which becomes the new and better fitted agent of surveillance, always watching for enemies in order to protect their children (Grewal 28). In a voice over, Sarah Connor tells us that she “saved three billion people but [she] couldn’t save [her] son”; a T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger) model Terminator which had been sent back before Skynet was destroyed and continued carrying out orders “from a future that never happened” walks right past Sarah and shoots John. While Sarah leaps in to action after she recognizes the threat, she is unable to stop the T-800 from killing her son in seconds. This might actually be a key difference between Sarah Connor and Grewal’s “security mom”: while security moms are a largely a post-9/11 construction of neoliberal/nationalist motherhood, Sarah Connor was a successful security mom in 1991, constantly vigilant and constantly surveilling her surroundings for concealed enemies who could kill her son. In the post-9/11 era, Sarah Connor’s belief that the apocalypse has been averted causes her to believe that she and her son are safe, resulting in inadequate surveillance/vigilance and her son’s death. Much like the framing of Pearl Harbor in the Midway trailer and 9/11 in real life, disasters happen because of failures to appropriately surveil. 

Technological state surveillance itself is reflected in strange ways in the film, which seems to be at once critiquing and accepting constant surveillance. Sarah Connor keeps her cell phone in a chip bag to avoid being tracked and tells Grace and Dani that they will not last without her help because they are not aware of the constant surveillance occurring at every traffic light, every store, every gas station, etc--information the Rev-9 terminator chasing Dani will certainly have access to. Terminator: Dark Fate expresses fears of technological abuse/control and surveillance, but constantly frames these fears as the failure of the government to control these technologies--the threat isn’t what the government will do or is doing with these technologies, but rather that these technologies are uncontrollable or might be used by enemy agents. While one could argue that the fear being expressed here is actually a critique of the existence of surveillance technologies--that technologies exist for a reason and will do what they are programmed to do--this framing overwhelmingly still imagines a kind of governmental neutrality, where the threat is the located exclusively in the technology itself, not in those creating and using it. Here I also want to emphasize that while in Judgement Day there’s a deeper critique of the military industrial complex and the role of private corporations, in Dark Fate it appears to be the government alone engaged in constant surveillance and the technologies which result in the robot apocalypse, with the role of capitalism largely obscured from the connection between the new evil AI, Legion. In this same vein, while it seems that Legion is built as a weapon by the government, but we do not even explicitly know which government--again, the threat isn’t government construction of Legion (although Sarah does comment “they never learn”) but rather the technology itself. 

In the original movies, Skynet was a defensive surveillance software--but this is no longer science fiction; as Edward Snowden revealed/confirmed in 2013, constant mass surveillance is a real thing, and there are real ways people can avoid it (using VPNs, encryption, covering webcams, anti-facial recognition makeup (called CV dazzle), wearing disguises, etc). Despite this, and despite Sarah Connor’s awareness of constant surveillance, the characters don’t do much to avoid surveillance and just as Sarah originally predicted, the Rev-9 easily tracks them through governmental surveillance apparatuses. In the same way, surveillance and the technological abuse/carelessness which bring about the robot apocalypse are largely imagined inevitable. While there is a constant argument for agency and the idea that people can and must make choices in the present moment that determine the future, nothing is done to disrupt surveillance in the present moment, and the future seems to be unstoppable. While we can certainly think about the switch from Skynet to Legion, and the way this articulates a different set of social concerns and anxieties in 2019 than in the late 80s/early 90s, stopping Skynet delays but does not prevent what seems to be, from a material standpoint, the same future. In this same vein, when Grace dies so that Dani can use her power source to destroy the Rev-9, Grace tells Dani ���we both knew I wasn’t coming back”; this frames her death as predetermined and fixed. Similarly, at the end of the film Sarah tells Dani she will help her to “prepare”, implicitly suggesting that the future cannot be prevented--further legitimizing the reading of the Skynet to Legion switch as an inability to meaningfully change the future. This brings us to the line used both in Judgement Day and Dark Fate: “there is no fate but what we make for ourselves”. While this line seems to suggest that we have agency and can make choices that change the future, the inability to actually enact change might instead lead to a counter reading of the line: is it that we make fate, or that the fate we get is the one we “deserve”? 

ii. Race (& Gender) Politics

There’s actually quite a bit to think about in terms of the racial politics of Terminator: Dark Fate. One the one hand, we can certainly think about the underlying savior discourse and the transition of this role from a white man to a Mexican woman. There is some fairly heavy handed Christian symbolism involved in John Connor as the white male hero—John’s initials parallel him to Jesus Christ, and Sarah comments “let her play Mother Mary for a while” when she thinks Dani has become the new target because a son Dani will someday give birth to will be the new savior of humanity. Sarah also comments that Dani isn’t the threat, it’s her womb. I want to go two directions on this comment: first, while it of course turns out that Dani is the hero herself, the idea of Latinx wombs as a threat is intricately tied to U.S. immigration policies and histories of eugenics, with the imagined threat being to the preservation of the (white) nation, so to here articulate the idea of Latinx reproduction as a kind of weapon to protect humanity is to offer something very different from a discourse of salvation through white reproduction/motherhood. Second, this line offers a kind of meta commentary on the way the previous movies claimed John as the savior (despite Sarah’s own heroism) to convince viewers that Dark Fate is more politically aware than previous Terminator movies, since Dani is the one destined to save the world (which  of course ties back into my previous discussion of the unresolved tension between fate and agency), not her son and not a white man.

Moving beyond the switch in hero, one of the main things I want us to consider in thinking about the racial politics of Dark Fate is the question of collateral damage: while it’s nothing unusual to see large amounts of collateral damage in the background of an action movie, here this damage seems to be located exclusively in the Global South (specifically Mexico). Most (but not all) of the destruction is disassociated from individual people--for example, in one scene the Rev-9 drives a bulldozer down the wrong side of a freeway, crushing or crashing into numerous cars which obviously have people inside, even though we do not see most of them. Scenes of damage or interactions between populations and the Rev-9 in the U.S. do not result in death the same way that they do in Mexico/along the border. When the Rev-9 is knocked off of a plane after take off and crashes into a backyard in Texas, for example, he picks himself up and apologizes to the white people barbecuing in the yard for destroying their shed before continuing on his way. Similarly, when he flies over a military base which is actively attacking him, he ignores them and continues his pursuit of Dani without fighting back. While in both of these cases, one might argue that this is connected to the Rev-9’s obsession with fulfilling his mission without needing to kill anyone who is not actually preventing him from reaching Dani, a) this is a work of fiction so someone decided that the Rev-9 could fulfill his mission with minimal collateral damage in some spaces but not others, and b) in the final fight at the dam, the workers simply disappear when the fighting begins, removing them from any risk of becoming collateral damage. 

Although there are action scenes throughout the movie, the last scene to involve mass violence against background characters is in the detention center. Before I get into the discussion of collateral damage/background character death at the detention center, I want to start by discussing border crossing and the representation of the detention center more broadly. There are some ways in which Dark Fate does attempt to address the violence involved in detention centers and U.S. immigration policy, but overwhelmingly it falls short. One of the ways we see this is in the actual crossing of the border and the way that it’s not particularly difficult or dangerous for Dani, Grace, and Sarah to cross. Certain popularized images of border crossing are deployed in ways which might suggest this is an authentic look at what it means to cross borders without documents (Dani, Grace, and Sarah ride on the top of a train with other migrants, which I suspect draws from the documentary Which Way Home, and Dani’s uncle, a Coyote, helps them cross the desert and enter the U.S. through a tunnel under the border wall), however the way these images are used as a shorthand undermines the danger undertaken/violence experienced by real undocumented migrants as the result of U.S. border policy. Riding the freight trains, called El tren de la muerte or La Bestia (the Death Train or The Beast) in real life, is highly dangerous and many people are killed or suffer serious and long term injuries as a result, and although we are told that Dani’s uncle is a good Coyote who gets people across safely (and he is of course helping his own niece), crossing the desert is extremely dangerous and many people die. Representing this crossing in maybe 10 minutes of screen time makes it seem easy and safe, obscuring the very real dangers faced by migrants in real life. Similarly, in the detention center border patrol agents are represented as apathetic but not particularly violent/dangerous, and the depictions of the cages migrants are kept in do not come close to reflecting the overcrowding experienced by the people who are being imprisoned in detention centers in real life. Furthermore, the imprisoned migrants do not have speaking roles and become non-agentive; the real suffering of undocumented migrants becomes nothing more than a setting, offering no significant or useful critique of U.S. border policies/politics. This brings us back to that question of collateral damage in the detention center. After Grace breaks out of the medical room she was being held in, she unlocks all of the cages and detained migrants begin to flee; although I have seen this described in some places online as her “freeing” them, escaping migrants become a distraction which aids in Dani, Sarah, and Grace’s actual escape from the detention center and the Rev-9 which has caught up with them. While most of the violence is enacted on border patrol agents rather than migrants (which is good), the Rev-9 does kill/harm some of the migrants who block his path as they attempt to escape, and the only border patrol agent we can identify as a speaking character to be killed is the Black woman who was pointedly apathetic to Dani’s pleas for help during the intake process. Most, if not all, of the other border patrol agents with speaking lines at the detention center are white, and seem to be framed as almost more sympathetic; the medical personnel fixing Grace’s wounds, for example, notices the metal interlaid in her body and are horrified by “what’s been done to her,” viewing her as a victim to be sympathized with. While one of the guards insists “we call them detainees” when Grace escapes from her handcuffs and demands to know where the prisoners are being kept, which offers an attempted commentary on the linguistic obscuration of violence and white apathy, we again must come back to the fact that the white medical guard is left unharmed while the Black guard is very pointedly killed. 

We might push back on this overall interpretation by thinking about the ways that in real life people of color can become complicit in systems of white supremacy which will ultimately harm them while continuing to overwhelmingly protect white citizens, as well as the way that the Global South so frequently is a site of collateral damage, and experiences the displaced violence of the Global North. However, what I want us to think about is that this kind of intervention is useless when it is left latent, and overall only feeds into the constant racialized violence which plays out in movies and television programming. Furthermore, I want us to think about James Cameron’s comment about Judgement Day when he said that the T-1000 looked like an LAPD officer because “the Terminator films are...about us losing touch with our own humanity and becoming machines, which allows us to kill and brutalize each other. Cops think of all non-cops as less than they are”. While some have argued that Dark Fate picks up this legacy by making border patrol the villains, and the Rev-9 does clearly represent a military/border patrol kind of threat, the Rev-9 is also always a person of color. The base appearance, played by Gabriel Luna, is a man of color, and every single person it transforms itself to look like (which we are told kills the person being copied) is also a person of color. Because of this, there is a way in which the critique of border patrol is divorced from white supremacy and people of color become part of what is imagined as the threat. 

iii. Thinking About Humanity 

Finally, this ties into the discussion of humanity and the idea of human exceptionalism and purity articulated throughout Dark Fate. As with much of what I have previously talked about, this is a frequently contradictory kind of discourse which simultaneously broadens and constrains the idea of what “humanity” is/means. One example of this is the way in which augments and terminators that grow a conscious queer the boundary between “human” and “machine.” When Sarah demands they shoot Carl in the face to see what he “really is,” Dani insists “I don’t really care what he is”; through this there seems to be, on some level, an articulation that there’s more to being “human” than literally being a human being. Furthermore, these characters are queer in multiple dimensions--Grace is a very butch, very queer feeling character, and while I don’t want to say that the reformed murderous robot said Ace Rights, Carl’s character does push back against the heteronormative coital imperative by through his relationship to Elisa and his adopted son Mateo, which offers a model of meaningful romantic partnership and family commitment which does not involve biological reproduction or sexual intimacy. However, despite these queer potentials, we are constantly pushed back towards a privileging of “human” through frequent assertions that Grace is human (not a machine, just augmented), that augmentation is unstable (Grace’s frequent metabolic crashes and dependence on a cocktail of medication to keep herself going), and Carl only has the approximation of a conscious and cannot love the way humans do. Furthermore, Carl and Grace both die, suggesting that this queering of the human/machine boundary is untenable. 

So what does “humanity” mean in Dark Fate? Ultimately, it seems to mean protecting the vulnerable and being willing to sacrifice yourself to do it. During the final confrontation between Dani, Sarah, Grace, and Carl, the Rev-9 says “I know she’s a stranger, why not let me have her”; Sarah responds: “Because we’re not machines you metal motherfucker”. While I obviously think the film offers a confused message on agency and that we need to be critical of the racial politics of the film, this ties into what I think (or what I would like to think) the movie hoped to say about border patrol and detention centers: we need to do better by refugees and undocumented migrants. It doesn’t matter whether we know someone, whether we imagine they are deserving or undeserving, what it might or might not cost us to do the right thing; we can choose, in this moment, whether or not we step up and fight against the detention of undocumented migrants, whether we resist ICE, whether we advocate for refugees. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves. 

[erintoknow]

the glass labyrinth

fallen hero fanfiction time; i think this clocks in at the second longest singular fanfic i’ve written oof. ~7.1k words [ao3]

this might be easier to read on AO3 where it’s broken into chapters. :v

–––

Take a breath, hold it, let it out. You are not Ariadne Becker. Not here. Not now. You are Adrestia, your suit the color of empty void reflecting no light, cape drawn tight around your shoulders further obscuring your form. Only the mirrored treatment of your helmet betrays you as still human. Still needing to see, still needing to be seen.

Your first goal is to secure the regenerator of course. The miracle device that could be your best ticket out of the mess you’ve dug yourself into. There it is, behind glass, under watchful eye. So close. Two parts to contend with. A central core housing the experimental technology and on a  pedestal beside in a too-plain looking briefcase. The schematics to assemble the rest of the unit.

What will the finished product look like? Baptismal font or casket?

“Adrestia. Imagine, meeting you here.”

You turn and there’s a moment of disorientation. Since when are you as tall as Dr. Mortum? – You aren’t Jane. Mortum’s expression is cold but polite. You have to assume she knows that you know about her attempts to get Jane to quit. Her plans to do the same. What’s her play here?

You give a slight bow, and mimic the cold curtesy in her voice. “Dr. Mortum.”

“It occurs to me that this is the first we have met in person.”

You spread your arms wide, twirling your fingers. “And now we have. Am I everyth–thing you hoped for, doctor?”

There’s a brief flash of annoyance and then Mortum regains control of her poker face. “You’ve been taking good care of the armor, I see.”

“You did good w–work.”

“I… you’re welcome?” She hadn’t expected that.

Maybe you can still salvage this. Get her back on your side. You let your arms drop to your sides. “Look, I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry?” The confusion is plain in her voice. “For what?”

“I…” You laugh, then cut yourself off with a wince. The voice filter warps everything. “I th–think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Dr. Mortum’s expression hardens, her eyes narrowing. “If you’ve hurt her–”

“Her? Oh.” Shit. This might have backfired. “Doctor, I would never hurt her.”

Does she believe you? You wouldn’t, coming from someone that looks and sounds like you do. This was a mistake. Reaching out is always a mistake. When will you learn?

“So you say,” Dr Mortum confirms your fear. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” She turns away from you, slips past the gawkers come to check out the auction items ahead of time. You move to follow after her but the crowd doesn’t exactly leap out of your way.

You haven’t exactly been making friends either within Los Diablos’s self-proclaimed ‘villain’ community. Just because you’re all on the wrong side of law now… it doesn’t make you allies. And how many remember Sidestep? You’d swear you recognize a few faces, a few suits. Is that Sharkinator at the bar? You’d recognize the sharkhands anywhere. There’s a blast from the past. When did he get out of Prison?

Are you imagining the eyes burning a hole in the back of your head or are you really being watched? The Boulevard Casino is coated in the hum of telepathic dampeners, a hissing static beyond hearing. If it wasn’t for the physical proximity of the Rat-King, slipping it’s telepathic presence between you and the hum like a shield you’d already be clutching your head in a migraine by now.

Would sneaking in have been better? There’s no point wondering now. You don’t need to worry about evading cameras and security this way. Dampeners, radio jammers, cameras, good old fashioned armed men in fancy suits. Hollow Ground’s security is not messing around.

That’s fine, neither are you.

There’s a pressure on your attention, an urging from the Rat-King. You let it turn you, guide your sight. A woman moving through the crowd, tall, taller still by the antlers spiraling up from a helmet in the shape of an antelope skull. She’s armored, head to foot. Brown faux-leather, almost certainly masking proper armor underneath by the bulk of the thing. Gloved hands hide her skin. Her boots are made up to look like cloven hooves that add to her stature. 

Not exactly a practical outfit.

Why is the Rat-King pushing you towards her? The dampeners prevent that. Wait, is that.. Oryx? Small time hitman. Or… hitwoman, you suppose. Was supposed to have fled town awhile ago after a job turned bad. Not that you would have had anything to do with that, of course. You don’t have the time in the day to personally meddle in everyone’s illegal business.

Something… isn’t right with her though. Her movement is… too smooth? Or not smooth enough. Like she doesn’t belong here. Is she going to be trouble? You need this to go off perfectly, you can’t afford any potential complications.

It’s not hard to pick out her path. She’s sticking to the walls, you could intercept her, pull her into an empty side-room before she reaches the auction hall.

No one even bats an eye as you step out from behind the curtain and grab Oryx by the shoulders, pull her backwards into the room. She grunts, elbows you in the stomach to get free and drops into a combat stance as you step backwards.

You raise your arms, try to control your heart rate. That snarl, the way she balances herself, positions her arms. Jesus christ, it’s Argent behind that mask isn’t it? Just your fucking luck. If she has any sanity she won’t risk a fight here. Not under Hollow Ground’s nose. “I d–don’t want a fight.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“It’s– it’s easier to to talk in private, w–wouldn’t you say…” You incline your head, exaggerating to make the gesture visible through your helmet, “Argent?” Fuck, you need to get it under the control. Adrestia can’t stutter.

There’s silence, and then Argent crosses her arms with a small laugh. “You’re always the worst.”

You put your arms down, “I’d say the same about you.”

“Well? What do you want?”

“I hope you’re not here for my sake.” What on earth is Argent doing here? Are the Rangers involved? They’re hardly at full strength, would they seriously try to bust something this big? It would be a disaster.

“What is this? Fishing for compliments?” She leans in, “You aren’t nearly that important.”

You put a hand to your chest and laugh, “You wound me.”

“Easy to do.”

You elect to ignore that, “You’re hardly the type for fancy parties. Though…” You tap the chin of your helmet, “I suppose you are better d–dressed this time?”

“Excuse me?”

“It suits you.”

Argent’s voice goes low and cold. “What does that mean.”

Shit, what do you mean? You wave a hand, “Never mind, it’s not important.” You can feel her eyes on you under the mask. “W–w–why are you here?”

Argent doesn’t move, unnaturally still. “Personal business.”

“That business is…?”

“Not yours.”

You huff. It’s an active effort to maintain eye contact even shield as you are. But you don’t dare look away. “So, then who else of your little friends are lurking around here? Who can I expect to find Ortega dressing up as?”

“I don’t need them.” Evasive, obviously, but what kind of evasive?

“Or…” You cross your arms, drum your fingers against your arm. “You don’t want them to know…?”

She shrugs, breaks eye contact. Damn, got it in one. “If you say so. What, you think you can blackmail me about it?”

“Oh, please,” You laugh, “They’d never believe me.” Argent’s already a known loose cannon. And there’s too many ‘heroic’ reasons you could trot out to excuse it. It wouldn’t even be hard.

“That’s true,” Argent shifts position, “Ortega has a lot of faith in her friends.”

You find yourself agreeing. “Too much.” Why can’t she see you for what you are? How can she want that? Care about –that–?

“Hrmm…” Argent steps closer, “must be lonely, not having a team.”

You stay put, ready for any sudden movement. “I’m better off alone.”

“Is that so?” She tilts her head down towards you.

“Other people always let you d–down,” you don’t bother trying to filtering the bitterness out of your voice. Let the distortion do that. “Even if they don’t– don’t want to.” The only person you can trust in the end is yourself. If even that.

“I’m not talking about forever,” she snorts, “just tonight. To stay out of each other’s business.”

“A t–truce?” you ask, incredulous. She seriously doesn’t want a fight then. Just what is Lady Argent doing sneaking into a black market auction hosted by the city’s criminal kingpin? What could any Ranger want here?

And how can you use this to your advantage?

“You’re seriously suggesting a truce?” You repeat.

“For now.”

Like hell are you going to let her escape your sight. “Oh r–really now?” You offer her a arm, “then let me be your escort f–for the evening.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“It’s… n–not a joke.” Your let your arm awkwardly drop.

“You’re serious.”

“Easier to–” might as well try honesty, “–to keep an eye on each other that way.”

“…fine.” 

“S–so you accept?” You offer your arm again.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Argent sighs, and takes your arm. “Where are we going?”

You laugh, sharp and nervous. No idea what that sounds like on other end of the distorters. Hopefully something more confident than what you’re feeling right now. “W–w–where else would we go? The auction.”

Will you ever escape the path that was laid out for you? When you were Sidestep you fought against boosts and mods that stepped outside the law. Fought to uphold the very system that had enabled your creation and mistreatment.

Now you’re on the other side of the coin and you’re still pulling on what they taught you. Spying, lying… You let your gaze dance across the room take-in and evaluate. Who might cause trouble? Who can you push? Who to avoid? Thirteen years on and what has really changed for you?

You can never get out. Not really. 

Argent stands at your side, dressed as a two-bit murder. It doesn’t seem right. You were wrong, it doesn’t suit her at all. What does she want here so badly she’d lower herself like this? The worry is wriggling like a leech at the back of your mind. At this point there’s not a lot more you can do. Either it becomes clear and you deal with it, or it doesn’t and it never matters.

What does matter is making sure no other surprises catch you unawares. Surprises like–

“Shit.” You whisper.

Argent jerks her head in your direction, shoulders tense. “What?”

No point playing this close to your chest. You had done some research via Jane and Dr. Mortum after your first encounter. Mortum had promised to look into it further once the auction was over but… This isn’t something Argent deserves to run into un-forewarned. “Over there, against the wall.” You quickly gesture with an arm, trying not to look like you’re pointing. “The woman in white and red?”

Argent shifts around to hide looking. “Yeah?”

“Shroud.”

“Who?”

“Ember’s enforcer from San Francisco.”

“Ember…” She growls. Not the reaction you had expected. You have to grab her arm to keep her still. “Stay clear of her. She touches someone, they die. Apparently.”

“Oh.” She steps back into place, looks back at you. “Thank… you…?”

What does Lord Ember want so bad he’d send risk sending one of his scariest agents away to collect it? You really hope it’s not what you’re thinking. 

Who are you kidding, you’re not that lucky.

“Why warn me?” Argent stands a little too close for comfort.

“Uh…” Why did you? “Just– just because we’re enemies, it d–doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

“Hrm.” You’re not sure what to make of that, and Argent doesn’t elaborate.

“This is… awkward, r–really.” You confess.

“What?”

“Trading quips in a fight w–was easier than this.” You don’t look at her, watch the crowd, the stage. The auction is well under way at this point. Nothing particular amazing just yet. You keep an eye on the countdown timer ticking away at the corner of your Heads-Up Display. Not much longer until showtime.

She keeps shifting her weight back and forth. That’s why you don’t wear high heels to a standing event, honey. You learned that the hard way as Jane. “It’s easier to judge someone in a fight.”

You glance over at her and she freezes up. Huh. That’s a switch. “And so what’s your judgement on me, then?”

“Jury’s out.” She raises a hand as if to fling back her hair and then stops, tries to turn it into a dismissive hand gesture but there’s no saving that one. “But… I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Not for lack of trying.” You’ve had some close calls those last few fights before you buckled down on this project. God knows you’ve done enough to her, if anyone deserves first shot at taking you out, it’s Lady Argent.

“Oh please. I have been playing.”

“Why?”

Argent sighs, turns her head to focus on the stage instead of you. “I have fun, I guess.” She shrugs. “Fighting you, I mean.”

“I… huh.” If things weren’t awkward before, they are now. Hasn’t she figured it out yet? Who really possessed her? Well, you’re not about to come clean now. Not here, not when you’re so close.

Dr. Mortum’s ‘disintegration’ ray comes up on the stage next, packed into a very fancy clear case. Jane had put in some overtime helping Mortum raise money, liquidate assets, finding buyers… but did the doctor have enough? Even if she does… even at the starting bid, that’s going to hurt her.

You could – you could bid against her, drive the price up even higher. You know more or less what her limit is and you’ve got way more than that to play with. You only needed the money to get inside, she needs it to stay in business. And to potentially turn against you.

Or… or you could try to buy it for her, as a gift? The gun clearly has some sentimental value to her beyond the scientific, she’s said as much. Would gifting it help change her mind? Or would she view it as a bribe? See it for what it was: you trying to buy her respect?

The bidding slowly climbs, and Mortum stays in the game as it goes. Maybe… you should stay out of this one. There’s too many variables. Too many risks. 

You’ll only step in if Mortum gets outbid. There. That’s as good a compromise as any.

The bidding ends up in a war between Mortum and woman in a business suite far in the back. You tense up, but no, the woman ultimately folds. Dr. Mortum wins her gun back at a very pretty penny. Good for her. Hopefully this won’t come back to bite you in the ass.

The countdown on your HUD chimes. Getting into the final moments now. You glance to your side to check on Argent and – she’s gone. Fuck! When did that happen? While you were focused on Mortum’s lot? Damn it. There’s no time to track her down now.

As soon as time hits zero, the bomb you rigged on the power substation for the block will go off. Power to the whole block of the city will go down. The casino is bound to have back-up generators but enough to power the whole security system? Dampeners are not energy efficient. 

Looks like they’re putting the Regenerator up on stage next. Well, that’s handy. You won’t have to dig around backstage to find it then.

The Regenerator… One-of-a-kind prototype. The company responsible immediately shut-down and all their equipment confiscated. And what can it do? Perfect regeneration. The only way to remove your tattoos is to cut deep enough into the skin, practically flay yourself alive. Even if you lived, you’d be crippled, horrifically scared at best.

But with the regenerator in your hands and fully functioning…

Well, it’d be a whole lot easier than trying to overturn the United States Government.

Final count down now. Then showtime. Breath in, hold, exhale.

5…

You’re not scared. You’re Adrestia.

4…

It’s like leaning out of a window, watching the street below.

3–

A bright flash and a piercing boom rock the auction hall and the crowd cries out in a panic. Your helmet visor dims but not quick enough and the eyes hurt like hell, after images swimming across your vision. Shit! Fuck! You stumble into someone in front of you and they shove you back.

Someone else is robbing the Auction Hall?

The lights flicker overhead before staying dark, and the weight of the dampeners pressing in on you vanishes. There we go, there’s your cue. You hum a few notes under your breath as let you mind unfold, track every panicked presence huddling together. Too much light, now not enough. People are scared. Hollow Ground’s supposed to ensure a neutral territory, and yet here’s trouble.

With the Rat-King backing you up, you reach out and wrap your song around the crowd. A jangle of discordant thoughts. The Rat-King buffers you from the worst of it as you smooth out the edges, point them towards the exit. You don’t need to nudge everyone. Just the key parts and the rest will follow or be swept along.

Everyone here is a criminal, be they boost, mod, or norm. It won’t be the end of the world if it breaks down into a mass panic. But trying to keep them calm is good practice for the next time you’re faced with civilians. There’s no need to fill up any more hospitals.

Back in the physical world you slowly push your way against the flow of the crowd. Up to the stage. The emergency lighting comes on, casting the room in grim shadows. You brace yourself for any hint of the dampeners but it doesn’t come. Good, you guessed right then. Even with back-up generators, cut off from the main grid the Boulevard Casino doesn’t have enough power to handle everything.

There’s still too many people. Hardened villains thinking about how to turn the chaos to their own advantage. Is it an attack? Earthquake? Is Hollow Ground losing their touch? How can this benefit me?

You can’t risk any interference. Reach out again, second chorus, worst than the first. Reach in deeper, into the darker spaces. It’s an incoherent barrage from a dozen different traumas and the Rat–King has to pull tight around your mind to keep you from collapsing, from reeling back in shock and snapping the connection.

You can do this. Raise the conductor’s baton, pull it all forward.

Pull them out.

Get out.

Go!

Someone screams and the rest of the crowd starts to move. No calm to it now. Well, you tried. Someone shoves you aside, and oh yeah, physical bodies are still a thing. Switch to low-light vision and the visor tints everything green as you make the rest of the way to the stage. Get back in the game Chickadee.

As you’re about to climb onto the stage, the Rat King pings your attention.

“Dr. Mortum?” You move over to her, and she takes a step back, hand falls on something on her hip. Shouldn’t be surprised the doctor would have hi-tech glasses. Try to get a read on her thoughts and it’s like grasping at a nest of eels. Multiple tracks going a mile a minute. Maybe in another setting you could pry them apart, but you can’t spare the focus now.

“Adrestia.” Her voice is cold, but shaky. Putting on a mask. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“Goodness. Y–you think highly of me, don’t you?” You hold out your arms to the side, no hidden tricks up your sleeves. “What are you still d–doing here?”

She doesn’t relax. “Your little light show went off right when I was collecting my gun. I need to find it.”

“You’re serious.” 

“I’m not leaving without it.” She sounds serious. Must be to have resisted your mental push both times.

You shrug, try to play off your concern. “I’ve got my own business, but if I find it… I’ll keep it safe. But it won’t be any good if its owner gets herself killed tonight.”

“What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” You turn away from her. “I can’t speak for anyone else though.” You can already sense them, multiple people are on the stage. Prelude to a fight. What are the odds you can grab the regenerator and slip out while they’re busy killing each other?

Ignore the eyes staring daggers into your back as you clamber onto the stage. “Ah, fuck.” There’s a stare-down going alright. Lady Argent, still in Oryx costume is standing between Shroud and… fuck, that’s one of Hollow Ground’s men. Jake Manalo? Jane’s only encountered him briefly. He’s some kind of boost but hell if anyone can give a straight answer as to what. His thoughts are fuzzy, out of focus. Shroud’s are walled, a barrier with the sensation of metal to touch. Only Argent is readable to any extent. Damn.

Try to skirt around the edge, circle back to the regenerator. Wait. Is that Mortum’s gun on the ground? Can you you grab it without being noticed… No luck. Jake spots you, hunches his shoulders. “Adrestia, come join the party. And step away from the merchandise.”

Argent glances back towards you and everything goes to hell.

Shroud makes her move, going after Argent. Argent dodges the outstretched hand, claws slicing through her gloves as she twists to strike back. 

Fuck.

Dash across the stage, to grab Mortum’s gun, tossing the case aside like a candy wrapper. Mortum’s gun doesn’t actually kill people does it? It just… stores them for… later. That’s too handy an ace to ignore right now

Jake has left the two women to duel it out in order to chase after you. But whatever Jake’s got, he doesn’t have a powered suit with booster jets. You dash past him, dropping into a slide under his outstretched arm. You come to a stop by the Regenerator, spin on your heel and drop a knee. If you can take out Jake now, maybe you can abscond with the prize while the other two are duking it out.

How does this damn thing work? Hell, when was the last time you used any gun? There’s a light blinking on the side. Battery? As long as there’s enough charge for one shot. You’ll work out the rest later.

Someone off stage yells as you line up your shot. Hold your breath, sight, finger on the trigger… there’s a loud bang and every nerve in your body lights up in terror.

The gun drops out of your hands, clattering on the stage. How? Why? What is that thing doing here? Taller then any one else here, stretching its multiple arms, both organic and metallic up in the air. In the green haze of your low-light vision it could have stepped directly out of one of your nightmares, but no. Very much real. Very much alive. But… something isn’t right. The Catastrofiend’s movements are sluggish and while her skin was in never in great condition to begin with, it looks… wrong? Melted? Skin or clothing? There’s no seam.

Is… this where the Catastrofiend been all this time? Trapped in Dr. Mortum’s teleportation gun? Did she know that when she asked Jane for help in getting it back?

In the back of your mind the Rat-King screams at you to move.

Dive to the left and a blade stabs the ground where you were kneeling. Mortum’s gun rattles on the floor and you manage the presence of mind to grab hold of it again, clipping it back of your belt. In front of you, the Catastrofiend groans, a sickly bubbling sound as she clutches her vestigal human arms to her chest, her other 4 arms unfold and stretch out. Exposed muscle twining into metal, each limb ending in a long razor sharp blade. Like the rest of her, the blades are warped, discolored, wrong.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

“What the fuck is this!?” Shroud yells. The Catastrofiend gurgles and turns to swipe at her. She leaps backwards, almost toppling over. 

You need to get out of here.

“It’s the goddamn Catastrofiend.” Jake snarls. At the sound of his voice, the monster turns and swipes at him too. Something… happens, Jake goes blurry and the blade passes through him like air. No time to think about what that could mean.

Argent snarls, razor claws at the ready. “How the hell did it get in here?” When the Catastrofiend turns to swipe at her, she’s ready, stepping in under the arm, slashing at the skin. Something oozes out, but it doesn’t look like blood. 

Is it responding to sound? Can she still see? How the hell long was it in there for? Mortum mentioned something about… quantum degradations right…? Your stomach twists. And you were seriously thinking of using it on someone?

With the Catastrofiend taking precedence, a truce seems to settle out. Jake, Argent, and Shroud triangulating. around her. You’ve seen the monster nearly come out on top against the entire Rangers team at their height before. It’s only a matter of time before they break ranks and run. You’ve seen the Catastrofiend survive being shot in the head, even as… wrong as it is, there’s no way the three of them are beating this.

This is your chance.

Two parts to the device, don’t forget. The briefcase gets attached to your suit’s utility belt next to Mortum’s gun. The prototype itself… it’s bulky, you’ll have to carry it with two hands. You wrap your song tight around yourself, willing the chaos to let you pass by unnoticed. In the back of your mind, you can feel the Rat-King echo you back, magnify the sentiment.

You get your hands under the rough metal edges and heave it into the air. Don’t look. Nothing to see here. Don’t look this way. The battle with the Catatstrofiend is way more pressing, isn’t it? Absolutely.

You don’t breath again until you’re well behind stage. A scattering of items that still haven’t been sold off remain, abandoned in the chaos. They’ll notice you’re gone eventually. But will they have the luxury to chase after you? Banking on your luck doesn’t seem like a smart move.

This part of the Casino is well beyond anything you got to scout in-person as Jane. You’ve spent plenty of time studying the schematics however. You can imagine the red line guiding you alone. Into the backstage hallway, hang a right, there’s a room here. Storage closet. Crouch down just outside and put the prototype aside.

Time to put the Nanovores to work, outstretching your hand against the floor, eating through metal supports and vinyl tiles until the indigestible remains of floor begin to fracture and give way. Slap the floor hard with your hand and it drops into something deeper below.

This part of town is shot through with old smuggling tunnels from the Prohibition era. Illegally dug little boltholes, cramped but big enough to fit crates of alcohol. Earthquake country means they’re near suicide to use. Which is why you spent over a week a making sure this tunnel would be usable.

Never let the enemy set the field if you can help it.

At the end of this tunnel is Rosie and the get-away truck. You’re almost there. you can do this.

Once the hole is sufficiently wide, you pick up the prototype. There’s noise coming from down the hallway. Pursuers or just echoing from the fight? You can’t tell. Doesn’t matter, it’s time to jump. A hole this time, not a window, but your heart leaps into your throat all the same.

Your booster jets dampen the fall, but the shock rattles up every joint along your legs regardless. The cart you had prepared ahead of time is right where you left it, save for a scattering of debris. You put the prototype down on the cart and sweep it clean in one motion.

Take a breath. Home stretch. Next step is to get to the first support joist and start the process of collapsing the tunnel behind you.

The tunnel is damp, and crowded, and dark dark dark. You tap on the clip-on flashlight on your utility belt, a tiny narrow cone cutting into the void. It’s not much but it gives your low-light vision something more to work with. 

The floor is lumpy, uneven. It makes pushing the cart painfully slow and uncomfortably noisy. With more time you could have smoothed out the floor, but the time constraint on planning this operation had been absurdly tight as it was. Once your far enough away you can start collapsing the tunnel behind you and it won’t–

Scratches against stone echo behind you and the Rat-king screams for you to move. Only to flinch and clutch your head under the weight of the dampeners pressing back down on you. Something runs across your back and you stagger forwards against the handle of the cart as you cry out. Turn and catch the silhouette of Oryx’s horned mask.

“Are you k–k–kidding me–” You suck in your breath as she swipes at you again, press yourself against the wall as silver claws rend the air where you had just been. Did she cut through your suit? Everything still reads green.

There’s a snarl and you throw your heads up, “Wait, wait, hold on–” If Argent could track you down here, the rest of them can’t be too far behind. “L–let’s talk?”

Argent stares you down, your flashlight bouncing off her silver frame. Shoulders hunched, hands ready to swipe.

“We had a truce.”

She doesn’t relax, but doesn’t attack either. “Only as long as it was convenient.”

“You know w–what’s inconvenient? Getting caught.” The return of the dampeners is a significant problem as well, but Argent doesn’t need to know that one. How did they get them back on so quickly? 

The tension drags out entirely too long before Argent drops her hands to her sides. “Then what are you saying?”

“If we fight here we risk them finding us, or worse, damaging this thing.” You gesture behind you. “Let’s… get out of here, then w–we can decide if we’re going to k–kill each other or whatever.”

Argent narrows her eyes, flexing her fingers. Quickest of glances behind her, an opening you don’t take. “Fine.” She sighs, “No tricks, I’ve got your number.”

Oh thank god she can be reasoned with. “Come on, help me push, it’ll go f–faster with both of us.” You move to one side, making space for Argent. She scrunches her nose up, giving you a once over and then steps up beside you, grabbing the handle. Together you trundle through the dark.

“How far?”

“A distance but–” you watch her from the side, “we’re close to a checkpoint I set up to–to–to collapse the tunnel behind me.”

She snorts. “Dangerous.”

“Y–yeah well…” try to keep the emotion out of your voice, “it’d be a bother if someone chased after.”

“Too bad for you.”

“Too bad for me.”

The two of you continue along in silence. Pushing the cart is much easier now with Argent’s help. Silence is dangerous however. Too many unanswered questions, such as: “What uh– what happened with the Catastrofiend?”

“Ran. Chased it, found you instead.”

“W–well… fuck.”

“How did that thing get in there?”

“N–n–no idea.” You lie, more than a little anxious that you can’t pick up whether she bought it or not. You still have Mortum’s gun. Should you– no, no, who knows what else might come flying out. And suppose it did work, what would you even…? No. It’s not an option.

The dampeners begin to lighten as you continue further down, gone by the time you reach a split in the passage, joists in holding up the ceiling. Small miracles. “Hold on.” You brush your head over the frame, nanovores reducing it to dust under your hand. The ceiling begins to shift and you grab the cart with Argent again. “Come on, let’s move.”

“Cute trick.”

Would it be gauche to thank her for? Does she know? This isn’t the time to risk it. You can’t bring Argent straight to Rosie. Too dangerous. No, instead, take the other path as the ceiling collapses behind you. This path ends in a brick wall, easily kicked down. 

The room on the other side is pitch black as the two of you clamber through. A basement. Old, abandoned. No sense of any other minds nearby. Once you’re above ground you can just radio Rosie. But first you have someone to deal with.

Argent lets go of the cart, turning to face you. “So we both wanted the same thing. Lucky us.” You can feel it now, without the dampeners to mask everything. She’s desperate for this.

“So…” You stall for time as you try to get a read on her thoughts. “You know what this is, w–what it can do.”

Argent hunches her shoulders, reading to move. “So do you.”

“It needs to–to be assembled.” You reach back to pat the briefcase hanging from your belt. “What, are you planning to set it up at the Rangers?”

“Don’t be absurd. This is black tech.” Argent huffs. “Even my leash has limits.”

“Leash?” You shake your head. No time to unpack that one. “W–well, I’ve got a place to assemble it safely.”

“And you know how to do that?”

“Do you?”

“Whatever, that isn’t even the biggest problem here.” Evading the question? Interesting. Argent pulls off her helmet, shaking out her silver hair with a grimace on her face. “This is.”

You take a step back, cross your arms. “W–what is?”

“Us.” Argent gestures between the two of you, “this is going to take time to bring online. Weeks… maybe?” She shakes her head. “I’m not letting it leave my sight.”

“Same.” Too much is riding on this.

Argent barks out a laugh. “Why? You already have secrets you can lord over me… you know what I did: the masquerade, breaking and entering–”

“Oh please, d–d–don’t be stupid.” You wave it away, “I know the Rangers. You could explain it all away in a heartbeat. Infiltrating a villain hangout? Retrieving black tech? They’ll give you a f–fucking medal.” Is she really that scared of being found out? Why?

“And you? What, am I supposed to just trust someone hiding behind a mask?” Her voice is razor sharp, “You’re a telepath.” You wince under your helmet. “you manipulate everyone and everything around and… I don’t even know what you would want it?”

Her thoughts are barbed, hard to read but… she wants to trust you. Doesn’t want to blow this chance. But why would she? Why would anyone trust you? Ever?

You can’t tell her who you are. Not here, not now. If you were lucky she’d just kill you. She’s earned it, certainly. More likely you’ll have to go into hiding, abandon any pretense of the civilian life you’ve slowly been reclaiming. And that’s… Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do? What keeps holding you back?

Argent is getting antsy. You need to say something before she just goes for it and attacks. Maybe you’d win, but damaging the prototype is a risk you’d rather avoid. You can’t exactly come clean about why you need it either. If she treats you with any modicum of respect now, then it’s because she’s operating under the mistaken assumption that you’re human.

The very thought of risking that, of letting it go. Of never seeing Julia again, or worse– You can feel your heartbeat quicken. Fuck. God damnnit. You’re trapped.

No matter what you do, you’re going to have to trust her with something.

Your hands are shaking as you reach up, find the clasps of your helmet. Across from you, Argent tenses up but doesn’t attack. Why the hell are you doing this? Except – she deserves to know. And what do you have left of your civilian life left at this point anyway? You knew this couldn’t last forever.

The display goes dark as you pop the helmet from the seal, disconnected from the rest of the suit. Your gut twists, a sharp pain as you struggle to keep your breathing under control. You feel sick. Unreal, like you’ve stepped outside yourself. This is such a stupid idea.

You can feel the Rat-King curl around you, trying to protect you from the danger. Joke’s on it, the biggest danger to you here is yourself.

Can barely see as you pull the helmet up, over, hold it in your hands in front of you. In this dim gloom you can’t read Argent’s face, only her mind. Quiet, struggling to process what she’s seeing. She steps toward you and you step back.

“Ariadne Becker.” If there was any doubt about her being able to see in the dark, it’s gone now. All that effort into avoiding her, and you’ve blown it in one go.

“G–got it in– in one.”

Can see her cross her arms through the gloom, shift her weight. “It wasn’t Locus, was it Ariadne?” She snarls. You can feel the fury building up in her head, leaking out through her composure. Didn’t she promise to eviscerate the person responsible?

Die now or die later, might as well jump.

“Y–yes.” You can’t look at her as you say it. “I’m sorry–”

She moves on, grabbing you by the front of your armor claws digging. Panic takes over and you drop your helmet trying to get free, only for white to explode across your vision as your head is rocked hard to the left, pain searing across the right side of your face. Her hand is the only thing holding you upright.

“Don’t you dare try apologizing to me.”

“It– it was w–wrong, I–”

The second slap hits you on the left side of your face, there’s a ringing in your ears, and you can taste copper from biting your tongue. To call her ‘mad’ undersells the storm of emotion radiating off her. Is she going to kill you? Maybe. Of all the beatings you’ve taken in your life, there’s no question you deserve this one.

“I–I–I’m sorry.” You swallow hard, fighting back nausea. “I shouldn’t have– I mean I– I know what it’s– what it’s like and I…” You’re babbling now. Too many words desperate to get out at once.

Her hand comes down again, hard. You can really taste the blood now. “Don’t you fucking dare compare yourself to me.” She growls in your face, as she raises her hand, pulling it back into a fist, and you try not to flinch. Brace yourself. When the blow doesn’t come you open your eyes.

Her hand hovers an inch away from your skin. “You used me.”

“I–I–I did.”

From the corner of your eye you can see her uncurl her fist, fingers slowly elongating into claws, piercing through the glove. “I should kill you.”

“It– It would be… pretty easy right now.” Your heart is pounding, mouth tasting copper, and throat feeling sticky. The Rat–King in the back of your head is screaming at you to do something but this… You don’t fight back, don’t struggle. This is too familiar. Memories of other times, other, brighter rooms. For everything you’ve tried to change, you’re still were you started.

If she did you in now, does the thing you can’t bring yourself to go through with… then isn’t that a victory for everyone really?

“I could do it…” Her hand is shaking, doubts unraveling in her mind. “I should…”

“Then do it already!” You cough, as she lets you go and you stagger backwards, hit the brick wall and try to hold yourself up. “I thought you– why hesitate?”

“Shut up!” She hisses through clenched teeth and comes at you again. This time her hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to send alarm bells. “You really want to die that badly, Becker?” You can feel it running through her head, all the little fantasies she had constructed about this moment.

Your vision blurs as you laugh. “Y–yeah, actually.”

Can feel something sharp poke against your neck, and then just as suddenly it’s gone. Argent hisses air through clenched teeth. “Don’t be a coward.” She touches her other hand to your face, one nail scratching just under your eye.

“W–what?”

“You don’t deserve to get off that easy.”

A line of white fire runs down your face, blinding you in your left eye. Blink, and your vision is back but bloody. You can feel the cut run from forehead to check. Hurts like hell, can already feel the blood running down your face. This is going to need stitches.

She lets go of you, pushing you back against the wall as she steps away. Licking the blood off her finger, she glares at you. “That was for using me. Don’t ever go into my head again.”

You slide to the floor. This… this really just happened. “I–I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.” There’s no way you’ll every be able to explain it, is there? But then, it’s not really about you, is it? 

“Shut up.” Argent snaps. “You said you can put it together?”

You nod your head. You hope you aren’t over-estimating your ability.

“Then put it together. Don’t even think about double-crossing me on this.” Her smile in the dim glow of your suit’s flashlight is cold and all teeth. “Don’t worry, Becker.” She puts a finger to her lips. “This’ll be our secret.”

She turns away from you and stalks up the stairs to find her way out of whatever building this is a basement of. As she turns she moves her hand from her mouth out to the side, transitioning into giving you the middle finger as she departs.

You sit there against the wall until her footsteps fade and you lose track of her mind. Gingerly you touch a hand to your face, hiss at the fresh sting of pain. Still bleeding. Will absolutely need stitches. Probably end up a scar.

Well, it’s not like you don’t have plenty of experience covering those up.

Except… maybe you’ll let this one be.

[comp6841]

Not such a Titan

Before the Boom

So I spent some time listening to the podcast on the missile explosion - from my understanding the facility was described as having extremely good physical security in terms of defense in depth, however was very lacking in maintenance. The Titan II was one of the older missiles and utilised a two-tank approach of liquid fuel and oxidiser which were placed under a nuclear warhead. This oxidiser was quite dangerous in the sense that it could ‘catch alight’ very easily.

The problem started on a day in September in 1980 when one of the missile fuel tanks was low on pressure - this required a maintenance team to remove the ‘dust cap’ and pump in more liquid. Initially they had problems with not being able to get the hydraulic lift working and fixing this took hours as well. Most people knew who worked in the facility knew of how aging the facility was - they utilised outdated materials, deformed structures, leaking valves and failing pumps. Many of the people working on site were overworked and burnt out sorting all the maintenance issues - many working 12 to 14 hour days on the regular. The maintenance trip this time was different; the failure to invest and update the facilities’ failing systems would result in a catastrophic disaster.

Disaster Strikes

Once they had the lifting working, the team working on it realised they had left their torque wrench in their truck on the surface. As they were already delayed they decided to improvise and use a large ratchet instead. Due to air force regulations, every process in the facility was tightly regulated, and this was against the very detailed provided checklists. In their process of removing the cap using the wrong tool, they dropped the socket from the platform. This 9lb piece of metal bounced down and slid between a deteriorating rubber seal and the rocket itself. This meant it was able to continue down further and hit the thrust ring, and ricochet into the missile and puncture the fuel tank.

Immediately a member of the maintenance team contacted the team chief and advised of a cloud of vapour emitting from the missile, however he failed to mention they were the cause of it due to fear of punishment. This eventually set off tens of alarms in the control room and meant the teams were racing around, with little idea what the exact cause was. They eventually admitted to puncturing the tank.

From their understanding of the systems, they knew that if enough fuel leaked the system would collapse under its own weight. After talking to off-site management they were advised for all personnel to stay put. This continued to go up the chain of command in the military to the point where they stayed in the facility for hours before evacuation. The team leader at this point thought it was ridiculous to do an evacuation, as the control rooms were behind multiple ‘blast proof’ doors. Nevertheless, he followed suit and they all left via the escape hatch.

After everyone had left they stupidly realised they weren’t able to ascertain any details of the actual situation inside the facility as everyone had left. They decided to send 2 people back in, however for some weird and obscure reason they got them to break in through the front as opposed to the escape hatch. By the time the team got in there to turn on an exhaust fan, they noted the chamber was almost ‘blast ready’ - the content of fuel in the air was at the point where it would be likely to explode soon. They were advised to make their way out immediately; unfortunately for one of them, they didn’t make it out far enough in time for the explosion.

Damage Report

Many people actually thought it was ‘blind luck’ the fact that the nuclear missile didn’t actually go off - the military claimed to have systems in place to prevent such an occurrence, but could not the same be said for the explosion itself. Officials cited ‘human error’ as the cause of the incidence, however many were not happy this this judgement. One of the workers on the site said, “every guy dropped a wrench or tool at some point in their career”; how can they possibly put the blame on this, if the processes in place didn’t reflect how common an occurrence it was?

One of the requirements after the incident was that workers tie tools to their bodies. The risk of explosions in other missiles was also massively reduced, in the sense that they no longer used risky liquid fuel. However, some argue that there are still many other dangers these facilities face; this includes low morale of workers, growing market of cyber hacking, as well as the aging nature of the facilities and the technology. There were just so many things in the chain of events that “shouldn’t have happened”: the socket shouldn’t have been dropped, shouldn’t have got past the platform, shouldn’t have hit the thrust mount, shouldn’t have hit the missile and shouldn’t have punctured a hole. A similar statement could be said regarding the chain of events afterwards in terms of how it was handled.

Key Assets

I thought of two main assets which would be valued in this:

Nuclear missile (+ facility) and associated technology

Worker safety and their associated knowledge

Threats

A couple of the main threats regarding these assets:

Malicious attackers breaking into facility and setting off missile or stealing technology

Nuclear missile going off killing many civilians and workers

Liquid fuel igniting causing an explosion which could lead to a nuclear explosion, fatalities and/or destruction of the facility

Mitigations

Some more general mitigations:

Defense in depth for access to core components of the missile facility - many layers to get through of armed security

Well thought out response plans to an invasion of the facility which should include a means to completely disable the missile

Automatic emergency procedures to disable the warhead when ‘unsafe’ conditions occur in the launch chamber

Greater worker understanding of the implications of not following safety checklists (severe punishments)

More thoroughly developed emergency response plans for malfunctions in the missile (i.e. fuel leakage)

Sufficient investments for maintenance and staffing of the facility so that both security and safety of the facility can be maintained

Specific mitigations to the circumstances:

Requiring workers to tie tools to their bodies

Remove risk of liquid fuel and explosions

Proper funding to maintain missile facility and conduct necessary maintenance on redundancy measures such as the rubber seal

Sufficient staffing so workers don’t feel pressured to take shortcuts which lead to them disobeying mandatory checklists

Greater punishments and training regarding the safety checklists

[formerlyrunephoenix6769]

Shattered: Chapter 9

(AMELIE)

 High up in the French Alps, Amelie carefully eased the light sports car round the airpin bend, navigating the twisting and turning roads that often gave way to sudden steep drops offering her breath taking views of the sweeping countryside of Annecy.  As she eased the car down a sudden incline that looped back on itself, descending to the lush valley below, she tapped a perfectly manicured finger nail against the screen of her scroll,

“Angela, can you hear me?”

A voice like one of earlier Omnic models replied, accompanied by the tell-tale crackle of static feedback. As she continued to descend, the doctor’s voice began to come through clearer,

“… ould have come wit.. busy here.. accident..”

Crinkling her brow, the ballerina tapped the screen again in frustration,

“I cant hear you. The reception has always been crap up here. One second.”

Placing both hands on the wheel, she concentrated as a smaller car began to approach from the opposite direction. Normally this mountain pass would be backed up, a sluggish snail snaking down the mountainside but thankfully the busy season was beginning to wind down and the ‘pearl of the French Alps’ would return to its quiet and peaceful existence.

It had only been a few months since Overwatch’s great technological triumph had resulted in disaster, the highly specialised aircraft had phased out of existence and fallout around the accident was astronomical.  Every newspaper and TV pundit speculated to the exact nature of the ‘Slipstream Incident’.

Was it an accident, or was it sabotage?

One publication had gone so far as to have a small tally, counting the number of days the pilot had been MIA. Others had reported every minute detail of the young woman’s stellar career in the RAF, hailing her an Omnic Crisis Hero cut down in her prime. A King’s Row street rat done good.

Nobody had known where the leak to the press had sprung from, but the speed and the intimate details of it fueled paranoia in the ranks of Overwatch.

In a bid to plug it, all none personal had been asked to leave the bases and all Senior Members had been recalled for the unforeseeable future in an attempt to enact damage control and not allow other agendas to fall by the way side.

All the while, no matter what they tried, Overwatch’s best and brightest couldn’t find the answers to the most burning question.

What had happened to Lena Oxton?

At the news that the higher ups were winding down the search and allocating resources elsewhere, Gerard had been beside himself. He had parted that Lena had told him that something hadn’t felt right but he had pushed her, brushing it off with bravado and schnapps. He talked of personnel claiming to have seen his protégé’s ghost on the base and the Gorilla had taken to cloistering himself in the hanger where the accident had occurred, not surfacing for days at a time.

In a bid to get to the bottom of it, Gerard had taken on yet another away mission that only served to drive the wedge further between him and his wife.

Amelie had admonished that she understood, but she felt that he was pushing himself, and Gerard had snapped uncharacteristically, demanding,

“What could you possibly know? You’re a dancer for christ’s sake! - ” He had taken to pacing, his eyes taking on a wild look, “- So you took a few classes. You have no fucking clue what this entails, that someone could have done this deliberately, snuck in and took one of our own, from right under our noses! -”  In a rising rage, he had thrown his clothes in his mission bag,  “- If it was me, I’d want my mates to get to the bottom of it and bring those fuckers responsible, to heel!-” He had poured himself a lavish dram of expensive whiskey as he  continued on his angry tirade, “- If it happened to me, is that what you’d want, me to be left behind, forgotten? Why don’t you stick to what you know, Amelie, and let me get on with my job?”

Gerard’s dismissal had felt like a slap in the face. That he deemed her attempt at improving herself and taking an interest as nothing more than a flight of fancy that he indulged. Placating her rather than listening to her grievances or realizing that she was becoming increasingly unhappy.

That she did in fact know what it felt like to be constantly reminded that in a blink of an eye a loved one could be gone forever. That she lived it every time he walked out of that door without a backward glance, instantly forgotten.

He had spent the next few nights in his study on the chesterfield, whilst she had made arrangements to begin renovating her families ancestral home. With an appointment to keep with a surveyor, she had risen with the sun, leaving him a note before setting off on the long drive towards Chateau  Guillard in the South of France.

 Hitting the valley floor, her scroll crackled back to life,

“Amelie? Are you still there?”

Coming to a T junction in the valley floor, Amelie leaned forward checking both left and right,

“Oui, Angela, I’m still here.”

Her best friend continued,

“I was saying that I would have joined you, leibling, but everything is up in the air right now.” There came a pause of indecision, “-How long are you planning on staying for?”

Satisfied there was no on coming traffic, Amelie took the left turn that would gently snake along the lake side, away from the nearby village, and up through some trees towards the driveway that led the boathouse and only point of access to the grandiose Chateau,

“As long as it takes to make good headway on the renovations,” She gunned the engine, her beloved sports car purring as it began to eat up the tarmac with ease, “ It is far easier for me to co-ordinate from here than back in Paris.” In the distance she could make out the tip of the north bell tower, the rest of the property obscured by the hillside and heavy forest, adding sourly, “-I am ‘sticking to what I know’ and being a dutiful housewife.”

“Amelie, “ On the end of the line there came another pregnant pause, as if Angela was carefully choosing her words, “- I’m … I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.”

Amelie sighed, maybe she was over reacting and choosing to quite literally run for the hills was petty, but she had no intentions of rattling round their Parisian home with Gerard’s words echoing off the walls, mocking her and calling out her already felt inadequacies, for however long his chosen mission took. And neither could she ignore the anger that during the long drive had fashioned itself into a dull rage sitting in the pit of her stomach. No, she would be much better off throwing herself into a project and far away from the continuous press cycle that didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.

“I don’t care what he meant, it’s the fact he said it in the first place.” Either side of the road the trees were struggling with their Spring plumage allowing shafts of morning sunlight to break through the branches dappling the road ahead, as Amelie pressed on, the speed of the car matching her mounting frustration, “-I’m sick and tired of being side lined, Angela. All I have ever done is support him and now I just feel like …. Like I’m being taken for granted.”

The ballerina slammed on the brakes so as not to over shoot her turn off. Peering through the rearview mirror, Amelie slowly reversed back before carefully easing the low sports car in between two beautifully sculptured gateposts with her family crest intricately engraved into their surface.

“I know he’s stressed and I might sound like a spoiled bitch but…. I need some time alone… I need time to figure out what I’m going to do with myself.”

As the car slid down along the smooth driveway, a break in the trees offered an unadulterated view of the sweeping turrets and stone verandas that made up her idyllic childhood home in the centre of the lake, Amelie pressed a button to roll down the window and let in the fresh spring mountain air. Far off in Switzerland, Angela’s voice full of concern filled the small sports car.

“What are you saying? …. Are you thinking about getting a divorce?”

“What? NO! God no… I’m furious, but I’m not ‘that’ furious…-” She continued to leisurely cruise along the driveway taking  in the way the sunlight twinkled off the waters of the gargantuan lake that skirted her lands and the village that hugged its shoreline on the other side.  “-  I meant, what I’m going to do with my career, continue with ballet, or quit and find something else?”

The doctor asked, perplexed

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.. No.. Maybe? ..-” Gripping the steering wheel tight, Amelie took in a huge lung full of air,            “-I need to clear my head.”

“How about this?” Another pause, “How about… I finish up here. Twist Jack’s arm into making an exception, and I come down an join you? End of this week, beginning of next week or when ever I can?”

Approaching the boat house, the French woman spied an unfamiliar green car parked to one side of the closed gate that would lead into the boatyard, and a white workman’s van on the other.

“Oui, that sounds perfect!” Slowing the car to a crawl, she peered out of the driver’s side window, as a man dressed in a suit, a hard hat and high vise jacket alighted from the car.  Distractedly, she added, “Angela, I think the surveyors here early. I’ve got to go.”

“Alright leibling, I’ll call you as soon as I have news.  Love you.”

Her scroll let out a high pitched whine,

“Love you too, cherie.”

Canceling the call, Amelie pulled the sports car up along side the man who waited patiently on the side of the drive way, clipboard in hand.

He broke into an easy smile,

“Ah, Mrs Lacroix, I presume?”

Leaning slightly out of the window, Amelie looked up returning his smile,

“Oui, oui, am I late?”

“No,-” He laughed, “I am early.”

Using her scroll, she typed in a code and waited for the gate to begin to painstakingly slowly slide back.

“Oh thankgod, traffic was a nightmare coming out of Paris.”

He gestured with the clipboard,

“Quite a difficult place to reach and surrounded by a lake no less. I can see why you asked for a surveyor.”

The gate slid back fully and Amelie carefully slid the sports car into the wide boatyard and into one of the waiting garages. In the rearview mirror, she watched as from the white workman’s van, two men got out wearing navy blue boiler suits and carrying work bags.

Unclipping her scroll from its snug on the dash board, she stashed it in her hand bag before pressing her thumbprint to the  ignition starter and alighting from the car. In the early morning sun, the three men waited taking in their surroundings. Approaching her as she exited the garage, the surveyor asked,

“Would you have your I.d?” He pulled out a device from the depths of his pocket, “It’s so I can scan it and start the clock.”

The french woman blinked,

“Yes, of course.” Pulling out her purse she teased her national identity card from its snug, “There you go.”

Gently taking it from her outreached hand, the surveyor gave it the once over, inspecting the card and looking back at her, before swiping it along the device.

“It’s policy,-” He kindly offered, “Stops people like this lot,-” Tipping his head towards the workmen, “-Fudging the numbers.”

One of the workmen came to casually lean against the wall to the left of her,

“It’s a grand place you got here…” He slowly began to roll up his sleeves, “- Boats the only way to get there, right?”

Taking back her i.d card and slipping it back into her purse, Amelie nodded,

“Oui, I’ve been coming here since I was a child, so I handle the boat usually.” Turning her back, she leaned up to activate the garage doors and the locking mechanism.  “- If you are worried about access, the village on the other side has a much wider marina and much larger boats for hire. The cost is of no object. I’ll get a good deal.”

 The workman let out a whistle through his teeth,

“Lucky for some, eh?”

Amelie attempted to humbly wave him off,

“No, no. My relatives left me .. shall we say.. comfortable.”

He gave her a lopsided grin,

“Is it true you’re a Countess?”

Amelie crinkled her brow in confusion,  stammering,

“What.. what ever gave you that idea?”

His workmate gave a mirthful shake of his head,

“What he means to say is. . When we heard of the job.. we.” He gestured with his hands, “- researched the place. It’s got a rich history.”

Rudely butting in, the first workman continued,

“So are you?”

She opened her mouth, gawping like a fish for a few moments taking in both their eager expressions, before laughing,

“I ,” She gestured to herself, “- am not a Countess per se. But… there is an old defunct title attached to the property , that would, if such things were important in this modern era…, make me a Countess.”

The first workman turned to his colleague,

“You owe me 5 bucks!”

“God damnit!”

With a small shake of her head at their antics, she finished checking that the security was locked down on her beloved car.

 As she made her way across the courtyard, the three men followed close behind, nearly bumping into her when she stopped at the door that led into the boat house. Her fingers tapped danced lightly across the keypad, with a click the door opened and four entered the gloom. With a brittle bark of laughter, the surveyor patted his pockets,

“One sec, I forgot something. Be right back.”

The other began to rummage in his work bag. On the side wall, Amelie flipped open the electric box to activate the winch that would slowly lower the sleek looking speed boat into the murky water. She turned round, surprised to find the first workman so close. He shot her a grin as she sidled past him to the safe box where the speedboats ignition key was kept. The remaining workman flanked her on the other side, so close she could almost feel the breath on her skin, the tiny baby hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle as she hesitantly reached up a finger. Trying to keep the shake out of her voice, she shouted over the screeching of the winch,

“A little room gents.”

The second workman grinned at her wolfishly,

“Oh Amelie, where you’re going there is gonna be no room at all.”

He made a lunge at her. Instinctivly, she thrust up the heel of her palm connecting with his nose, as she has been taught to do in her self defense classes.  He staggered back, gargling and cursing as the other workman grabbed her in a choke hold from behind. She tried to scrabble into her hand bag in an attempt wrap her fingers round the pepper spray she kept there. As she struggled to breath she remembered Ana Amari’s words, if ever grabbed by a bigger opponent relax into it and throw them off. Amelie dropped her hand bag, pushing back into him, using her strong legs from years of ballet throwing them both off balance. He staggered back, the sudden loss of opposing force adding to his momentum, crying out as he collided with one of many winch handles that aligned the wall. The loss of grip on her windpipe gave her much needed inches to turn her head and sink her teeth into his muscular arm, causing him to scream in agony.  She kicked out with her feet at the nose busted workman, who dodged to one side, his feet knocking her handbag into the water.

“Get the fuck hold of her!” He yelled.

Trying to shake her off only caused Amelie to grind her teeth down, filling her mouth with flesh and the metallic taste of blood. He let go shoving her away from him. The surveyor came through the boathouse door for a split second distracting her. She didn’t see the south paw closed fist that collided with her jaw causing her to reel and her vision to blur.

“Go down, you fucking whore!”

A second swift punch hit hard in her gut knocking the wind out of her and caused her to collapse onto the wet stone floor.

She thought she heard the surveyor say,

“Dont break the merchandise!”

“Cunt broke my nose!”

“Yeah well the fucking bitch took a chunk out of my arm.”

Amelie spat the contents out of her mouth, trying to suck in huge lungfuls of air. If she could just get into the water maybe she could swim to the castle like she had plenty of times as a teenager or when the boat was out of gas. She made as if to crawl.

Someone caught her by the hair,

“No, you don’t.”

She felt a sharp prick in the back of her neck and she was left to flop on the slick flagstones. Someone turned off the winch, and the only sounds was the water lapping against the stone work.

“She’s a god damn wild cat. Thought you said she was a dancer?”

Her vision began to swim with black and purple dots and her tongue felt flaccid and swollen in her mouth. She attempted to move but her limbs refused to her obey her. The surveyor rolled her over onto her back, crouching down to inspect her.

“Ballerina, to be exact.”

Wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve, the workman with the broken nose peered over his shoulder,

“She’s a fucking ballerina??”

With soft, gentle fingers, the surveyor examined her jaw, turning her head this way and that, regarding her thoughtfully. As Amelie slipped into unconsciousness, she heard him say,

“She’s the wife of THE target, what else did you expect?”

https://formerlyrunephoenix6769.tumblr.com/post/182608876761/ithought-it-would-be-much-easier-to-make-a-post

Link to the whole “Shattered” universe and full story.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YAHOO AFTER THEY BOUGHT OUR STARTUP IN 1995, THE FIRST PARAGRAPH SOUNDS LIKE THE SORT OF THING A RIGHT-WING RADIO TALK SHOW HOST WOULD SAY TO STIR UP HIS FOLLOWERS

In the middle of raising a round, the round is going to work. The added confidence that comes from trying to help people can also help you with investors. Plus they're investing other people's money, which makes it more persuasive to people who like unions, because it took the form of perks. Since the custom is to write. My guess is that a hundred years as it is today. And the very best ideas. It makes me spend more time on the Octoparts than I do with most of the other startups we've funded. I predict it will become more common. The pointy-haired boss doesn't want to open it. So now there are two threshold values. There are always great ideas sitting right under our noses. And someone has to argue with you except yourself.

In programming languages, as Erann Gat has pointed out, what industry best practice, and the key to optimization is profiling. What happens now with the Super Bowl used to happen every night. That's when you have 57 things going on at once, because you tend to get all the benefit of that type of thinking is not merely helpful in solving hard problems, but necessary. Now, they said, the absolute fastest they could get in the open market. Will we even be writing programs in the languages we use now? But if languages vary, he suddenly has to solve two simultaneous equations, trying to force them take their prices off the site. These people made philosophy professors seem as scrupulous as mathematicians.

Current implementations of some popular new languages are shockingly wasteful by the standards of previous decades. That has been the rise of startups. These get through because I'm a programmer too, and on both ends. They preferred good programmers to work in a suit-centric culture? Whereas someone clearer-eyed would see their initial incompetence for what it was, and perhaps be discouraged from continuing. There are some stunningly novel ideas in Perl, for example, didn't have numbers. We tend to write the software that made them march in step with lots of other people wanted the same thing over and over seems kind of slimy. So their numbers may not even be an accurate measure of the performance of their algorithm, let alone of Bayesian spam filtering in general.

That is a fundamental change. From free 0. And when what was left after corporate taxes reached individuals, it was hard to imagine a technology company, and by trying to be a cost, and send them looking for it. One trick is to ignore presentation. Whatever is least work. The angels made a huge return on that investment, so they're happy. Which means it's a disaster to let the wrong idea become the top idea in your mind, which means to try. Let's start with the obvious one: lobby to get Sarbanes-Oxley is a law, passed after the Bubble, that drastically increases the regulatory burden on public companies. If the pointy-haired boss is not completely mistaken to worry about this. When they first start working on something, you don't need to have a web-based email service with good spam filtering. The stories that seemed to be most admired were ones in which people suffered in complicated ways.

When I see patterns in my programs, I consider it a sign of how much programmers like to be able to deliver more software to users. That's true. This implies that the kind of parallelism we have in a hundred years is so that I know what branch of the tree to bet on as t approaches infinity. In the startup world is evolving away from their current model. But we also raised eyebrows by using generic Intel boxes as servers instead of industrial strength servers like Suns, for using a then-obscure open-source languages like Perl, Python, and Ruby. In fact, here there was a double wall between ambitious kids in the 20th century was the century of the big successes have two or three to one would be enough to guarantee that you'd always be behind. Olin Shivers has grumbled eloquently about this. But as one VC told me after a startup he funded would only take about half a million, I don't know; the question may be unanswerable. They're already stuck with a seller's market, because of the huge amounts they raised at the end of the world. Here there were 3 choices: NBC, CBS, and ABC. The Common Lisp we used, CLisp, itself runs on top of Common Lisp.

[fly-pow-bye]

Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “Small World: Abra-Disaster” (Part 1)

Written by: Haley Mancini, Jake Goldman

Written & Storyboarded by: John West, Angela Zhang

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

Like this reboot was a world of laughter before...

This special begins with Penguin Pete's, complete with their theme song: "Penguin Pete's, Penguin Pete's, yum yum yum yum yum." It's certainly no Cookie Cat jingle. This special will really focus on each of their personalities, at least early on, and this starts right from the beginning in this scene.

Buttercup has a brownie chocolate fudge that is so extreme, it's banned in six countries. Blossom, on the other hand, has gelato made of wheatgrass and soy. Because only nerds would want to be healthy. Bubbles has all 42 flavors, because, fitting to her character in more than the ways that they intended, she couldn't decide on which one to get.

However, this all gets interrupted by a bunch of minor villains starting crime. The Gnat is also swatting some poor sap with a giant fly swatter. And all of this is happening at the same time.

When the original Puffs had to do something like this, it ended with them getting exhausted to the point where they had to consider creating another sister. The Reboot Puffs can barely take on one crime at a time, so I highly doubt they're just going to beat up all of these villains and then eat their ice cream.

Except, that’s exactly what they do in this episode! In fact, they don’t even let go of their ice cream while they’re easily trouncing these villains. They even beat up some villains that didn't make it into that intro, like Pot-Head, Fuzzy Lumpkins, and even the Amoeba Boys.

Discount Jojo shows up with his Baggy Jeans Bot. Apparently, he's very conscious about being with the latest trends in fashion when he's committing his crimes. He even confirms to some random hipster passing by that it is acid-washed. With real acid, as he almost douses that hipster with it from a hose. At least it's because Jojo missed, and we can't use this as proof that the regular Townsville population have better reaction time than the Reboot Puffs.

With this powerful jeans robot that seems to fit the Fashionistas more than him, nobody can stop Jojo now...

...until Blossom pops him right in the kisser. Another big surprise: we actually see Blossom punch Jojo in the face without a hit flash! They just bash him left and right. Bubbles even takes over the jeans robot, and kicks his butt with its giant butt.

Unfortunately, before the Powerpuff Girls can punch him repeatedly and take him to jail just like the old days, with Buttercup even threatening to actually "lock him up for good", he suddenly disappears in a puff of smoke. The Powerpuff Girls say "huh" at this, but don't seem to pay it any mind. After all, maybe they were just so strong that Jojo ran out of HP!

However, that turns out to not be the case, as we see where Discount Jojo ended up. He has a decent theory just after waking up in this overly fancy place.

Discount Jojo: Oh no! Those Powerpuffs punched Mojo so hard, he landed in another dimension!

Didn't think this reboot would steal from the old Dragon Ball Z dub. Discount Jojo does seem like an infinite loser to me. No, not really, as the owner of this "another dimension" turns out to be a villain of legend! The Archduke of Anarchy! The King of Coiffures!

Lester Van Luster!

Don't worry if you never heard of him before, because it turns out this is his first appearance. However, we're supposed to see this guy as this legendary villain who managed to shrink the Eiffel Tower. I think this guy is supposed to be like some sort of Siegfried and Roy parody, but he looks more like some overly sugary cupcake to me. A Cupcake Shrinky Boy, if you will. I wish I came up with that.

But none of that matters to Discount Jojo, who is this guy's biggest fan. He kept a scrapbook of him, and even asks him to sign his brain when he shows off the shrunken Eiffel Tower. Yeah, in a way far too similar to Gru from Dispicable Me, this guy's gimmick is that he likes to shrink things.

Would the real Mojo Jojo look up to anyone, never mind someone like Cupcake Shrinky Boy here? Even this Jojo was angry over someone being better than him in previous episodes, but now we're supposed to believe he's a total fangirl of someone who we never seen before. That's one of the many reasons why we call him Discount.

Speaking of Not So Secret Service, the Powerpuff Girls are celebrating their victory by playing another violent fighting game. The Professor's strategy from keeping them from those has been replacing One Must Fall 2041 with Brutal: Paws of Fury. Nobody would want to play a fighting game ever again after playing that, but sadly for him, it didn't work.

As they're beating each other up in the game, they talk about how everything is just so easy for them. I understand that it was a general problem that the Reboot Puffs get beaten up, but this is really overcompensating that. In other episodes, they could get beaten by glitter, the Dewey Decimal System, and air, but not this time. Here, they can beat anyone, anywhere...

Bubbles: ...with any hair!

Ah, a running gag that even the other characters are annoyed by, as Buttercup tells her to stop doing that the very first time she does it. This running gag is supposed to be bad, guys! Laugh!

This episode goes in the complete opposite direction of most reboot episodes, which usually sees the Powerpuff Girls getting defeated rather easily so someone else can save them. It does not even try to ease us into it. Do not give us 90+ episodes of Monster Punch, Girls Down, and then tell us “these girls are invincible! Anytime, anywhere, any hair!”

Suddenly, their video game gets interrupted with a message from Discount Jojo. How did he get on the moon? How can he breathe in space without any kind of space suit? How did he hijack a video game like it was a late night Doctor Who rerun? He'll give us the answer in just a minute!

Blossom is, of course, worried. Via a bunch of stock images with some decent amount of work to make them a little more animated. Bubbles adds that if the moon blows up, the cow wouldn't have anything to jump over!

Cow: (scare chord) Mooooo!

Yes, that's a cow. The reboot needed to let us know what a cow is, just in case we didn't know. They were even helpful enough to make it moo. Who said this show wasn't educational for your toddler?

Much like the last beatings they dished out, they’re not even going to focus 100% of their energy on beating him. They bring their video game with them, which manages to still work even though there’s no electricity around. Maybe this is one of their other rare superpowers: the ability to give out electricity to video game consoles.

While speculating on how many seconds it would take to take Jojo down for what is supposed to be the umpteenth time, they’re suddenly whacked in the face with a magician's top hat. Discount Jojo the Not-So-Magnificent shows his face to these Puny-Puffs, and Blossom can't help but point out something I already pointed out.

Blossom: Hey, how can you even breathe in space?

Discount Jojo: MAGIC!

Oh, hush, Discount. Even Buttercup calls this a lame excuse. They rush in, and I'm sure they're going to beat this monkey up again and finish their video game just like they said they would do.

Magic Punch, Girls Down, womp womp. In several different "magic" ways, too. He's really taking his new gimmicks very seriously. He uses playing cards to stick Bubbles to a rock. He bashes down Blossom and Buttercup with a hammer after doing a disappearing trick. Bubbles then gets distracted by the classic "pulling a rabbit out of a hat" trick. Despite what Rocky says, that trick may work after all! The last one's a bit slow, but the others are okay.

It seems like it's another "Powerpuff Girls get beaten up until some magic being shows up to save them in the end" scene. Thankfully, that doesn't happen, as they do manage to get up and do a few parlor tricks of their own. Just like a certain episode of the original, really.

Specifically, Abra-Cadaver. It is one of the episodes they definitely have seen, since they referenced it in Memory Lane of Pain. In that episode, Abra-Cadaver, not Memory Lane of Pain, a magician is thwarted by the Powerpuff Girls learning a few magic tricks of their own. That's essentially what they do here, even combining it with their own aura powers for good measure. Fighting fire with fire, and there's some good gags here, too.

It all ends with Blossom doing a grand finale: putting him in a coffin. Thankfully for Jojo, Blossom decided not to use an iron maiden this time. Jojo gets put in iron chains instead. Probably not as strong as ordinary rope, but that probably terrifies them.

But, uh oh, they spent all of this time beating up Jojo the Not-So-Magnificent, they forgot all about the bomb! The Powerpuff Girls decide to stay in one place and do a big no, knowing that even if they tried, they would just fail anyway.

How do they manage to get rid of this bomb without making that poor cow angry? Turns out, they didn't need to, in a twist that even I couldn't expect. If you read this far, I'm sorry to say I do not do the ellipsis any more because I now assume you read these after you watch the episode. Right?

The bomb "explodes", with confetti and a big sign that says "BOOM". The bomb turned out to be a fake, and it was all just a distraction; an "opening act" for the real act. Besides, with his brains, Discount Jojo knows the dangers of blowing up the moon. I mean, what would the cow jump over?

Cow: (scare chord) Mooooo!

Just in case you missed it, kids. This is a cow. She goes "moo". He then uses his magic hat to show a projection of said "real act": Sparkly Sprinkles is about to do his biggest magic trick yet from his sky-high Secret Lair. Pretty sure you can't really be that secret if you're up in the sky, but that's beyond the point.

Blossom gets a call from the Mayor on her smartphone, which apparently gets really good reception on the moon. She hears the Mayor is adoring this big shiny light in the sky that is getting ever so closer. They fly all the way down to the place they called home for so long, only to find that...

Blossom: It's...it's gone.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Wow. I mean, that's actually a very powerful end for this first part. No unneeded random quips, no farting, no fancy dream catchers, just "oops, Townsville's now a giant crater, and it's all our fault!" It made me anxious to see the next part, and that is something I didn't expect.

Does this part’s title fit?

Yeah, this is the one that really plays up the magic angle.

How does this part stack up?

The “we’re invincible” gag got really old, especially considering this reboot tends to go against that far too often for me to take that seriously. That’s really the only problem with this particular part. The whole special has its own issues, which I’ll detail when I’m done with this.

Some decent magic trick jokes, some good cameos in the beginning, and an ending that actually hooks you in for the rest of the special. All in all, a pretty good opener.

With a relatively good opener, it could only go downhill from here, right? See you tomorrow for Part 2.

← Salamander ☆ Small World: Stone Cold Spider (Part 2) →

[page-of-tales]

Story: Faith in Humanity II

Surprise, it’s a sequel. You can expect another two.

Word Count: 2001

---

“Whoever saves a single life is considered to have saved the whole world.”

-Talmud, Sanhedrin 37a

“I don’t care how its done, just get it done!”

Senior Agent Barann slammed the communicator on his desk. As head of the Human Department in the Bureau of Alien Contact, he was supposed to minimize the influence of aliens on his people. Ensuring order, stability, and obedience. A week ago he thought he had successfully deleted all traces of the series of human sourced viral videos which had sowed seeds of dissent. The material classified Faith in Humanity had been targeted for automatic censorship and deletion after sampling of each video was archived. Warnings had been distributed as well as fines. Charges against the most prolific distributors had been set in motion. It should have been another mark of success for Barann.

But a chance discovery by one of his subordinates had thrown that out the window. Multiple variations of Faith in Humanity had been discovered. The most prolific being a series titled, Faith in Space Humanity. Attempts to consolidate the total number of harmful material was still in progress. The best they could do was attempt to censor and delete each instance individually. But it was an uphill struggle against an opponent who really didn’t care.

Barann had confirmed after lengthy tracking and investigation that the humans who produced these videos were amateurs unaffiliated from any larger organizations. The Federation had simply shrugged its shoulders saying they had no control over what the Ergotoids watched on the net. Barann glanced over at a notification on his display. A new video had been found. This time formatted in an alien format code with alien title, obviously the Ergotoid were not the only purveyors of humans.

Keller Station: Research Block D- Camera- 02

A nondescript room. Unadorned with any markings or features. A test chamber not in use. A panel on the far wall opens up. 12 individuals are forcefully pushed in. The door sealing closed behind them. The individuals of varying appearance and species cluster together. Most of them are in states of half dress. The garb when identifiable is that of scientists and researchers. One of them speaks out, tentacles wringing in anxiety.

“Pirates out here? I thought we would be safe.”

“Shh.”

A hand is pointed at the camera. The others glance at it, and continue in hushed voices. The whispered conversation just barely caught by the camera microphone. The tentacles continued to wring, now slightly wet with secretions.

“What would pirates want with a science station? We aren’t military.”

An alien who appears to have either slept fully dressed or was awake long before the others replies.

“Chemicals, technology, rare materials. Anything they can sell or use.”

One of the aliens begins to sob, a muffled chitter. Another rubs their arm reassuringly. The next query is directed at the largest alien in the group.

“They probably won’t do anything to us right?”

Anxious glances are split between the door and the camera.

“Probably not.”

Of all the aliens they are the only one to be restrained. Tensing against the restraints the alien speaks with careful levelness.

“Scientists aren’t worth much to pirates. Do as they say and we will make it out.”

The larger alien individual, who the group seemed to look to as a leader, looked over to one of their companions.

“Allan what are you looking at.”

Dr. Allan, the single human in the group, looked up. Raising his arm to show off a device wrapped around his wrist.

“Checking the time.”

Everyone turned to look at Allan. A brief silence blanketing the room. The moment broken by a question.

“Why?”

“It’s feeding time.”

Something small falls from the ceiling onto Allan’s shoulder. The aliens react in surprise, a variety of behavioral reactions on display. Allan scratches the little furred creature, who chirps in response. The large alien steps forward, leaning in to get a closer look. The creature squeaks in alarm, and is calmed by Allan.

“Is that, is that one of your specimens?”

Allan nods, and points to the door. The creature chirps and leaps off of Allan’s shoulder, bounding between the alien’s legs. It goes up to the panel and hangs off the wall. It appears to sniff at the panel.

“Specimen T-8. Little guys are smart enough to escape containment, not smart enough to find their own food.”

There is a fizzling sound and the door opens. Several more tiny fur balls enter the chamber. Crawling about. Sniffing and exploring the new area. Allan peers out the doorway, gesturing for the others to go ahead.

“From here we can make it to a shuttle bay and get out.”

The aliens quickly file out. Several of the specimens climb onto Allan, who distributes treats from his pocket. As the last alien exits Allan moves to leave but turns back. He points to the camera and the furred creatures leap off. A moment later the camera goes to static.

The next clip features footage from what appears to be a drone. Flying overhead of what appears to be a disaster zone. Water flows in the streets and mud coats the walls. A burned out building partially collapsed. Roof caved in, rubble spilling into the street. Aliens pick through the wreckage. Clearing a path through the street. Digging out wounded and dead.  

The drone takes a position to survey a narrow street. Like the others it shows sign of damage. And in addition in the middle sits a large obstruction. A lost child, a Komus child. Though still an adolescent it weighs several hundred kg. Its sizable mass blocking the street. Its bellowing wails reverberating against the buildings. Covered in mud, and sitting in the water it makes for a moving sight. A group of aliens circle the alien at a distance. Hesitant to approach.

From the crowd a long figure steps forward. Garbed in a full suit it’s identity is obscured. Standing beside the Komus child the unknown figure is dwarfed by the alien. When it extends a hand it can only reach the child’s knee. Whatever it says calms the child. Who stops crying to peer at the figure. It lifts its mask to show its face. The child seems comforted, and taking the hand of the figure, follows them out of the camera view.

Travel Control Room: Insurance Mandated Recording

Large screens displaying radar readouts, time tables, and a bustling hub of alien activity. This is what the inside of a control room looks like for a major interstellar hub. Dozens of controllers coordinate the paths of hundreds of starships. Flight paths are simulated in a big tank from which the supervisors can ensure safe travel of all visitors. One of the controllers raises a hand. A supervisor steps from the tank to the row of controllers.

“Problem?”

“Ship. Approach. Problem.”

Some of the other controllers turn to glance at the pair. Checking the board shows a line labelled Blue Serene on approach, its course vector now marked in a harsh purple. Other readouts that should be automatically listed are absent.

“Specify.”

“Crew. Dead. Ship. Hurt. Pirates.”

Other routes are diverted to give the Blue Serene a wide berth. The fervor of activity increases. The Blue Serene has now been scanned fully. A high mass, a large ship. Hundreds if not thousands of passengers. Fluctuating systems across the board. Parts of the ship entirely absent.

“Control. Who?”

“Humans. Control.”

The Blue Serene continues to move, its path a large circle. Its speed unchanged. Other ships are diverted to clear the path for the ship with no control. A rogue ship like that posed a threat. If not handled the controllers would be well within their right to order it destroyed. But they hesitated.

“Humans. Specify.”

“Humans. Passengers. Control. Bad. Help. Give?”

The two aliens observe the Blue Serene as it flies past the window. Then turn back to their controls.

“Give. Help.”

Over the course of 30 minutes the aliens are eventually able to instruct the humans how to slow the ship. The last frame of the footage is of the controllers performing a cheer at the window from which the Blue Serene can be seen adrift.

An alien newscaster relates a story. A small vessel had lost control of its engines and had gone hurtling into space. It had been presumed lost with all hands aboard. A memorial service would be planned, with numerous dignitaries attending. The loss of the craft represented a great blow. Their first effort at manned FTL travel, a failure.

The vessel was small and had not been given a name until it completed its first voyage as was tradition, though the crew of six had planned on calling it the Little Leaper. Condemned to their ship, they could only watch themselves flash past star systems that had been pin pricks of light in their night sky. It had been a month since the accident, and they had traveled far beyond their known space. It hadn’t been a terrible journey, the things they had seen were truly wondrous. It was only a great shame they could not tell others. The supplies they had stored were beginning to run out, and the captain wondered aloud how she would tell the crew to prepare for last rites. Her thoughts wandering on the recording as she made another log. Captain’s Log # 44-ish.

She again noted that the attempt to fix the engine had failed. It was only through that faint hope that any of them were still alive. But now their time seemed to run out. Without supplies they would die. As the Captain scrolled through a manual looking for the self destruct mechanism. There was a loud interruption. An alien voice booming untranslated through the ship.

“Hailing, unknown ship. Do you require assistance?”

The Captain paused, unsure if the voice was a hallucination. Her first mate intrudes, decorum dropped at the elation of contact. The voice comes in again.

“Unknown ship, this is a STAR vessel ID: EM-225. We are preparing to perform docking maneuver. Brace for… turbulence.”

The video log continues to roll even as the captain moves away. After a moment the ship shudders as something large makes contact. Then the red lights go dark.

---

Barann leaned back. Watching these videos had become something of a habit now. Even he was beginning to feel a toll. There was an emotional pull to these videos. An infectious influence which he could only hope would be broken. The higher ups were leaning in on him, pressuring him to handle the problem. To reverse the trends, and break the hold the humans were gaining. He had requested for more people, and more resources.  

But it all felt like a losing battle. The revelation that these videos were present in other alien encodings provided another swathe of data to be searched. More videos to be censored, and more work to subdue the illicit influence.

The only practical solution that had been decided was to sever off connection to all alien nets, but it was no small task to cut off every node of a network with an interstellar spanning infrastructure. The Bureau of Networks should have had the power to do that. However over time they had gotten sloppy. Left too many unregistered connections form. However if the connections couldn’t be cut, then the whispers of the people might rise into something louder. That was something that could not be allowed.

[lovelylunarwriting]

Chan Soulmate!AU

The first words your soulmate says to you are the words tattooed on your wrist.

When your two friends told you they were getting married, you were so happy for them!! And not at all surprised, really, because they’re soulmates and have known each other for years, but still super happy for them!!

They next asked you if you would do them the honor of being in their wedding, and you swear you could’ve fainted out of shock. You were ecstatic about the whole thing and like!! Hell yes I’ll be in your wedding!

Your relationship with weddings has always been strange, because your soulmate tattoo has had you confused your entire life.

The tattoo reads: “Why are you getting married?! You’re supposed to wait for me!”

But like… you weren’t planning on getting married?? It’s not even a thought in your mind?

The phrase is so obscure that you decided there’s no point in trying to decipher it, and that it’ll just happen when it happens.

So here you are, they morning of your friends’ wedding, and it is pure c h a o s.

You didn’t know that by agreeing to be in the wedding, you were also agreeing to make sure that this wedding ran smoothly. Your friends gave you the official title of “damage control”, and boy was it a mess.

The brides were dead set on not seeing each other before the ceremony, so you had to be their mediator and run back and forth to their separate rooms to tell them what the other wanted them to know. You asked them if they could just call or text each other, but they said that would “kill the romance”. All you knew was that this running around was killing you.

That was mildly annoying, but what was downright catastrophic was the fact that the florists got the wrong location for the wedding and sent all the flowers to a completely different city.

Both the brides had been getting their makeup done for h o u r s, so you couldn’t tell either of them because then they’d cry and fuck up their make up and then their wedding would have to be delayed even more than it will have to be if there are no flowers.

So you decided to take matters into your own hands and google where the nearest florist is, hop in the limo outside, and drive somewhat faster than the speed limit all the way to this flower shop.

You have literally no knowledge on this particular florist, so you made a wish to the universe that they’d be able to give you enough flowers for a wedding that starts in like two hours.

It also just occurred to you that you’d taken the limo… that the brides are supposed to drive off in after the wedding…

“I’m just borrowing it, I’ll give it back after I get flowers”, you said to yourself, opening the car door and getting out.

You speed-walked into the flower shop, which to your luck was mostly empty, and you threw yours arms onto the counter, startling the cute boy reading a book behind said counter. Noticing that his name tag says “Chan”, you decide to be blunt about what you need because you don’t have time to spare.

“Hi Chan, I need as many flowers as you can give me for a wedding in two hours or I’ll start crying and it’ll be ugly”, you declare.

The boy’s jaw drops and his book slides out of his hands, hitting the floor with a soft “thud”. He looks down at his wrist, and then back up and you, and then to his wrist, and then to you.

“Why are you getting married?! You’re supposed to wait for me!”, he yells, him now startling you.

Pulling back the fabric of your sleeve to glance at your wrist, you confirm what you’re thinking.

“That’s what my soulmate says to me”, you mutter under your breath. This already chaotic day has gotten even more chaotic. But at least this was good chaos.

You: “Today’s not my wedding day but I’ll sure as hell marry you. I’m not getting married, my two girl friends are getting married”

Chan: “You’re proposing to me?? And you have two girlfriends???”

You: “Oh my gosh- NO. I have two friends. Who are girls. They are marrying each other today and the flowers were sent to a whole different city so there are none for the ceremony. And yes I wanna marry you, you’re my soulmate, but first things first- I  n e e d  f l o w e r s”

You’ve managed to completely fluster the pretty boy behind the counter, who’s ears have turned bright red, and he just stares at you, frozen. He’s looking off into the distance behind you, staring off into space. His eyebrows are scrunched together and his eyes squinting, like he’s trying to piece this all together.

Chan: “Do you look ugly when you cry?”

You: “Do I what”

Chan: “My tattoo says ‘Hi Chan, I need as many flowers as you can give me for a wedding in two hours or I’ll start crying and it’ll be ugly’”

You: “Oh my gosh, that’s what’s on your wrist forever?? That’s a terrible first impression- I am so sorry. And yes… my face gets all puffy and ugly when I cry and if I don’t have flowers for this wedding I will cry right here and you’ll have to deal with that”

For the first time in the whopping five minutes that you’ve known him, Chan smiles and starts laughing.

You: “What now?!”

Chan: “I’m sorry, this is just so embarrassing for you”, he says and then starts laughing again.

You: “You’re right, this is embarrassing. But something more embarrassing would be showing up to this wedding without flowers, or a date. So I was hoping you would help with both of those”

He suddenly stops laughing and looks up at you in awe.

Chan: “You want to take me to your dear friends’ wedding after having only just met me??”

You: “You’re my soulmate, what much more do I need to know?”

Chan: “Fair point. You said it starts in two hours though, and I don’t get off until five”

You: “Well the reception is at six, would you want to meet me for that?”

Chan: “Yeah I’d love to, just give me the address”

You: “Not so fast love, I’ll give you the address when you give me flowers”

The two of you spend the next hour getting as many flowers from the shop out to the limo, and cramming as many as you can in there. At this point, you couldn't afford to be particular about what kinds of flowers you got, but Chan assured you that the types of flowers he’d chosen were perfect for a wedding.

Chan: “I didn’t want to bring this up, but how do you plan on paying for all of this?”

You: “The brides told me that if any kind of disaster occurred, to take one of the cards out of their wallet and solve the problem without bothering them. So here’s one of their cards”, you explained, handing Chan the card you’d swiped.

Getting in the limo full of flowers, you waved Chan goodbye as you made your way back to the wedding venue.

“Y/N! Where have you been?!”, one of the bridesmaids shrieked as you walked into the building.

“No time to explain, get as many people as you can to get these flowers out of the limo and put them where they’re supposed to go. Here’s a sketch of where they should be placed”, you ordered, handing her the diagram you’d drawn out on a spare invite and sending her on her way.

The universe was on your side, because that bridesmaid did exactly what she was told, and everything got put in the right spot, and the limo only smelled mildly of flowers, which wasn’t too terrible of a result.

The ceremony went flawlessly, and neither bride even noticed that the flowers were different from the ones they’d picked out because they were so focused on each other.

Just the thought of that made you long for a relationship like there’s, and then you remembered that earlier today you’d met your soulmate.

The rush of the wedding and trying to get everything organized and solving disasters had left you so mentally drained that until now, you’d forgotten that you’d met your soulmate.

Your s o u l m a t e of all people.

That’s definitely something not to tell the grandkids. Or him, for that matter.

Later, at the reception, an absolutely gorgeous man walked into the room, in a suit that fit him just right. Talk about eye candy- you sat there wishing he was your soulmate.

Until he got closer and you realized that he IS your soulmate. Hot damn.

You got up from the table you were sitting at, having been taking a break after the long day, and made your way over to him.

As hot as he looks from afar, up close he has the facial expression of a lost puppy. 

“Chan!”, you called out to him.

“Ah, Y/N!”, he responded, running up to you and lifting you up, twirling you around.

Mental note to self: You’d never forget this boy again.

You: “Oh wow, uh- hi? Why’re you so excited?”

Chan: “You don’t understand, I’ve been wondering around for thirty minutes trying to find you. You’re the only one here I know. People keep asking me how I know the brides and every time I’ve ran away because how do I explain that I don’t???”

You: “...you could tell them that you’re their florist”

Chan sighed in defeat, because that was the obvious answer and he knew it.

The reception was an absolute b l a s t, and you knew it was only because Chan was with you the whole time.

The two of you danced your hearts out, stuffed your faces with food, and had crazy conversations about nothing and everything.

The funniest part of this whole crazy day happened towards the end of the reception, when the newly weds came over to you and asked you “oh, who’s your friend?”

To which you replied, “This is Chan, he’s my soulmate”

“No fucking way”

“Yes, way!”

And then ensued girlish screaming, and you and Chan being smothered in hugs by the two happy ladies in poofy white dresses.

[readingontheedge]

Robin & Marian

(Adventurous Romantics #2)

By Stephanie Fowers

Adult Contemporary Romance

Paperback & ebook, 352 Pages

August 11th 2019 

 Robin King lives up to the legendary name of Robin Hood more than he should—a bigshot billionaire and successor of King enterprises, a Prince of Mischief and a rogue who steals hearts ... and maybe even a few kisses. He never thought he’d follow the storyline so closely, until the day he gets in trouble with the law and pays the price—all for protecting his younger sister Scarlett.

 Taken in by an Outlaw

 Marian is a hard-hitting reporter … or would be if the New England Chronicle would stop assigning her puff pieces. Now she has the chance to prove herself, but it could prove her undoing—since the story of a lifetime might just be Robin King, a ruthless scoundrel, who she swore would never break her heart again.

 Making New England Olde again

 Together, they must overcome their differences 

to save their hometown from thieves and corruption. And they’d better do it before someone gets killed. As danger lurks closer, legend becomes life, and Robin’s feelings for Marian deepen as he struggles with sharing the secrets that could clear his name and ruin his sister. 

Goodreads | Amazon 

Excerpt

 The door ripped open and she came face to face with Robin. Same laughing eyes, same devilish look under hawk-like brows. His dirty-brown hair had curled up in a stylish mess. He’d come straight from her memories—though older and more dashing, like he’d stepped through the glossy covers of those gossip magazines she despised. He was tall and strong, with broad shoulders and an athletic build—a modern day Robin Hood in black t-shirt and faded jeans. And she hated it!

 His almond-shaped eyes turned appreciative when he saw her. “Are you new?”

 Clearly he hadn’t recognized her. It wasn’t too surprising really—she’d hidden in the back room when the “infamous playboy” had come to visit his sister when they’d been roommates, but before she could explain, he was approaching her. “If it’s all the same to you, Mrs. Koch can’t know what we’re up to.” Marian recognized the name of their housekeeper. Clearly Robin was up to no good if he was hiding his latest mischief from her—never mind that he owned the place now. “I’m so sorry to mix you up in this,” he said, “but we need help cleaning this up.”

 And then his hands were on hers. Was this how he treated his staff? Wait. The thought gave her pause. He thought she was the help? Scarlett had compared her to a little French maid. How galling. She was so caught up in her angry thoughts that she’d allowed him to pull her into the entertainment room where she saw the remains of a poker game. Smashed plates and glasses had tumbled from an immense—and broken—china cabinet.

 “It’s not as bad as it looks…” Robin’s hand dropped from hers as he attempted to clean up the mess. He looked up at her under heavy lashes. “Honestly, if I’d known how pretty you were, I’d have smashed these sooner.”

 She gasped as he winked at her. Robin! Was this really a case of mistaken identity or was he teasing her? “I have half a mind to get Mrs. Koch myself,” she threatened.

 He smirked at that. “If you could find a broom first…”

 So she could crack it over his head? Not knowing what to do, Marian caught sight of Scarlett’s fiancé. The ends of Alan’s auburn hair fell over a soulful eye as he stared down at a record he had saved from the mess. He’d recognize Marian if he saw her, but he was too caught up in reading the record label. It was a vintage Louis Armstrong vinyl. He turned it over in his sensitive hands.

 “Robin, your stepmother is going to kill you,” a deeper voice boomed. “That’s her prized Russian collection.” Turning, Marian saw a giant of a man. She’d know John anywhere, even a decade later. His skin was rich brown, the color of the earth after a storm; his head was buzzed—his facial hair was different from when they were kids, of course—but he’d towered over them back then and now was no different. He was one of those who’d earned his nickname in Robin’s merry band, although no one could get away with calling him “Little John” to his face. 

 “My nephew is trying to teach me how to make a bull’s eye!” a young voice piped up.

 Marian caught sight of a smaller boy of about five years of age. He had a bow in his hand. His small finger pointed to an ugly painting against the wall with several arrows shot through it. They’d been using this room for target practice? How little they thought of the furniture… or of money. 

 “This is my Uncle Midge,” Robin introduced the child. “Also my godchild.” Yes, Marian remembered hearing about him. The young boy clearly looked up to Robin; he was a miniature of him, actually, with freckles, almond-shaped eyes, and a pointed chin. Robin’s grandfather had remarried a much younger woman, and Midge was the result of their union… before she’d run off with an artist. Come to think of it, was this one of the man’s ugly paintings Scarlett had talked about? She peered at it, but the torn flaps obscured the signature.

 Robin ruffled the boy’s hair. “He was not supposed to actually let the arrow go. So there’s that.”

 “And who would be the one who gave him the arrow, pray tell?” The final member of Alan’s bachelor party drew forward with dark, sullen looks. He was clean-shaven with black, heavy brows, and his hair was tied up in a hipster topknot. He wore a suit jacket with matching pants and a casual knit shirt. It took Marian a little longer to name him, but then she felt a wave of recognition run through her at his British accent. “But sure,” he said in his haughty tone, “blame the child.”

 Ah yes, this was Robin’s cousin, Guy. He’d grown up in England with his mother. She had refused to play along with what she dubbed Richard’s “childish obsession,” and in so doing, unknowingly named him after one of Robin Hood’s greatest villains. It was a source of great teasing amongst his cousins. Just like the others, Marian hadn’t seen him for years.

 Yet when he saw her, he hurried to pick up her hand and kiss it. His brown eyes were full of meaning. “What are you doing here with us vile men, Marian? Isn’t Scarlett’s party interesting enough for you?”

 Finally, someone hadn’t seen her as the servant. She felt a smile tug at her lips. Guy’s British charm had always been hard to resist. When they’d been younger, her parents had teased the two that they’d arrange their marriage. She was ashamed to admit that that kind of talk had ended after Guy’s parents had lost their fortunes in poor investments.

 Looking over at Robin, she shrugged. “Robin always did try to get me into trouble.” She cast him what she hoped was a teasing glance. “Just like old times.” Robin’s shoulders stiffened as he turned to actually look at her. His beautiful hazel eyes took her all in. Marian felt too amused to be angry. His astonished expression made everything worth it.

 “Marian?” Robin stretched to his feet to retrieve her hand from Guy. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His gaze swept over her again, including that hateful apron. “My own little Maid Marian?” 

Other Books in the Series 

In the Pursuit of Eden

(Adventurous Romantics #1)

By Stephanie Fowers

Adult Contemporary Romantic Suspense

Paperback & ebook, 390 Pages

April 1st 2019

 Everyone wants to find Eden’s Paradise. Except Ivy.

 Ivy is a city girl through and through. So when she follows her twin brother into the forests of the Uintas to make a documentary about looking for a treasure that’s plagued her family for generations, she’s a little out of her element. It's the same treasure that ended her father's life. Add to that her run-ins with the dashing, but infuriating Aiden Hunter. The Southern hottie has rescued her so many times that it’s getting embarrassing. Of course, she’d be more grateful if she didn’t suspect him of putting her in danger in the first place—a danger that keeps growing the closer they get to the truth.

 Forced to be allies, the two are thrown into each other’s paths, and she realizes that she has more in common with him than she thought. While Ivy searches for clues in the journal of a wayward saloon girl, Eden, to discover a life that mirrors her own, Hunter fights the demons in a past that seems tangled up in hers. His secrets are hers. The only way to get at the truth is to find an uneasy truce… and maybe something more because Hunter may not be the enemy. In fact, he may be the one who needs rescuing. Now, Ivy has to figure out who she wants by her side, and what she’s willing to give up for love.

 After all, Paradise was never meant to be found alone. 

Goodreads | Amazon  

About the Author

Stephanie Fowers loves bringing stories to life, and depending on her latest madcap ideas will do it through written word, song, and/ or film. She absolutely adores Bollywood and bonnet movies; i.e., Jane Austen. Presently, she lives in Salt Lake where she's living the life of the starving artist. 

Website | Goodreads | BookBub | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Instagram 

Tour Schedule

(Posts go live on the day they're scheduled.)

 December 11th: Launch

December 12th: Julie Coulter Bellon - Truth or Dare

December 13th: Delaney Cameron - The Gift of Love

December 14th: Raneé S. Clark - Her Country Christmas Date

December 15th: Stephanie Fowers - Robin and Marian

December 16th: Aspen Hadley - Blind Dates, Bridesmaids & Other Disasters

December 17th: Maria Hoagland - Santa Cam

December 18th: Rachel John - The Christmas Bachelor Auction

December 19th: Sally Johnson - Dear Mr. Darcy

December 20th: D.E. Malone - Love Like Forever

December 21st: Melissa McClone - Mountain Rescue Romance Series

December 22nd: Brooke St. James - The Suite Life

December 23rd: 

Grand Finale 

1 winner will receive a $50 Amazon eGift Card

Open internationally (as long as winner is eligible to receive prize)

Ends December 28, 2019 

ENTER HERE 

[roseteawriting]

A Study in Blush (a Ladrien drabble)

“The akuma won’t get you tonight,” Ladybug said, sealing and latching the window behind her. She was acutely aware of Adrien’s stare burning into her from behind, and it took all of her concentration to not dissolve into a puddle of sap right that instant.

The windows of Adrien’s bedroom were like mirrors at this time of night, the brightest lights of the city dim and obscured behind the reflection of her red cheeks. Red cheeks. Oh, god, even in her reflection could she see herself blush.

“Ladybug?” said Adrien, quieter than usual, like in class, when he had to provide an answer to a math question he didn’t know the answer to.

Oh, god, he’s staring, she realized. She ran to the curtains, nearly tripping as she found her excuse for looking away. “The less you can be seen, the better,” she said, hastily, pulling the drapes over the glass. Her reddened reflection still followed her, just ahead of the curtains, no matter how quickly she tried to erase it. She was hyper-aware of the fluctuations in her voice— she sounded like a pubescent boy, didn’t she?– oh, god, what would Adrien think of her?– and then the curtains were all closed, and she realized she had no choice left but to turn and hope and face him.

His green eyes were rounder than the full moon on a clear night, his hands clasped behind his back. He was so poised, a bird on the edge of a branch, just ready to take off. He was such a model— her heart jackhammered crapcrapcrap into her chest. Why had she agreed to this? She’d never make it through the night.

This is all your fault, Chat Noir, she thought. I knew letting myself be bribed by your two espresso shots would be a disaster.

Adrien ducked his head, a warmth in his face too. Maybe it’s the lighting. “Should- should I get you something to drink?”

Ladybug rubbed the back of her neck, reaching for her superheroine poise but falling flat. “A-a drink? S-sure, I’d love a wink—” She flinched, sure the color in her cheeks now matched her suit. “I mean, a drink!” She hung her head, covering her face.

“I’ll- I’ll get you hot tea, then,” she heard him say, and she peeked out from between her gloved fingers to watch him leave. The door clicked shut, his footsteps receding, and Ladybug finally sighed, sinking into the floor. Why did she have to be such a dork? She hit herself repeatedly with the butt of her hand. 

“Ugh,” she muttered. “You’re Ladybug! Get your act together!” She sighed again, then, slowly, forced herself to start picking back up the pieces of her dignity that she let shatter on the floor. If she could be somewhat composed by the time her crush— no, the love of her life— came back, that would be nice. Even if she had to duct-tape herself back together. 

Rising from the floor, Ladybug’s heart had palpitations again when she realized for the first time that she was in Adrien’s room! Adrien Agreste’s room! She squeaked, then clapped her hands over her mouth. He didn’t hear that he didn’t hear that. She hoped.

Adrien’s room was big. Well, duh, but the vastness of it hit her just now, after her attention had shifted from AdrienAdrienAdrien. She stood at the edge of a partly painted canvas, the overwhelming white space around her an impersonal snow drift. Above her were rows and rows of bookshelves, and below that his desk, his video game consoles, his bed, all pristine and tastefully picked. A room out of a magazine would have felt more lived in. 

She paced around the looming white walls and the curtains she’d made such a show of closing. His desk had a laptop on it— closed, unfortunately— not that she had wanted to snoop, of course. She dipped in and out of his lounge area, her fingers trailing over the leather sofa and worn game controllers, tasting the details of his home life like each piece of furniture would fill her with the full picture. Of what it meant to be Adrien, to know Adrien… to be known by him.

She pressed a hand into his freshly made bed, into his creaseless comforter and tucked sheets and cloudlike mattress. 

She was lying on it now, her head on his pillow, where his head would go, her toes stretching as far as they could toward the bedposts, just inches short of where his feet would be, if he were right here. She flicked her gaze up, up at the ceiling where Adrien would stare every night. And stopped.

Stopped breathing, stopped blinking, stopped computing for a second, or a minute, or a year— she didn’t know; her sense of time had stopped, too.

Taped to his ceiling was a poster of a spotted mask, a picture-ready smile, a frozen wink, a set of black pigtails. A poster of her.

She couldn’t think at that moment, but if she could, she’d be thinking everything. The gears in her brain had stuck on a bug, the motor whirring and whirring but all in vain.

Premise one: Every night Adrien sees his ceiling.

She repeated that thought in her head, rolling it around and around until it registered. 

Premise two: On Adrien’s ceiling is a picture of me.

And— 

Conclusion: Every night Adrien sees me.

Short-circuit. Again. Again. She could feel the wires sparking and fizzling out, the electricity popping, the circuit-board smoldering. 

The footsteps were growing louder again, the clomp of shoes on stairs echoing. Ladybug sprang off of his bed, smoothing the comforter, the sheets, the pillowcase, and darting to the center of the bedroom, which was empty and blank and unassuming and an odd place to stand actually and— the door opened, tousled blond hair emerging, attached to Paris’s cutest face attached to a body and an arm and a hand and the cup of tea now being extended right to her right now.

She blinked and blinked and then realized she was meant to take it. She reached out to take it and— sizzle— her skin was touching his skin and his hands were cupped right where hers were meant to go and she looked up and their eyes met and no, it definitely wasn’t a trick of the light— he was blushing.

The room was quiet, the door closed, the curtains drawn, and two kids with identical flaming cheeks stood in the center of it all, connected and connected and connected.

Ladybug took the mug and Adrien shoved his hands in his pockets and the wintery air turned into summer. 

“Thank you!” she blurted, “For the tea, ohmygod that was so considerate of you and is this pu-erh because that’s my favorite—” The tea sloshed dangerously. She froze, sheepishly, and took a scalding sip to silence herself.

Adrien just kept staring with those round grassy eyes.

“Should we sit?” asked Ladybug, rubbing the back of her neck again. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“Oh! Yes, of course,” said Adrien, just as hastily, and gestured to the black leather seats of his lounge. They both sat, Ladybug setting her drink down, and Adrien just kept stealing glances.

“So,” said Ladybug.

“So.”

“Are- are you a fan, maybe?” she asked, smiling her picture smile. “I could autograph something, if you want, not that I think I’m great or anything, I mean—” She clamped her mouth shut. Getting herself to stop was like pulling on teeth— except, backward, sort of.

“Uh,” he said, and she prepared to take it back. He thinks I’m so full of myself oh-no-oh-no— “Actually, I’m a huge fan,” he finished, with his own picture smile. “The biggest Ladybug fan.”

“Chat Noir too? I can get him to autograph for you, too!”

“Chat Noir’s— Chat Noir’s pretty cool,” he said, grinning. He gazed at her, the embodiment of sincerity. “You’re the real hero, though.”

She frowned. “Chat Noir is my partner. We’re a team. He’s as much of a hero as I am, if not more.” An image of a smirking Chat popped into her mind’s eye and she backtracked, “Don’t tell him I said that, though! The crazy cat’s already got an ego bigger than France.”

He held up a hand. “It won’t tell him, I swear. Ca- Camper’s honor.”

“Camper’s honor? That’s a thing?”

“O-of course it is,” he said quickly, and she noticed he was blushing. 

Blushing. She slowed down, remembered the details: the staring, the poster, the stuttering, although infrequent. 

“Ohmy—” she said. Her gears turned. She knew those symptoms all too well; she’d seen them all over herself, with anything that had to do with him. No. Could he? He couldn’t. But— could he?

She stared at him, and he grew redder, his irises brighter. There was one way she could know for certain. 

But she couldn’t. 

And oh, how she could. She was Ladybug— she had the confidence, the security, the secret identity— she could do it, and if it went wrong it wouldn’t affect anything.

If it went wrong.

Or. Or… She studied his eyes, his cheeks, the tightness of his posture, the way he was sitting so close but so far away, his focused inhalations and exhalations, his lips and how they quivered and how he mirrored her right now, his hands folded just the same way, his gaze on just the same place…

She mustered every bit of daring Ladybug she had in her and lunged, her hands on his face and her knee by his hips and his head against the cushions and her body on his, skin to super suit to T-shirt to skin, and the steam of the tea swirling and his bright grassy moon eyes disappearing as she closed her own, and his lips.

His lips, warm and soft and opening for her, his lips that tasted faintly of coffee beans, his lips on hers.

He was Adrien and she was Ladybug and she was kissing him and he was kissing her back.

A/N: Please let me know what you think!! I don't write drabble like this often so feedback is appreciated :) Also if you want more, remember that this is only the beginning of the night ;) I might write the rest of it if it's in demand :) THANKS FOR READING <3

[stevecanmakeanythingnerdy]

RANDOM RECORD WORKOUT SEASON 4 Battle 22 (The) Pixies: Surfer Rosa (side 1) Vs. Fashion: Fabrique (face 2) (The) Pixies: Surfer Rosa (side 1) I would hope, for your sake, you are familiar with this seminal pillar of the indie rock and alternative music community. But just in case: The Pixies (or just Pixies) are an American alternative rock band formed in 1986 in Boston, Massachusetts. The original lineup comprised Black Francis (lead vocals, rhythm guitar), Joey Santiago (lead guitar), Kim Deal(bass, backing vocals) and David Lovering (drums). The band disbanded acrimoniously in 1993, but reunited in 2004. Deal left in 2013 and was replaced briefly by Kim Shattuck before Paz Lenchantin joined for the band's 2014 tour, and has remained in the lineup since. Basically, Pixies are the "fight club-where is my mind" band. Not just a delicious chocolate nut and pretzel snack, or small, winged, mischievous, woodland fairies. Although the latter did play into WHY the band name was chosen. While not their first release, Surfer Rosa is their first proper studio album. It was recorded by Steve Albini (Nirvana fame), completed in two weeks, and released in early 1988. Surfer Rosa gained the Pixies acclaim in Europe; both Melody Maker and Sounds gave Surfer Rosa their "Album of the Year" award. American critical response was also positive yet more muted, a reaction that persisted for much of the band's career. The album was eventually certified Gold in the U.S. in 2005, but American "success" eluded the band most of their early active years. As aforementioned, the movie Fight Club used the song "where is my Mind" which really kickstarted their comeback, at least unofficially. This album is, flat out A-MAZING from start to finish. Side one contains hit after hit, starting with " Bone Machine". It is all the little nuances, like the off time hook and the brilliant chaos that make this so distinctive and catchy. Male and Female harmonies mixed with an almost "waltz" time signature which inadvertently describe the band perfectly. The band comes at you in 3's. You get more discordant disaster with "Break My Body" and an almost instrumental, save for a few feedback drenched yells, with "Something Against You". As if that were not enough, one of my personal favorite weirdo tunes is next, "Broken Face"- hold that one note and wrap a melody around it. Punk rock but nothing like it all at once. Those odd, painful vocals...those strange lyrical content pairings...it is macabre and distinct. So cleverly original. "Gigantic" is another, well, gigantic hit for fans. In fact, it may be arguably just as famous as the fight club selection. Deal takes a stab at the lead on this one, and I honestly wish Frank would have let her do it more often, as the results are pretty amazing. He was/is (?) pretty controlling of that though. It is probably their most radio friendly tune. Lastly is "River Euphrates"- i love all the little nuances on this one too. Such as leaving studio noise and mistakes, proving it is raw, unfiltered, and REAL. In many ways a blueprint. On the face of it, this is almost an unfair battle, who can compete with the freaking Pixies!!!?!?! They are still active too, in fact, as of this writing a new album is set to drop this fall. Classic album by a classic, god - like - status band. Masterpiece certainly applies to this indie rock classic. I was almost just as excited to review it as I was when I saw it on the random selection! Fashion: Fabrique (face 2) I must be a gambler at heart, because I take a lot of risks on records that look to be promising or interesting musically. I like the obscurity of it all, and sometimes I discover some really great, otherwise unknown music. It gives me the feeling that I know a secret I suppose. Fashion were one of those gambles. Time frame seemed right (early 80's) looks and style and the art were enough to imply this could be some good new wave synth pop. The result is: this is just bad! And not in a Michael Jackson's 1987 Thriller follow up type of way. Not even in an 80's context where bad means good. No, just...bad. Audio vomit. Successful in that the music makes me think of ridiculous fashion runway shows and over the top clothing on thin, drug addled models with too much mascara. You know the kind of outfit like peacock feathers paired with shit brown paper grocery bags for pants. I feel like this was one man's vision, and the remaining band members just wanted to be in a band so they followed suit. So who is Fashion? From their wiki : Fashion was formed originally as Fàshiön Music, in Birmingham, England, in 1978, and consisted of John Mulligan (bass, synthesizer), Dik Davis (drums), and Al James (lead vocals, guitar). James became known as Luke Sky, or simply Luke or Lûke (short for "Luke Skyscraper" - a reference to the Star Wars character Luke Skywalker and the fact that James was tall and thin), while John Mulligan was known simply as Mulligan and Davis as Dïk. At that time, they also founded their own Fàshiön Music label, and they released their first three singles: "Steady Eddie Steady", "Citinite", and "The Innocent". Their sound was varied, playing punk, post-punk and indie repertoire, although Mulligan at that time also had a synthesizer which later characterized the future electro years of the band (sounding like rock bands of the day, as Magazine, The Cure, and Joy Division). Now, if they sounded like any if those comparisons, I would be much more a fan, so apparently I need to start at the beginning. What I have is their later, and honestly probably more notable and successful album, Fabrique. With this album the band saw a significant change in line-up, with James having left the band and Harris and Recchi joining. A more electronic and disco influenced sound arose. Songs like "Love Shadow" and the torturously long "It's Alright" which sounds like an outtake of Stevie Wonder's "Higher Ground". The 80's keys are there, but not highlighted. It is almost as if they were living in denial in 1983 that new wave was taking over, and they begrudgingly added keys to keep up with the times. "Whitestuff (shortcut)" is probably the ultimate dick punch here. Goddamnit! Who knew synth- disco 80's was a thing! Screw this! I think my ears are bleeding. Apparently this song was a large part of a Miami Vice episode. "Do You Wanna Make Love?" Is at least MOSTLY 80's, but Frankie Goes To Hollyweird. I actually had t talk myself through the last two tracks. "Slow Blue" especially, and emphasis on the S. L. O. W! Argh! Painful!! Please, just make it end!! Whew! That was intense. I guess you have to balance the good with the bad. The Pixies took 15 minutes to burn off 124 calories over 6 songs. Frank and company averaged 20.67 calories per song, and 8.26 calories per minute. Fashion were a little more forward and took 22 minutes (felt like 50) to burn off 174 calories over 5 songs. That is 34.8 calories burned per song, and 7.91 calories per minute. It should go without saying that the Pixies caught the wave, and surfer Rosa-ed to the top! Pixies win, hands down! (The) Pixies: "Broken Face" https://youtu.be/YgxAwIybQ0g Fashion: "Whitestuff (shortcut )" https://youtu.be/_e1fvIiJiNk #randomrecordworkout #randomrecordworkoutseason4

[writersdreamermind]

A Selcouth Winter

First chapter of my new Dramione fic has been posted! Reads and reviews would be most appreciated.

Paring(s): Dramione, LoveNott, Hinny

Rating: T

Word Count: 3001

Chapters: 1/?

Read on AO3

A Selcouth Winter

Chapter 1: Glance on a Frosty Monday

The Monday of the first days of winter proved to be some of the coldest Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry had ever experienced. In almost an instant, the snow and frost had settled on the ground like a white blanket, the crisp feeling in the air fresher than any summer breeze. Cool, sharp and biting like pins pricked in your skin, the cold of a Scottish winter was more than testament to the true beauty of the untamed wildness that it offered. Lands like these were truly magical on their own.

Already Hogwarts looked like it had been steeped in snow for weeks – all this in the course of a night or two. Everything was glacial now: white and grey, the palest of skies above their heads, the turrets stark against the unblemished sweep. No clouds, no rain, no wind. It was calm. As if waiting for something unmentioned.

Hermione Granger stepped out into the courtyard, woolly scarf looped around her neck in about three bands, her neck now warm under the gold and red bands. Her frizzy, bushy and altogether wild hair was particularly bold this morning, starkly bright and almost shining in the pale sunlight of the early morning, golden and brown like coffee swirls and toffee, her brown eyes sparking with a beauty unseen by many. A beauty that was in awe of nature’s power, and she loved it for it.

She gazed up at the sky, loving how the pale blue and piercing sunlight somehow reminded her of an early summer morning too. How funny that seasons remembered each other.

“Hermione! Wait up!”

She turned around to see the obscured face of Harry Potter running towards her, coming into clarity. No matter the case or situation, his black hair was the unruly mess it always was, sticking up in such a way that he looked like he tumbled out of bed only a minute ago. Coming up to her, he smiled at her in a lopsided way that made her laugh.

“And how long have you been up, Harry?”

He scratched his head sheepishly.

“About… 10 minutes?” He grinned, making her throw back her head in laughter.

“You’re a disaster, Harry,” she said, cheeks blooming pink with the cold as she dipped her chin into the enclosure of her scarf.

“I know,” he muttered, sidling up beside her in a casual manner.

Together, they began walking across the courtyard, the large oak tree in the corner sitting proud as it grew up into the sky, branches bare but holding firm in the bitter chill. It made Hermione smile a little to herself – she liked how easily nature showed strength in the face of such trials, time and again. One sweep of cold and humans would dash for the heat in a flurry of panicked hysteria, lest they get an illness to last them weeks into the future.

Trees, she thought. They’re very solitary beings – they stand tall, proud; unable to move. And yet…

They’re really rather beautiful in that solitary way.

Harry snapped her out of her thoughts with a curt comment.

“So… is something going on between you and Ron, then?”

Hermione blinked seconds before the comment registered. She whipped her head round to her best friend, hair spinning around her head like a coffee swirled halo. Her friend’s bright green eyes blinked back at her through his round spectacles, the image of innocence and genuity.

Harry Potter was a loveable, unobservant dork, and his comment startled her.

“What?”

Harry seemed startled himself as he restrained the urge to throw up his hands in advance surrender.

“Well, I just – you know… you seem kinda tense around him lately,”

“I do? Wherever did you get this idea, Harry?”

He continued to blink back at her obliviously.

“You – you seem to-“

“What?” Hermione could almost feel a speck of irritancy springing up in her throat as she prepared to spew back words of vicious denial at the claim. Yet she stopped and thought. Did he have a point there? Was Harry actually being observant for a change?

Hermione quirked an eyebrow as a curiously silent answer whilst she muddled through her thoughts. Harry continued.

“Because – you know, if you’re worried about it, or – concerned, or even, confused – by it-“

“Harry, I’m not confused by anything. And isn’t he currently snogging Lavender Brown?”

Harry smiled nervously.

“Not curious to know about the details, actually.”

Hermione grunted unceremoniously in reply. She wasn’t particularly curious herself, now that she thought about it in any great detail. Ron keeping his face attached to a girl’s who wasn’t her really should have bothered her a bit more than it currently was – sure, he was her other best friend, one she loved dearly for all the proper, obvious reasons…

But as a… boyfriend? “Ron Weasly” and “boyfriend” somehow didn’t match up in her mind quite as she thought it should have at this point. He didn’t seem that way to her anymore. Not that he’d changed all that much, but rather that the age of him had dictated more than a few things to her. Like how he still seemed uncannily immature for a 16 year old boy, or that by most lengths, he still found it blood-boilingly difficult to hold back from throwing a snide comment in Malfoy’s direction, no matter if he had irritated him or not.

All things considered, Ron was very like her: warm and honest and genuine; caring and just; an aesthetic of knitted jumpers, freckles and early morning coffees.

But he didn’t make her heart jump. He didn’t make her reassess every conversation she ever had with him.

Assuming that’s how these things were supposed to feel. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure. She was far more adept at her academic studies that required little emotional attachment. She liked that detachment – it was straightforward, simple and permanent once you locked it in your head. Spells, potions, magical creatures: logs upon logs of blunt knowledge in her head, and all she had to do was bring it up in a flash, and there it would be: the correct answer. As always.

Yet Hermione had always felt, in herself, that some part of her was unfulfilled in a way that books and top marks couldn’t give her. The adventures with Ron and Harry; the ambient, dreary days spent in class as she reviewed rather than learned a new spell, and the changing of seasons as she laid out her days in Hogwarts – they all completed her in ways that one couldn’t complete all of her. Each one had awakened and satisfied a part of her soul, and she was forever grateful for it.

And despite her best efforts to ignore the idea of first love – some fancifully stupid notion considering the state of the Wizarding world outside of Hogwarts’ walls – she still found herself yearning for it. Science of her own world taught her it was natural and normal – a part of human existence to look for a way to pass on your genes.

Her heart told her she couldn’t boil it down t something so drastically basic and objective.

She turned her attention to the rest of the courtyard, zoning out from Harry as he replied to whatever absent minded question she’d posed, and barely even remembering posing. The snow was still settling even now, small, indistinct flurries cascading down in seconds every few minutes, dusting her hair in white dots that made her look almost angelic, despite her electric-shock hair.

And it was then that she spotted a small, indistinct figure on the corner of her vision too.

It took Hermione one or two seconds to figure out exactly who it was, but when she did, she was hardly surprised. Draco Malfoy had the hair of an angel, pale blonde and almost fading into the background as he stalked his way across the courtyard on her left side, a good few metres away from her. It was clear that he wanted to be alone – even from this far away, Hermione could tell the Slytherin was out here for privacy and some half-hearted notion of being alone with nature. She could make him out, even against the pale sky and snow steeped grounds; the bare branches of the oak tree and cool breeze that swiftly, carefully flew past her flushed cheeks with every breath.

She studied him, Harry’s voice having faded into the background as she made the apt observation that Draco Malfoy and winter suited each other to a degree she had never considered before.

He reminded her of a Nordic forest – elegant, lithe and mystical; mysterious in curious ways and enrapturing no matter your view on nature.

Hermione blinked and scowled in unison.

Had she really had those thoughts?

…

About Draco Malfoy?!

Her scowl deepened, growing more and more uneasy with herself, by how quickly she’d romanticized the boy who had bullied her - for years.

A Nordic forest? What fantasy had she pulled that from?

Hermione silently thanked the heavens her common sense was as sharp as it always had been.

Harry’s voice snapped her back to the present.

“Is that Malfoy?” The inward groan Hermione released did not surprise her – Harry had, from day one of this year, been furiously insisting that Malfoy was now one of the many cronies in Voldemort’s legion of Death Eaters – a theory so ridiculous not even Ron could concoct it. Draco may have been born into an archaic family with values as old as the walls they lived in, but he wasn’t his father. He wasn’t that vile wretch of a man, Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione’s scowl faded into an expression of indifference as she turned to her friend, a look of slight disdain on her face.

“Harry, honestly –“

“No, what’s he up to?”

“What he pleases, I would assume,”

Harry’s bright green eyes narrowed, dark brow furrowing his usually cheerful expression.

“That’s what worries me.”

Hermione’s sigh spiralled into the air as a cloud of cool breath.

“Harry, when are you going to get it into your head?! Draco is not a Death Eater, and is unlikely to be one ever,”

Harry whipped his head round to look at her, scowl deepening further.

“Are you defending him?”

Hermione blinked, taking a fraction of a second to gain her composure.

“Of course not – I’m saving you from a great deal of humiliation if you continue saying ridiculous things like that,”

Harry sniffed in response, shoving his hands into his robes’ pockets as he hoisted his satchel up on his shoulder again. They stood in silence for several seconds, admiring the snowdrift as it tumbled from the sky in idle flakes.

“It’s rather pretty, isn’t it?” Hermione mused, a smile slipping onto her lips. Harry hummed in agreement.

She glanced at the ground momentarily before she risked another look. Tilting her head to the left, she spied him out of the corner of her eye, through the tendrils of her hair. He was knelt on the cold, hard ground, now scratching a cat under its chin with a vacant expression. His dark, pine green beanie hat had shifted back on his head, revealing the tufts of silvery hair poking out at the front, silver and forest green scarf eliciting that Nordic image of him again.  His black robes had pooled around his feet as he stroked the cat’s fur, the small tabby leaning in to his touch. A glimmer of a smile passed across his lips, but it was gone in an instant.

It was then that he looked round at the both of them, and Hermione felt Harry visibly tense beside her, adopting a grimace.

“Oh great, now look whose coming.”

Malfoy was indeed sauntering towards them, the tabby streaking off behind the tree. Hermione bit her lip nervously as she watched him: his lip twisted up in a snarl, cold grey eyes stormy like a turbulent sky, and all manner of dangerous auras floating around him.

Potter and Malfoy.

At it again.

Coming to stand in front of them, Malfoy had pre-emptively adopted his signature sneer in such a way that it irritated Hermione almost immediately, despite the fact that it technically wasn’t aimed at her.

“Potter,” he drawled, glaring at him as he turned up his nose. Harry glared back in unison, green eyes fiery. Malfoy paralleled the Boy Who Lived in all ways possible: cool where Harry was fiery; pale where Harry was dark; distrusted where Harry was praised. They were really just opposite sides of the same coin – believing themselves wholly incompatible when there was probably a lot of potential for friendship. She remembered the first day clearly – how Malfoy, snotty, slick haired prat that he had been, had stepped up to Harry and offered his hand in friendship.

Harry had refused. And thus had begun the tiresome rivalry between the two.

Up close, Hermione had only really seen Malfoy once. Back in second year, the first time he'd uttered the word ‘Mudblood’ to her, a sickeningly satisfied smirk on his lips, as if he’d won the game before it had started.

It had stung, that.

Such a filthy word and he’d used it to describe her.

She had never forgiven him for it, and doubtless ever would.

But only a blind person would fail to see that Draco Malfoy was no longer that said snot nosed, slick haired brat of a first year.

He stood before her as a slender, lithe and tall young man, chiselled features and downy hair sticking out from under his hat. His long lashes fanned on his cheeks as he blinked in a casually lazy fashion, unperturbed by Harry’s rising anger. His cheeks had flushed a little in the cold, too, and at some point during her silent and inconspicuous study of him, she'd decided he was rather cute. Pretty in a boyish way.

Hermione blinked again, clasping her tome of a book to her chest a little more tightly. The hell if she needed fanciful thoughts about Draco Malfoy.

“Out for a morning stroll, Potter? Or possibly trying to search in desperate hopes of brain cells?”

Hermione let out an audible sigh – and one that made Malfoy swivel his head towards her in surprise.

“Granger,” if it were possible, his sneer became more prominent, but Hermione was sure for an instant that she saw a flash of recognition in his eyes – a look that lingered on the notion of…

Well, a happiness to see her.

That truly was absurd, but that didn’t stop her from being curious about it.

“If it was any of your business, Malfoy, I’d guarantee you’d be the first to know about it. With my wand in your face,”

“Oooh, touchy, Potter. Don’t want to burst the remaining ones in a temper, do we?”

“I don’t give a damn what you think, Malfoy!”

“Eloquence never was your strong suit, Potter. Better keep your talents to the places they work best – where I can’t see them,”

Harry continued to scowl at him, black hair wild like his temper in the current moment. Malfoy cast a cursory glance back at Hermione.

“And what about you, Granger? Hunting for new friends?”

She daren’t even rise to the bait.

But of course she did.

“If that were the case, Malfoy, you’d be doing so as well, no doubt. You might actually find people who give a damn about you,”

He flinched at the words, but his composure was regained almost immediately. He sidled up to her, menacingly glaring into her eyes. He was a head taller, and it was both parts terrifying and thrilling.

“There are people who care about me, Granger. The difference is, they’re people actually worth giving a damn about in return,”

Hermione swallowed herself, as he stepped back, smirking again. And that was the last straw.

Hermione Granger hating losing, and no matter how pretty his stupid face was, she immediately thought another slap was way overdue to that acidic smile.

She hurtled towards him and swung her palm up to his face, slapping it across his cheek with a force she’d forgotten she’d had. He staggered back a bit – something that made her smirk in spite of herself – and Malfoy stared at her like he had, indeed, been slapped across the face.

He’d seen it coming. The flash of fury in her eyes, the unceremonious shifting of her book to her left hand and the rapid, elegant sweep she’d made upward towards his face, brutally whacking him with her palm so hard that his cheek stung from the impact.

He clasped it in one hand, staring at her. She was positively blazing, her wild golden hair flying out around her in unholy curls, fierce brown eyes daring him to retaliate. He already could see her slipping her wand from inside her robes, the ivy wrapped instrument delicate and deadly in equal measure.

Granger and a wand was the beast you dare not tame and dare not fight.

Malfoy opted for his iconic sneer at a safe distance, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Nicely done, Granger.” He didn’t continue. Even he knew a continuation of their throat ripping comments would end in loss of limb, predictably on his side.

“Those undeserving don’t receive, Malfoy. You don’t fall into that category,”

Granger’s last look towards him was menacing, fingers still twitching around her wand, as she grabbed Harry’s forearm.

“Come on, Harry,” she snapped, dragging him away with an ease that didn’t surprise him, even though Potter was also a head taller than the small witch as well.

As she stormed off, Malfoy watched her go: how her hair blew gently in the breeze; how her colours – warm, honey gold and soft, rich brown – made the cool backdrop burst with ferocity and heat, and that he liked the way her hips swayed as she walked.

He didn’t much care that he was having thoughts like that about her.

He’d been having them for years.