#tw memory tampering mention

[memoriescut]

thinking about pudding replaying someone's favourite memories as a way to ease them into passing away

#death mention tw #i just know someday she will finally use her powers to do some good or at least give back some kindness #i don't think after wci she's still tampering with people's memories ( unless the plot will require it eventually ) #she probably still has that one piece of film in her pocket but it's more of an after thought these days ngl #memories hurt but memories can heal too and there's still so much left to do

[plazmafields]

We're all aware that your favorite (living) 90 year old rocker is a wanted criminal in Night City. Kerry's charges even change each time you meet up with him in game, which is hilarious. But some of the charges are unlike the others.

TW for mentions of murder and human remains/dead bodies.

Here are some of the average charges Kerry accrues throughout the game. Most of them are drug or assault charges, specifically against police and corpo suits. Typical rockerboy shit, really keeping the punk spirit alive. (Also copyright infringement which always makes me laugh seeing it next to literal MURDER)

The charges so far are all pretty expectable for Kerry. We even see charges like "hostage taking" and "unauthorized use of military hardware" that line up with events that take place in his side missions. However, there are two charges that always stood out to me:

So what the hell are these about? When I first saw these charges I assumed they referred to situations where an officer/corpo was already dead and Kerry continued to fire on them. However, if that were the case, the wording would be something more akin to "mutilation of a corpse" or "tampering with a corpse." The specific word choice of "human remains" implies the body had already been processed for burial.

I discovered these charges many months apart and had never connected them to a possible singular event until, while replaying Holdin' On, I remembered these:

Kerry has two urns on his wardrobe. I assume these are for his parents' ashes. However, as is implied in Cyberpunk: Edgerunners, it is illegal to keep cremated remains. And although not expressly stated in Cyberpunk 2077, much media in the cyberpunk genre (or with themes of late stage capitalism) give ownership of human remains to the state, or the corporate entity that the deceased worked for. I could absolutely see this being the case in Cyberpunk 2077 as well, seeing as Jackie's body can be seized by Arasaka and claimed as "corporate property." In that case, the urns would just be in memorial and contain no actual remains. I think, though, that most people would prefer to use something from that family member's past to memorialize them, like an object that represented their interests.

So, with Kerry having two distinct charges for both obtaining and "defiling" human remains, and having two urns despite the requirement that cremated remains be stored in the columbarium, I theorize that Kerry stole his parent's ashes back from the city/the company they worked for. Who knows, maybe some of his other charges came about during the theft as well.

#this man is a menace #and i love him #kerry eurodyne #cyberpunk kerry #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk

[yandere-daydreams]

ur probably getting a lot of these (im sorry if ur busy T_T) and u already *kinda* mentioned him but my sick brain needs to know. what would alhaitham fuck instead of darling. he seems like he would be pretty good at keeping him composure so… 🫢🫶

tw - manipulation, forced dependency, slight infantalization.

alhaitham would fuck your first academic journal.

scrawled in crisp blank ink, piled into a leather-bound journal, and given to him for one last review before you submit the final draft. he edges himself while he flipped through the pages, idly scanning over passages on the culture of nations long gone and languages that have all-but faded from memory as he pumps his fist over his cock and bites back any airy grunts or hitches moans that might seep through the thin walls of his office. he limits himself to a single two page spread when he finally finds himself hunched over his desk, his tip brushing against course paper as he fucks his fist to the curves of your handwriting, the faint traces of your scent left on the pages, the thought of your fear-stricken expression when you're called before a council of elders and informed that your plagiarism has not only been discovered, but deemed worthy of immediate expulsion from the akademiya as a whole.

you may try to argue against it, to say that you'd gotten the scribe's personal approval, to insist that your journal must've been tampered with, but he's practiced, learned to copy every little quirk of your handwriting, mastered the art of replacing a few of your pages with that of his own creation without any visible signs of sabotage. as much as it pains him to see all your research go to waste, he knows that this is the most efficient way to show you where you truly belong - in his home, aware of your role as his lover, content to be dependant on him rather than striving aimlessly for an impossible future as a burnout scholar.

getting to paint the fruits of your useless labor with his cum first is just a perk.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere alhaitham

[crackedpumpkin]

ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʙʟᴏꜱꜱᴏᴍꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴍᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪꜰᴛᴇᴇɴ ||

2k12! Leonardo x Waterbender! reader

a/n: Ooooo we really getting into the backstory now :) I already can't wait for the s3 arc, i have so much planned!! tw: gets a bit dark

“April?”

Y/n is startled when she hears the door open, then loudly slam shut. Peering around the corner of the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, she spots April tossing her bag onto the floor.

“Did something happen?” She turns off the stove, bringing out a glass of water. April accepts it gratefully, though the scowl on her lips remains as she gulps down the refreshing liquid. 

“Yeah, Donnie followed me home,” April answers bitterly, Y/n taking the now empty cup from her hands. “Anyway, I just came by to drop off a few things before heading back out again.”

“What about dinner? I made some fish stew,” Y/n tries to coax, gesturing to the pot on the stove. April hesitates but shakes her head in response. “C’mon, at least bring along some salmon jerky.” 

“You already gave me some. It’s still in my bag. I’ll have that and microwave the stew after I return home.” April stands back up, grabbing her bag and slinging it across her waist again.

“Who will you be out with? Don’t come back home too late.” 

“I’ll be going to see a friend. Casey Jones. Y’know, the guy I’m tutoring?” Y/n shakes her head in response, April looking at her blankly before remembering that Y/n didn’t go to school. She had stayed at April’s home for the past week, doing her own thing.

Ever since that night, when the small voice of temptation whispered in the corner of her mind, Y/n tossed and turned in bed, restless. She didn’t understand where it had come from, much less why it had turned up.

But she knew it was a reminder of the memory she tried so hard to push to the back of her mind, one that haunts her if she doesn't try to forget.

“I don’t want that kind of power.” 

It was the night of the full moon, and Y/n and Katara stood behind Hama. Y/n had bluntly refused Hama’s initial offer to teach them bloodbending, Katara nodding in agreement. 

“The choice is not yours. The power exists.” Hama’s voice hardens. “It’s your duty to use this gift to win this war. They tried to wipe us out, Katara. Your culture, your tribe, your mother.” Hama switches to winning over Katara instead, the soft-hearted girl hesitant.

Y/n places her arm in front of the younger girl, taking a bold step forward protectively. “You’re the one who’s behind the missing people, aren’t you?” She realizes, putting the pieces together.

When Toph mentioned voices under the mountain, they all thought she was joking, maybe even hearing things. But now Y/n knew for sure that Hama was behind everything.

“They threw me in prison to rot, along with my brothers and sisters,” Hama’s smile twists into a sneer, practically spitting her words, "They deserve the same. You must carry on my work.”

“No, we won’t. I won’t use bloodbending, much less use it as a means to an end. It's not something that should be tampered with.” Y/n states with finality, grabbing Katara’s hand and turning. “C’mon, Katara, we need to find the others.”

She lets out a yelp when her arm is twisted behind her back, fingers letting go of Katara’s wrist. She spots Hama moving, bloodbending her entire body along with Katara’s. She grunts, trying to fight back. Her arms are forcibly pinned down against her sides, teeth gritted as she glares at the witch.

“Let me go!”

“You should have learned the technique before you turned against me. It’s impossible to fight your way out of my grip.” Hama cackles in glee, “I control every muscle, every vein in your body!” 

As if to prove her point, she forces Y/n’s body to move against her will, making her dance as her limbs move jerkily, like a mere puppet on a string. Katara struggles, trying to escape and help her friend.

Y/n’s pinned against the tree trunk, eyes burning with unshed tears as every cell in her body screams in pain. Nothing was listening to her; she had never felt so powerless against a foe.

Katara screams, Hama forcing her to kneel down. “Stop, please,” Y/n begs. Katara was probably going through the same pain, wanting nothing more than to protect the young girl. 

With a flick of her wrist, Hama pulls Y/n’s body to kneel closer to her, placing a foot on her bare shoulder. Evil laughter echoes throughout the forest, Y/n seething at her helplessness.

No. No more. She wouldn’t be manipulated by someone like this. Not by someone who has taken them in with false kindness, someone who had given them hope that everything would be okay again.

The howling wind fills her ears, the light of the full moon shining down on them in the open area of the forest. Her eyes are closed, feeling the tears trickle down her cheek. She couldn’t surrender to her. Her mind races with thoughts and potential ways to get out of their situation. But no matter how hard she thought, there was no way out.

But in a moment of desperation, it hits her.

There was only one way to even the playing field.

Her fingers curl into fists, the grass that tickles the skin of her fingers wilting as a circle of death spreads out from under her hands. She slowly stood up with all the courage and strength she could muster. Her eyes open, filled with a new determination.

Sure, she was a healer from the North Pole and didn’t know what Hama had gone through. But she was tired of hiding and having others fight the battles for her while all she did was heal. 

She watches Hama’s expression turn into one of shock, stumbling back. “You’re not the only one who draws power from the moon, Hama. I’m a more powerful bender than you’ll ever be.”

She moves her arms into a circle, summoning a ring of water surrounding her. She sends it hurtling towards Hama with all the force she can muster, but Hama manages to catch it, sending double the amount back. 

The stream of water narrows as it gets closer, Y/n watching with focused eyes and a calm gaze. She’s a healer, one that can see the flow of life itself. Defence and healing were her strengths, which she would wield as her weapons. 

Now.

She sees how the water flows, closes her eyes and places her hand in front of her. In a single moment, she takes control, suddenly stopping its movement. It splashes onto the ground around her, droplets landing on Hama who’s taken aback by the sudden display of power while Y/n stands firm, untouched. 

In another swift movement, she draws on the moon's power once more, using the water to pull Hama’s feet from below her, flipping the old woman and making her land on the dirt.

She spots Aang and Sokka running towards them, gasping when she sees Hama’s eyes light up with a sinister smile. 

“We know what you’ve been doing, Hama!”

“Give up; you’re outnumbered!”

No. 

Not them. 

Dread pools in her gut, feeling it twist as Hama chuckles.

“You’ve outnumbered yourselves.”

“Y/n? Hello?” 

She starts, looking up from the cup in her hands to April, who looks at her with concern.

“Are you okay? I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She forces a smile, trying to assure the worried girl. “Go hang out with this ‘Casey', but don’t be back too late, okay?” 

April rolls her eyes with a smile, her earlier encounter with Donnie now forgotten. “I’ll be fine, Y/n. Don’t stay up too late, though.” She walks to the door, glancing back at the quiet girl who looks back down at the empty cup in her hands. 

She hesitates. Was it really okay to just leave like this?

“Hey,” She finds herself speaking, “Would you like to come to school with me tomorrow?”

Y/n practically lights up, sitting upright when she hears April’s words. “Really? You mean it?” 

April nods, chuckling when Y/n claps her hands excitedly. “I can’t wait! What will I wear??” 

“You can look through my closet. School’s at 8 am tomorrow, so we gotta leave by 730.” 

“You say that like I’ve never attended school before,” Y/n says with a roll of her eyes.

“Have you attended school before?” April’s already closing the gate behind her, her head tilted slightly. Y/n pauses in her steps, heading to the kitchen.

“I was homeschooled.”

— — — — — — — — 

“Maybe I should bring some brushes!” Y/n finds the tote bag April had gifted her a while back, slinging it across her shoulder with glee. She pauses, forgetting that they used ‘pencils’ and ‘pens' in this world.

So she grabs a few that lay on April’s desk, making a mental note to let her know that she had borrowed them. She opens the fridge next, pulling out some salmon jerky she had made while she stayed home. She wraps them in cling wrap, used to the strong fishy smell that it gives off and shoves it into the tote bag as well.

Pulling out her T-Phone, she scrolls down the (somewhat limited) list of contacts. Stopping at Leo’s name, her finger hovers over it. 

Should she call him? Would it be awkward? What if he didn’t pick up? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? 

Instead, she calls Raph.

She puts it on speakerphone, sits on the couch and grabs random items to put inside her bag. Sachets of tea leaves go in, with a book to keep her entertained and to brush up on this world’s vocabulary. What else would one need in a school?

She continues to ponder, the phone ringing till it reaches voicemail. She tries calling Mikey next, but it just goes to voicemail. 

Leo it is.

She waits, wondering why they aren’t answering. Anxiety pricks at her gut, worried she was interrupting them on a critical mission. However, Leo picks up.

“Hello?”

“Leo! Guess what??”

She waits for a response, hearing his laboured breathing. Her brows furrow in confusion. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-” She hears the sound of a blaster going off with a yelp from a voice she recognizes as Mikey before Leo continues to speak. “Okay! Just a bit preoccupied right now. But what’s up?” 

“Tui’s gills, Leo. Why’d you pick up while you’re in the middle of something??” She practically scolds him.

“You called. Why wouldn’t I pick up?” She can hear the innocent confusion in his voice, feeling her cheeks heat up. 

“Just- I’ll text you instead. Stay safe.” She blurts out, pressing the button to hang up the phone, glancing at the clock with a sharp exhale. She holds her hands against her hot cheeks, willing them to cool down. It’s only eleven pm. 

Maybe a quick meditation session would do some good.

She sits down on the floor, cross-legged and closes her eyes. She tries to empty out her mind, banishing all thoughts from her mind except one: 

Why now? 

Why had the temptation of using bloodbending only shown up now?

Bloodbending.

It’s a term she never thought she’d ever have to bring up again, not after that night. It draws her in, lacing its dark power with words of honey, promises of control and desires granted.

But she knew better. Didn’t she?

You know you want to. Just bloodbend, and you’ll have the whole world under your control. It’s just a small step away. 

She tenses, forcing away the whisper in the corner of her mind that disappears with what sounded like a growl. She takes a deep breath in, taking in the power of the full moon all around her and sensing the presence of all forms of water around her.

The tap drips slowly, the hot water cooling down in the kettle, even the ice in the fridge. She breathes out slowly, beginning to sense the bodies of people around her. The old man sleeping in the unit above, the dog that looks for scraps in the alleyway beside the building, even the mugger that corners an innocent passerby a distance away… 

It’s so simple; to just reach out and grasp the strings. Her fingers brush against them, pulling on a single thread out of pure curiosity. Just to see what would happen if she did. To control them.

She gasps, her eyes flying open at the thought as beads of sweat form on her brow and trail down the side of her face. Her heart beats rapidly in her chest, and panic begins to overwhelm her.

What was that?

She shakes her head, gritting her teeth and glancing at the tote bag she had placed on the couch. Her eyes soften, remembering April’s words. School. She’s going to school for the first time in her whole life tomorrow morning. 

What happened earlier was probably nothing. 

She stands up, satisfied with what she had packed for the next day, heading to April’s bedroom and lying in their bed. She feels her eyelids grow heavy, letting them slide shut as she finally drifts off to sleep.

And yet, in the dead of night, the mugger a few streets down gasps for air, lying on the cold concrete as his fingers desperately grab at nothing. His heart was being squeezed so tightly it felt like it’d burst. His fingers turn a light shade of purple, and he pleads desperately for the pain to stop.

And finally, it does.

— — — — — — — — 

“Did you hear about that mugger a few streets down?” 

Y/n looks up from her leftover fish stew from the night before, chewing and swallowing with a small polite burp. “No, why? What happened?”

“Apparently, he had a heart attack while mugging someone,” April says, sitting on the counter with a wince. 

“I guess he deserved it,” Y/n shrugs, noticing how her roommate avoids putting pressure on her left arm. She puts down her spoon, instantly suspicious. “Okay, what’s going on? I know bad acting when I see it.” She crosses her arms, watching April shift around in her seat guiltily.

“I might have…Gotten into a fight.” April admits sheepishly. 

Y/n pinches the bridge of her nose, holding out her hand. “Arm.” 

“It’s not that big a deal; it was just….” April hesitates, surrendering her bruised arm to Y/n, who inspects it, bending the water out of her cup and wrapping it around the bruise. She can’t stop the sigh of relief that slips past her lips, grateful for the cool sensation.

“Was just what?” Y/n asks, looking up and waiting patiently for an answer.

“...Was just Karai – OW!” April flinches, pulling her arm back when the temperature instantly drops. 

“Sorry!” Y/n apologizes hastily, gently taking April’s arm and continuing to heal it. “So, what about her?” 

“Well, it really wasn’t anything big. She just tried to…well, destroy me – OW!!” April wrenches her arm away once more from the sudden drop in temperature. “I’m beginning to think that you don’t like her.”

Y/n laughs in embarrassment, April huffing before choosing to keep quiet about last night's encounter. Until she finished her healing, anyway. The yellow skin, splotched with hints of purple and blue, slowly fades until her skin is back to its normal tone and colour.

“Thanks.” April finishes her breakfast quickly, placing the bowls in the basin. 

“I wasn’t done with that!” Y/n complains, but she notices why April’s in such a rush. She glances at the clock above the television.

7.40 am.

“Oh! We’re gonna be late!” April rolls her eyes playfully at Y/n’s realization, grabbing their bags and approaching the door. “C’mon, we gotta be there by eight!”

Y/n grabs a brush, trying to comb her hair nicely. “Do I look acceptable for this world’s society?” She asks April, who gives her a once over, nodding in acceptance. She grabs her water bag, slinging it across her waist, only to be stopped by April, who shakes her head.

“This is school, not a battlefield.” April reasons with Y/n, who frowns. She reluctantly removes it and leaves it on the couch, shutting the door behind her. Oh well, anything to experience school.

They rush there, April running while Y/n jogs. “I don’t get how you’re at the same pace as me while I’m running, and you’re not.” April grouches, struggling to catch her breath as they stand outside the school.

Y/n feels perfectly fine, though a few beads of sweat form on her brow. She shrugs. “I mean, I did have some practice in running away.”

She offers April some of the bottled water in her bag, the latter taking a grateful sip. “I’ll introduce you to my friends later, but for now, we have history class first in the morning.”

“Oh? Does this include the ‘Casey’ you keep talking about?” Y/n teases lightly, grinning when the redhead starts, a blush slowly forming on her cheeks as she splutters, trying to find a response. 

“Yes, it does.” April calms down with just a simple roll of her eyes, smiling back. “Oh! I forgot to tell you this, but I made up with them. Donnie and the rest, I mean.”

A flicker of annoyance pricks Y/n’s gut, her brows furrowing. She pulls out her T-Phone, scanning the messages to see none from the turtles about the new information, much less about the attack last night. “Seriously…” She grumbles, inhaling deeply as frustration makes itself known on her face.

“Why does no one tell me anything??”

taglist:

brunnetteiwik

ivuriexo

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt #leonardo x reader #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #2012 leo #2012 raph #2012 donnie #2012 mikey #x reader #series #CBIDD #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt leo x reader #leo x reader #2012 Leo x reader

[mllx-anazra]

tis the damn season (pt. 3) [Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson reader]

Here is part 3 (read part one here, and part two), also on ao3), thanks for the likes and comments :)

Summary: Hawkins' ex-golden girl's return two years after graduating as a high school teaching assistant leaves the small town wondering. One Eddie Munson, in particular, is determined to figure out the true reason for your come back if he can manage a discussion without wanting to kiss you forever and whisk you off your feet as he did two summers ago. Musician!reader, because love declarations are always better with a guitar.

TW/ Warnings: smut in later chapters so minors DNI, talk of therapy and trauma in later chapters, Eddie Munson is pinning, so is the reader, mentions of asshole rockstar boyfriends, drugs (the old devil's lettuce), explicit references, reader is a Henderson to make my no Y/N rule easier but is a cousin so hopefully it's ""inclusive"" enough?

Tag list: @eddiethesexy

Part 3: But if it's okay with you, it's okay with me

            "Glad to see you are gracing us with your presence, Mr. Munson," drawls the unimpressed voice of Mrs. Click, the History teacher narrowing her eyes dangerously at the long-haired man as he passes her on his way to the gym where tired-eyed high school students cram themselves to another pep rally.

He bows dramatically to the professor, his wink only increasing the ire in the old bat's eyes, as ancient as the dates she teaches about. Three times he has taken her class and looks like he's on his way to failing it again. Oh well, Civil War battalions and other US presidents were never his forte. Even less so that you were no longer here to reward him with a kiss the few times he got it right.

Eddie is trying to tamper the giddiness in his step as his eyes scan the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, who had not escaped his thoughts since he helped you move in before the weekend started.

He thought it would be creepy to seek you out so soon already and busied himself over the two days by practicing a newer set for Corroded Coffin's next gig and prepping the next campaign for Hellfire. Despite these solid distractions, you had remained stuck to his thoughts, memories gliding along the metalhead's thoughts like honey, dripping on any space available in his brain. Would you think this new riff he just mastered sounded cool? Would Dustin clock if the siren he incorporated in the next campaign to charm and suck the life out of the party bore your resemblance? Would you notice the new ring he impulsively purchased Saturday, remembering how much you loved playing with his adorned fingers?

He wanted to repeatedly bash his head against a concrete wall at the desperate state your mere presence put him through. 

Have I plagued your mind like you did mine, sunshine? He was genuinely dying to ask. Ugh. 

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant throw him questioning looks as he sighs deeply, plopping down on the bleachers next to them, at the very top of the assistance and as far away from the cheerleaders and their jock boyfriends as possible.

            "Long weekend?" inquires his friend and bandmate, wiggling his brows.

            "You have no idea." Eddie rubs a hand across his face. Gareth scoots closer and curiously sniffs him.

            "Are you… are you wearing cologne?"

A crimson blush creeps on his cheeks, and he pushes away the laughing drummer as firmly as he can. Gareth's incredulous peals of laughter are contagious, the eldest members of Hellfire snickering at their designated leader as he curses them loudly. The commotion prompts a loud and stern shushing from Fred Benson and a blasé glance from Nancy Wheeler, Eddie childishly sticking his tongue out to them.

            The cheer squad begins their routine, pompons moving in harmony as their shoes screech on the gym's polished wood, Hawkins High's very own band playing a dull fanfare. The basketball team comes roaring in, Jason fucking Carver's righteous attitude and pompous ass leading his squad of dimwitted jocks around.

            "Do you think he practices his strut in front of a mirror?" you had commented on the same bench two years ago, sneaking up on the long-haired boy as the same routine was displayed, the then sophomore's already radiating assholery being the butt of many of your shared jokes.

            "I'm pretty sure he uses the dance studio to perfect his prancing around," he had commented, prompting an amused giggle out of your lips.

The student body of Hawkins back then had been taken aback when you started walking in corridors and sitting in pep rallies next to the resident freak but had let it slide, thinking you were doing some charity work. Rumors of Eddie corrupting you had started floating around, your laugh vibrating across study halls at his jokes on the absurdity of it all. If anything, you had been the one corrupting him by invading his brain and colonizing most of his thoughts and desires.

            Lost in them, Eddie does not notice that the popular circus was done until Higgins stands with a mic in hand and the "Go Tigers!" chanting dies down. He zeroes on the line of basketball players behind the Principal, noting with disdain the beaming smile of Lucas Sinclair at the very left. Mmh, that's why the little crud was so adamant on defending Carver lately. Oh well, practice seldom clashed with Hellfire, and although he would never admit it out loud, the Dungeon Master appreciated the freshman. Lucas, Mike, and Dustin were a lovely bunch of teens, reminding Eddie of his own beginning of high school, which is why he had very naturedly taken them under his wing during the first day of school. Granted, it has only been a few weeks since then, but he already feels quite fond of the dickheads.

            "And finally, let us welcome back an alumnus who generously accepted to step in as teaching assistant and librarian, Miss Henderson!"

At the mention of your name, you stand out from the row of professors and come closer to Higgins, excited whispers and encouraging claps resounding around the gym. Eddie sucks in a breath, feeling punched in the gut as he takes in your appearance. He didn't know what he was expecting, but seeing you dressed in a pencil skirt and padded blazer combo was not what he had envisioned. It makes sense that you swapped your casual clothing for something more professional, as you are, after all, a teacher and no longer a student. But damn, if you look good, your hair pinned up and lips painted a deeper crimson, beaming at the student body. He catches you winking at Lucas as you pass by the freshman and wave quickly to Dustin, who is still clapping loudly.

            "Damn, is that really Henderson? How the fuck is she hotter now than then?" comments Jeff, a slightly dazed look in his eyes.

Grant elbows his friend with a snicker and juts his chin towards a slack-jawed Eddie.

            "Careful, Munson does not share his girlfriend."

He shoots a murderous glare at his friends, frightening them enough to stop their mockery, as he grits out: "Not my girlfriend. Never has been, for that matter," Even though I would fucking love to.

            "Then why the fuck is she looking our way?" Gareth tilts his head down to where you are still standing, thanking Higgins and the student body for what you hope will be a "great enriching year for everyone."

Eddie catches your eyes, which matches the dimpled smile gracing your features. He cannot help the probably lovesick grin that breaks his previously annoyed face, which prompts you to smile wider and tuck a stray lock behind your ear. His heart skips a beat like he was a schoolgirl in a dumb rom-com. Like when you would initiate the kisses when you first started seeing each other.

            "Man, you are hopeless," chuckles Jeff. "Don't let mini-Henderson know you have the hots for his cousin, though, don't think he would appreciate it."

Eddie breaks his tranced look at your face as you keep talking, his eyes jumping down to a familiar mop of curly hair covered by yet another nerdy cap. He narrows his gaze at the suspicious look Mike is throwing at him, observing him like a hawk. Sneaking around this time might prove more complicated.

He schools his expression to be neutral and chastises himself. Why the fuck is he thinking of re-starting your two-year-old fling? Just because you were back in Hawkins did not mean you would revert to the same habits and relationships. How could you even qualify what you two had been doing since then? Sure, you hung out. Like, a lot. Sure, you fucked. Like, a lot, lot. And sure, Eddie's infatuation has not really wavered that much in your absence, apparently. But you never explicitly said you were dating or in love or anything (another heartbeat skip). You were just… Friends. Unlikely friends with shared interests in music and nerdy stuff. Unlikely good friends who knew what the other looked like when they came and how they tasted.

Eddie stifles a groan. He had no claim over you back then and is not about to have one now that you had lived out of state for two years. A gorgeous and talented girl like you probably has dozens of guys fluttering around and fighting for your affection. The fleeting image of a good-looking polished guitar player headlining a dumb-sounding band appears at the forefront of the metalhead's mind. What was the pratt's name again? Something basic, like Johnny, or Joe, or Paul… Chris, Chris was his name.

A year ago, Eddie had compulsively purchased a specialized magazine where your name had appeared in small prints on the cover. He had furiously scanned through the pages until he found an interview starring Chris' band, Running Mouths, or something, where the snotty guitarist had explained in great detail the numerous inspirations behind every single song he ever wrote. "My girlfriend is very helpful in that regard. A true well of inspiration, a God-given muse" the line read, under a picture of you perched over Chris' shoulder, mid-talking, your hair cascading down prettily. The interviewer had asked you only one question, along the lines of "what does it feel to date an up-coming rockstar?". Your response, as it was written on the glossed page of the magazine, etched on Eddie's brain, read: "Well, you should ask Chris! (laughter). No, it's great to be with someone who understands the process of music creation. It's a privilege to see Running Mouths get the recognition they deserve and an honor to contribute to their success, not just as a muse but also as a co-composer, y'know. Most of their newer songs could not have seen the light of day without my input (laughter from Chris). You know I'm right, Stenson, don't deny it!". It was not just envy and jealousy prickling his heart but the sadness of knowing he would have prevented you from reaching such heights if he had begged you to stay with him in Hawkins until he graduated so you could run off together. He reasoned that admiring your shine from afar should suffice to convince him that he had made the right choice by watching you leave.

But, your return to this hole in Indiana may indicate some trouble in paradise, after all. A flicker of hope drums against his ribcage at the thought.

Eddie decides there and then, on the sticky bench of Hawkins High's gym, that by the end of this week, he will figure out the reasons for your return and if the feelings he harbored for you were matched, somehow. Operation Sunshine, starting now.

#eddie munson x reader #sub!eddie munson x reader #sub!eddie munson #eddie munson smut #ongoing #stranger things #smut #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson x reader comfort #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fandom #anazra writes #tis the damn season #dorothea

[wheretheresaway-theresawilliam]

Chapter 13: The Dreams In Which I'm Dying Are The Best I've Ever Had

🎶🎵🎶

Word Count: 1284

TWs: Nightmares, themes of death, references to cheating, arguing, drug mention, themes of neglect

⛤⛤⛤

William tossed and turned in his bed throughout the night, his dreams plagued with uncomfortable imagery and howling regret. Evan’s bloody face, FredBear crawling with maggots, the hand of God himself coming down to crush him out of existence. And a memory from his childhood, his own terrible “mistake.” He had once had an older brother, Barnaby, who would’ve been his children’s uncle if he hadn’t met an untimely death. Barnaby had always been his parents’ favourite. Handsome, athletic, and popular, the polar opposite of William's previously introspective and socially awkward nature. They had always been at each other's throats, when adults weren't looking, and one day William had taken it too far.

He of course knew the path Barnaby would take to and from school each day, and when the weather permitted it, he tended to take his bike. While Barnaby was getting his education, a young William willingly skipped school to tamper with the bike, as well as a wooden bridge Barnaby would later have to cross when he was dismissed for the day. The bridge was on its last legs, with several rotten boards and missing balusters… easy for any young man with the right determination to kick apart. Below the bridge was a shallow creek. While it hadn’t been William’s intent to kill Barnaby, he couldn’t deny he was more than happy to get him out of his life. His brother didn’t come home that day. It was nearly eight in the evening when the police showed up on his parents’ doorstep saying they had found their son dead in a stream- The cause of death was blunt force trauma. It was that experience that made William realize that violence ran in his blood, and one could never know when it would strike.

He gasped as he awoke, fists twisting his sheets tightly as he stared at his ceiling. His wife breathed shallowly beside him, gripping her pillow as if it were him. Attempting to calm down, William glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 4:00am. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and slowly sitting up. He glanced back at his unconscious wife. Even when sleeping she looked exhausted. He might’ve loved her at one point, but now he could only spare pity and contempt for her state of being. He entered their master bathroom and splashed some water onto his tired face, holding the edge of the sink as he stared into the mirror with slightly bloodshot eyes.

“I have to know,” He muttered, shaking his head. Throwing day clothes on over his pyjamas, William once more set out for Fredbear’s. He wasted no time in putting both animatronics into his car and bringing them home, where he relocated them to his basement. SpringBonnie had come home only as a keepsake. He couldn’t bear to part with it, even if he improved on its design. It was a part of him, after all. FredBear was the real star of the show here. So many questions he so desperately needed the answers to.

“Please, Evan, if you’re in there, speak to me. Show your old man he’s not crazy,” William begged in front of the animatronic. “We still have your old things, your room is just as you left it. Are you proof that life persists when the mortal body has failed?”

Slowly, FredBear reacted to his words, its voice croaking to life again. “Papa! Where’ve you brought me??”

“Home, my son.” His hair stood on end again. Though he didn’t want to fear this revelation, it appeared to be an involuntary side effect. “I’ve brought you home.”

“What happened to me?”

William began to explain, and as he did, his disgust with Michael increased tenfold. He had been so caught up in trying to wrap everything up nicely and quietly that he hadn’t had time to feel anger at the perpetrator of the crime.

“He hated me, papa,” Evan whimpered. “Why did Michael hate me?”

“I don’t know, sweetface. Your brother… I think he’s sick. And not with a cold or anything like that, sick with something that isn’t so obvious.” William sighed, his eyes shining. “I’m so happy you live on.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. But was this just a fluke, or could it be reproduced? Why Evan? Why in this way?

“Can I go to bed, papa?”

William frowned. He hadn’t considered that Evan would still long for the activities of the living, even if he didn’t need them anymore.

“I’m… sorry, Evan, but I need you to stay here, in my workshop. Just until your father has a better idea of what’s going on, okay?”

“Okay…”

William stepped toward the stairs. “Goodnight, Evan.”

“Goodnight papa… wait!”

“What is it, Evan?”

“Please… don’t turn off the light. It’s been so dark and so cold…”

“... Give me two seconds.” William rushed upstairs to retrieve an old nightlight from Evan’s room and returned, plugging it into the wall before turning off the lights. “Better?”

“... Better.”

William exhaled, relieved, and returned to his bed. He only got two more hours of sleep in, but with the adrenaline in his system he considered himself lucky. He knew exactly who he was going to talk to about this, but before he could rush out the door after his morning routine, Michael stopped him in his tracks.

“Don’t fucking go,” he insisted in anger and earnestness. “We just buried Evan yesterday. I don’t know where the Hell you go any more, but if my hunch is right, Jesus fucking Christ, can’t you keep it in your pants for another twenty-four hours?!”

William scowled. “Who’s fault is that, again? And I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about--”

“William, look around you! This house is in complete disrepair because--”

“Don’t you dare call me by my first name as if we’re on the same level of respect!” William boomed. “I am your father, you are a child, you should be thanking your lucky stars that I didn’t let you get sent off to juvie with the rest of your glue-sniffing buddies!”

“You’re right, I’m only a child, so I shouldn’t be expected to feed and clean up after Elizabeth on top of my other responsibilities while Magarete snorts until she whites out and makes terrible art, then crashes into bed with a bloody nose and a headache every afternoon!”

“Stop it!” Elizabeth’s voice made them both back away from each other. “Stop screaming at each other!”

“Oh, Elizabeth, darling,” William’s voice went from tearing down walls to a gentle breeze as he beckoned his daughter into his arms. He knelt down and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Michael stared incredulously at him over Elizabeth’s shoulder, his mouth half agape.

“I promise,” William spoke slowly as he stood back up, Elizabeth still clinging to his leg. “When I come home, I will make dinner and clean the house. Don’t lift a finger while I’m gone.” He took his wallet out of his pocket and handed Michael a few dollar bills. “You can order takeout for lunch.”

Michael crammed it back into his father’s hand. “I don’t want your damn money, I’ll buy it with my own. Lizzy, we’re going over to Henry’s, go pack some small things you want to bring with you in your backpack.”

Elizabeth frowned while William pat her hair soothingly. “It’s alright, listen to your brother.”

She reluctantly let go of him and did as she was told. William and Michael shared a final glare before William left, extremely glad to be out of Michael’s presence. He would keep his word, but in the meantime, he could not keep his discovery to himself for much longer.

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf fic #afton family #william afton #michael afton #cc fnaf #crying child fnaf #accursed heritage au

[cuorb-headcanon-central]

Abandoned Soldier

Cubot is a failed attempt at creating a bodyguard-like or soldier-like robot, abandoned due to the incapability of his AI. This is why he’s so much larger that Orbot, and how in certain media (like the Sonic Boom cartoon) he is shown to have experience or knowledge with weaponry. 

(Cut for length, evidence and additional details are under the readmore.)

Point #1: Cubot is massive. Some people don't notice this, but compared to Orbot, Cubot is very big. His official height, 2′11″, does not take into account the amount he slouches. If he was to stand up straight, he would be in the 4′-4.5′ range. Meanwhile, Orbot's height is at 2'10 and he has little to no slouch. Cubot’s size may be the direct result of his original fighter design.

Point #2: It has actually been shown, in Sonic Boom at least, that Cubot has no problem using weapons and actually has decent aim as long as he knows what he's actually supposed to be shooting at. The fact that the (lovably) dumber, clumsier and generally more incompetent of the two has this capability is interesting.

Point #3: Cubot was supposed to have an Al very similar to Orbot. We don't know why, but for some reason, he somehow ended up a lot less capable than Orbot is most times, despite having the same Al and OS and all that. Maybe Eggman wanted to dial back the attitude but ended up dialing back everything on accident, or Cubot was the first attempt and Orbot's just managed to be more competent, we don't know.

Thinking about these three points, the concept is, what if the reason Cubot is bigger and somehow skilled in weaponry despite not being a bot meant for combat is that he was built to be a bodyguard or something similar for Eggman, but whatever happened that made his Al so drastically different meant that he just was too “dumb” to be able to fulfill that job? Because of this he was stripped of any weapons he might've had and memories he could've gotten during that short time as a bodyguard/soldier/fighter were erased (which is canon to be an actual thing Eggman does to him and Orbot on the regular) and he was just made to be a lackey.

If we are going with Sonic Boom canon specifically, there's a few things that probably need to change. For example, with Boom, we now have some background on Cubot - namely, the Cubot prototypes.

In this scenario, it was probably certain prototypes that were originally built to be for defense, but the idea was scrapped after he could not get them to be intelligent and the design was changed to better fit an unarmed, cowardly servicebot. Cubot's abilities with weapons could be the residual effect of leftover code that never got deleted, just disabled to save time. This leftover programming could also explain the scene where it seems like Cubot may have been previously ordered or programmed to shoot Eggman's clone if one ever appeared.

In Boom, Orbot was also canonly built after Cubot. Which means Eggman figured out how to make this type of Al at least semi-competent. Which means that it could be possible someday that he may want to reattempt the idea of a bodyguard/defense shapebot, now that he's closer to making them smart enough to not destroy themselves but not smart enough to go against him.

TL;DR: Cubot’s large size and ability with weapons may be due to him and/or his prototypes being originally built as a bodyguard or soldier, but the idea was scrapped because of his imperfect AI.

#orbot and cubot #cubot #text post #long post #headcanon #cubot headcanons #backstory headcanons #tw memory tampering mention #sonic the hedgehog #sth #this is one of my oldest hcs. its helped to inspire several stories and aus of mine #Abandoned Soldier

[nevadancitizen]

random player hc’s :)

synopsis: headcanons i came up with when i wasn’t feeling well

word count: 1.1k

characters: sanford, hank, deimos, 2bdamned, player! reader

trigger warnings: cursing and yandere is a blanket statement for all of them but most have a tw in the topic line

notes: @saltymongoose delivers this to you via carrier pigeon (also most of these can be read as either before or after the player enters nevada unless specified)

calling 2bdamned ‘oynon’: (tw: smoking ment.)

after a cutscene or something where doc is doing doctor-ly things, the player says “thank you, oynon!!” and doc just clings to it like a lifeline because he thinks it’s some type of lovey pet name. like spoiler alert bestie it’s literally just a title of respect for doctors in some slavic countries 😭😭

deimos mocks him because he’s mad he doesn’t have a “pet name” of his own so when doc patches him up he says “thanks, onion” really sarcastically and doc is just standing there like “i could literally replace your lungs with plastic convenience store bags and it would be an improvement. honestly 😐”

looking through the camera: (none)

in the middle of some building, hank is about to get rushed so the player is like “look up!!” but hank looks directly at them with a stare that pierces through the camera and while hank is being attacked the player is just like “😀 uh okay” and continues to play despite there being a weird feeling in their gut 

like dude that’s not a feeling that’s a fact!!

other games seeping through: (tw: slight unreality)

if some of the other games on the player’s computer sort of leaked through because of the employer’s tampering.. i think it would be truly absurd teeheehee

like sanford is literally just trying to go out and get supplies but there’s this weird… thing, something labeled the polyhedron that’s shaped like a tornado and defies gravity like one. it reaches up to the skies from one fragile point, but as sanford approaches it, it disappears. the only comfort he has is the player’s voice: “hm, i guess they took inspiration from pathologic. i’ve actually been playing that in my spare time recently – it isn’t exactly stream-able. but the polyhedron… here? maybe the auditor has something to do with this…” so like. at least sanford knows he’s not alone in his confusion!!

but on a less serious note imagine someone like tom nook coming through and speaking animal crossing and the player having to translate for him 😭😭 

tom nook: *top one percent noises*

player: well you see hank there’s this thing called a mortgage

different dialect: (none)

the player’s dialect would be vastly different from the grunts’ so it sounds very different when they threaten other people but to their vessels it’s absolutely hilarious.. 

like imagine the player staring down some huge angry mag and going “i hope you choke on a motherfuckin’ cheesestick you nasty, greasy bitch! you look like you drink white gatorade and smell like nickels. fuck you” by god they would not be able to function properly after that let alone fight a mag

(no they do not know what cheese, gatorade, or nickels are but christ if that wasn’t the best thing the player has said ever)

deimos would try his best to commit that line to memory. as he’s trying to fall asleep that night he’s staring at the ceiling and goes “you look like you drink white gatorade and smell like nickels…” and he turns his head to the side and covers his mouth in an attempt to not laugh as loud as he normally would

i lov him can’t you tell

mentioning other streamers: (tw: jerma985 😧😧 /j)

so the vessels try to remember every place, person, and thing the player mentions and when they mention someone the vessels haven’t heard of before they listen especially closely and spot this:

“tell mister” – they’re laughing too hard to get the words out proper – “tell mister jerma985 that he is a sociopath and that he will not be allowed anywhere near me at the next con!” 

jesus fucking christ that was the wrong thing to say because they are scouring every document and every file they can get their hands on, searching for this absolutely vile man that dared to disrupt your life to the point of a restraining order. judging by the numbers on the end of his name he’s a clone, so he shouldn’t really be a problem

but some time goes by (many clones are killed) and the player is transported into nevada. when they summon their vessels they’re immediately like “we’ll protect you from jerma985, that nasty sonuvabitch” and the player is immediately like “jerma? that scrawny little white boy?? he could get blown over by opening his fridge too fast”

god if jerma got transported into nevada.. he would either be killed immediately or become king. there is no inbetween

being a student and streaming: (none)

this would take place after the player is transported into nevada 

okay so the player is also a student on top of streaming (how do they balance it? plot armor) but their major is really niche. something like restoration ecology or rangeland, wildlife and fisheries management 

and the player is obviously self-aware and is like “yeah most of my schooling doesn’t really apply in this world and i can’t make any real use of it” but their vessels are trying so hard to make them feel more useful than they already are 😭😭 like bro how do you top being a literal god

imagine doc walking up to the player with a handful of dirt and being like “i need to know what’s in this” and the player, who’s studying pedology, not even batting an eye, saying “well it’s red so there’s a lot of iron and clay in here and…” and they just don’t stop talking and doc is standing there with heart eyes 

no he doesn’t need to know what’s in the soil he’s a medicine doctor not a dirt doctor

i can also see doc being like “you said you’re a doctor, right? i need help with this surgery” and the player standing there like “yes i’m a doctor. a doctor in entomology”

bit goals and bedtime stories: (tw: suicide ment.)

the player having bit/sub goals and reading chat a bedtime story when they hit them would send the vessels into the atmosphere i think. or maybe it’s just your voice idk 

even if you were reading something dark or aesthetically unpleasant.. they would love it to the point of recording it. just listening to you reciting the words of a mourning man: “of course, that man can do anything he likes. his daughter has no fingers. did he hand her over? no, he kept her. he probably sees her. watches her grow up. plays with her. and his wife is alive. she didn’t hang herself with her tights. she’s not dangling from the ceiling. with her tongue sticking out… her black tongue.” 

sanford craves comfort and your voice is the perfect scratch to an itch he didn’t know he had. he has the recording as an mp3 and plays it on repeat when he can’t sleep 

if hank heard sanford listening to that without context he would deffo take solace in the fact that he’s not the only psychopath on base 

sorry to end on that note but i don’t have any more ideas 😔👍

#riptide writes 🌊 #madness combat 🆘 #sorry if there are typos i was watching my chickens while writing some of these #and i don't feel like going back and checking #quote in the last section is from the metro series btw #i've been looking back at my work before i read it and i can deffo see how glukhovsky has influenced my work #so pumped for tha movie.. anyway #madness combat #madcom #madness combat x reader #madcom x reader #deimos x reader #sanford x reader #hank j. wimbleton x reader #madness combat hank j wimbleton #madness combat deimos #madness combat sanford #self aware madness: project nexus au #sam:pn au #player! reader #yandere tw #yandere hank j. wimbleton #yandere deimos #yandere sanford

[shinescape]

drabble request 🥺 yunho + helping you to forget your horrible “first time” with a random stranger with your amazing “second time” with him please?

Title: Another Chance

Pairing: Yunho x Reader

tw: mention of suicide (once)

note: please when i got this I literally went 🥺. I hope no one ever has to go through something like this and to those who has *sending hugs*. Thank you for the request anon and enjoy this comfort drabble.

Yunho pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and smiled softly as he watched you eat the meal he ordered earlier on. You quietly munch on the food as you’re focused on the show playing on the television. Seeing you adorned in his cotton shirt from yesterday had him stared longer than usual.

The day before, you were crying your eyes out. He sat there listening to you explaining what had happened. Not a single word left his lips but you noticed how his fingers curled into tight fists.

“I want to kill myself, Yunho.” Your lips trembled as you whispered.

His eyes widened at your words. Never would he imagine that coming out of your mouth. As much as the incident raged him, he had to be level headed. For your sake, he’s holding himself back from going after that random stranger you had mentioned about.

You needed help and he happened to be there for you. With an exchange of what you’re comfortable and uncomfortable with, Yunho was determined to tamper the horrible memory with a new one that he promised would make you forget and you were glad he said nothing but assuring you that everything will be alright.

“Yun, do you want some?”

He blinked from his train of thoughts and automatically smiled at the way you tilt your head with a spoon in the air. He leaned over and took a bite as you stifled a laugh seeing how he still managed to get sauce over his lips.

“And you say I eat like a child.”

“We both eat like children then.”

There was a short silence as you went back to finish up the rest as Yunho leaned back on the chair and took glances over at you every now and then, making sure you’re okay. You were about to get up and put away the plate but Yunho was faster.

He cleared up everything and gave you a pointed look. “You should rest, I’ll do the rest, okay?” He took your silence as a yes and slipped inside the covers next to you after he placed the dirty plates on the counter.

Carefully he adjusted your position so you were resting on his chest and his back to the headboard. There were too many emotions running inside of you as you sat there staring blankly at the screen. You felt sad, content and embarrassed all at the same time but your best friend never showed any negative emotion right from when he found out about it until now.

He was neutral, so neutral you almost thought he was faking it. If he wasn’t there with you then, that horrible memory would be stuck in your head for life. It was your mistake as well for going through such length and agreeing to-

“Hey, what are you thinking so hard?” His voice surprised you which made you turn slightly to your side and looked up at him, brows knitted together.

“There was a funny scene but you were so quiet. Is everything okay?” He bit his lips nervously, searching your eyes. “Did I hurt you?” Shaking your head, a sad smile formed on your face as you felt his arms that were around your body tighten.

“You never hurt me, Yunho. I’m actually greatly ashamed of myself but I’m glad I told you about it.” Placing your palm on his shoulder, you gave it a squeeze before continuing, “I’m sorry for making you do it with me. I just wanted to erase the memory so badly and you helped. I’m starting to not remember it.” You put a bit of pressure on his shoulder to lean up and pressed your lips briefly on his. “Thank you. I owe you for that.”

He lightly held your face and hit your forehead with his. “You owe me nothing but more kisses. Can I kiss you again?” He pressed your cheeks together and laughed. “Look at you, my favourite marshmallow.”

“Do you want to kiss me or what?” He laughed even more when your words came out gibberish instead of a proper reply. Yunho lightly caressed your cheek as he pressed another kiss on your lips.

“Let’s make more memories together, okay?”

#ateez imagines #ateez oneshots #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #yunho x reader #jung yunho #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #kpop scenarios #kpop drabbles

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

TW: Very blatant talk of death and age related disability/deterioration. Mentions of disassociation.

Gus the Theatre Cat watches with fading eyes as Grizabella slowly ascends, up higher and higher until she is no more than a pinpoint of light among the fading stars. Up past the Russell Hotel, and up far beyond the Jellicle Moon. Up beyond the bubble of atmosphere keeping them all grounded. Up to a place Old Deuteronomy cannot explain to them, though their soul has been there more than any other in recent memory.

There she will be happy again.  She will shed her crooked heel and matted coat and the black stains of her tears.  She will dance again, she will smile; there is no pain there, from what he understands. And once she has shed all previous inhibition, she will receive the greatest gift of all: a second chance. Perhaps she would look different, be practically unrecognizable, but she would live on in the twinkle of another eye.

And as it has always been, Gus remains, watching another life slip away. Watching, as he had for longer than most of his present company had been alive, as yet another piece of the past evaporates into smoke, slipping through his paws like sand. Another face he had seen with missing milk teeth and soft downy kitten fur, who had grown into her nose and paws only yesterday, gone in the blink of an eye.

And he feels...nothing.

Gus feels no joy, no malice, no jealousy, no pleasure.  Her Choosing had brought the same, contented nod as it always had, and little else. He does not shed tears - sad, happy or otherwise. Not a single one.

Instead, he continues to watch her waning star until it hurts his neck too much to do so.  

The rest of the Tribe is drifting now, the crowd thinning as the spectacle cools and the Jellicle Ball closes off another year. Soon, the Junkyard clearing will be quiet and empty once more. The kittens who were old enough to attend this year will be gathered (protests and all) into the communal den where the youngest are already sleeping. Cats who have other jobs to attend to will slip quietly into the early morning, contenting themselves to work with no sleep. Old Deuteronomy will come to speak with him once everyone has left, as they always had before, and then be led home by their son, and his second will keep watch until he returns. Soon, his own daughter will come to collect him as well, when she is finished elsewhere, and will bring him home. He would very much like to go home. The night is nearly over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a pair of kittens walking towards him, separating from the rest. No doubt, Gus can’t help but smile, milking the tail ends of their already late evening by paying him a visit. Why else would they pay him any mind? He distantly remembers those special nights - anything to stay awake just a little longer.

One crawls into his lap and rubs her face affectionately under his chin, while the older one remains grounded, leaning his head against his side.

Gus does not remember their names exactly, but he knows them. He smells his children behind their ears; he smells their own soft, sweet kitten smell, familial and familiar. The names go, the faces go, but he has been able to rely on his nose well into his twilight years. These particular kittens are his family, and if he can discern nothing else, he knows this at least. Not just any bedtime dodgers then, his very own bedtime dodgers. Perhaps, then, he will make an exception. He welcomes their company with curiosity tampered affection, resting a paw gently on the tom’s head, but cannot help how his gaze drifts back upwards towards the slowly diluting sky.

"Don't be sad, grandpa," the queenkit pipes up, very obviously fighting sleep, but with no shortage of her usual cheer. He feels her eyes staring up at him, mistaking his lack of focus for disappointment.

"I'm not sad, love. I'm tired."

"It's okay, you can come sleep over with us," she continues, wrapping her little arms around his torso, just shy of too tight. “You can even sleep in my bed! I’ll sleep with mummy.”

Gus pats her back. Sweet little thing, she was. "That's very kind of you to offer but…" He furrows his brow, considering his next words. "I think I'd rather my own bed."

She huffs, slowly digesting her disappointment. The proceeding silence is so long, Gus thinks, for a moment, that she’d fallen asleep. He himself feels the same pull. But soon, her voice cuts through the dwindling quiet of the early dawn once more.

“You’ll go next year, I’m sure.”

The tomkit at his side turns his face into his coat and exhales violently. He does not need to turn and look to see that he had started trembling against his ribcage.

Next year.

Gus catches the inside of his lip in his teeth. Suddenly, he can hardly breathe; it seems too heavy.  He’s so tired, so very, very tired. The thought of dragging himself through another year sounds excruciating, at the very best. 

He does wish, briefly, that he could, if only to make her happy; to make Jellylorum happy - wishes with no fleeting amount of genuine desire that he were a young cat again, or even just a younger cat - or that they were a little older, so they would understand. But Gus knows. He knows deep in bones that, at the rate he was going, he won't make it.

And, more confusing for them still, truth be told, is that he doesn't want to.

Gus vaguely recalls the tiny, far off voice of his youngest kitten, many such moons ago, marvelling that he must know everything. A standard thing for a daughter to claim of her father, and while Gus hardly knew everything, he knows enough. Nowadays, he knows what he needs to know, for the most part.

For example: the old theatre cat knows, with no shadow of a doubt, that he will not live to see another full moon in his lifetime. And he will especially not live to see this particular one again. The reality is bleak, but it is the truth. It causes some amount of pain, though very little on his own part, but the conclusion is certain: like a curtain falling after final bows, Gus is going to die.

Such is life with its inevitable end.

Harsher still in its reality: Gus is going to die, he is going to die soon, and he is ready to go.

Gus can feel it clawing at the corners of his mind; he has now for a while. The slow approach of death, at this point, felt…comfortable, almost, like a heavy blanket blocking the morning light. The old theatre cat was, frankly, barely more than a shadow of his former self, and it was something he was constantly having to be reminded of. On the days that are clearer, when the cobwebs have lifted slightly from his head, when he is able to process, he is acutely aware of this. He can no longer perform basic tasks, like feed or bathe himself; he cannot shake the dull ringing from his ears, or the permanent pins and needles sensation from his paw pads. Cannot dance, cannot perform, cannot teach without tiring himself out, and cannot tamper down on his shaking even if he tried. Even his voice is frayed and cracked beyond recognition now; he winces when he hears himself - he does not know that voice. Sometimes, he feels as though ants are crawling in their numbing rows up and down his limbs, as though he is wholly separate from this failing body, and he does not understand why - why was this happening? Why, when he looks in puddles and streaky glass window panes, does he see an elderly cat he does not recognize staring back at him?

He has been watching in the wings, powerless to stop it, each step towards being wholly robbed of his independence, of his greatest joys in life, one by one. Time has taken his pride right from under his nose. And for a cat whose once most treasured and steadfast possession was his pride, it is devastating. Though they assure him he is not, and he is grateful for their words, Gus feels more like a burden than anything else. And he so hates feeling that way. What he would give to have that independence back, to tackle the world as a young man; to relive every struggle and hardship and heartbreak just to experience the exuberant highs his life had given him just one more time.

So, he thinks, if that was the case why not hold on another year? Surely Deuteronomy would take pity on him, and surely lightning would not strike in the same bottle twice. There would be a chance for rebirth, of another life - this body would finally be put to rest and his soul would move to another, with the chance of getting to re-experience this new world through clearer eyes. He wouldn't need to rely on the saintly patience of his daughter, the careful gentleness of his last living friend, the fragility of the human companionship at the theatre. Gus could be something again, if the stories are true. Hadn’t he joked enough that maybe the Everlasting Cat had forgotten about him? How perhaps he hadn’t been loud enough for Her to hear?  Had he not done enough in his lifetime to deserve it?  

But when Gus considers this, he feels no happiness. Feels no determination or reinvigorated spirit of will at the possibility of relief; of rebirth. All it inspires in him is the complete opposite - he balks at it. It is terrifying. The thought of leaving and coming back, but never seeing these cats again? The thought of being so close and yet so far from his previous life that it was as though he saw it through strips of film and glass aquariums? The understanding that this world he was leaving and coming back to was not the world that he had loved once, many years ago? It was changing. Always and constantly changing. Some very much for the better - but some that made him feel, on occasion, as though he were a ghost stumbling in the knotted web of a future he had no business being part of. Most of his friends were gone; his mother and mates were gone (without even the promise of Heaviside). The cats he had left were slowly fading from his memory, and soon they, too, would become paper under flame, lost in the tangled thicket of his brain. Here and gone again.

He does not want to wait for next year because he does not want to go Heaviside. He does not want to be chosen. He does not want to live having forgotten. He does not want yet another thing to be taken from him beyond his control.

Gus sighs, but it is not a sad sigh; it is a sigh of acceptance. Of conclusion. He lets his worn head fall back down, catching the intent look on the queenkit's innocent face, still studying him with her cheek pressed to his chest. Etcetera, an echo reminds him, his dear little Etcetera. The one who looks just like her mother. Yes, he knows her - he just barely knows her. When had she gotten so big? Hadn't she just been born a few weeks ago?

Gus does not think she will understand if he tells her goodbye. He does not think she should understand just yet. Let her live, just a little longer, in the comfortability that every cat lived to die in effervescent fanfare; that they all would get their share if they were patient. That life, itself, was an endless, looping joy to be experienced, over and over again.

“We'll see, dear,” he says eventually.

Etcetera purrs as Gus shakily strokes her ears, oblivious to the understanding Gus has reached. She is with her grandfather, content enough to be there. And he is content to be with them, just a moment longer. He does not need his applause, his fanfare, or his curtain; the days of chasing those have long passed, as he has. If he feels the wet press of knowing tears on his side, he says nothing of it. If he sees his daughter and another cat who looks familiar, but he cannot place why, holding her arm out of the corner of his eye, he says nothing. He wonders if he should save all of his goodbyes; wonders if they are necessary. Hopes this is enough.

Gus had once excitedly quoted Dylan Thomas at his children in an effort to encourage their joie de vivre, timid things they had been once. He had held his whiskers up and lived by the words every day; Gus had loved his life, tragedies and all. He had no regrets. He hopes he’s instilled the same living exuberance in the grandkittens currently dozing on him; that they, too, would not tiptoe through life and bend to its will, but instead would face it head on with such blinding white exaltation, it would bend to their will.

Yet, as he recalls this, he cannot help thinking that going gently into the good night sounded, more than anything, exactly what he wanted. Quiet, peaceful, and willing. They would be alright. He was sure of it. 

“We'll just have to wait and see."

#again warning this is sad #CATS Musical #Gus the Theatre Cat #fanfiction #my fanfic #*takes a break from my fluffy romance requests to cry i guess* #there are a couple of implications here: #tumble is the tomkit who is reacting with far more awareness of the grave severity of the situation because he’s older #his father explained the likelihood of their grandfather no longer being with them if he were not chosen this year #and tumble understands this but he’s still just a teenager - it hurts him #gus does not remember his son and does not remember much of his other grandsons and grandaughter #gus understands - to some extent - that this is their last night together - he feels it #ergo he does not want etcetera (or any of them) to experience that firsthand #so - in tandem of not wanting to be a bother - refuses the offer of staying with them overnight even though it would be much easier #than walking all the way back #anyway it's just....it's JUST #i'm sorry i told you all not to let me watch documentaries about elders with dementia anymore #i also thought about my nonna while i wrote this tmi

[melodyofthevoid]

Neural Networks: Hell for Everyone (except the network)

So.... got around to writing a thing for the little pet au @faithfulwhispers and I got cooking. Enjoy some 3rd person fuckery. Small tw for dehumanizing (depersonalizing?) language, as the Control Brains kinda don’t see Zib as a... thing. 

They, as a collective, rarely did not know exactly what to do and how to go about what they needed for the empire.

Thousands of years of rule would do that, the knowledge accrued by eons of Irkens helping to push their influence ever outwards, even as the figure heads occasionally acted in ways that ran counter to their wishes. It was alright, they knew what would come in time.

So, when the strange… creature spat and cursed in a language barely translated by their database, thrashing in its bounds, they for once did not understand what they beheld. It was not Irken, not entirely at least. Yet a PAK glowed a violent fuchsia on the back of its large head.

After some time, they had asked for its designation and title, only for it to say a name that did not exist in their registry. A name it’d given itself seemingly. A cursory examination of the PAK revealed it belonged to one Food Service Drone Zim, yet it went by “Dib Membrane” in spite of the PAK.

When an Irken died, or rather, their vessel died, it wasn’t uncommon for them to attach to an organic or inorganic creature for survival. Here though, the… human as it was called, remained cognizant, even dominant in the head space despite the slow metamorphosis of its body. It boasted of tampering with the device and overcoming the personality within. 

Alarm had flooded their system further when they plugged into the PAK to observe the memories within, finding a long trail of destruction and hatred for the empire, a being capable of, in more than one universe, destroying anything in its path. And the virus. The virus that could do what they had never quite succeeded at. Complete and utter devotion. Without question or flaw. 

They debated what best to do with the thing before them, how to rid themselves of this blight, when the thing mentioned a tallest. Their tallest, in reference to the being it normally called “father”. The slip was brief, but it intrigued them. Somewhere, beneath the human, the loyalty programming remained. Pieces of Irken interwoven into the being. Not quite enough to render them a viable soldier or drone under regular circumstances, but enough of one for other purposes.

It was then one of them remembered their plans for a fully subservient Irken, one whose PAK ran deeper than the rest. In more ways than one. Of course, the plan had never quite come to fruition because of the… obvious nature of the results. Not only would the subject be entirely loyal to the brains, and the brains alone, but the tendrils of the PAK needed to run along more of the body, which would raise questions among those who did not fully trust their rule.

A drone would interact with the public and be seen. This, this could merely be deemed an experiment. Excusable. A tool for the Empire should it succeed and another obstacle eliminated should it fail.

Good.

Plugging their tendrils back into their new project’s PAK, they hummed, and examined the physiology, what had and had not shifted, ignoring the panicked shouts and writhing of the human-Irken hybrid in their grasp. Those would quiet down soon enough. 

Then they did what they did best.

While in their years they had yet to encounter anything like this… “Dib”, they knew PAKs. And though it once belonged to the bane of the empire, one whose data threatened to corrupt them entirely, there was nothing more simple than reprogramming.

They knew what to do with that.

#my writing #Invader Zim #zib #this was a lot of fun #hope you all enjoy #*blows kiss*

[angst-art-writing]

Burn It Down

TW: Abusive father, addictive substances(drinking, smoking.), fire, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, reference to abuse/torture.

"What do you mean she's gone?"

"I mean exactly what I said! She's gone! Vanished! Out of sight! Do you need more synonyms, dumbass?"

Artemis listened to the voices from below the window she had just slipped out of, recognizing only Tobias's. The other was unfamiliar, but male it sounded. He had been the one to call Tobias a dumbass; Dude must have some big balls.

Artemis set her bow over her shoulder as she began to walk, all while trying to control the shakiness of her hands. She still listened to the two’s conversation.

"How long ago did she leave?" Tobias was asking.

"I don't know, hours? She's long gone-"

Nope, ten minutes.

"Did you check the cameras?"

"We don't HAVE cameras!"

"We should really get on…”

Their voices faded away completely as Artemis headed away from the large building. She found that the room she had been in was underground, an abandoned lab from who knows how long ago.

She exhaled slowly and turned, sticking to the shadows. If anyone asked her about her outfit she could just play it off as a crummy costume from some convention. No one outside of the Reapers would recognize it anyways. Besides, only people who absolutely had to be out were out this early in this city. It was a strict rule to keep your eyes ahead and away from others if you wanted to avoid trouble.

With every step she made down the route to her house, her feet felt heavier and chills shook her whole body, despite the night hardly being cold. She flexed her fingers anxiously. The sun had begun to set already; She was way past curfew. She tried not to think about the consequences she’d be forced to face.

Artemis exited out of the main part of the city, dwelling into the darker parts of it. The parts no one cared about. Shiny windows decorated with plants became guarded with wood and tattered curtains, green lawns turning yellow and shiny toys outside turning into broken, dull ones. There were not many people outside, just people smoking and drinking out in their porches as usual. A thick scent of smoke coated the air. So thick that you could taste it.

Artemis turned on her street, pausing in front of her house. It was old, two-story and decaying. Old broken toys and tools were to one side in a pile, the grass yellowing and dry. An old rocking chair with peeling paint sat still on the porch. One of the windows was cracked and had been ‘fixed’ with wood plastered onto the cracks.

Artemis dug her nails into her palms, sighing shakily as she stepped over the peeling painted gate and headed up to the door, stepping on the old cigarettes littered on the porch. She frowned, pushing away memories of being used as an ashtray, pushing away the faint sting of the burns. She still had the little circular scars.

The door opened with a squeak as she slipped in, shutting the door as quietly as possible. If she was lucky, her father would be asleep still-

"Artemis."

Nope. No luck. There never was good luck, but one could only hope. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

The gruff voice came from the living room. Artemis slowly turned and walked over, standing in the doorway. Jair, her father, sat on the couch- staring at the TV. Artemis didn't look at him either and instead focused on the bottles and cans around, amongst other trash. Her foot tapped quietly on the sticky wood tiles.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She could hear the faint anger in his voice.

Artemis struggled to answer. She just stared down- staring without really seeing.

His voice rose.

"Well?"

"I.." She swallowed and forced the words out, making sure not to stutter. "I got caught. They tampered with my list, and I was caught in a trap."

"Who is this 'they'?"

"They're.. Pa..Peter Fredrick. Peter Fredrick." The lie rolled off her tongue before she could even stop it. She could feel her ears heat up underneath her hair- A dead giveaway that she was lying. Why was she even protecting Paige? She didn't have an answer for herself, just that it felt...

"'Peter Fredrick'," Jair repeated. He finally looked at her, dark eyes glaring. Artemis glanced up and merely nodded. He got to his feet slowly, shaking his head. His eyes were red. "You're still late. You missed curfew. We sent people out to look for you. And you made me, and Vincent, look bad. We stayed up late looking for your sorry ass.”

Artemis looked down at the floor, frozen to the spot. She could hear him moving closer but she didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

"I'm sorry-"

"Sorry doesn’t cut it!" He shouted. And right at the end of that sentence a bottle came down upon Artemis's head, shattering. She yelped and crumpled right to the floor, a hand moving her head before a boot slammed into her side- Sending her back into the hallway.

The floor darkened as Jair's shadow loomed over Artemis. Artemis sat there and took it. It was better than trying to reason. It was easier than trying to explain yourself to someone who wouldn’t listen.

----

"Tomorrow morning we're going to the base,” Jair had told her when he was done seething. Then he sat his ass back on the couch and stared blankly at the Tv again, as if nothing had ever happened.

Artemis had snuck out later that night. It was risky, of course. Very risky- especially when he was pissed at her. But she just wanted to clear her head. Desperately, she wanted to return back to the warehouse, for the first time in forever, but Paige was going to be there. Not worth getting caught again.

She dreaded going to the base tomorrow. Jair was bad, yes. But Vincent wasn't drunk and he didn't swallow all his anger away with a bottle and then explode, no. Vincent let it sit, took it out on her and what was worse? He grew to know her. He knew exactly how to get to her, exactly what made her shake and cower. He was so unpredictable, so knowledgeable.

Artemis had ended up a few blocks away with the hoodie of her jacket pulled over her head. She was sitting on someone else's roof, her back turned to where her house was. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but she only saw Vincent’s pale eyes.

She wrapped her arms around her torso, barely even noticing her nails digging into herself. Her eyes opened after a second and she saw the ground. She was right on the edge. She didn’t know how long she had been there, just that it was a while. She continued to stare at the ground.

What would happen if she...Accidentally slipped? Hit her head a little too hard..?

She shook her head. She wasn't going to let a rich man outlive her- And she wasn't going to be a reaper forever. Right? A bitter taste filled her mouth and she let that hope die right away. Where else would she go? They would search for her until they found her, and then they’d drag her right back. Vincent’s eyes appeared when she closed hers again. The image of Vincent's blue eyes was replaced by Paige's. She pursed her lips and then hugged her knees to her chest. What would've happened if she had accepted their offer..? But also, what if it was merely a trick?

"Woah, do you see that?"

Her thoughts were interrupted by the voices down below. She looked to the side and saw two teenagers on a sidewalk, pointing in the direction her back faced.

"Holy shit, is that a fire?"

Fire?

Artemis turned and looked. Her blood turned to ice under her skin.

She got to her feet quickly, her eyes locked on the growing orange glow-her house- Burning in the middle of the night. She then turned and jumped down the roof carefully, sprinting towards the house. She was ten minutes away, but every second counted right now. Dad���s in there.

How did I not notice? How did I miss the smoke? How could I have been so stupid, so fucking stupid- To leave Jair ALONE-

Her boots pounded against the sidewalk as she ran towards her house. In no time, she was there. People were gathered around, peering from their porches and behind their fences. She heard someone say they had called an ambulance, but they'd never be here in time, she knew.

She turned to someone nearby, a neighbor. "Is he still in there? My dad?" She questioned, voice high with fear and uncertainty.

"Yeah-"

Once it was confirmed Artemis ran past their gate and directly into her house before anyone could say anything, directly into the flaming house. She had felt someone grab her arm but she tugged away harshly and went in.

Immediately she was greeted with a powerful wave of heat and smoke, making her eyes water and her nose scrunch. She moved her elbow over her nose, the orange flames licking at her and her vision as she quickly moved through. She took big steps quickly.

"Dad!" She called, her voice muffled by the crackling noise and her own elbow. She shot a glance towards the living room. Nothing. The kitchen- Nothing. The heat turned everything into waves.

Lungs starting to ache and stomach twisting she made her way up the stairs. She went quickly. The ceiling groaned above her and the stairs threatened to split underneath her feet, amidst all the crackling of the flames.

"Dad!" He’s all I have.

She wondered if he could even hear her, or maybe he had ran off already and no one had seen. Her vision was blurred with her own tears as she went for the first door upstairs, his room. She reached for the handle and turned it; Not even minding the sting it sent shooting up her fingers.

"Dad! What're you-" There he was, just in the room. His figure was wavy and danced with the flames, his back facing her. He looked lifeless amongst the live flames. Artemis went forward and then grabbed his arm. No use in asking now, she just needed to get out. Fast.

She heard him tell her something but the roar of the flames grew louder and turned his voice into nothing more than a muffle sound as she hurriedly pulled him out, heading back down the stairs with him. There was the splintering noise of wood as she took another step and she shrieked, her foot sinking down and scraping against the sharp pieces of wood.

Surprisingly, she felt Jair grab her arm in a strong hold and pull her up, skin scraping against the wood yet again. Clenching her jaw and holding her father's arm tighter, she jumped down and began to head back the way she came, but it was hardly recognizable. It was all orange and brighter than before.

All that she could see were big pieces of wood hugged by flames, spiraling and twisting. It was a walk straight into an oven.

Back door.

Turning she led her father through the kitchen quickly, forcing open the back door and into the backyard. The flames had not reached that part, but the heat did. She ran through, past the gate and didn't stop until she no longer felt the intense heat. They paused at a corner of a sidewalk, catching their breath and coughing.

Artemis cast a glance at her father. His arm was red, burned. Artemis wanted to collapse but she held herself upright. Tears streamed down her face and she shook violently. She turned away from their house. The heat of it stung on her arms as if it was still clinging to her. Jair hadn’t said anything.

Her father moved closer, and she didn't move away. He hugged her, but Artemis still felt nothing. She couldn't. She could hear blood rushing in her ears and her heart pounding rapidly still. The fire still cracked behind them and the smell of smoke wouldn’t leave her nose. She fell to her knees and rubbed her eyes.

Jair stepped closer and she sensed him kneeling down with her. She felt his arms wrap around her then, pulling her into an embrace. She wanted to lean into him, relieved they had gotten out alive. But still, she couldn’t find it inside of her to do so. So she just sat there in silence.

"I'm sorry," he said, and all she could do smell was the sour alcohol on his breath.

#writing #oc writing #whumo #whump #whump prompt #sinners and saints #whumpee #whumper

[sunshinesukuna]

codename: agent k

✯  pairing: spy!kuroo x reader

✯  genre: flangst

✯  tw: guns, mentions of assassination and organized crime.

✯  summary: you’re a spy trying to capture a mysterious person by the identity of “agent k.” who would’ve thought you’d be catching feelings instead?

✯  inspired by: 特務J (Agent J) - jolin tsai, goodnight n go - ariana grande, my oh my - camilla cabello 

✯  nnyeyeahahldalsalsa i feel like a british royal after writing this omggg. and hey, crossover pt. 2! worked really hard on this, so i hope you like it!

Venice, 22:16 CET (GMT+2)

The stench of the rich was never as pungent as this moment right now. Wine glasses caught the twinkling shine of the diamond chandelier above as the people below mingled with one another. Ornate masks decorated with all manner of feathers and rhinestones obscured the identities of the rich elite atendees.

You had to give it to the organizer, the party was sort of fun. You would have definitely joined in, if you hadn’t had a job to do. By the grace of the government’s connections, you had managed to score an invitation. Not without intention of course. You weren’t here to get drunk and bathe in jewels, no.

The Fukurodani Syndicate was a group of organized crime groups that converged into one, taking the name of the original syndicate. They consisted of Nekoma, Fukurodani, and Karasuno. With new leads coming in over the course of several months, the government had reason to believe that one of the leaders of the Syndicate would be here. His name was Agent K, and he would be your target tonight.

“Ah! Marie!” a voice called out from behind you. You did a double take. But you remembered that you were not (Y/N), you were a woman named Marie Sourice.

The invitation you had obtained was addressed to a French businesswoman named Marie Sourice. The real Marie would have no clue that she was invited to the event, much less that someone had gone in her stead.

So you turned around and smiled graciously. The organizer of the event was a stout old man that had a taste for the Venetian arts of mask making. Thus the masquerade theme. Despite all the obscured identities, the man was easily recognizable through his booming voice and his name tag that read “Giovanni.”

“Giovanni!” you called out, doing your best to match a French accent. Giovanni gave you two kisses on the cheek. 

“’Ow ‘ave you been, my old friend?” you asked. Giovanni replied with a bubble of laughter and something that couldn’t register in your ear because you were transfixed with the tall figure next to him.

“Meet the son of a good friend of mine.” The figure came to a halt right next to Giovanni. “His name is—”

“Mr. Bakugou Katsuki.” The figure’s voice was deep with a ringing timbre that would suit an opera singer.  You eyed his wild black hair. Was this Agent K? Agent K was never really one to disguise himself in any of his little encounters. But the mask and the lavish clothes made it hard to tell. Something warm landed on your hand. This man was kissing your hand. 

“Mademoiselle,” he said. Mysterious ebullience danced in his eyes. Perhaps there was more emotion in his face, but his bejeweled mask hid it all. Secrets danced in between the garnets like they did in a sinning man’s heart.

“He works in the IT industry,” Giovanni said.  “Who knows, maybe you two could strike up a deal, grow your companies,” he cupped his hands around his lips, “light a new flame.” Giovanni’s show whispering was awkward at best. You flashed both of them a reluctant smile. 

Giovanni took a look at his sparkling golden watch that did not go with that mask of his. “Look at the time! My other guests shall be arriving soon.” He turned over to Bakugou. 

“Shall I leave you two alone? The music will start at twelve o’clock. I assure you, no Cinderellas will be here.” 

“Of course, sir,” Bakugou said. 

This man is Agent K, a voice speaks in the back of your mind. But the others tamper it down as reason takes over. Agent K was a fast worker, and any objective of his should be in the process of being fulfilled, or is already fulfilled by now. Was this man just having fun with you? Or was he part of a larger plan? 

But time only confirmed your suspicions. He talked exactly like Agent K, he moved exactly like Agent K, he even smelled like Agent K. The same poison that laced Agent K’s words dripped off the ones from this man.

“Miss Sourice?” he asked. 

“Yes, Mr. Bakugou?”

“Have you ever experienced a first love?”

“I—” You catch yourself as you are about to answer. “Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?” Amusement crawls up his face, but there are hints of longing, and perhaps... mourning? 

“It was... unlike anything you could ever imagine.”

Your job as a spy was to lie, lie, lie all the way through. But your words dripped in pure candor as old memories came flooding back.

Tokyo, 13:00 JST (GMT+9) 9 years prior

The air was rich with the scent of chocolate and sugar. He set his bag down near the couch and followed the source of the scent to the kitchen. You were stooped over the counter. A tray was set over to the side filled with chocolate covered strawberries drizzled in more chocolate.

“Are you going to eat that?” he asks. He swoops in for the catch, to find himself firmly rebuffed by a swat on the wrist.

“Hands. Off! I. Put. My. Blood. Sweat. And. Tears. Into—” Each word is followed by a fist on his back. He shields his body with his arms from the raining torrent of ruthless punches.

“Ow! Ow! Stop it, you violent woman!” You don’t stop. With each playful punch, you corner him over to the couch, where he collapses in defeat. You sit down next to him and take off your apron. 

“You started it!” you said.

“Didn’t I earn it?” Before you know it, he’s suddenly on top of you. His warm breath, mixed with the heating inside the house. draws sweat from your skin. He cocks his head to the side, as if challenging you.  Your shoulders rise up from the couch at the provocation, but he pushes them back down to the soft leather ever so easily.

“Miss Second Place,” he whispers, lips oh so close to your ears. You gasp at the reminder of your devastating defeat to him last week during finals. That’s enough. You raise your hips up from under him. But he’s faster and stronger than you. As your knee rises up to kick him, he shoves them down with immense force. He reasserts his position above you.

“Besides, it’s Valentine’s tomorrow,”  he says. You sigh. Even if you gave him just one, there would be no guarantee that he would stop at just one. 

“One. Just one.” you say. He pulls himself off of you and sashays over to the kitchen. Keeping an eye on him is pointless, but you do have to finish decorating the rest of the strawberries anyways. He makes it a point to exaggerate his gestures and facial expressions. You want to slap him all the same.

He notices your irritated face.  “I wasn’t going to give any of them to you,” you say. 

“Oh? Then who are they for?”

“People that are not you.” He lets out a groan and puts a hand over his heart.

“I’m hurt,” he complains. You roll your eyes as he buckles to the ground in pain, holding his crotch.

Osaka, 21:00 JST (GMT+9) 8 years prior

The dingy motel’s lights blinked from inside your room. Water dripped down onto the tiled floors as you closed the door. The roar of the torrents of rain enveloped Osaka. Which is what led you to take shelter in this motel for the night. 

It seemed a little shady, since the only room you both had been able to get was one with a small queen bed. And that was ok, actually. There was a whimsical feeling about running through the streets in heavy rain, troubles washed away like dirt on the road. What you weren’t keen on was the person that you would be sharing that bed with.

“I call dibs!” he shouted. He dropped his luggage to the ground as you collapsed on the couch. Your wet hair was splayed out on the couch, turning it soggy. Sighing, you got up and decided to make yourself comfortable.

He didn’t take long to shower. Steam came out of the bathroom, shrouding the shirtless figure that walked out of it. A soft white towel rested around his neck, and another sat on his hips.

Six years of volleyball could do wonders to a man’s body. Muscles cultivated from the sport finally found their place in the limelight of your eyes. You could feel your mouth water a bit. A sheen of sweat started forming on your temples.

He saw your reflection in the mirror in front of the bed. “Like what you see?” he asked.

You scoff and roll your eyes as you continue taking your stuff out of the luggage. The bed groans under his weight as he sits down. 

“I’ve seen you shirtless a lot of times before,” you said. At least that was true. You think back to bathing together as kids, putting gauze on his chest when he got into a fight. “I’m okay with it, why shouldn’t I be? It doesn’t gross me out.”

There is a loud bang, and now your body is sandwiched between the wall and his body, still dripping with water from the shower. He doesn’t smell any different than usual, but your nose cannot help but pick up the soft tangs that make up his scent. Sweat. Grilled salted mackerel pike that he loved so much. The orange flavored hotel soap.

Common sense is screaming for you to keep your eyes on his, but the wonder that is his body after puberty lures you in deeply. His smoldering gaze locks you in place in between his arms. 

“Do you not see me as a man?” 

The question is short, but it encapsulates everything going on between you two. “Am i still the kid that pushed you off your bike back in 2nd grade? You still see me as a kid?”

Did you? A small inkling inside of you said yes — the same part that would cry when pushed over the edge and still couldn’t fend for herself. He would forever be the bumbling kid that knew no better to that part of you. The other voice said the opposite. You could only stare blankly at him as your heartbeat got faster every second.

“Would you like for me to see you as a man?” you asked. He cocked his head to the side.

“Yes.” No one dared move an inch. The atmosphere was Pandora’s box, ready to be opened and the evil inside unleashed.

He lowered his head so that his lips were on the same level as yours. His breath tickled your nose. “May I?” he asked.

Without giving him an answer, you pressed your lips onto his.

Venice, 23:34 CET (GMT+2)

“Shall we dance?” he asks. 

He’s cunning, not even giving you anytime to think. He’s pinched you in between the incoming stream of guests. Either you’re forced to carry out this twisted dance with him, or risk losing all your leads on him. 

“Why of course, I love to dance!” You swear your brain is on autopilot right now. His hands are suddenly on your waist and shoulder. The music starts.

The light of the chandelier reflects red figures on his face from the garnets on his mask. His smile and eyes are the only windows to his mind, and even those are kept shut with a lock of mischievousness.  

The conductor raises his baton. Like a well-oiled machine, the dance floor becomes alive. It’s a dizzying array of whisks, twists, and turns. Fortunately, this Kozume man has enough grace to keep both of you on your feet. 

“And who is this acquaintance, lucky enough to grace the heart of a man like you?”

“Her name is (Y/N) (L/N).”

That was all it took for you to confirm everything about this man. It was Agent K in the flesh, no doubt. He flashes you a smile from under his mask. To the sane person, it would simply look like a normal smile, but after years of running after Agent K.... you were sure that debonair smile belonged to him.

Making you feel like you have him cornered, then disappearing again. It’s a reiterating game of cat and mouse.  You swore to yourself that you would end it tonight.

The music’s tempo changes. You’re suddenly thrust into the arms of another man in a mask. Agent K is just a few feet away from you, a new woman in his grasp. He shoots you a glance before continuing his dance.

But the trills of a flute breaks the silence, and he’s disappeared from the room. Classic Agent K. The woman that was his dance partner also looks around in confusion, but she is quickly distracted by what seems to be her third bottle of wine of the night. You swear you spot Agent K’s garnet encrusted mask on the other side of the room. But the cellos play their euphony again, and Agent K is gone.

You mutter a few apologies to your dance partner and stalk off. Agent K’s coattails flap in the wind as he turns a corner. His footsteps reverb against the wooden walls. They turn silent as he treads over the velvet carpets. 

No one is in vicinity by now. The cheerful chatter was left behind in the ballroom, as your target leads you up a winding staircase. Whistling noises come from several flights above you. He knows you are here. 

Paintings on the wall stare at you accusingly. Their eyes on you only accentuate the adrenaline that is building up in your bloodstream. You pay them no mind and fix your eyes on Agent K’s ascending figure. 

The creak of a door alerts you to his sudden movement. Is he escaping into a room? But a gust of cold wind and the sounds of the city welcome you to the rooftop of the building.

The only source of light was a dingy bulb covered by moth eggs. You could barely make out his figure in the dark, but his spiky black hair meant that that was definitely Agent K.

No one was on the rooftop at this time of night. It was just you and him then. This was your chance. 

The original plan was to slip something in his drink, but you knew from experience that he would never fall for that. You glance at the city, sound asleep below. Traffic lights blink here and there. The perfect opportunity. A simple push from this height would do it. 

“So we meet again,” he said. You take the high heels off your feet and stalk over towards him. He’s leaning over the railing, head on the edge like he’s tired but still wants to enjoy the scenery. He makes no sudden moves of attack. You assume the same position, cupping your head in your hands.

“What does Bokuto want from me this time?” Bokuto was one of the leaders of the Fukurodani Syndicate, and a childhood friend of Agent K. The one that created it all. And the one you would have to take out after you took Agent K out.

“Must we burden our enemies every time we meet?” Agent K turned around to meet your eyes. His fingers ran over the smooth stone of the railing.  “That crazy owl doesn’t want anything this time. He just wants me to get to you before Ushiwaka or Oikawa do.” 

You raised an eyebrow before rolling your eyes. “Pssh. Hurry up and kill me.” To emphasize your point, you put your hands up in mock surrender.

Agent K smirked before moving closer to you. The lock of hair in your eyes, brought there by the wind, was moved to the side by his gloved fingers. The garnet mask that was the only barrier between a huge lead and potential failure stood tantalizingly before you. You had half a heart to tear it off his face. No. You needed to draw this out.

“Not before I indulge in a conversation with the subject of my affections.” Classic Agent K. Agent of Mischief both in and out of the bedroom, they said. You tilted your head to the side.

“Quite the suave man, aren’t you?”

His laughter was a boyish chuckle that did wonders to his usually intimidating face. He had a dimple on his left side, you noticed. What fun were you having, fraternizing with the enemy. But you couldn’t seem to pull away from him.

“I do enjoy thinking of my self as such, my lady,” he replied. You folded your hands over your chest.

“How many women have snuggled their way into your bed with that silver tongue of yours?” 

It was an open secret that he was a ladies man, the rumors only being more and more obvious as he was spotted at the many red light districts he was spotted at.

“None.” Well that was new. He could be lying, though. 

“Then... how many women do you intend to court with your smooth words?”

“Just one, sweetheart.” The words rolled off his tongue like they were made to be said by him, and only him. 

“And who might that be?” 

“You. Miss (Y/N) (L/N)” You scoff. No way were you about to be put on that long list of women. You walked closer to him.

“As if. When you manage to kill me, and thwart the—” Agent K was chuckling as you rambled on, trying to prolong the interaction. He put a finger over your lips. 

“That is merely a misbegotten attempt to humiliate the both of us. Does it really look like that from the sidelines?” 

What? This was Agent K. Known for his ability in twisting, turning, and confusing the hell out of his enemies. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Humiliate? I— what else would it be?”

“Well,” he peeled his mask back, “being sent out to eliminate your first love isn’t quite a job for the lily-livered, isn’t it?”

Under the mask, there was the familiar mischievous smile, the observant eyes, and the same smirk from years ago. He discarded the garnet mask over the railing. 

“Kuroo?” The sheer shock at his revelation was enough to send you stumbling back. “You’re... Agent K?” 

"I wouldn’t be anyone else, darling.”

Hands reach out from behind you to find something to hold on to. The knot in your stomach has only gotten tighter and tighter since this whole ordeal started. You don’t know how to process the feelings racing through your heart right now. How could he? Leave you all those years, then come back to you like this? How dare he? But the sounds of the party are coming closer and closer to the rooftop, and a police siren is wailing down below. Kuroo notices it too.

“I do hope that we can meet again, under, ah,” he adjusted his gloves, “more appropriate circumstances.”

“Until then,” he said. He inched his body closer to yours. The scent of old wine and cologne clung to his body. Kuroo pressed his lips onto your forehead.  “goodnight, little angel.”

He tips his lanky body ever so close to the edge of the building, before succumbing to the effects of gravity. Strangely enough, you find yourself reaching out to him. His name on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out. 

The wind whips through his hair as he falls through the night air. Then suddenly, he’s not there anymore. The roar of a helicopter from above indicates Kuroo’s savior has come. Kuroo’s suit clad figure hangs from a dangling ladder below the aircraft. He catches your eye for a moment. A gallant smile graces his lips, but it strikes you as rather...disingenuous. 

Kuroo climbs up the ladder and disappears inside the helicopter. The blinking lights fade into the stars above as the wind leaves your lungs. Damn you, Kuroo, you curse in your mind. The fresh air does little to clear the haze in your mind at the situation that just unfolded. Several minutes pass by, with you trying to take deep breaths. You pick up your discarded mask and put it back on. As you leave the roof, you swear his cologne still lingers in your nose.

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #au #mafia au #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu au #kuroo au #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo fluff #kuroo angst #kuroo oneshots #kuroo imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshots #nekoma #nekoma x reader #hq #tetsurou kuroo #tetsuro kuroo #angst #first love #spy au

[a-lonely-tatertot]

Finding Home

A/N: Introducingggggg AMY and linh! it gets gay at the end dont worry, once again thanking @bookwyrminspiration for betaing for me!

Tw: mention of injuries and some phantom pains (is that what they’re called??)

Word count: 2279

Chapter 2: Runaway

A month and an accepted roommate later, she got to remember she was Sophie for a minute. Sophie before everything happened. She saw her sister for the first time since their parents were kidnapped and it knocked the breath out of her. Short, bright pink hair blowing around her set face, Amy’s wide eyes stared up at the apartment complex. 

The stairs passed in a blur as Sophie barreled down them almost tripping over her feet on the way down. Amy, her Amy. “Amy!” she yelled barreling into her sister. A moment too late she thought it would be extremely awkward if it wasn’t Amy.

But it was, and she hugged her tighter than ever. Sophie buried her head in Amy’s short hair taking in the comfort of her sister. “You smell weird,” she whispered.

“Missed you too, sis,” Amy chuckled lightly. 

“Dyed your hair and got glasses?” Sophie said, pulling away and holding her at arm's length. 

“Sorry, are we not going to address the fact that you’re passing as human? Under my original name?” Amy asked.

“Uh yeah guess I’ve got a bit of explaining to do.” Sophie rubbed the back of her neck.

“Oh yeah, but over coffee, because I was not ready to see my sister for the first time in over ten years,” she laughed, “And I need a lot more energy cause we have a lot of talking to do.”

So they talked and talked until the sun set behind the skyline and the street lights flickered on empty roadways. They talked until they were out of coffee to drink and snacks to eat and stars to count. 

Sophie could barely pay attention to the first day of classes. Every flash of strawberry blonde and soft eyes sent her back. Back to bright mornings and weird lockers and one on one classes. But not only that; it sent her back to her friends. Dex appeared in the ramblings of Jena, one of Amy’s many friends who could talk for hours about chemicals and science. He clouded her memory when she walked into Chemistry and it threw her back to his laboratory. She thought of him looking at the skinny, freckled covered kid that hung onto her Quantum Theory teacher’s every word. 

When she walked into the library, three days in, and saw the spiraling stacks she remembered Fitz and how he could get lost in a book and never leave the pages. 

Marella could be found in the rare smiles that were Anaz. How sarcastic comments came to her with ease and there was always gossip flooding the halls. 

In her English teacher’s humor, she found Keefe. How Sophie collected pens just because they were there and how doodles filled Amy’s margins. 

Red became her color. In the morning when she didn’t know what to wear Biana flooded her mind. When she didn’t know how to hide her scars she thought of her. Sophie would wear them as a testament to the people she left behind. And when her eyes caught sight of the scars that littered another student’s body, clear on their dark skin, she stood a little taller. They were a testament to survival.

Tam, she remembered when the world was so loud. How he was able to control his impulses, his power, his shadows like her telepathy and inflicting. When she just wanted to hide from it all she remembered him, and kept going.

And the one that came as a surprise to her was Stina. The cold exterior and the sense of superiority that followed Henry, who locked so much of him away in a tiny box, to hide from the rest of the world. And how when you really got to know them there wasn’t a small corner that was as cold as it seemed.

But the one that never really went away was Linh. It didn’t surprise her. No, she knew she would never really get Linh out of her head. So Sophie accepted the small tug that came with seeing people together. As they laughed and smiled and hugged, as two girls held hands firmly; she wondered if that could’ve ever been them. If their broken world would’ve allowed it.

When she thought of them, her hand found her neck and the crystal and she held on tight only to let go. Because that was no longer her, and those people were no longer her’s. Amilia Ruewen did not know them. The crystal was all she had left of them.

And at some point that would have to be okay.

-

“You’re coming to this club with the group tonight,” Amy grinned. Ugh, a night with Amy’s friends? Sounded like torture. 

“Why?” Sophie asked. In her head and in her apartment, they were Sophie and Amy. To the world, their jobs, their school, their friends, they were Amilia and Natalie. 

She didn’t have work until Saturday and she had already finished her homework and Amy knew this. There wasn’t a way she wasn’t going. Amy looked up and smiled all teeth, all eyes. Someone save me, Sophie thought.

Spoiler: it went a lot worse than she expected.

There was a feeling that Sophie knew well. It was why she was here in the first place. The feeling started in her wrists, where she had been bound countless times. It spread up and down to the edges of her fingers which had caused so much pain. The fingers that held weapons and the hands that held both the blood of her enemies and friends. It filled her shoulders with tension and her legs with a need to run. But she couldn’t. She was surrounded by bodies, moving, dancing, controlled by the beat of the drums that shook her core like a war cry. That was because it was a war cry. The image of her friends, the small family she had made, half-dead and filling up every bed in the Healing Center. She had run away from them. That was what she alone had done. Sophie ran from the dangers and the responsibility.

Coward.

“Breathe,” an order. In. Out. One. Two. Three.

“Sophie? Soybean?” Amy’s voice. Amy’s hands on her shoulders. “Hey, hey,” her fingers cradled her jaw. “You’re right here, I got you, you’re okay. We won, it’s over.”

But it wasn’t. At night the demons came back to haunt her. And she would be running from them for the rest of her life.

-

Sophie had told herself when she left the Lost Cities she wasn’t following orders anymore. Little notes and anonymous gifts were things of the past. She told herself this as she took a picture of her shifts for the next week. They flowed through her mind as she wrote notes for a lecture. Words scribbled on papers and typed on documents controlled her whether she wanted them to or not. They set the path and all she had to do was follow it.

This time it wasn’t directed at her. 

“Hey Soph, you got anyone who would send you mail?” Amy called from the hallway.

“Nope!” She had barely even heard what Amy had said, too absorbed by homework.

“Huh, okay.” 

“You sure it’s not for you? It’s from that town like an hour north of campus,” Amy asked a minute later, shoving the envelope in front of her computer. “Get out of your nerd stuff and look at important things.”

Sophie made a noise but took the envelope, “My nerd stuff is important!”

Amy chuckled lightly, “Sure dear, you’re almost as bad as Jena.”

“My lord Amy it has your name on it,” Sophie shook her head, “And Jena is really smart and, unlike you, actually capable of holding an intellectual conversation!”

“Huh, guess I’m blind.” Rolling her eyes, she went back to her homework as Amy tore open the letter. Where was she? Oh yeah-

“Do you know about that road house right outside of town?” 

“Amy I swear if you interrupt me one more time-”

Amy ignored her, “It’s a coupon to there. We could take the gang this weekend.”

“Yeah sure, totally, now just let me finish my homework,” Sophie said, not realizing that she could’ve just agreed to anything.

-

“Nat you can drink?” Amilia asked. It was a running gag.

“Oh shush, I’m not eleven anymore!” Natalie retorted. And she wasn’t eleven, she was twenty-three and Amilia had to remind herself of that often. 

The roadhouse was dark, full of wooden booths. In the corner there was a pool table surrounded by a group of guys. Amilia sat at a table with three of Nat’s friends, her friends, she reminded herself. Thunk! The sound of darts reminded her of throwing stars. Shaking her head slightly she tried not to think about all she had left behind. Amilia, she thought, but it echoed outside her head.

“Amilia!” Tina called, waving her hand in front of her. 

“Sorry, what?” she asked. Get out of your head, she thought sternly.

They all chuckled quietly and tampered off into their different conversations. It was a nice normal, zoning in and out, the words just soft buzzing. She traced the rough wood of the roadhouse with her eyes. The chipped, frayed edges. Dark, daunting, but cozy. The roof domed up to balconies with rooms for the inn part. Sophie didn’t know if anyone actually stayed there anymore. Posts came down into booths, to a karaoke machine in the corner, to the bar that stretched along the entire left side. There was a girl, flannel tight around her waist, short dark hair held up by various barrettes keeping the strands away from her face. The pen and cups flew through her hands with experience and it was mesmerizing to watch. Sophie couldn’t see her face, but there was a tugging feeling that the girl was familiar. From a past life, she thought, and laughed. She had had many past lives. At this point she wouldn’t know which one the girl would’ve been from. If she would just look up, the urge to know who she was got stronger. She was someone to her someone important-

Crash. Her heart pounded, her ears rang. The shattering sound of glass was ironic because it played backwards in her ears. Shattered heart becoming whole.

Sophie, because to that face that was all she was. Her feet moved without her permission. 

Because this girl wasn’t just someone to her, she was everything to her.

She was the hardest to leave behind and the only one that could make her stay.

“I’m supposed to be bartending,” Linh whispered into her shoulder, “and your friends are looking at us.”

“Fuck off, I get the longest hug I want after not seeing you for a decade,” Sophie laughed stubbornly into her shoulder.

Linh turned her head into Sophie’s neck and hummed quietly, “I think that’s fair.”

For the first time she relaxed. The world fell off her shoulders and she realized this was the feeling she had been chasing. Linh smelled like cigar smoke and whiskey and cats (she made a mental note to ask about that later). But she knew, as she shifted closer, holding Linh as tight as she could, after all those years she would still smell like the ocean, she’d still smelled like home.

-

The next morning she found herself passed out in a room that wasn’t her own. An old lamp sat on a wooden nightstand. Next to it, barely lit, was a piece of paper. In big bold letters it read: The Western RoadHouse. In scratchy handwriting there was a note. it filled the entire card,words running into each other. In her very tired state Sophie could barely decipher it.

Hey! Sorry I had to work early and you looked way too peaceful to wake up. How much of last night do you remember? We talked about how I got here, and how you got here. And, well, we talked for hours and did you know the more tired you are the pinker your ears get? And the easier it is the fluster you? You also get clingy and rub your eyes a lot. I ended up having to carry you up to my room and swear to Amy on everything that I had you would be okay. But I realized in that minute in a half of hauling your dead weight and listening to you murmur in your sleep that I had missed you. I ran away because I’ve always been running, but I don’t wanna run anymore. If you’d let me, I’d like to run to you instead. This is me asking if you’ll be my girlfriend, or just go out on a date if you didn’t get that. So yeah? Can I run to you?

For a moment she thought she was dreaming. Then she read it again and all she could do was laugh. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she grabbed a pen and paper and wrote a simple message in neat, loopy handwriting.

Well then runaway,

Come running.

She wrote her and Amy’s address at the bottom and slipped it into Linh’s bag on the nightstand on her way out. When Amy pulled up in the van she only raised an eyebrow.

“Did you win?” she asked, turning down the music slightly as Sophie closed the door.

She smiled, mouth crooked, eyes wrinkled, for once unguarded and wild. “Yeah, I think I did.” Whoops and hollers rang out from the back where her friends crowded together. They whooped and hollered and clapped her on the shoulder as Amy pulled the van out of the lot.

Tag list: @enbies-and-felonies, @clearlykeefitz, @ruewen-and-rising, @you-are-the-vacker-legacy @linhamon-roll  @lemontarto  @rainbowtay-11 @an-absolute-travesty @girlofmanyfandoms(if you want to be added or removed come find me here)

#finding home #tater writes #kotlc #kotlc fic #sophie foster #amy foster #linh song #injuries tw #phantom pains tw #keeper of the lost cities #solinh

[littlemxtchgirl]

EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE

[ TW: death / abuse / bullying / self-harm / suicide mentions ;; occasional suggestive content ]

been cheated on    |    been bullied |   had your heart broken   |    broken someone’s heart |   told a horrible lie |     been betrayed   |     been framed / set-up  |   stolen something of value  |     overdosed on drugs     | been drunk   |     cheated     |    bullied |   been publicly humiliated  |   punched someone in the face |     been beaten up   |   broken a bone  |   been admitted to a hospital  |   put someone in the hospital  |   had a near - death experience |     been drugged |     done drugs   |   smoked     |     been arrested    |     been homeless  |     been forced to commit a crime  |   died and came back to life |   kissed someone you weren’t attracted to   |  bled severely |   killed someone  |     been forced to kill someone  |   had an attempt on your life  |   made an attempt on your own life   | lost someone |   loved someone |   watched a loved one die  |     failed to save / help a loved one  | felt helpless |    watched your world die / disappear   |   had your life’s work stolen  | gone without food for over three days    |   gone without sleep for over three days |  been tortured / questioned ( the constant IS torture okay ) |     been shot | been stabbed |   been poisoned  |   been held prisoner ( I MEAN........)  | been trapped ( I MEAN )  |     been buried alive    |     been held hostage  | held someone hostage  |     been stuck in a different world / universe / time    |   been abused by someone who should have loved / appreciated / valued you   |   had a panic attack |   had night terrors |     been in a car accident  |     lost your job   | lost a fight   |   had sex with a stranger   |    been divorced     |     been abandoned   |   passed out from pain    |   cried yourself to sleep  |   spent a whole day in bed | hurt yourself |  taken your anger out on yourself |   taken your anger out on someone you love |   been used |   been manipulated   |   felt used   |  manipulated someone else |   had your memories / mind wiped / stolen or tampered with |   been taken over by a hostile force    |  been terrified   |    played a cruel game on someone   |     been forced to smile |   felt too many things at once   |   laughed when you felt like crying  |   been in denial   |   been denied |   faced your demons 

#• |[ 🔥 about&headcanon 🔥 ]| • #the more i filled this the more i went ''yikes'' so. yea this is why is under read more #it's fairly heavy stuff so tread carefully fellas

[chaos-family-scp-au]

lore time lore time

repost (mistakes lmao), no title cause im ✨tired✨

/ / big tw for manipulation and i think thats it? brief mentions of anesthetics and other medicinal stuffs, allusions to tampering w/ memories and theres richard, do w/ that as u will / /

Lyon had been working in the lab since early that morning. One of the sites had ordered over 3,000 anesthetics and they needed to get there by a certain date. She was exhausted but it would be against her morals to let her associates fill out the order alone.

And just as the team was nearing the end Dr. Melcor walked into the lab, smug as ever.

Lyon saw him, sighed and took off their goggles and gloves. After washing her hands, she went over to him.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I need you to follow me.”

They agreed and the two left the lab.  

Richard led her to his office, he opened the door and beckoned them to go inside. Once they were both inside and had taken their seats, Richard began to talk.

“I have a proposition for you, or more accurately, the 05 does.” he smugly grinned, looking for any sign of interest from Lyon.

They nodded and waited for him to continue. Now slightly annoyed, Richard went on.

“They want you to help them. You have better connections with some of the more..cautious personnel and, since you’re considered fresh meat by the SCP, you’re valuable. If you can build up good relations with them, you'll get rewards from the 05. You can’t tell anyone about this, if you do, we have a plethora of anesthetics and false memories that I'd love to use.”

He paused, and waited a few minutes before continuing.

"Oh, one more thing. You can’t leave this room until you’ve made your decision."

Lyon stared at the table.

“So?” Richard smirked, he knew what she was going to say.

Lyon took a deep breath to calm herself then looked up and at Melchor. Almost robotically, she replied,

“What do I have to do?”

[Lyon and Richard are now open for asks]

#scp au #scp fics #staff info #tw manipulation #manipulation tw #queued