#customized academic hood

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Friendly neighborhood forensic pathologist Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls? (Dead on main, of course) +Part 2: Talon Dick

Don’t underestimate what a ghost will do for a higher education. You see, it's the custom of the Fenton family not to run away from things they are afraid of but to face their fear. So Danny Fenton, who has learned to fear scalpels, steel clamps and surgical retractors, decides to do something about it and to dedicate his life to giving souls of those who died a violent death the final rest and justice they deserve.

Well, it didn’t really come to him at once. It started out as a simple joke:

Danny didn’t think he could continue his education after school. Frankly, his grades suck. However, Tucker for fun applied for a scholarship for gifted villains from Gotham University on his behalf.

And hell, they are willing to pay money for his education. Pay in full! Living in Park Row is also incredibly cheap. And with his flying ability, he’ll also save on transportation.

Danny is not a villain. And he’s not planning on becoming one. But he couldn’t lose that chance.

Why do you deserve this scholarship? “My parents are renowned ecto scientists, and I’ve seen their dissection work at its best. Medical school is expensive, and this scholarship will help me accomplish my goal of becoming a forensic pathologist and helping maintain the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead…or use it for my own ends. Of course.”

Well, Mr Two-Face was fully confident that despite his grades in the subjects, Danny was fully committed to achieving high academic achievement. Finally, work experience of Dan came in handy somewhere.

There were only few things about the death that Danny didn’t find on his own or from his ghost friends, so he managed to graduate in record time. Young Fenton thought he was lucky enough to get a job near Crime Alley. It was odd that the job was available. Even a new specialist like him was allowed to work full-time. And the salary was very decent.

~~~~~~

Danny: Yes, Jazz, everything is just fine. I found a great job and I’m trying to relax and find a hobby, you know. Started feeding the local birds. Apparently they were abused, the poor things are so shy and aggressive.

The local birds:

~~~~~~

Let’s say that a returned Jason as undead cannot be killed for forever. The stab wounds heal quickly, the bullet holes sometimes itch unpleasantly for a few days, but in general his regeneration is at a level with some metahumans. This is convenient. But when Red Hood wakes up in the morgue after a particularly severe injury, he’s not happy. Sometimes even looking in the mirror at his dissection scar is difficult for him. And this situation is a fucking nightmare. Danny: Oh. Are you awake now? I’m sorry I didn’t have time to put you on the couch, I didn’t have clean sheets and my assistant would have killed me because of the new stains. Red Hood: What the hell? I’m sorry?! It’s fucked up! I’d love to see you wake up on the dissection table. Danny: Been there Done that. But hey, I didn’t put you there. You didn’t get here on my shift, give me a break.

Jason: …So, what's now? Danny: Well, I can offer you tea or coffee. Of course, only after I sew up the hole in your stomach and give you a change of clothes. Or I could go after the documents and pretend I didn’t notice one of my bodies got away. But then don’t dream about novocaine blockade. Pretty liver by the way, you don’t see that much in crime lords. Jason: Um, thank you? But you’re weird. Usually people are praised for the beauty of the face or eyes rather than… Danny: Wow, now I feel attacked.You wake up in your helmet. I can’t compliment what I can’t see. Jason: Gee, I’m surprised your colleague hasn’t taken it off yet. Danny: And lose important evidence? It is not customary for us to put curiosity above professionalism.

~~~~~

Jason learns quickly that although Batman is willing to go anywhere to track him, there are always exceptions to the rule. The morgue was one of them. Not surprisingly, the emotional constipation and uncomfortable theme of Jason’s death worked like a perfect bat repeller. Over time, Jason becomes really interested in a guy who genuinely laughs at his death jokes and listens to his problems at work without judgment. Danny is too cute and nice.

Danny*works*: No visitors allowed here.

Jason: Unless you are a zombie, right?

Danny:...Still not one of your hideouts. The book is where you left it, make some tea if you want it.

~~~~~

Jason, once again delivered without a sign of life to Danny after the fight, woke up during pupillary reflex test.

Jason: Oh, beauty, you are just dazzling today.

Danny: As I thought, your regeneration didn’t cure your concussion before your resurrection. I’ll give you referrals for all the tests and examinations. And we really should stop seeing each other like this. Please take care of yourself.

Jason: I don’t think you have the right to prescribe them to me. Danny: Technically I do not. But we live in Gotham. And for some time the hospital where I work at night is very sensitive to my requests.

Red Hood: And why? Danny: It’s hard to explain… Red Hood: Doctor Handsome, I’ve been through some shit, so try to surprise me. Danny: Okay, okay. Look, you are a crime lord for not too long, right? But criminals and cops are afraid of you and kids and your henchmen really likes you. Jason: ..So what? Danny: Can you please recommend how to maintain a reputation but so your people aren’t afraid of you? Jason: Why do you need this information? Your assistant finally realized you’re friends with walking corpses? Danny: It’s not about that! Although, like.. you aren’t wrong? It’s complicated. I may, well, accidentally, honestly, have seized power over a local secret aristocratic criminal society.

Jason: Baby, please tell me everything. I have a restaurant as a front for a business nearby. It’s a date. Let's go. Danny: Let me finish a few stitches first, Jay.

~~~~~

Red Hood and Red Robin fight near Batman: Hood: Replacement was on patrol without permission! Red Robin: And Jason is dating the new owner of Court of Owls! Batman:.. he's doing WHAT? Jason, how could you take such a risk? it is completely unprofessional and Red Hood: At least he loves me for what’s inside me! Red Robin: Yeah, like a beautiful liver. It’s a great relationship base. Red Hood: I’m talking about my feelings and interests. Dumb lil stalker with a big mouth! I’ll teach you not to bother my boyfriend.

~~~~~

Henchman: Boss. We shouldn’t go into that area, the rumors are that there are Talons here. Red Hood: All under control, they won’t touch us. Henchman: How can you be sure? The poem says 'Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow..' Red Hood: Yeah yeah "speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head". I’m sleeping with their boss, of course I’m sure. Henchman: Boss, don’t kid like that. Red Hood: I don’t pay you for gossip. Let's go.

Dick, to whom the memories began to return, haunts Jason because he did not cut for Lil Wing apple slices like he likes for lunch: Talon came to finish the job. Henchmen: scream

~~~~~

Jason *shows Danny 'Red Flags' on youtube*: Hey, baby, want to be a little shit on our date? I know where Brucie Wayne’s having dinner tonight, so you can meet the family.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #dead on main ship #dpxdc prompts #dpxdc memes

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 18

Hello there, my Lovely Readers! Here is the new chapter, enjoy :)

ui: and again, thanks for the likes and reblogs, you're awesome!

There is nothing more sacred than the Archives. Even temples can be rebuilt, but books cannot be rewritten.

—Colonel Daxton’s Guide to Excelling in the Scribe Quadrant

The wooden library cart squeaks as I push it over the bridge that connects the Riders Quadrant to the Healer, and then past the clinic doors into the heart of Basgiath.

After Threshing I was assigned to Archives duty. It seems that our library’s maintenance is a “less desirable” chore, and one of the unbonded took our place. So here I am. But at least I was paired up with Violet.

Mage lights illuminate our way down the tunnels as we take a path so familiar that I could walk it with my eyes shut. I’ve been here with Violet countless times.

I nod to the first-year scribe at the entrance to the Archives and he jumps out of his seat, hurrying to open the vault-like door.

“Good morning, Cadet Sorrengail, Cadet Melgren” he says, holding the entrance open so we can pass.

„Good morning, Cadet Pierson.” I nod as I push the cart through.

The Archives smell like parchment, book-binding glue, and ink.

Rows of twenty-foot-high shelves run the length of the cavernous structure, and we wait by the table nearest the entrance. Only scribes may pass any farther, and I am a rider.

The thought brings a smile to my lips as a woman approaches in a cream tunic and hood, a single rectangle of gold woven onto her shoulder. A first-year. When she pulls the fabric from her head, baring long brown hair, and brings her gaze to meet mine, I full-on grin. I sign, “Jesinia!”

“Cadet Sorrengail, Cadet Melgren.” she signs back. Her bright eyes sparkle, but she smothers her smile.

For just this second, I abhor the rituals and customs of the scribes. There would be nothing wrong with her smiling at us, but she’d be chastised for a loss of composure. After all, how could we know how earnest the scribes are about their work, how dedicated they remain, if they were to crack a smile?

“It’s really good to see you,” I sign and can’t quit grinning. “I knew you’d pass the test.”

“Only because I studied with Violet for the past year,” she signs back, pressing her lips together so they don’t curve upward. Then her face falls. “I was horrified to hear about you being forced into the Riders Quadrant.” She turns to Violet. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she assures her. “I’m bonded and…I’m happy.”

Her eyes widen. “Aren’t you constantly worried you’re going to—” She glances left and right, but there’s no one near enough to see us. “You know…die?”

“Sure.” She nods. “But oddly enough, you kind of get used to that.”

“Something like that.” I laugh quietly.

“If you say so.” She looks skeptical. “Let’s get you taken care of. Are these all returns?”

I nod and reach into the pocket of my pants for a small scroll of parchment and hand it to her before signing, “And a few requests from Professor Devera.” The unbonded in charge of our small library sends a list of requests and the returns every night, and we fetch them before breakfast, which is probably why my stomach is growling.

Burning all the extra calories from a combination of flight, sparring lessons and studying with Liam late into the night means I have an all-new capacity for food.

“Anything else?” she asks after putting the scroll in a hidden pocket in her robes.

I shake my head.

“Any chance you guys have a copy of The Fables of the Barren?” Violet signs.

Jesinia’s brow furrows. “I’m not familiar with that text.”

I blink. It’s strange. Jesinia is a scribe and she has been preparing for this her whole life.

“It’s not for academics or anything, just a collection of folklore my dad shared with us. A little on the dark side, honestly, but I love it.” Violet shrugs. “Wyvern, venin, magic, the battles of good and evil—you know, the good stuff.” She grins. If anyone understands her love of books, it’s Jesinia.

“I’ve never heard of that one, but I’ll look for it while I pull these.”

“Thank you. I’d really appreciate it.”

I know what she means. Now that we’re going to be the one wielding magic, we could use a few good folktales of what happens when humans defile the power channeled to them. No doubt they were written as a parable to warn us of the dangers of bonding dragons, but in Navarre’s six-hundred-year history of unification, I’ve never read of a single rider losing their soul to their powers. The dragons keep us from that.

Jesinia nods and pushes the cart, disappearing into the shelves.

It usually takes about fifteen minutes to gather the requests that come in from both professors and cadets in our quadrant, but I’m more than content to wait. Scribes come and go, some in groups as they train to become our kingdom’s historians.

“Violet?”

I turn to the left and see Professor Markham leading a squad of first-year scribes.

“Hello, Professor.” She smiles at him.

I keep my face emotionless around him. It is easier because I know he’ll expect it. After all I’m a Melgren.

“Professor.” I greet him.

“Cadet Melgren.” He nods and looks toward Violet. “I didn’t realize you had library chore duty.” He glances toward the spot in the shelves where Jesinia disappeared. “Are you being helped?”

“Jesinia—” she cringe. “I mean, Cadet Neilwart is most helpful.”

“You know,” he says to the squad of five as they arc around us, “Cadet Sorrengail here was my prized student until the Riders Quadrant stole her away.” His gaze meets her under his hood. “I had hopes she would return, but alas, she has bonded to not one but two dragons.”

A girl to his right gasps, then covers her mouth and mutters an apology.

“Don’t worry, all of us felt the same way,” I tell her.

“Perhaps you can explain something to Cadet Nasya over here, who was just griping that there’s not nearly enough fresh air in here.” Professor Markham turns his focus to a boy on his left. “This group is just starting their rotation in the Archives.”

Nasya turns beet red under his cream hood.

“It’s part of the fire mitigation system,” Violet tells him. “Less air, less risk of our history burning to the ground.”

“And the stuffy hoods?” Nasya lifts a brow at her.

“Makes it harder for you to stand out against the tomes,” she explains. “A symbol that no one and nothing is more important than the documents and books in this very room.”

“Exactly.” Professor Markham levels a glare at Nasya. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Cadet Sorrengail, we have work to attend. I’ll see you tomorrow in Battle Brief. Cadet Melgren you too.”

“Yes, sir.” I step back, giving the squad room to pass.

“Are you sad?” I ask Vi. She has a strange look on her face.

“It’s just… we’re here. We’re visiting the Archives. It’s hard, but no need to worry,” she tells me.

“It’s hard to love a second home as much as the first.” I smile sadly at her.

“It’s easy when the second home is the right one.” She smiles back.

And I know what she means. Home. That is what the Riders Quadrant has become to me—the right home. There is nothing that can match the adrenaline rush of flight.

Jesinia reappears with the cart, laden down with the requested books and bits of mail for the professors of our quadrant.

She signs, “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t find that book. I even searched the catalog for wyvern—I think that’s what you said—but there’s nothing.”

I stare for a second. Our Archives have either a copy or the original of almost every book in Navarre. Only ultrarare or forbidden tomes are excluded. When did folklore become either of those? Though, come to think of it, I never came across anything like The Fables of the Barren on the shelves while I was here with Violet. Chimera? Yes. Kraken? Sure. But wyvern or the venin that create them? None. Bizarre.

“That’s all right. Thank you for looking,” she signs back.

“You look different,” she signs to Violet, then hands the cart over. “Not bad different, just…different. Your face is leaner, and even your posture…” She shakes her head.

“I’ve been training.” She pauses “It’s hard, but great, too. I’m getting quicker on the mat.”

“How about you? Is it everything you wanted?” I ask Jesinia.

“It’s everything and more. So much more. The responsibility we have not only to record history but to speed information from the front lines is more than I ever could have imagined, and it’s so fulfilling.” She presses her lips together again.

„Good. I’m happy for you.” And I mean it.

“But I worry for you. Both of you.” She sucks in a breath. “The uptick in attacks along the border…” Concern etches lines into her forehead.

“I know. We hear about them in Battle Brief.” It’s always the same, striking at faltering wards, ransacking villages high in the mountains, and more dead riders.

“And Dain?” she asks Violet as we head for the door. “Have you seen him?”

Her smile falters. “That’s a story for another day.”

She sighs. “I’ll try and be here around this time so I can see you.”

“Sounds wonderful.” I sign as walk through the door she opens.

By the time we return the cart to the library and make it through the lunch line, our time is almost up, which means I’m busy shoveling food in my mouth as fast as I can while the members of my new squad chat around me. But it’s only Violet’s friends and Liam with Ethan. The others…They’ve refused to sit with anyone with a rebellion relic.

So, fuck them.

„It was the coolest thing ever,” Ridoc continues. “One second he was sparring against that third-year with the wicked broadsword skills, and then Sawyer—”

“You could let him tell the story,” Rhiannon chides, rolling her eyes.

“No thank you,” Sawyer counters, shaking his head, staring at his fork with a hefty dose of fear.

Ridoc grins, in all his glory telling the story. “And then the sword just twists in Sawyer’s hand, curving toward the third-year even though Sawyer was way off the mark.” He grimaces in Sawyer’s direction. “Sorry, man, but you were. If your sword hadn’t decided to warp and go straight for that guy’s arm—”

“You’re a metallurgist?” Liam’s eyebrows rise. “Really?”

Holy crap, Sawyer can manipulate metals. I force down a little more turkey and openly stare at him. As far as I know, he’s the first of us to display any form of power, let alone a signet.

Sawyer nods. “That’s what Carr says. Aetos dragged me straight to the professor when he saw it happen.”

“I’m so jealous!” Ridoc grabs his chest. “I want my signet power to manifest!”

“You wouldn’t be so excited if it meant you weren’t sure if your fork would stab into the roof of your mouth because you can’t control it yet.” Sawyer shoves his tray away.

“Good point.” Ridoc looks at his own tray.

“You’ll manifest when your dragon is ready to trust you with all that power,” Quinn says, then finishes off her water. “Just hope your dragons trust you before about six months and—” She makes a sound like an explosion and mimics it with her hands.

“Stop scaring the children,” Imogen says. “That hasn’t happened in”—she pauses to think—“decades.” When we all stare at her, she rolls her eyes. “Look, the relic your dragons transferred onto you at Threshing is the conduit to let all that magic into your body. If you don’t manifest a signet and let it out, then after a bunch of months, bad things happen.”

We all gawk.

“The magic consumes you,” Quinn adds, making the explosion sound again.

“Relax, it’s not like a hard deadline or something. It’s just an average.” Imogen shrugs.

“Fuck me, it’s always something around here,” Ridoc mutters.

“Feeling a little luckier now,” Sawyer says, staring at his fork.

“We’ll get you some wooden utensils,” I tell Sawyer. “And you should probably avoid the armory or sparring with… anything.” I grin at him.

Sawyer scoffs. “That’s the truth. At least I’ll be safe during flight this afternoon.”

Adding flight classes to our schedule has been essential since Threshing. The wings rotate for access to the flight field, and today is one of our lucky days of the week.

I feel a tingle in my scalp and know if I turn, I’ll find Xaden watching us. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking. He hasn’t said so much as a word to me since Threshing. And I don’t know what it means. I thought that we had a moment… or something.

But I realised that he ordered others to watch over Vi.

There’s always an upperclassman somewhere near when we’re walking the halls or headed to the gym at night.

And they all have rebellion relics.

It must be because of the bond.

“I like it better when we have it in the morning,” Rhiannon says, her face souring. “It’s way worse after we’ve eaten breakfast and lunch.”

“Agreed,” I manage between mouthfuls.

“I’ll see you tonight.” Imogen says to Violet as she and Quinn clear their trays, taking them back to the window for scullery.

“Is she any nicer when she’s training you?” Rhiannon asks.

“No. But she’s efficient.” She finishes the turkey as the room begins to clear, and we all make our way toward the scullery window.

„What’s Professor Carr like?” I ask Sawyer, then tuck my tray onto the stack. The wielding professor is one of the only ones I haven’t met, since I haven’t manifested a signet.

“Fucking terrifying,” Sawyer answers. “I can’t wait for the entire year to start wielding lessons so everyone can enjoy his particular brand of instruction.”

We head out through commons and the rotunda and into the courtyard, all buttoning up our coats. November has hit hard with gusty winds and frosted grass in the morning, and the first snow isn’t far behind.

“I knew it would work!” Jack Barlowe says ahead of us, dragging someone under his arm and thumping her head affectionately.

“Isn’t that Caroline Ashton?” Rhiannon asks, her mouth hanging open as Caroline heads toward the academic wing with Jack.

“Yeah.” Liam tenses. “She bonded Gleann this morning.”

“Wasn’t he already bonded?” Ethan watches them until they disappear into the wing.

“His rider died on our first flight lesson.” I focus on the gate ahead that leads to the flight field.

“So I guess the unbonded still have that shot they’re looking for,” Rhiannon mutters.

„Yeah.” Liam nods, his features tense. “They do.”

…

“You’re improving. You’ll be a good rider after all.” Aon remarks as we land on the flight field.

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.” I take deep breaths and try to calm my racing heart.

“Take it as you wish.”

I mentally roll my eyes and scoot out of the seat and I jump to the ground. The move has become so practiced that I barely even think about it anymore. “Besides, you could make it easier, you know.”

„Oh, I know.”

“I’m not the one putting us into spirals with steep banks while Kaori is teaching plain dives.” My feet hit the ground of the field, and I arch an eyebrow at Aon.

“I’m training you for battle. He’s teaching you parlor tricks.” He blinks a golden eye at me and looks away.

“I know you hide something from me. Don’t you want to tell me why we are preparing for battle?” I do all the checks Kaori has taught us, looking for any debris that could have lodged between the long, taloned toes of Aon’s claws or between the rock-hard scales of his underbelly.

“I’m not foolish enough to not know that I have something stuck in my flesh. And I already told you, that you need to learn first. If I were to tell you everything it would only draw unwanted attention. You’re smart. Use your brain, little one.”

“Fine.” I sigh. “And eventually you could call me Aelin, you know.” I take the time to examine every row of his scales. One of the biggest dangers to dragons are the smallest things they can’t remove that penetrate between the scales, causing infection.

“I know,” he replies. “And I could call you Sunshine like the wingleader.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I narrow my eyes as I move forward, checking where his chest begins to rise. “And you know how much that ass annoys me.”

“Annoys you?” Aon chuckles above me, the sound like a chuffing cat. “Is that what you call it when your heart rate—”

“Don’t even start with me.”

A growl rumbles through Aon’s chest above me and vibrates my very bones.

I turn around to see what made Aon annoyed.

It’s Dain. He approaches Violet.

Oh shit. I know that they haven’t spoken to each other since Threshing.

“You should watch over your friend. He seems angry.”

“Thanks mother hen, I can see it. But I won’t interfere, they need to talk it out.” I say as I watch them.

“Fine. But if he touches you, I will scorch him.” Aon grumbles.

“What? Why would he touch me?” I ask him.

„I’m hungry. I think I’ll partake in a flock of sheep.” He launches with great beats of his wings.

Hm. Interesting.

I see as Violet motions at Rhiannon to go on without her, and she walks ahead with the others, leaving Dain and her to bring up the rear.

I fall back at the edge of the field. I won’t leave her alone with him after Aon’s comment.

I act like someone who is looking for something in the grass. No one has accused me of creativity yet.

“Why didn’t you tell me you can’t keep your fucking seat?” I hear Dain shouts at her, grabbing her elbow.

What the fuck?

“I’m sorry?!” Violet yanks her arm out of his hold.

“All this time, I’ve been letting Kaori teach you, thinking he must have everything under control. After all, if the rider of the strongest dragon in the quadrant couldn’t keep her seat, then surely we’d all know.” He rips his hand over his hair. “Surely I would know if my best friend fell every fucking day that she flew!”

“It’s not a secret!” She shouts back. “Everyone in our wing knows! I’m sorry if you haven’t been keeping tabs on your squad, but trust me, Dain. Everyone knows. And I’m not going to stand here while you lecture me like I’m a child.” Violet turns around to follow our wing.

“You didn’t tell me,” he says, anger in his voice giving way to hurt as he catches up with her as I walk slowly after them.

“There’s not a problem.” She shakes her head. “Tairn can keep me buckled in magically if he needs to. I’m the one asking him to loosen the restraints. And I’d think twice before you question him. He’s more of the char-first-ask-questions-later type.”

“It’s a huge problem, because he can’t channel—

Oh shit, Dain. You’re digging your own grave.

„His full powers?” She asks as we make it out of the field, heading toward the steps that descend next to the Gauntlet. “I know that. Why do you think I’m up there asking him to loosen up?”

“You’ve been flying for a month, and you’re still falling.” I hear his voice as he follows Violet down the staircase.

“So is half the wing, Dain!”

“Not a dozen times, they aren’t,” he shoots back. He’s on her heels as she picks up her pace toward the path that will lead back to the citadel. “I just want to help you, Vi. How can I help?”

I halt at the mouth of the tunnel to give them some place. I’ve never seen Violet so angry before.

But I’m proud of her.

I slowly walk after them. I hope they’re done with the arguing.

„This place cuts away the bullshit and the niceties, revealing whoever you are at your core.” I hear Violet’s voice. “Isn’t that what you said to me? Is this who you really are at your core? Someone so enamored with rules that he doesn’t know when to bend or break them for someone he cares about? Someone so focused on the least I’m capable of doing, he can’t believe I can do so much more?”

Come on Vi, tell him!

“Let’s get one thing straight, Dain.” She takes a step closer. “The reason we’ll never be anything more than friends isn’t because of your rules. It’s because you have no faith in me. Even now, when I’ve survived against all odds and bonded not just one dragon but two, you still think I won’t make it. So forgive me, but you’re about to be some of the bullshit that this place cuts away from me.”

Sunlight overpowers me for a second as I walk into the courtyard after Vi. Classes are out for the afternoon, and I see Xaden and Garrick leaned up against the wall of the academic building like gods surveying their domain.

Xaden arches a dark eyebrow as she passes by.

She flips him the middle finger.

Oh wow, she is really pissed off.

“Everything all right?” I ask as I catch up to her.

“Dain is an ass—”

“Make it stop!” someone screams, rushing down the steps of the rotunda and holding his head. It’s a first-year in Third Wing who sits two rows beneath me in Battle Brief and perpetually drops his quill. “For gods’ sake, make it stop!” he shrieks, stumbling into the courtyard.

My hands hover over my blades.

A shadow moves to my left, and a glance tells me Xaden has moved, casually putting himself just ahead of Violet.

My heart clenches.

The crowd hollows, forming a circle around the first-year as he screams, clutching his head.

“Jeremiah!” someone shouts, coming forward.

“You!” Jeremiah spins, pointing his finger at the third-year. “You think I’ve lost it!” His head tilts, and his eyes flare. “How does he know? He shouldn’t know!” His tone shifts, like the words aren’t his own.

Chills race down my spine, dragging my stomach to the ground. Oh fuck.

“And you!” He spins again, pointing at a second-year in First Wing. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he screaming?” He turns again, focused on Dain. “Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can’t she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He’s reading my thoughts!”

Jeremiah’s signet power is manifesting. He can read minds—an inntinnsic. His power is a death sentence.

Violet stumbles backward on my left—gently shoved back—and I don’t need to look to know whose muscled arm now brushes my shoulder as Violet stands behind us. The scent of mint somehow steadies my heartbeat. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Liam as he stands on my right.

Jeremiah unsheathes his shortsword. “Make it stop! Can’t any of you see? The thoughts won’t stop!” His panic is palpable, clogging my own throat.

“Do something,” Violet begs Xaden, glancing up at him.

His unwavering, lethal focus is on Jeremiah, but his body tenses at her plea.

 “Start mentally reciting whatever book you can think of.” I turn to Violet.

“I’m sorry?” She asks, looking at me with wide eyes.

„If you value your secrets, clear your thoughts. Now,” I order her. “He’s an inntinnsic and you really don’t want him to read your mind.”

“And you!” Jeremiah turns, his gaze locking on Garrick. “Damn it all to hell. He’ll know about—” The shadows around Jeremiah’s feet snake up his legs in a heartbeat, winding around his chest until they cover his mouth in bands of black.

I swallow the boulder in my throat.

Damn. I don’t want to know what Garrick was thinking.

A professor pushes through the crowd, his shock of white hair bouncing with every step of his large frame.

“He’s an inntinnsic!” someone shouts, and that seems to be all that’s necessary.

The professor grips Jeremiah’s head with both hands, and a crack echoes off the walls of the silent courtyard. Xaden’s shadows melt away and Jeremiah falls to the ground, his head at an unnatural, macabre angle. His neck is broken.

The professor bends down and lifts Jeremiah’s body with surprising strength, carrying him into the rotunda.

Xaden inhales sharply beside me, then walks away with Garrick, headed toward the academic wing. Nice to see you, too.

“Maybe I don’t want a signet power after all,” Ridoc murmurs.

“That death is merciful compared to what will happen if you don’t manifest one,” Dain says, and I swear I start to feel my relic burn across my back even though my dragon hasn’t started channeling.

“And that,” Sawyer says from Rhiannon’s side, “was Professor Carr.”

…

“What did you learn today?” I hear a voice and see The General in front of me.

“What?” I ask slightly disoriented.

Where am I? And how did I get here?

“Don’t you even understand simple questions? You’re useless!” He steps closer with a dagger in his hand. “What did that marked boy thought when the inntinnsic read his mind?”

“I… I don’t know.” I stutter as I tried to step back, but my legs don’t move. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Don’t lie to me!” He shouts and steps closer. “Your only value is the information you bring. Now tell me!”

“I didn’t hear anything! I swear.” I whisper in a broken voice. I can’t betray them.

“Would you die for them?” He growls inches from me.

“Please.” I beg and I see as he raises his dagger, ready to use it.

I shut my eyes and I can feel tears running down on my face.

„WAKE.” A familiar, consuming voice rumbles through my dreams. A voice that doesn’t belong here.

“You’re useless. I should have let you die.”

„Wake up!” The walls around me tremble, and my heart jolts. “Now!”

My eyes fly open, and I gasp as the dream disintegrates. I’m not there. I’m in my room in the Riders Quadrant.

It was a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

“Move!” Aon bellows. “Your friend is in danger!”

What?

I quickly get up and grab my daggers as I wipe off my tears.

“Violet? Is she in danger?” I ask Aon as I run out of my room.

I wear the armor which Mira gave me, and a short. It’s not the best for a fight but it will do.

“Yes.”

I quickly made my way toward Violet’s room and my blood freezes at scene what I see after I open her door.

One of the unbonded is gripping Vi’s throat as he holds her against the wall.

“Now you’re fucking dead!” I growl at them as I feel the rage inside me.

“Shit. It’s Melgren!” One of them shouts as they turn toward me.

I move my blade and fend off one attack from the left, slicing down a woman’s forearm, and then another to the right, stabbing into a man’s thigh. I quickly bring up my dagger and slice it across his throat.

I can feel his blood on my face, but I don’t have time to wipe it off.

I kick out with my heel and catch another in the gut as he attacks, sending him careening back onto Violet’s bed, his sword tumbling after him.

“Stop, or I will kill her!” I hear the man says who holds Violet.

I freeze and look at them. He holds his dagger against Violet’s throat.

Shit. I try to come up with a plan to save us, but they have the advantage.

Think Aelin! Think!

“Drop your daggers!” He orders. “Now!”

I open my hands and I hear my daggers rattle on the floor.

The woman whose arm was cut quickly collects them.

“Now you’re not that confident aren’t you?” The other man who is with them asks as he punches me in the face.

Damn. It hurts.

I can feel the blood in my mouth. My lips been split.

“Cat got your tounge, Melgren?” He teases.

“You hit like a girl.” I say as I spit the blood in his face.

“Bitch.” He growls and lands a punch in my ribs.

I bend forward trying to catch my breath, and he kicks my legs out from under me.

“Do you have anything else to say?” He asks as he grabs my hair and pulls my head back.

„He’s almost there!” Aon promises, panic lacing his tone.

He who? I can’t breathe.

“Oh, a lot.” I smile at him mockingly. I try to distract them until ‘he’ arrives.

I hear a crack and pain radiates from my nose along with my blood.

He fucking broke my nose.

“Finish her!” one of them yells toward Violet’s captor. “He’ll only respect us if we finish her!”

Shit. They’re after Tairn.

Air rushes into my lungs as I watch as cold metal caresses her throat, the oxygen flooding my blood and clearing my head enough to realize this is it. We’re going to die. From one heartbeat to what will probably be my last, an overwhelming sorrow seizes my chest, and I can’t help but wonder if I would have made it. Would I have been strong enough to graduate? Would I have become worthy of Aon?

The bedroom door flies open, the wood splintering as it slams against the stone wall, but I don’t have a chance to turn to see who is standing there before I can feel something strange.

I lock eyes with Vi and it’s as if everyone in this room is frozen in place…except us.

#fourth wing #fanfiction #fourth wing fanfic #liam mairi #the fourth wing #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #oc #the empyrean #xaden x oc #tairn #dragons #madness #ridoc gamlyn #sawyer fourth wing #rhiannon matthias #imogen fourth wing

[whoretan]

You | One

masterlist.exe

Summary: Jeongguk was supposed to be like the rest, easily hackable with a selection of dirty little secrets he'd like to keep hidden from the rest of the world: the typical weird kinks, fetishes, scams, evasion of taxes, lying on academic records. However, when you dig deeper it turns out that Jeongguk's secrets run, much, much deeper.

Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader | Slight!Taehyung x reader

Genre: Smut, Psychological, Angst, Romance (Unhealthy and Obsessive on both ends)

Tags and Notes: college setting, psychotic reader, computer science majors, lots of hacking, BREAKING THE FOURTH WALL, read at your own discretion, jk and reader are both fucking nut jobs, reply to be added to taglist

WC: 4.6k

chap1_jk970.txt | chap2_trojan.exe

Three weeks prior to Park Soojin’s death.

Under the bright street lamps of the fraternity housing section on campus, half a dozen cars sat clustered in the road. Knots of teenagers ran in and out of the well-known fraternity, some sat drinking and smoking on the hoods of their cars. Others laughed, argued, and stared at the colossus double-door where two frat brothers played security, awaiting anyone who wanted permission to enter. 

The pounding bass beat of rap music from inside thudded into the cold night air from the various open windows. It reverberated in your chest with each step.

You zipped past at least a dozen cars, all on display as a flaunt of their social class; a Mustang GT convertible with twenty-inch chrome rims; Porsche Macan EV with a custom paint-job; Dad’s Ferrari. All indicators of economic class, an invisible glue that bounded socialites like these. 

Undoubtedly, the average group of typical scumbags whose parents paid their way into an acceptance letter. 

A buzz from the rear pocket of your cargos directed your attention elsewhere. You dug into the pocket and pulled out your pinging phone, scanning the street for an abandoned car until your eyes reached a lonely red McLaren. With another double-take and a clear coast, you plopped on the hood of a car that could very well cover all of your student loans and unlocked your phone. 

The Linux shell you’re running through the iSH Project pings the coordinates you decrypted from Jeongguk’s cellphone earlier today. 

G77; use coordinate system 1

YGeoCode.getMap {“GeoID”      : “J970 CELL”

        “GeoPoint”  :  { “Lat” : 37.56829” 

  “Lon”:126.9977”

“success”  : 1}, 1);

You drop the hand holding the device to the top of your thighs, while your shoulders slump downward, relieving tension you weren’t aware was even building.

It’s a 1:1 ratio— you’ve got him. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you sure you didn’t put a dent in my car?” An unfamiliar voice quips from somewhere behind you. 

Shit.

Your fingers hurriedly type in the exit command and kill the program. If on the off-chance you did just dent a $300,000 car, the last thing you needed was explaining why you have someone’s coordinates on display.

You look over your shoulder and you’re met with a brown head of curls. The guy, who looks to be no more than your age, quirks a brow and plops onto the empty spot beside you. The car bounces and you look down at the hood of the car where Curly essentially just jumped onto, did he just dent his own car? 

“Don’t worry darlin’,” Curls smirks, reaching to the side of his head and pulling out a single cigarette which you can only guess was hidden in the shell of his ear. “Not my car, was just messin’ with you.” 

He lights the cigarette and places it between his lips, breathing the smoke in. When his chest stops rising, he takes the stick between his fingers and ushers it toward you, “Want some?”

You shake your head and continue watching as he shrugs and places it in the corner of his mouth, letting it rest there without the need of his fingers for support. 

You turn your head away from the stranger and back to the street. The majority of the crowd that was present minutes ago made their way into the fraternity, leaving a barren road and the heavy smoke of burning herbs. 

“What’re you doin’ at a party like this anyways?” 

You scuff and face Curly once again, mildly offended at the question. Curly’s now moved both of his arms behind him and is using them as support as he leans backward on the car. His lip tugs upwards when he sees whatever expression riddles your face. 

“What is that supposed-“ 

He pushes himself off his hands and raises both hands before his chest, shaking them in defense, “You’re wearing cargos and a hoodie with Doc’s in eighty-degree weather for fucks-sake.” He gestures to your outfit with one hand. “You do know what kind of assholes are in there, don’t you?” 

You’re more than aware of what kind of misogynistic animals reside in that house. In fact, you know everything about every single one of them— their home addresses, hospital records, GPAs, transcripts, academic records, bank account numbers, transactions, who they sent their last text message to, to what condom sizes they like to buy at 7-Eleven even though the latex is probably way too big.

Instead of letting curly know you’ve committed about fifty offenses and earned yourself a jail sentence of sixty years in prison, you opt for a simple, “So?” 

Curly inches forward, face contorting in confusion as he gestures to the house and then back to you, “So? You think they’re just gonna let you walk right in wearin’ your favorite boot camp outfit?” 

Well, you weren’t exactly planning on taking the main entrance. Did you mention you found the blueprints a week ago? 

“You got a secret crush or somethin’?” Curly drops his hands and digs his elbow in your rib, wiggling his thick brows. 

You use your arm to push him in the opposite direction, denying his allegations. Curly, however, has other plans, continuing to playfully elbow your rib while whispering a symphony of various ‘Ooohs’ and ‘La-la-la’s’.

Your phone ping’s once again and you silently curse, the ping serving as a signal that Jeongguk’s moved over ten feet from the previously registered location. Jeongguk could very well be making his way back into his room all while you still haven’t even made it onto the front lawn. 

Curly halts, dropping his elbow and peering down at your phone. You side-eye the stranger and flip your phone so the screen faces the ground. His eyebrows scrunch and his mouth goes agape, a sudden realization dawns on his face.

He recognizes the ping. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Not only has Curly wasted almost fifteen minutes of your time, but the fucker knows how to code. Not any code, though, he recognizes illegal code. 

Your phone pings again and you resist the itching urge to chuck the device onto the ground and jump off the car to run home.

Curls scoots closer to you until his thigh is pressed against yours. Your eyes remain locked on the phone, watching your knuckles turn white around the device. You hold your breath till your throat begins to constrict, begging for air. What are you supposed to do? What if he knows Jeongguk? 

“Who’re you tracking?” Curly whispers, low enough that you barely pick up on his words. 

You can’t rat yourself out. No chance in hell are you telling him you’re tracking Jeon Jeongguk’s fucking cellphone. 

You shakily exhale and push yourself off the McLaren, shoving your phone into your pocket, ignoring the several new pings reverberating through the air. “I- listen.” You raise your hand to rub your face, “Can you like, keep this between us?” You use your pointer finger to swing back and forth between the both of you.

Curly groans. He grabs the butt of the cigarette and stands up. He drops the butt onto the floor and uses his boot to crush the remains into the pavement. “Listen sunshine, clearly we’re both up to no good. N’ if it makes you feel better,” he digs into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out his own phone. 

The screen lights, illuminating Curly’s face with white. You notice the mole on the tip of his nose, his one mono-lid, and the way he’s using his teeth to scrape at his bottom lip. The white cast turns a darker shade and he faces the screen to you, revealing a nearly identical iSH Project program running. 

He’s tracking someone too. 

“If you don’t wanna tell me who you’re stalkin’ then, fine by me. But, let’s help each other out, yeah?” He swings his arm around your shoulder, spinning you to face the house. He points to the bushes on the rear of the home, “We get in n’ split. You do your thing n’ I do mine. N’ if we coincidentally happen to meet each other inside, we have a good fuckin’ time. How bout’ that?” 

He uses the hand that’s hung around your shoulder to push your face to your left, leaving you only a few inches away from the tip of his nose. Your eyes gaze at his, meeting an eerie black, the complete opposite of the light brown you took notice of earlier. 

Curly smirks and leans in, pecking your forehead, leaving a glossy cast of his lips dead center. When he moves his face away, he uses his free hand to poke at the tip of your nose, “That was for good luck, now c’mon we have assholes to screw over.” 

About twenty-five minutes and a ridiculous amount of bickering later, you’ve convinced Taehyung— the name Curly told you right after you confessed you had the blueprints of the home, not forgetting to add that you’re “the best little hacker he’s ever met”— to take the emergency ladder instead of scurrying through the bushes and taking the back door. 

“I still think this is a shit idea, just wanna let you know,” Taehyung half-whispers, holding onto a piece of your hoodie as you lead the way through the bushes. 

“Noted. Still don’t care.” You mumble, picking up the pace to spite the coder. 

When your hoodie falls flat onto your back and a groan erupts from behind you, your chest swells with triumph. Smokers aren’t good runners after all. 

“Hey,” Taehyung calls from behind you, “don’t be an ass, we’re on the same team here.” 

We. Plural. 

A tree branch cracks as Taehyung stomps over it, seconds later, your hoodie is being latched to once again and a few colorful words flutter out of the former’s mouth. Lovely.

You continue pathing through the tall shrub, much to your and Taehyung’s luck, the streets were clear as day when you made your big sprint— more of a light jog for Taehyung really— to the side of the frat. 

You’d studied the blueprints in and out. Each room, bathroom, kitchen (yes, there’s more than one), and even the home gym locations are perfectly engraved into the crevices of your brain. 

The emergency ladder, which according to public records was installed three weeks after the Bang Fraternities’ initial move-in, was connected to the balcony and joined the room of Park Jimin. Across the hall, two doors to the right is Jeongguk’s room. That’s your target. 

And the sole reason you’d spent twenty minutes trying to convince Taehyung to take the ladder. Easier access meant less of a possibility of running into people and worse of all, Jeongguk himself. 

The ladder’s three-fourths of the way to the back of the house. Most likely rolled up to prevent intruders from using it to access the house without permission. Of course, you’d thought of that too and looked into the company that installs emergency ladders in the vicinity.

You ran the password cracker you’d spent all summer coding, found the sudo root password, and boom, access to all of their clientele files. Low and behold, your university had a file and in it was the fraternities. A little Googling later, you found the exact model of the ladder they used and discovered it had a small lever that let it fall down without a key or having to be at the top to press its emergency button.

The end of the shrubs was approaching, your queue to crawl through the bush and into the open space. You halt and point to a small opening through the bushes, large enough for you and Taehyung to crawl through without rustling the shrub more than necessary and garnering any unwarranted attention. 

“Once we get through here,” you point to the opening, making sure to turn around and get confirmation from Taehyung that he understood. When he nods, you continue, “I’ll pull a lever and we climb up. I’ll check if Jimin’s in the room, if not, you climb. Also, do not say anything, they probably have all of the windows open.” 

You slide through first, looking back and forth to ensure no drunk college students made their way out of the home and to the sides. With the hand on the other side of the brush, you shoot a thumbs up and quickly book it to the ladder. 

The ladder is in fact rolled up, and much higher than you expected it to be. You scan the steps trying to pinpoint the step with a tiny lever on the side of it. When your eyes lock onto it, you flip the lever upwards, and the ladder automatically clasps an inch above the soil. 

The rusting of bushes gives you the go-to climb upwards. You sprint up the ladder and the ladder dips a little further once you’ve reached the top. 

You peer over the stone balcony, and much to your surprise, Park Jimin’s glass doors are wide open. The sway of his white curtains makes an appearance every few seconds.

Without much thought, you grip the ends of the balcony and use all of your forearm strength to hoist yourself over the edge. You land on your heels and peer over the glass door to reveal a dark room. Quickly, you scan the bed, bathroom, and desk— all empty. What idiot leaves his balcony door wide open during a party? Jimin, apparently.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Taehyung moans as he reaches the top of the ladder. “Lil help here, please.”

You turn to him and he extends his hand to you. Lazy shit. You groan and grab his one hand with both of yours, steady your weight onto your heels and drive backward, pushing him forward until he falls over and lands flat on the ground. 

“Very graceful,” you comment, and Taehyung releases a huff in response. 

After what appeared to be shame-riddling his face, Taehyung stands up straight and arches his back backward, cracking his spine in the process, “Holy hell that hurt.”

“My bad.” 

Taehyung grins and raises a brow, “Worried bout’ me darling?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the bedroom, inviting yourself in. You rush toward Jimin’s bed and dishevel the perfectly made bedsheets that a maid undoubtedly made this morning. You then turn back to Taehyung who stands with furrowed brows and run your fingers through his curls, loosening them.

He tilts his head and you sigh, “We need to make it look like we just made out.” 

Taehyung opens his mouth and nods his head, “Gotcha.” 

You and Taehyung stare at one another. Spit builds in your mouth and you awkwardly swallow the build-up. After a few seconds, you nod and turn your head toward the door. 

“Well we should-“ 

“Who’re you tracking?” Taehyung asks. 

“I thought we agreed-“ 

“I’m here for Min Yoongi. He owes me six grand in narcotics. Stole my shit and sold it somewhere on the market, gonna get into his laptop and get my money back.” 

You blink at him and question the sincerity in his words. Does he have any reason to lie to you? What kind of benefit would he get from lying to you? Is Taehyung even his real name? 

You lift your hand and rub the back of your neck. Hesitatingly you bite at your lip and nod slowly. He’s either confident as hell or an incredible liar. Fuck it, what wrong could it do?

“Jeon Jeongguk. I’m about ninety percent sure his girlfriend runs a Red Room on the dark web, and before you laugh at me I want to let you know the fucker completely encrypted a section of his computer. I can’t access any of her information without whatever the hell Jeongguk has listed in a ‘RR Soo’ folder on his computer.”

As much as you expected Taehyung to laugh in your face, his eyebrows lightly rise and he nods understandingly as if he’s totally cool with whatever the fuck you have planned, “Cool shit detective, good luck.” 

You swallow, “You’re not gonna?”

“Laugh? Nah. We’re both bout’ to commit an offense, I have my reasons and so do you. What’s laughin’ gonna do?” 

Taehyung doesn’t wait for your response, instead, he digs into his trousers and pulls out a cigarette box. His slender fingers flip the green top, revealing an array of sticks, he pulls one out and tilts the box to you, much like he did before with the single cigarette.  

You shake your head at the request and he shrugs, shoving the box back into his pocket. 

Taehyung lights the cigarette and lifts his head, averting his gaze to you. He winks and walks directly past you, leaving only the click of the door as a reminder of his presence. 

Holy hell.

You rub at your palms, feeling the moistness that accumulated. When did it get so fucking hot? With a deep sigh, you shake your hands and rub them against the roughness of your cargos. 

It was now or never. Your phone hadn’t pinged in about ten minutes meaning Jeongguk had to still be somewhere downstairs. 

You turn toward the door and walk to it, pressing your hand on the knob and rotating it. When it clicks, you swing the door open and make your exit. 

The smell of burning weed intoxicates you, filling the air with a cloud of thick smoke. With a quick glance in both directions, you notice the upstairs is relatively empty. In fact, there was no one in the hallway. Not even a trace of Taehyung, who left moments ago.

The boom of the speakers that were planted through the house and the screams of excited men and even more excited girls vibrated everywhere. There must be at least a hundred people downstairs. 

You tug your hood over your head and avoid contact. 

Across the hall and two to the right. 

Jeongguk’s door was hard to miss, a large white board nailed to the center of the door with ‘BAD BUNNY JK’ written in purple. Beside it was several much smaller doodles, all drawn on in different colors. 

You inched forward and knocked twice.

Nothing. 

You reached down, grabbing the knob to twist it, but, it wouldn’t budge. Fucker locks his door, of course, he does. 

You groan and bend down to eye level with the knob, you reach into a lower pocket of your cargos and dig out a lock-pin. You jam the metal into the door and twist until the lock clicks, unlocking the door. 

You check over your shoulder and rise, bolting through the door and directly into the room, slamming the door behind you.

Jeongguk’s room, much to your surprise, is exactly how you imagined it’d to be. To your left is an unmade bed with black sheets and a matching pillow set, plus a few scattered plushies of various colors. Directly in front of you, a PC set up with two horizontal monitors and one vertical off to the side, the keyboard pulses with rainbow hues. Directly above the PC are several posters, Metallica and ACDC to name a few. 

In the corner, an orange electric guitar rests on a stand, several doodles are drawn onto its surface. To the right, is a closet with closed sliding doors and a mirror hanging from the top. 

It’s definitely cleaner than you expected. 

You glance at the corners of his room, of which all are empty. Okay, good, he has no cameras. At least, none that you can see. 

With a deep breath and a hammering chest, you take a step toward the desk. Roughly, you dig out the single USB flash drive you’ve placed in the bottom pocket of your cargos and slide out its metal component. 

When you’ve reached Jeongguk’s desk, you tap on the space bar of his keyboard and watch the desktop come to life. A photograph of Jeongguk and his girlfriend, Soojin, appears in front of you, in the photo, Soojin smiles as Jeongguk kisses her cheek. How romantic. 

You resist an urge to roll your eyes. 

In the center of the desktop Jeongguk’s ‘BB BUNNY JK’ username is displayed in bold letters and under it is an empty white text box awaiting the correct password input to allow access to the PC. 

You hacked Jeongguk two weeks ago. 

His password, ‘soosoo970�� is a play-on-words of the nickname he uses for his girlfriend. Which is tremendously more idiotic than you could’ve ever imagined. Seriously, what kind of software engineering student uses the nickname he gives his girlfriend alongside the year he was born as his password? 

You type in the password, press enter and the page unlocks itself. Without wasting any more time—thank you, Taehyung— you open the terminal and shove your USB drive into the computer. 

You open the batch file you saved on the drive and run the script. After the script successfully runs, it allows you to automate tasks and export Jeongguk’s data into text files, granting you complete access to all of his desktop passwords while not having to be on it directly. 

Using your Apple Watch’s clock, you count ten seconds until the script finishes running and lets you download the batch file. After opening the file, you see everything.

And no, Soojin doesn’t run a Red Room. From what you understand, the girl can’t even fucking run the ‘Hello World’ command if her life depended on it. And yes, you did lie to Taehyung. 

Initially, you’d taken a certain interest in Park Jimin. He was in nearly all of your classes: confident, outspoken, and eerily kind. The kind that bugs you because for some odd reason it just doesn’t feel right. 

After the third week and an itch you couldn’t simply squash, you hacked into Jimin’s computer, then his cellphone, and his entire life. Turns out he wasn’t as irregular as you thought, sure, he watched anal porn more than most dudes his age but, other than that, his record was clean.

Then, you hacked the rest of his fraternity. Call it simple-minded curiosity, or whatever. But, you wanted to know what type of people Jimin was okay with associating himself with. 

Sure, nearly all of them were your typically coke-addicted, old-school wealth, types of douchebags. But, they didn’t have any hidden files, encrypted programs, or scripts, nothing that screamed ‘Hey look, I’m totally doing something I shouldn’t!’. 

Jeongguk, unlike the rest of his fraternity, took an extra precaution in ensuring his information stays private. Privacy, like complete encryption from all proxies except the root IP typically only happens because of a single reason— Jeongguk’s hiding something.

And once you get home and decrypt all of his passwords and to what programs and sites they belong, you’ll know exactly what it is he’s hiding. 

You kill the batch file, copy it onto your drive, and clear the terminal. 

After shutting down the PC, you shove the USB drive back into its original pocket and proceed toward the direction of the door. 

Whatever Jeongguk hid on that PC will be yours by the end of tonight. Your chest swells with triumph as you lower your hand to twist the knob. 

“Soo, chill, wait until we’re inside,” a voice groans from the opposite side of the door. 

There’s a sound of keys clanking against one another, “Fucking hell, which one is it again?” 

Your blood runs cold and your hand freezes on the knob, unable to move an inch. 

Why didn’t your phone ping? You coded it to ping three times in a row if Jeongguk’s elevation level changed, which he very clearly did. 

You’re fucked. You’re absolutely fucked. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Panic settles in and you begin to rapidly look around Jeongguk’s room to find somewhere you can hide. His bed had storage containers filling the space underneath it and there’s no way you’d have enough time to move them and make room for yourself. The space underneath his desk is too open, he’d notice you the second he walked in. 

C’mon, c’mon. 

You continue rapidly looking around until your eyes land on the closet. In a sprint, you rush toward the sliding doors and haul one of the doors to open. Thankfully, the space on the bottom has just enough room for you to squeeze into a ball and pray to who-fucking-ever Jeongguk doesn’t need a change of underwear tonight.

After you’ve nearly collided with every single piece of clothing in his office and settled into a ball on the floor, you usher the closet door closed and hold your breath. 

No more than ten seconds later, you hear the door swing open and a pair of footsteps rush in. 

“Baby, I’m tired.” You hear the female, who you presume to be Soojin, moan. 

Your heart pounds against your chest and you try to exhale as quietly as possible. The sound of footsteps and a thud on a cushion muffles your irregular breathing. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice a dim light peeking through a gap where the two closet doors are joined by bolts. You shuffle your way toward the gap, not because you’re a creep, but, because you need to get the fuck out of here. 

You catch your breath as Soojin straddles Jeongguk, giggling as she pulls off his oversized black shirt, throwing it somewhere onto the ground. She kisses his neck, and chest, and eventually reaches the border of his joggers. 

Jeongguk groans, gripping the back of Soojin’s hair and giving her a light tug, “Get on with it.”

His girlfriend giggles in response and lowers herself off of him and onto her knees on the floor. You try to look away, try to ignore the pulsing in your stomach, and look into the darkness of the closet. But, you can’t. 

Your eyes are glued to the couple. 

Soojin pulls down Jeongguk’s joggers, along with his underwear. You bite your lip and try to steady your heart, your feet have fallen asleep and the tingling sensation makes both of them go completely numb. 

From your position, you’re unable to see Jeongguk’s lower torso, Soojin’s back obscures the view. But, as your eyes trail upwards from Soojin’s waist, you notice Jeongguk’s pecks, his prominent collarbones. The definition in his toned arms as he uses one hand to steady himself and the other to guide his girlfriend’s bobbing head.

“You’ve been naughty, haven’t you?” Jeongguk moans and you can’t resist the urge to look up at his face. 

Soojin moans in response, choking in the process of Jeongguk shoving her mouth to the bottom of his cock. 

At this point, you’ve unconsciously moved closer to the gap to get a closer look, most of your weight shifting to the tip of your feet. Your eyes settle on Jeongguk’s lip, the smirk that tugs upwards and then to his eyes.

When they meet, your hand flies to cover your mouth to suppress the yelp that’s forming in your throat.

His eyes are completely black, the normal doe shape they carry transformed into that of a feline cat— a predator stalking his prey. 

Jeongguk’s staring directly at you.

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook au #jungkook yandere #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook bts #jungkook college #jungkook college au #stalker!jungkook #yandere!jungkook #stalker au #yandere au #stalker jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader smut #stalker bts #yandere #bts thriller #yandere!bts #yandere!jungkook x reader #bts au #you jk

[shopping-servicese]

Gowns And Academic Dress: A Symbolic Tradition

In the grand tapestry of academia, few symbols hold as much weight and significance as gowns and academic dress. These iconic garments, steeped in history and tradition, serve as a visual representation of scholarly achievement and institutional pride. Whether donned during graduation ceremonies, convocations, or academic events, gowns and academic dress carry with them a sense of solemnity and reverence.

The origins of gowns and academic dress can be traced back centuries, with their roots deeply embedded in medieval Europe. Initially, these garments served a practical purpose, providing warmth in the drafty halls of early universities. Over time, however, they evolved into symbols of academic hierarchy and achievement. Today, the wearing of academic dress is a customary practice in educational institutions worldwide, signifying a connection to the rich legacy of scholarship and learning.

Graduation attire in Riyad reflects the unique cultural and institutional norms of the region. In Saudi Arabia's capital city, academic dress often adheres to traditional Islamic modesty standards, with loose-fitting robes and head coverings commonly worn by both male and female graduates. These garments not only uphold religious customs but also serve as a symbol of cultural identity and heritage.

Beyond their cultural significance, gowns and academic dress also play a practical role in formal academic ceremonies. Different styles and colors of gowns often denote academic discipline, degree level, and institutional affiliation. For example, a doctoral gown may feature distinctive trim or embellishments, while the color of the hood signifies the wearer's field of study. These subtle variations in attire serve to distinguish scholars within the academic community and honor their specialized expertise.

The act of donning academic dress carries with it a sense of solemnity and reverence, marking a significant milestone in the academic journey. For many graduates, wearing the robe and cap is a tangible symbol of their years of hard work, dedication, and scholarly pursuit. It represents not only the attainment of knowledge but also the promise of future endeavors and contributions to society.

In addition to their symbolic value, gowns and academic dress foster a sense of unity and camaraderie among graduates. As students from diverse backgrounds come together to celebrate their achievements, they share in the common experience of wearing the traditional regalia of academia. This sense of belonging transcends individual differences and underscores the collective pursuit of knowledge and excellence.

In conclusion, gowns and academic dress serve as more than mere garments; they are symbols of scholarly achievement, cultural heritage, and institutional pride. Whether worn during graduation ceremonies or academic events, these iconic garments connect students to the rich tradition of scholarship and learning. In Riyad and beyond, the donning of academic dress marks a timeless tradition that honors the pursuit of knowledge and the journey of academic achievement.

[decadentladypirate]

The Big Problem in Dutch Football

_______________________________________

Thank you Tifo. You reminded me of a horrible incident that happened to me the other day. (Trigger Warning: it's long) 

Last Week, this one customer ranted to me how he's moving to the Amsterdam from Boston. I'm trying to be happy for him, saying "Oh the Dutch have a great soccer league!" and then he went ballistic on me. I get he's upset, I'm reticent around college sports myself ever since my guidance counselor said no on my desire to go to a four year; but nobody wants to see a wrinkly douchebag berate a cashier in public for talking about sports. (I'm happy my co-workers find college sports entertaining, they are emotionally stronger than I am who demands academic loyalty). Like I get we Boston sports fans are nuts compared to the rest of the US since I am one of those meat headed Boston sports lovers who goes to duck boat championship parades; but get a grip, this isn't Danny Phantom. We didn't resort to throwing flares yet. We don't wear that antisocial hooligan badge with pride. 

I look back on this, and I deduced he was on drugs or something since he was wrinkly, pallid, and the pupils of his blue eyes were dilated. He's like 170cm and has a shitty accent and will go ballistic if he sees a sports jersey that says "Boston." He has white hair so you can't confuse him for your run of the mill leftist or your average Andrew Tate fan. He doesn't even deserve to be called an incel or Karen. Even social justice warriors love sports enough to protest over sport washing and major sports bodies holding major tournaments in places with oppressive regimes like a lot of Ultras are already doing. Don't get me wrong, I might not be surprised that the 2026 Men's World Cup could be protested here but then again if people don't want to see games in the US they can go to Canada or Mexico. But nobody wants to see that wrinkly bastard go on a nerd rant over people who like to seeing muscle men play kick balls with mad skills.

 He was one of those stupid people that thinks Europe doesn't have sports culture. Which is false. I wish I could tell him clearly that there are hooligans in Western Europe that are more frenzied than your average American fan but no he makes it hard for me to speak properly like I am getting lectured. I couldn't defend myself. We just got a new Department Manager and I don't think she's ready to deal with our town's level of Karen-hood yet because I don't want to see her sad. My last Manager left because of this. I could not finish my shift on time as I broke down started crying for hours, and it involved several meetings with the bosses chastising me for the remainder of the week after he fucked off. Even threatening to discuss this with my mother. This was the third March that involves me having me cry loudly at work and almost getting fired over something stupid. It’s pointless to defend yourself when you work retail. Like I don't give a damn what you like and what you hate about my special interests. If your bullshit rant sessions, scream fests, and arguments threaten my sense of security, school records, and puts my career in jeopardy, I will not be happy with you in the near future. I don't like being yelled at. 

AND YOU PROVED ME RIGHT.  Even the Red Sox and Yankees rivalry is less frenzied than whatever the hell Feyenoord or Ajax fans are doing. Heck Honduras and El Salvador started to war with each other in the 80s because of the events unfolding during a soccer/football match. I even watch ultras burn their own tifos or banners with flares over YouTube for fun. To them, Americans act way too detached and wholesome for their liking and protests made by fans are usually rare. 

#youtube

[blrdistrict]

Things to Consider When Leasing a Lab Space

The COVID-19 pandemic propelled a whole round of research labs, and this isn’t some random fact pulled out of thin air. In fact, according to the reports by The Wall Street Journal, more than 31 million square feet of life-science spaces were under development by the fourth quadrant of 2021.

Source: (https://www.wsj.com/articles/demand-for-science-lab-buildings-soars-during-covid-19-pandemic-11646139601)

The need for persistent and competitive scientific research is nothing brand new. Although two years of a global pandemic under our belts skyrocketed the demand for quality life science lab space, the need for science lab rental was always on the rise. However, finding the perfect space to complement your R&D objectives is no easy feat. Wondering how to find the perfect lab for your next big project? Here are some tips for you!

Location and Accessibility:

When it comes to leasing a lab space, location is of utmost importance. Consider the proximity of the lab space to other research institutions, universities, and industrial hubs. A location that fosters collaboration and provides access to resources, expertise, and potential partnerships can be invaluable in advancing your research. Additionally, ensure that the lab space is easily accessible for your team and any visitors, considering factors such as transportation, parking, and proximity to amenities.

Infrastructure and Facilities:

A well-designed and equipped laboratory infrastructure is essential for carrying out life science research effectively. Evaluate the layout and functionality of the lab space, ensuring it is adaptable to your specific research requirements. Consider factors such as the availability of fume hoods, safety features, temperature, and humidity control, waste disposal systems, and adequate storage space for chemicals, reagents, and equipment. Furthermore, assess the availability and quality of utilities, such as electricity, water, and ventilation systems, as they directly impact the reliability and efficiency of your experiments.

Compliance and Regulations:

In the life sciences field, adherence to regulatory guidelines and compliance with safety standards are paramount. Before leasing a lab space, familiarize yourself with the relevant local, state, and federal regulations that govern research facilities. Ensure the lab space meets these requirements and has the necessary certifications, permits, and licenses. Compliance with regulations not only ensures the safety of your team but also safeguards the integrity and validity of your research.

Scalability and Flexibility:

As your research progresses and your team grows, it is crucial to consider the scalability and flexibility of the lab space. Assess the potential for expansion or modification of the space to accommodate future needs. This could include the availability of additional rooms, benches, or office spaces. Flexibility in terms of lease terms and the ability to customize the space according to your research requirements can be advantageous in the long run.

Supportive Ecosystem:

Consider the ecosystem surrounding the lab space. Are there opportunities for collaboration, networking, and knowledge sharing with other researchers or companies in the area? An ecosystem that fosters innovation and provides access to resources, funding, and mentorship can significantly enhance your research capabilities. Look for nearby academic institutions, incubators, or technology parks that can offer support and create synergistic relationships.

Conclusion

Reconfiguring biotech labs for concise R&D results worked in the past, but now it’s simply time-consuming and expensive. As life science companies increasingly eschew conventional lab design to keep up with the pace of innovation, finding the best life science real estate developers for agile lab spaces has become imperative.

The need to shorten product pipelines and cost pressures have become the changing definition of a desirable laboratory facility, and leasing a science lab can open new doors for innovation, technology, and top talents to be dynamic and accommodate the change in their life science research facility. 

Blog Source Url:- https://blrdistrict.in/blog/things-to-consider-when-leasing-a-lab-space/

#life science lab space #science lab rental #life science real estate developers

[mitphotographyca]

Halifax graduation portrait studio Moments in Time Photography Studio has the academic hoods, cap, and gowns for Dalhousie, Saint Mary’s, Mount Saint Vincent, and St.Fx university along with High Schools in Halifax. Graduation portrait sessions includes cap and gown. Book online or call our studio. See what our customers have to say about us on Google reviews by searching our name Moments in Time Photography Studio

[eis123456]

10 Things Auto Body Store Technicians Must Know

Generally, the higher the current ratio, the larger the "cushion" between current obligations and a firm’s ability to pay them. Let us come to you with our GPR coaching and get your hands on our award-winning tools! Our consultants will cover everything you should know with G... Aluminum body work has turn into more prevalent since Ford launched its aluminum-bodied 2015 F-150. Aluminum body work was performed prior to the 2015 F-150’s release, but solely on certain high-end vehicles and specific hoods and tailgates. The new resolution includes a spray gun and a disposable nozzle.

Secondly, if the shop is a protracted way from your home, getting your vehicle might pose an inconvenient problem. Whether this is higher towing and transportation charges, or just just the time it’ll take to drive there. Only in uncommon instances do you should have your automotive repaired greater than two hours away out of your location.

Trunk Strength — The capability to use your belly and decrease back muscular tissues to help part of the body repeatedly or continuously over time with out "giving out" or fatiguing. Critical Thinking — Using logic and reasoning to establish the strengths and weaknesses of alternative solutions, conclusions, or approaches to issues. Heat material or workpieces to organize for or complete manufacturing. Training and Teaching Others — Identifying the educational needs of others, developing formal academic or coaching packages or lessons, and educating or instructing others. Handling and Moving Objects — Using palms and arms in handling, installing, positioning, and shifting materials, and manipulating things.

Allows optimum integration of clear coats/colours 2k to partially painted areas. Additive for fade-out spraying, geared mainly in the direction of the ‘spot repair’ market. 2K clear coat in aerosol format that facilitates the application of the product both vehicle body repair product for small touch-ups and full parts, offering an optimal final end result. Removes holograms and leaves a lengthy lasting deep gloss shine.

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Unless you’re opening a niche enterprise, your facility must be simple for patrons to search out. Creating a marketing strategy is work, but planning is the key to creating a enterprise that may prosper. Hopefully, your marketing strategy will present you and anyone you propose to do enterprise with just how good an investment you’re making. Then once vehicle body repair product more, you could discover that going through the method demonstrates that your thought simply doesn’t pan out. Much of your analysis can be utilized repeatedly as you search for a location or acquisition that works. You see the samples with charts, graphs and spreadsheets and mutter to your self, “I’m comfy working on cars, however I can’t do this stuff!

My good friend says he had always needed to personal a sports bar. He felt that he had researched his determination and jumped in with every thing he had. In reality, that’s how most businesses vehicle body repair product start – and why so many fail. I lately met with a new entrepreneur who’s having bother within the first yr of his business – a sports bar.

[thearchivistsjournal]

Day 97,

Morning thought:  Judging by the moon last night, there should be another mist night any day now.  I wonder what everyone will do if it falls on the equinox two days from now?

By the way, I need to figure out what to wear for the festival.  I’m thinking one of the more colorful outfits that I picked out shopping with Lin way back when that I haven’t worn much.  That reminds me, I still need to get proper swimwear.  And also figure out if microscopes exist, or could be made if they don’t.  And go back to the cathedral, with Maiko in tow this time.  Probably some other things too.  So easy to just keep putting off things like that.  So little is ever really urgent around here.  Then again, we’ve only got a couple weeks at best before the rainy season returns and makes any sort of outdoor exploration difficult.

*******

The streets are filled with people putting up decorations and setting up stalls today.  Normally that would all go up the day before the festival, but with the high chance of a mist night tomorrow everyone’s getting their preparations done early.

In that vein, Vernon stopped by just a bit ago and asked me if I was interested in being a shade for the morning festivities.  It’s apparently half-ritual, half-traditional game.  I’d put on a big black hooded cloak and go out just before dawn (or right at dawn if tomorrow ends up being a mist night) and spookily stalk the streets and alleyways in search of “victims”.  Anyone that I catch has to put something they have on them into the black sack that I’d be carrying with me or else put on the robe and take the sack themselves, becoming the new “shade” and freeing me to go on about my day.  And then there’s the additional catch that the “shades” aren’t allowed to step outside of shadows, so their movement gets more and more restricted as the morning goes on.  That said, a lot of people seem to consider it good fun to try to tempt fate and see how close they can get to “trapped shades”.  Then at noon, once all the shadows disappear the shades all run to the market forum, shed their cloaks, and turn their sacks inside out to reveal colorful interior linings as they toss sweets, small toys, and whatever “offerings” had been made to the gathered crowd.

It seemed like a fun enough time to me, and a good chance to further integrate myself with local customs, so I accepted.  Here’s hoping I’m not regretting my decision an hour in when I’m covered head to toe in black cloth and the temperature is rising with the sun.

Vernon was most enthused by my decision and went rushing off to go retrieve the cloak and sack.  He should be back sometime soon.

*******

I now have a cloak and sack.  And a bunch of sweets that I’m not supposed to eat.

He’d rushed off too quickly for me to bring it up before, but this time around I managed to tell him about Maiko getting back in and what she’d told us about her time on the other island.  He was glad to hear that she was alright and lamented missing out on the opportunity to get to know her better.  Still, the similarities between what she’d found on the other island and the ruined cathedral interested him.  In a novel adventure sense if not an academic one.  Perhaps he would join us whenever we got around to investigating the cathedral again.  He’d never actually been himself.

With his mention of wanting to get to know Maiko better, I found myself wondering if I should mention that Lin seemed… interested in her just in case he meant it that way, but ultimately I kept quiet.  With all that Lin had mentioned her parents wanting her to find a husband I wasn’t sure if she was “out” or if that was even a thing here, and I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position by mentioning.  Being “out” or not I mean.  That said, while such pairings definitely seem to be a minority around here, I haven’t seen any evidence that people have a problem with it beyond perhaps disappointment in lack of grandchildren.  And that’s both with my own observations and what I’ve noticed in archival records of marriages and other relationship/family events.  Seems to mostly be seen as normal-just-uncommon if that phrasing makes any sense.  Even the gossip I hear about Vernon himself being something of a “ladies’ man” usually gets accompanied by mention of him being the same way with other men without that addition coming across as scandalous.  Still, it just didn’t seem like my place to say anything

I wonder if I should have?

On a brighter (ironically?) note the cloak is surprisingly breathable.  It’s actually a whole bunch of layers of remarkably thin veils.  And good thing that they’re so thin individually because there are no eyeholes.  I’m told that with the noontime disrobing, you’re actually supposed to rip the veils off a layer at a time, and afterward someone will very loosely stitch them back together for next year.  All in all while wearing the ensemble I look like a giant flapping pile of dark leaves or seaweed and terribly unlike a shade at all.  If anything, I resemble the nature sprite hunched under its cloak but sans antlers.

I wonder if there’s any significance to that?  Cultural drift changing what the disintegrating costumed threats are supposed to be over the generations, or merely an acceptable divergence from accurate representation in favor of a more dramatic spectacle?

<==Previous          Next==>

#writing #original fiction #serial fiction #sliceoflife #Writeblr #daily writing #epistolary novel #writers on tumblr #WIP #creative writing #literature #prose #writers #web novel #novel #journal #isekai #epistolary #fantasy #slice of life #fiction #my writing

[graduationgownsuk-blog]

High school graduation is the milestone in the careers of the students. Both students and parents should consider it as a significant event that sets the tone of the remaining journey in life. It is…

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[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.2

Getting back to your little one story cottage, you can only manage to rush in and run about in a mad dash as you try to accomplish getting ready for work and getting something to eat. Running through choices in your head as you change and freshen up, nothing sounds good. There's not much time since your shift starts at nine and to make it to the store you need to leave by eight twenty. You got home at eight fifteen, and while Nate, your manager, has never seemed to give a fuck what you did at work you're still in your probationary period and would like to keep the easiest job you've ever had.

It's a really simple gig, seeing as the store you work at is actually a front for some illegal activity. The variety of crime you aren't sure of, but you are aware there's no way you guys do no business and yet they can afford to pay thirty dollars an hour. Thankfully just keeping your mouth shut and being nice to little Jo, the owner's daughter, is enough to keep you in the cushiest job in the world. The store's front is a regular old book store, all the books are real, the registers work, you're able to sell books and you've run to the bank to do the weekly deposits twice for Book & Nook. The front is very legitimate or it would be if the amount of customers ever equaled the sales made.

Again you don't ask questions, because for thirty dollars an hour you get to goof off for a couple hours a day, plus you get a bonus when you watch little Jo at the shop. She's a real sweet eleven year old, she's got tourettes and took a shine to you the first time she saw you tic. While you both might not suffer the same disorder she finds the common ground nice, like it's not just her. It's not even hard to watch her or enjoy her company, she'll come bouncing in with her excited chittering and hands clapping spilling all the latest gossip that comes with being in middle school. And boy is there a lot of gossip.

It's really nice seeing that Jo has friends at school and is even considered a “popular” kid. You remember how tough school was because no one understood you and teachers never cared enough about your personality to bring up the fact that it was clear to most faculty members that you had Autism. You excelled academically so what did it matter if you got picked on for oversharing information or for finishing assignments the minute they were handed to you. As bittersweet as the parallels are you're so glad Jo doesn't have to go through that. Never would have thought a southern school could be so accepting, much less a middle school at that.

Tearing through the kitchen you honestly can't find anything that you want to eat right now. And even after a long night of hiking/dissociating you don't think you're that peckish at all. Figuring it's best to at least take something to quell any future nausea you grab a Pedialyte Pop from the freezer. As fast as you entered your home you left, and not before ensuring twice that the door was locked and secured. While living on the outskirts of town saves you from many potential robberies, and worse salesmen, there's still the chance of some lunatic with an ax hiding out in a closet to murder you. Better safe now than sorry later.

Pulling into park behind the shop right at nine is a blessing. You run into the shop to clock in blurting out a quick 'Morning' to Nate, who was carrying a particularly large box, as you passed by him. In a flash you were back at your car retrieving your newly prized deer skull. Lungs burning a bit from the all out sprint you just did you took a little extra time to close the trunk and lock your car up to catch your breath, and avoid any light headiness you might get from the empty stomach workout. Eager to share the wonders of death with your best work friends, and by that you mean Nate your manager...and only other coworker, you rush back into the building.

The shop was quiet as usual as you made your way through the door though you were in the back room where only employees could roam you had the slightest suspicion that the front of shop was just the same. It's there you find Nate, now lugging a medium sized box around to a side table. He did this a lot you suspect some type of smuggling but hey plausible deniability and all those legal matters. The taller dark haired man sees you and just as he's about to wave you over, notices your prize with a raised brow.

“The fuck d'you bring in the store?” he doesn't seem amused by whatever it is he thinks you're up to. “Deer skull.” Lifting it up in one hand and pointing at it, “Found this guy on my hike last night...or rather this morning actually.”

“YN, we talked about this, you said you'd get some sleep last night. No adventures remember.” he's only two years older than you and yet he acts as if he's ten years. He must be an old soul, or enjoys the role of care giver...or you're making him go gray prematurely, anything's possible.

“Eh, I remember saying I'd 'try' and get sleep.” for someone who's body is running on fumes your cheekiness is astronomical, “operative word being 'try', remember.”

It's a long silence as Nate decides if he wants to deal with your bullshit at this moment. After a minute or so he concedes leaning back on the table behind him. “Let's hear it.” and you perk up immediately.

“Cool, so I was walking along the tree line and spotted him, tried to find more but seems there's only one piece. Judging by the size of his antlers I'd say he was nearly fully grown. Now my plan is to do whatever treatments taxidermists do to bones and,” you continue to word vomit at the tired twenty-six year old in front of you, about the joys and wonders of taxidermy and the likely hood of ever finding a skull so nicely preserved.

“I can do that in here right?” even though it's been phrased as a question, you aren't asking permission, you're just being polite and letting Nate know the storage room will house your creepy deer skull antics for today...maybe the week you need to find a taxidermist book to figure out what you need to do.

Nate gives up and leaves with his box of new books to let you have full run of the back to do your weird vulture culture shit. He figures he's just too old to understand the new obsessions with the macabre. He hopes his cousin won't take to shit like this, the kid's weird enough as it is, no need to put another target on her back. Nate sets off to take down the Harry Potter sets in favor of this new comic series little Jo wanted.

Already taking his silence as the go ahead you place your found skull on the table and rush off into the store front to find a book on taxidermy and hopefully more specifically about bones. The set up and organization of the store reminds you a lot of the scene in Brendan Fraser's The Mummy 1997 where Evie is on the ladder and somehow causes all the book shelves to fall like dominoes. So unsafe, yet all book stores and libraries seem to have this set up. With the tall shelves it makes it difficult to accurately get a read on the spines. You don't even know what section taxidermy actually falls under, education maybe?

“Nate, where do you think a book on taxidermy would be?” you called out as you passed by him.

“...hobby?” that didn't sound right but you'd give it a shot anyway.

This should be fun, the hobby section was so disorganized and it took up nearly half the store too, Book & Nook had everything from fishing, to crochet, cooking, the art of film making, hell even had a cryptid hunting book a book that you may have to look into a bit later. You closed your eyes and let your intuition guide you, when you looked up you saw a thin black...vine, no whisp? It undulates in less than rhythmic movements nearly like a snake but it has no head, and not unlike a tentacle but without suckers. It's another hallucination so you were keen to ignore it until it stretched past your head, giving you an added auditory hallucination where you swore you could hear wind rushing past your ears, it swirled around you until it flew to the shelf and tapped on a book. Cautiously you walked over to it, it's never good to play into these delusions. Once you got close enough the black shape was gone but on the shelf was a creme colored paper back titled “Manual of Taxidermy: Complete Guide of Preserving Birds and Mammals.”

Walking to Nate with the book in your hands you asked him to read it and make sure you weren't having an episode and making everything up right now. You'd have to try harder to go to sleep tonight if that were the case.

“Oh you found your book huh?” he said looking down at the title.

Well this is getting weird fast, but you nod nonetheless. Might as well thank the weird hallucination gift right. Leaving him to do whatever it is he plans on doing the rest of the day, you go to the back. And just as the book instructs you set to cleaning the skull by setting it in some water and changing it as many times as the water runs murky. The book is quiet helpful to a beginner like yourself but it does seem a bit outdated from the bits of information you know from taxidermists blogs and vulture culture posts on the internet. Reading it in between water changes is a great way to pass the time though, not like you guys get any real customers anyways.

The bell rings as the front door opens and closes alerting you to someone's arrival on your third water change. Needing a little bit of mental stimulation you walk out into the front where Big Jo and Little Jo are talking to Nate. Little Jo sees you and skitters away from her father to rush you, she stops about a foot away and holds her arms wide open. She's a hugger but upon meeting you had never even thought people could be touch adverse so keeping in mind that you might not want to be touched she's learned to invite you into hugs and it's your choice to allow it or not. Placing a hand on your bicep you give a squeeze, checking your tolerance you find the thought bearable. Placing your arms outstretched at your sides Jo rushes your torso for her hug.

After she nearly body slammed you into the wall, and  let her death grip go she was off on a tangent about so many things. Her excited rapid blinking tic, one she developed after meeting you, triggering your own.

“Ok so you remember how last week I told you that Jessie Kinsleton said that Micheal Saleisa told Gigi B, not Gigi S. that Meghan,” you had no clue the lives of eleven year olds had gotten so complex, from the gossip you heard from Jo it seemed that the school's sixth graders were plotting for a war with an ice cream parlor up the street. No clue why, maybe just to fuck the system, kids are weird, preteens are weirder...and angry.

But you nod to Jo listening to her every word, and trying to calm your eyelids so you could actually open your eyes. After being told the sequence of events that would happen in the Tween Armageddon, something to do with Marco Salvator ordering three dozen donuts and a flock of geese, your eyes finally gained their ability to see back. Black whisps, much like the one from earlier, wandered all around your vision, it looked like a  dark smoke had settled eye level within the shop and was snaking through the isles.

Catching the movement of your eyes Jo looked around the shop too. Seeing nothing she turned back to you concerned, “Hey it's okay, nothin's there.”

Hearing the drop in volume of the normally chatty tween, Big Jo and Nate pause their conversation to turn their attention to you and follow you're gaze.

“Kid, you ain't sleepin' again?” Big Jo can already gauge by the bags under your eyes but he's a polite man so he feels the need to ask rather than state his assumptions.

“Day 6.” You answer simply, ever since you've started at Book & Nook the whole Cowell family became acutely aware of many of your disorders. By their record your longest time spent awake was ten days, you however adamantly say that you were an hour's mark away from ten full days so the longest you've been up is nine days in a row. And those are just the cases they know of since you've moved to Kepler.

Big Jo shook his head as a stern father would, which he is, “I have half the mind to send you home to rest.”

“That won't work.” you really don't mean to sound so coarse but it's so irritating having to go over this at least once a week.

“What about those gummy things Dia got you?”

“Long term that kind of stuff has no effect, sure it'll make me drowsie for an hour or two but even if it made me sleep one night I can't use it all the time. And before you ask the same questions again, caffeine has no real effect on me so limiting my intake will do nothing and weed doesn't do a thing for me either.” you state plainly, monotone as you present facts that everyone in the room already knows.

Looking at the stern face of Big Jo's and the exasperated face of Nate you continue, “I know it must be frustrating for you to not be able to help, but I'm content living like this. I like my late night adventures and when I do sleep it's really pleasant.”you threw in a smile for added comfort.

“Kid tha's not the point, there's somethin' wrong with you, medically I mean.” he's pinching the bridge of his nose, probably counting to ten to calm himself from raising his voice.

“Tons of people suffer from insomnia and there isn't anything a doctor could do for me except look for underlying conditions.” Big Jo's about to retort when you continue with, “Plus my dad and uncle both have insomnia as well so my case is due to the genetic lottery I lost.” You say with a hint of finality of your situation, you had to come to terms with this condition all the way back in high school. Having a decade to get used to your strange condition and the limitations it places on you from time to time. Whereas the Cowell family's only had two months to process this information, and you understand it'll take awhile before they stop being concerned. Same thing happened with you parents and friends back then too.

For now you're only met with more head shakes as if they were saying 'what are we going to do with you'. Leaving your medical issues aside Nate and Big Jo continue to talk shop, when the set up Nate just put on display catches Jo's eye.

Like lightening the tween was away from your side and by the new display shelf it looked like it held graphic novels. That's a first since you've been here, you walk over to join Jo knowing the second you do she'll start on about what's got her so excited. Most people might say you over indulge the child and coddle her but you actually just think it's really important to take interest in what makes kids happy. It helps them find their voices and also shows them that it's normal to get excited and like things.

“We got the TAZ graphic novels in?!” you hate rhetorical questions but smile and nod at her anyway.

“Have you read them? No, well you've listen to the podcast...what omg! Ok so there's these three brothers and their,” Jo begins regaling you with tales from the podcast known as The Adventure Zone and how fun they've made dungeons and dragons seem with their amazing story telling and funny characters.

You aren't sure if a show where the main group of heroes being called Tres Horny Bois is exactly age appropriate but when you look to Big Jo he kind of just shrugs it off. Turning you attention back to Jo who's now monologing about mongooses you just smile at the weird family you've found yourself in.

Let it be said that a tween with a slightly unhealthy fixation on something can find anyway to drag it back to that fixation. The day flew by with Jo explain the inner workings of dungeons and dragons, fifth edition, to you, her father, and her cousin after you mentioned why she didn't play. Apparently she'd love to but wanted a story fitting for her friend's to adventure. So being the good older cousin, father, and weird family friend you all were you came up with a story plot for her to use with her campaign.

The Jos had a lot of fun bonding over this little workshop and you guys even had food delivered so you and Nate could stay later. What was meant to just be a quick workshop turned into a mini family game night after you made several nearly impossible puzzles that wouldn't be used in Jo's campaign due to no one at the current table understanding how to solve it even after you showed them several times.

Overall it was fun and you think you might actually be tired enough to go to sleep tonight. You tried to stay and help clean up but Big Jo put his foot down and told you to go get some rest, he'd seen the way you occasionally look around the room as if something was moving behind them all. You may have started off as a cashier two months ago for him but his daughter has opened up a lot since meeting you and discovering that tics aren't so uncommon and there are people who wouldn't care or make a big deal out of them. Because of that you've earned your keep in his family, he already has you down on the list for Christmas cards.

Knowing you can't fight the six foot four man you roll your eyes and bid everyone good night, little Jo coming in to steal another hug from you and thank you for helping with her game. Checking on your skull you see the water's clear and dump it in the sink of the break room before leaving the skull to dry overnight, it's for sure gonna make Nate scream tomorrow, you can't help but chuckle at that.

Leaving through the back door and into the dusk colored parking lot you notice your trunk is popped open slightly. You definitely heard it shut earlier this morning. You blink before your head jerks to the right, unsettled by possibility of a break in and not risking it you head back inside.

“Hey, I think my car may have been broken into.” you stand awkwardly in the door way unsure of how to proceed.

Big Jo and Nate are out of the door as fast as they can. They find your car unlocked with the trunk popped, you know they weren't trying to brush you off when they asked several times if you did in fact lock your car this morning. After hearing your affirmative response each time, they began to inspect your car checking to make sure all wires are properly secured under the hood, Nate even retrieved the jack out of his own car to take a look under the car, ensuring the brakes hadn't been messed with. They started the car up just fine and it didn't appear tampered with. Even though nothing looked out of place and Nate's car, sitting in the same parking lot, hadn't been touched you appreciated them checking to make sure you were alright.

Knowing you're perceived as a woman by most, even outside of this small town, makes you uneasy when it comes to terms of abductions and violence. You know the chances and hear the stories whether it's from the victim's mouth or a podcaster's telling the story the dead can't. Nate offered to follow you home and make sure you were ok but you declined and said you'd call them both when you got home. Big Jo said to just call his home phone because Nate would be coming over tonight anyway, and if they didn't make it there before you called Dia was already at home and would pass the message along. You'll probably still try and give the shop a call if Dia answers, it wouldn't sit right with you if you wound everyone up just to not and at least try to settle their nerves.

With one final check of you car, the men even going so far as to lift seats up and feel under them, they sent you off. You drove carefully on the road tonight, ready to pull off into the shoulder at the slightest hint that something was wrong. Not even the radio was on something that you really didn't like driving without, but if there was the chance for you to catch a shift in tone of the machine you wanted to. Eventually you did end up making it home in one piece and you had called the Cowell family home, from the safety of your car, and got a spazztic eleven year old asking if you'd made it home alright. It took a little bit of coaxing but Little Jo calmed down and shouted to her parents that you were on the phone and alright.

“Kid,” looks like Big Jo took the phone away from Little Jo, “Everything ok on the drive.” Big Jo could hear the movement and shutting of your car door, he'd have to say he was relieved you waited until you were on the phone before exiting. He knew you lived out past the quiet zone in Old Lydia's house. A fact that did little for the unease he felt when he thought you were being watched.

“Oh, yea drive was fine, too quiet but fine.” you said simply as you began circling the cottage. Nothing seemed out of place on the outside, even looking above eye level where people tended to get sloppy in stalking or home invasion cases, everything seemed fine.

“Hope you don't mind if I keep you for a bit.” You had just unlocked your door and stepped in.

“Nah, kid 's fine.” you give a hum of acknowledgment as you look through the kitchen in cabinets, under cupboards, and even under the table.

“You're a smart kid.” he's taken that fatherly overtone that makes you roll your eyes. You understand the sentiment of parents and parental figures having pride in their child or ward but it's always been so weird to you when they feel the need to bring it up. Especially when they bring it up in situations that are dangerous, like can you not make it sound like someone's about to die.

Finding nothing in the living room, hall closet or bathroom you make sure all the windows are locked and dowels are in place to keep them from opening. And you double check that both the back and front doors are secured. You can hear the hushed whispers on the other end of the line, Dia must have just found out about your car, as you rustle through your kitchen utensil drawers taking out two forks before you make your way to your bedroom.

Once in your room you checked your closet and under your bed. Finding nothing you  went to the window in your room, the one right by your bed, you checked the lock, secured it in place with two dowels, and then covered it throwing a thick blanket over the curtain rod to ensure no one would be viewing you in your sleep or the precautions you were about to do. Turing around and locking your bedroom door you then jam one fork into the closed door crease, right below the locking mechanism, and jammed the other fork perpendicular through the prongs. You attempted to open the door with all your weight but only could get an inch in before the forks would stop more movement.

“Kid you alright over there?” it's rushed, he probably heard the commotion with your make shift lock.

“Yea, just had to add another lock to the door.” you trust the Cowell's but you understand how stupid it'd be to let them know exactly how you were defending yourself. Even if it wasn't them there's no telling if the person who broke into your car was outside and just good at hiding. You could also be too jumpy from your true crime shows but you figure it's better to be safe.

“I think everything's good Big Jo.” taking a final glance around your room eye's landing on the bed, “Think I'm even ready to go to sleep tonight too.” a small half laugh leaves your mouth.

“Alright kid, you call if you need anything got it.” it's an order not a request.

“Got it, good night.” Big Jo might think that'd been rude coming from anyone else but from you he can only roll his eyes at the brevity and the dial tone he's met with. He has his own sweep to do, if they were targeting his employee there was a reason. He hasn't had any problems since coming to Kepler but someone always eventually comes along who can't take a hint.

Even combing through your home with Big Jo on the line you didn't feel safe having your bed by the window anymore and moved it away and in front of the closet door. You'd rearrange your room later but for tonight this would have to do. By some grace of god you were actually able to shut your brain down tonight and rest. Maybe it was the excitement and merriment from hanging out with the Cowells or more likely the situation you find yourself in of perhaps being a target for something insidious.

Whatever the case may be you are off to the land of dreams before you know it. And unbeknownst to you the same eyes from this morning watch your home. They may not have seen what you did in there but they'd be sure to catch you when you come out. They'll wait all night to catch you if they have to.

#creepypasta fanfic #proxies x reader #proxies #masky x reader #masky x hoodie #hoodie x reader #ticci tobyx reader #timothy wright x reader #brian thomas x reader #masky #hoodie #ticci toby #ticcitoby #timothy wright #brian thomas #reader insert #reader #readerinsert

[batnations]

Emma Fox-Abboud [My OC]

Face Claim [FC]: N/A

Name: Emma Elizabeth Fox Todd

Race: Lebanese with Latin Descent 

Nicknames: Em, Liz, Beth, Liza, Foxy [by Jason], My Goddess [by Jason], Moonlight [by Jason], Deadly Em/ma [by friends and family], Magic [by Dick], KitKat [by Lydia / @soepicsokim’s oc]

Relatives: Maria Abboud [mother]: deceased, Hades [father], James Gordon [adoptive father], Barbara Gordon [adoptive sister], Nyx [grandmother]

Birthday: February 18, 2004

Age: 19 

Gender: Female

Height: 5′11

Fandoms: DC

Features: Black, loose curly hair, Bright green eyes, red medium sized lips, peach skin tone, and curvy body type with muscles that aren’t too defined

Species: Demi-Goddess [later on becomes a full on Goddess]

Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality: Emma is a selfless person and she would do anything to protect the people she loves and cares for. She is also kind, gentle and warm but at the same time can be a bit sarcastic or sassy as well, however she never means it to hurt anyone when she does. She is thinking introverted, and mostly keeps to herself but she absolutely loves to socialize with her family and those close to her. When she is going through tough times, she hates going through it alone so she’s glad Jason is always there because she knows she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own. She tends to lean more towards her emotions and feelings rather than her logic when in dire situations that risk the safety of the people she loves. She’s also very resilient and will never back down when she knows something must be done or changed to ensure the safety of others. She is also very hard on herself, usually doubting her skills or abilities and also always tends to blame herself when something goes wrong. 

Random Facts: Has PTSD after Jason’s death so loud noises or things that resemble explosions can trigger her, Her biggest fear is of losing her loved ones and being left all alone, her MBTI type is ISFJ-T, bears a gunshot wound on her left shoulder that she received from Jason before either of them discovered their identities as Red Hood and Wraith, has a silver crescent moon necklace engraved with her initials E.E.F on the back gifted to her by Jason on her birthday, her favorite color is black, her favorite animal is a fox, she is a cat person but still loves dogs too, she is very academic and loves to learn, very passionate about specific topics (when they’re serious kinds)

S/O [Significant Other]: Jason Todd 

Superhero/ Vigilante Name: Bone Reaper (when she’s 13-15 and was a vigilante), Wraith (17- ongoing, now is an anti-hero) [she changed her alias when Jason died but she took a break for a year and a half before she went back to crime fighting]

Costume Appearance: [Bone Reaper] Black tight costume with the sign of Hades/Pluto displayed in a light color on her chest, black domino mask, She wears black lipstick, a Scythe made of bones, (i don’t know how to explain this detail but like bones kinda encase her like armor so yeah) 

[Wraith] Kinda like a black tight suit and she wears a binder for her chest underneath, has a cloak with a hood that she wears all the time, a mask that covers the bottom half of her face (still thinking of the design or making it simple), the suit has three red slashes on it on her chest, utility belt, sheaths for her customized knives that had bones as the handle and W engraved on the blades. 

(the costumes are still a work in progress)

Abilities [Powers attained by Hades/Pluto and Nyx]: Raise the dead, Darkness Healing, Shadow Mimicry, Shadow Camouflage, Dark Shield Construction, Can hear, see, and feel ghosts and the dead, Can use the Mist [meaning she can change how something/people’s appearances], Resurrect the Dead, Sense death and dead things, Can control the dead, Telepathy, Telekinesis, Shadow Traveling, See glimpses of the future in her dreams or in visions [A Demi-god thing], Mastered all the Martial Arts and learned detective skills and other kinds from Bruce.

Career: A journalist in Gotham Gazette 

#emma elizabeth fox #emmaelizabethfox #dc #oc #dc oc #dc comics #dc comics oc #original character #originalcharacter #demi-goddess #goddess #bone reaper #wraith #super hero #anti-hero #vigilante #batfamily #batfam

[clavicuss-vile]

i really really wish there was a way to make like. custom skyrim followers easy on xbox. i wanna play kin'aru and marrow delving into dwemer dungeons together :((

what i usually do is just substitute followers for ocs and put a hood on them, 'miraak' on ime's save is just belrand in a hood bc the i dont like how actual miraak uses shouts all the time in the mod we have but

1. there's 0 ohmes-raht characters in skyrim full stop so i cant substitute kin unless i wanna use a bosmer

and 2. theres no dunmer followers that use the khajiit speech!! so they'll talk and i'll be like :( that's not Marrow :(

very upsetti i wanna figure out what their fighting styles would be since they're both more academically minded than arcane minded

#illumina's rambles #my ocs #oc: kin'aru #oc: marrow #im thinking Kin'aru might dabble in necromancy?? i mean his whole field of study is how life and souls actually *work* #and how that can be turned into a magical artform #(for example allowing same-sex couples to create a life) #so it would make sense that he would study the literal act of reanimation

[amanda-glassen]

The Wonder Years

While getting ready for her first school dance, twelve-year-old Olivia starts a path toward discovering who she is truly meant to be.

Twelve-year-old Olivia typically spent her Friday afternoons with Elliot and some of the other boys in their neighborhood, but with her mom home early from work for the first time in weeks, Olivia wanted a mother/daughter day. Serena Benson wasn’t into sports unless her daughter was playing, so they typically watched movies together or played games, but that afternoon Olivia was particularly excited because she didn’t have any homework over the weekend and she’d get to spend her time with her favorite people: watching movies with her mom on Friday, the Spring Fling with Alex on Saturday, and watching baseball with Elliot on Sunday. Olivia thought her weekend was practically perfect until it dawned on her that she had forgotten something…

She shoveled a handful of popcorn in her mouth as she contemplated the right way to put it. Olivia knew her mom would be upset with her either way, so after finishing her popcorn and chugging a small bottle of Gatorade, she knew the longer she waited, the more upset her mom would be. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

Olivia rested her head on her mom’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around her. “Did you know you’re the coolest mom in the world? You’re so beautiful and smart and fun and I’m so lucky to be your daughter.”

Serena kissed her daughter’s temple. “As much as I love hearing that, I know you either want something or you got detention again.”

“I didn’t get detention again,” Olivia said defensively. She took a deep breath and remembered that she had to calm down if she wanted to remain on her mom’s good side after what she was about to tell her. “You know how I’m going to the Spring Fling tomorrow? Well, I kinda sorta don’t have anything to wear.”

“Kinda sorta?”

“Okay, not kinda sorta,” Olivia responded, trying to give her mom her sweetest and most innocent look. “I have nothing to wear tomorrow, but in my defense, I had a lot going on. My basketball season ended and softball began. Then there was March Madness and the Mets pre-season games. Not to mention, all of the pressure that’s put on kids today to succeed at both academics and extracurricular activities. It’s no wonder I forgot to shop for something to wear.”

Serena playfully squeezed her daughter, causing Olivia to giggle. “Olivia Margaret, what am I going to do with you?”

“Take me shopping and then to Starbucks?” Olivia asked hopefully.

With three hours left until the mall closed, Olivia didn’t even get a chance to browse her favorite sporting goods store. Nearly a year had passed since the last time Olivia had worn a dress and she had already grown out of it as well as almost all of the other clothes she had worn during the previous school year. Olivia looked at her mom casually browsing the racks of colorful spring dresses in the juniors department. She admired how sophisticated her mom always looked and how she could pull off any style better than the women in the magazines. Although she’d never admit it to her mom or her friends, Olivia occasionally felt insecure about the way she looked in her clothes. She was now too tall to fit in the kids department, but she hated most of the clothes in the juniors department because it was either too tight or too revealing for her tastes. 

Olivia hesitated to even sift through the racks, so her mom picked out ten dresses for her to try on. The thought of trying on ten dresses was overwhelming for Olivia, but she trusted her mom’s sense of style and figured once this was over, she wouldn’t have to shop again until it was time for back to school shopping in the summer. 

“Mom, this one’s itchy!” Olivia called out while she had on the first dress and she could have sworn she heard her mom laugh from the other side of the fitting room door. 

“Move on to the next one, Ollie.”

“This one is too tight,” Olivia told her mom without even letting her see how the second dress looked on her. “I can’t move comfortably. What if I wanna play kickball or something? I won’t even be able to.”

“Why would you be playing－” Serena stopped herself. “You know what, if you played kickball outside instead of dancing at your first dance, it wouldn’t even surprise me.”

Olivia tried on the next dress, which ended up being more low cut than she had thought it would be. She wanted to take it off and change back into her jeans and hoodie, but her mom wanted to see at least one of the dresses she had tried on, so Olivia reluctantly opened the door. 

“That’s way more skin than I want you showing at twelve-years-old,” Serena told her. “It’s too low on top.”

Olivia crossed her arms over her chest. “Mom, you picked it. Besides, I don’t have the boobs for this dress.”

Serena covered her mouth, hoping to stifle her laughter. “Well, not yet, but you will someday.”

“No way!” Olivia shook her head. “The moment they start to grow, I’m taping them down.”

“Taping them down isn’t going to stop them,” Serena said as she tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. 

“Ugh!” Olivia groaned. “Then what is? When is everything going to stop? I don’t like the way I look and I don’t want to wear dresses or makeup or heels. I don’t want anyone to say ‘Olivia is becoming a beautiful young woman’ or anything like that. I don’t wanna be a woman right now. I don’t know what I wanna be.” 

Olivia tried to be tough and hold back her tears, but she could no longer control them. Instead, she decided to cling to her mom because what she needed to feel most was the comfort of being in her mom’s arms. “My Ollie Koalie,” Serena said softly while she held her. “What can I do to help you? I love you so much. No more dresses, okay? No more of anything that doesn’t make you feel like you.”

Once Olivia had changed out of the dress and back into her jeans and hooded sweatshirt, they left the juniors department and went over to the young men’s department. She may have had to sift through several racks before she found something small enough to fit her, but for the first time in her life, Olivia was excited about clothes shopping. Her mom helped her pick out some black slacks and a black vest and all that was left was the crowning jewel－her shirt.

“Mom,” Olivia said nervously.

“Yes, Ollie,” Serena absentmindedly responded. She grabbed some chinos in tan and olive green and draped them over her arm. “These pants looked good on you and I think we should get you some more.”

“Really?” Olivia asked. “But what about all the clothes you bought me for the start of the school year and for winter?”

“The clothes you’re not happy in?” Serena pointed out. “We’ll donate what you don’t want and refresh your wardrobe, but we can focus on that next week. Right now, we need to get you a shirt.”

“About the shirt…” Olivia hesitated. “Elliot bought a light blue shirt because Kathy’s dress is light blue...and some of the other guys are getting shirts to match their date’s dresses. It’s a thing a lot of the guys at school are doing and I was hoping…”

“Are you trying to tell me you have a date?” Serena asked her now blushing daughter.

Olivia knew her mom had rules against her dating before high school, but she knew Alex was worth any amount of trouble she’d get in. “I do have a date. She’s kinda sorta more than my date.”

“Are we back on kinda sorta?” Serena smiled at her.

“Kinda. I mean, no,” Olivia shook her head. “She’s not my date. She’s my girlfriend.”

“My little Ollie has a girlfriend,” Serena teased. “Is this girlfriend of yours the cute little blonde girl whose picture is the new lock screen wallpaper on your phone?”

“Mom!” Olivia’s eyes grew wide. “You looked at my phone?”

“You were sitting next to me and practically drooling over that picture of her,” her mom told her. “...and I figured if you actually replaced the Giants logo on your phone, she must be really special to you.”

 “There’s something else that’s going to make you think she’s even more special,” Olivia hid her face with her hands. “I’m actually gonna get a pink shirt to match Alex’s dress.”

“A pink shirt?” Serena gasped. “This girl just might be my future daughter-in-law.”

“Mom,” Olivia giggled. “So I’m not in trouble?”

“Have you kissed her?”

“What? No!” Olivia narrowed her eyes. “I don’t do anything like that. Alex and I just hold hands and sit together at lunch.”

“I can’t stop you from liking girls at your age or stop girls from liking you,” Serena began. “You’re way too young to kiss a girl, but if all you’re doing is holding hands and spending time together, I’m fine with you having a girlfriend. Just keep in mind that I will never let the two of you be unsupervised and...Ollie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m here if you ever want to talk about having a girlfriend or talk about anything at all.” 

There were a few other customers nearby, but Olivia didn’t care. She hugged her mom and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Mommy, and thank you for letting me be me. I think I’m gonna be happier now.”

#WSVU Week #alex and liv: the wonder years #alex cabot #olivia benson #cabenson

[ichigo-daifuku]

To Dye For

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Toya & Todoroki Natsuo, Todoroki Family Genre: Gen, Angst, Canon Compliant, Random Encounters, Character Study Word Count: 1.6k | AO3 Link

Synopsis: Natsuo encounters a mysterious man in the hair care products aisle at the grocery store.

Warning: The following contains mild spoilers for the Endeavor Agency Arc and the Paranormal Liberation War Arc.

Natsuo stared at his reflection in the mirror and frowned.

As a college student, hustle and bustle filled his everyday life. He attended classes, studied diligently, moved from one deadline to another, and participated in extracurricular activities. It was a lot to get used to at first, but the newfound freedom he had was nothing short of amazing. He could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Natsuo had spare time, he would usually spend it going on dates with his girlfriend or visiting Rei at the hospital together with Fuyumi. As of late, however, he had little time to do either. School activities had caused his schedule to become more hectic. The upcoming final exams would signal the end of the academic year, and Natsuo had a lot of tasks to accomplish in preparation for them.

He had been so preoccupied with his responsibilities that before he knew it, the streaks at the sides of his hair had grown crimson.

Growing up, Natsuo detested the crimson strands on his head. He didn’t mind how they stood out against his predominantly white hair at first, but as his hatred for his father grew, the sentiment spread to the biological traits he inherited from him. He loathed how those crimson streaks were the same shade as his father’s. In time, Natsuo despised how their resemblance was uncanny. People had always pointed out how his face and frame looked like a younger version of Enji. It was one of his pet peeves.

Natsuo would never forget how, for a long while, he was prohibited from visiting his mother at the hospital because she couldn’t bear to see him. He reminded her too much of Enji, even though his father was as good as a stranger to him. Natsuo wasn’t like him at all, but even if that was the truth, his physical appearance alone was an undeniable indication that he was his son.

When he was in his early teens, he started bleaching and dyeing the six streaks of his hair white. He had a way to lessen his likeness to his father, and he took the opportunity to do so. Now, truth be told, Natsuo had come to the point where he was unused to seeing his crimson hair. It was an odd feeling, but he had learned to live with it.

In retrospect, he should’ve requested a touch-up last week when he went for a haircut at the barbershop, but he had been in a rush. He disliked freeloaders and didn’t want to be one, so he prioritized attending the group meeting he had instead. With a sigh, he shook his head but didn’t regret his choice. He considered dropping by the barbershop again but thought otherwise. He could do it by himself. It had been a while since he had done the bleaching process on his own, but it was simple enough. He could do it.

Natsuo slipped his navy blue coat on and went on his way to the grocery store near his dormitory. The winter chill felt soothing and nice against his skin. It eased his mind and relieved the stress he was under, and he felt glad he decided to go out today.

At the grocery store, he proceeded to the aisle of hair care products and grabbed his favorite brand of hair bleach kit. He hummed to the tune of the music playing through the speakers and looked around, wondering if the hair bleach kit would suffice since he had the other products he needed in the dormitory. Now that he thought about it, he could do some grocery shopping as well. He should get a shopping cart.

A fellow customer entered the area he was standing on. The lanky man wore a hooded jacket that covered the majority of his face. He had his hands inside his pockets as he browsed the shelves.

The man seemed to be someone around Natsuo’s age, more or less. Natsuo was taller than him but granted, he was taller and burlier than most of his peers. He wondered if he was also a college student like him and, if so, if he attended the same institution he did. Natsuo attempted to catch a glimpse of the man’s face but failed. The stranger wore sunglasses, obscuring his features even further, except for the ebony hair hanging across his forehead. Although uncertain, Natsuo considered the possibility of this stranger’s covered-up attire being connected to his Quirk.

With a gloved hand, the man picked up a box of black hair dye and read the description on the packaging.

Oh, no, Natsuo thought, Anything but that one.

“Hey, man,” Natsuo called, approaching the stranger in a friendly manner. “I wouldn’t recommend that brand. The quality isn’t very good.”

The man stiffened but, nevertheless, replied, “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I used that brand when I dyed my hair blond when I was younger, and it completely faded after a few washes.”

“Why?”

“Well, as I said, the quality is—”

“Not that,” the man interjected, not bothering to face Natsuo fully, “Why would you dye your hair blond?”

“Ah, well… to piss my old man off,” Natsuo admitted.

“Why?”

“He has this… rivalry with a certain blond man, so he hates him. I thought it would irritate him.”

Natsuo was oversharing, and he knew it. His hand came up to rub the nape of his neck as he chuckled in mild embarrassment. He had nothing to be embarrassed about when he was just answering the man’s question, right?

To his surprise, the man probed, curious about his story, “And? Did it do the trick?”

“Nah.” Natsuo shook his head. “He just glared at me for a bit and went back to pretending I don’t exist.”

The man let out a humorless chuckle. “Figures.”

Looking back, Natsuo realized how petty of a prank that was. Of course, the man would think so, too. “Yeah.”

There was a lull in the conversation. The man shifted his head to look at Natsuo.

Natsuo was unable to see the man’s face due to his sunglasses, but he could feel his eyes as they traveled from the hair bleach kit in his hand and then to his hair.

The stranger’s shoulders shook as he stifled a laugh. He turned away and placed the low-quality hair dye back on the shelf.

Natsuo scanned the items near him and pointed to a certain section. “If you’d like a really good hair dye, this is the brand I’d recommend.”

“There’s no need.” At a leisurely pace, the man turned around and made his way to the shelf across them, grabbing a medium-sized bottle.

Hair dye remover, Natsuo noted, which made no sense to him. Wasn’t he looking for hair dye?

The man inspected the item in his hand and put it inside his pocket.

Natsuo’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him. “Hey, what do you think you’re—”

Ignoring his question, the man stepped closer to Natsuo, and with amusement laced in his voice, spoke, “Make sure to watch the news, okay?”

Natsuo froze. Why did this person seem almost… familiar?

“See you around,” the man said and walked away, “Todoroki Natsuo.”

Alarm bells rang inside Natsuo’s head. This stranger called him by his full name. He had never introduced himself nor was he wearing anything that would give away his identity.

The second Natsuo was able to collect his thoughts and get over his initial panic, he ran after the man to question him, but he was nowhere to be found. The security alarms didn’t go off despite the man stealing something from the grocery store, his escape successful.

Natsuo reported the shoplifting incident to a staff member. Since the man’s physical appearance was too obscured, the authorities had very little clue to his identity. They recorded the theft but could do nothing much about it, ultimately deciding to watch out for similar incidents from now on. When they asked Natsuo if there was anything else he had to say, Natsuo contemplated it but chose not to inform the authorities of the fact that the man knew his identity and was, most likely, after him.

On his way back to the dormitory, Natsuo clutched the handle of the paper bag of hair products in his fist, wary of his surroundings. He couldn’t help it. Having been targeted and attacked by a villain in the past, he had to stay vigilant. Moreover, why did that person tell him to watch the news? The crime he committed was theft—a petty one at that—and would hardly be worth a headline.

Still, it worried Natsuo. He sent Fuyumi a message subtly informing her of his whereabouts in case something happens to him. Not wanting to cause her unnecessary panic, he decided to leave out the details of the encounter he had at the grocery store. He’d tell her later, but for now, he reminded her to take care of herself. Shoto was at U.A., at least, he would be fine there. Rei would be safe at the hospital while Endeavor could handle himself.

Natsuo boarded the train and sat down. He set his elbows on his knees and shut his eyes, the pads of the fingertips of his right hand gently touching their counterparts on his left as he leaned forward and bowed his head, lost in thought.

Who was that man?

The question plagued his mind for a long time but held no answer.

Notes: This was supposed to be a humorous fic… but here we are.

When I was writing this story, I thought a lot about that panel in Chapter 302 where Rei said she “started seeing hints of [Enji] in the children’s faces,” and while Shoto’s left side was shown, Natsuo’s entire face was beside him.

I hope you’re all enjoying Season 5 so far. Thank you for reading! ♡

BNHA Masterlist | Main Masterlist

#bnha #boku no hero academia #todoroki natsuo #dabi #my hero academia #mha #natsuo todoroki #bnha natsuo #bnha dabi #todoroki touya #todoroki toya #touya todoroki #toya todoroki #endeavor #todoroki enji #enji todoroki #bnha endeavor #todoroki rei #rei todoroki #bnha rei #mha natsuo #mha dabi #bnha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fic #mha fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha fic #gen fic

[koelnhbf]

bump into you (knj)

part two: think of you

genre: idk? some fluff ig?

warnings: a very cute and frustrated namjoon

The line had been reaching your favourite café a few kilometres from the bookshop the moment you had stepped into the place. Soul Books had opened three months ago, the opportunity to cater to broke students’ needs to have easy access to cheap books serving as opportune for its existence in the small nook between dorms and cafes.

It was fair to say that the bookshop was your favourite spot in all of Seoul, even after the cafe that served the Bingsu you needed whenever the academic stress got the best of you; even after your friend Mina’s house (probably because the absolute idiot that was your best friend Seojoon was living there, too); and even after your and Mi-sun’s shared apartment. Soul Books was where work made place for pleasure, no matter how much you had to do, no matter how many books were being thrown at your head because the customers wanted a copy of the most acclaimed book of the year, or “the decade” as the homepage of the Pulitzer Prize had so nicely put.

You had not guessed that all of Seoul would be after a copy but you had been quick to catch on and stashed a copy away before your boss had opened the doors.

Hours passed when it finally began to calm down in the shop, though a few customers would continuously stumble into the shop and ask for it. Orders were placed and the shop was empty again, which gave you enough time to browse through the other novels that, in the chaos of the day, were long forgotten, overshadowed by a philosophical treaty on the black swan theory. With curious fingers, reminded by the joined student and employee discounts you got on books, you grabbed one, a simple love story, and placed it atop the one you had so neatly hidden behind the cash register. Then the bell on the door rang and a cold breeze filled the heated shop momentarily as a new customer made their way towards you, a mask and a black cap covering their face, while an equally dark hood hid the rest. Remnants of fallen snow flakes melted into their heavy coat as they hovered over you, a tall and broad frame blocking your view from seeing the street outside slowly being covered in a white blanket.

“Excuse me, hi,” the person spoke, their low voice sounded welcoming in your ears, as if you were the customer and they were the employee ready to help you. You smiled, though you still could not see their face, the faint echo of a grin being audible in their greeting.

“How can I help you?” A simple question, one you asked every customer, having given up on counting how often those five words left your mouth after the first day of work. The person, though, stood still, and you felt them stare even under the hat, so you had no other choice but to blame the heat in the shop for the redness creeping up your neck and cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” they spoke again and shook their head, as if to wake up from whatever state they were in. “I desperately need a book.”

You stared and said nothing, but waited for him to proceed, mind-reading unfortunately not being one of your talents.

“It’s new,” they said, scratched their cap and then their upper arm. “It’s called… what is it called? Uhm…”

You were ready to apologise, tell them there were no copies left but that you were more than happy to order one for them, but they spoke up before you even had the chance to open your mouth.

“I need it for, uh, work in a few days. This shop was my last chance to get it.” They turned slightly to the side, ready to hear your answer and leave accordingly. You saw a bike outside the window, a white film cooling down its saddle and then looked back at the customer.

“You came here on your bike?” You asked dumbfounded. “It’s snowing outside.”

“It wasn’t when I left the house in the morning.” They shrugged as if it were natural to ride a bike on the icy roads of Seoul.

“Well…” You sighed and walked to the cash register, grabbing the copy you could not wait to read later at night, cuddled up to Mi-sun, whose eyes would be fixed on her laptop screen as she was going over her thesis. “I saved this one for me but it’s okay. I can just pirate it. I bet it’s online already.”

“I could not…” They extended their hand to decline the book but you shook your head.

“It’s okay, really.” You scanned the book and, as was typical at Soul Books, stuck a bookmark and flyers for poetry slams and workshops into it before carefully placing it into the brown paper bag, topped off with a sticker that said: “I buy independent!”.

They handed you more money than the book cost, and put the change into the big mason jar in front of you.

“Thank you so much,” they said and bowed, leaving you flabbergasted at their sympathy. “I’ll make sure to think of you… uh, I mean at work, uh, because you were so nice.” And with another bow they left the store, almost knocking over a row of books.

— as a high-achieving student from a poor background at SNU, your life has been all about studies. apart from your three friends, your time was divided between your dissertation and the independent bookshop you worked at after class. looking forward to buying the most sought-after book you desperately need for your thesis you notice the only way to keep it is to stash away a copy. what happens when your bookshop is a stranger’s last resort of buying the book? and what if your copy was the last one in all of seoul?

⟸ m.list ⟹

taglist: @aquaalanah @lettersfromsalome @poutyoongiiii

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