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[wanderingcas]

not me getting excited to go to home depot at 9 pm tonight because i found a non-structurally-compromising hole in my concrete foundation

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USER NAME  Noah Smith 

NUMBER   (206) 752-2991

[marvelishmanda]

For You, Exactly As You Are

You wake up tired, scroll bad news until it blurs. Answer emails, jaw clenched tight— or can’t even bear to look.

You say “I’m fine” with three tabs open—rent, repair, relief— and one on how to sleep through the stress, or how not to sleep all the time.

You forget. You snap. You soften. You try again.

If you are carrying children, parents, partners— meals, medications, moods— and no one asks how you’re doing, this is me asking.

Not just if you’re managing. If you’re okay. If you’ve been held, or fed, or even seen.

How are you, really?

If your brain jumps tracks mid-sentence, mid-plan, mid-dream— if the dishes feel impossible, if you forgot again and hate yourself for it— please hear this: you are not alone. Not at all.

This world wasn’t built for minds like yours, but that doesn’t mean yours is wrong. It means you’ve been trying to bloom through cracked concrete, drinking whatever rain you could reach, and still—still—you flowered.

If the world was made for standing without thinking, for walking without fear, for climbing stairs without pain, for seeing every sign, for hearing every word—

If holding a pen, a fork, a steering wheel costs more energy than you have, if you measure your day in spoons left, not hours passed—

you are not broken. You are not a burden. The burden is stairs with no ramp, streets that swallow wheels, silence when you ask for help.

If rest feels dangerous, if joy feels stolen, if you’re so used to pushing through you forgot how to just be— you’re not the only one.

The world wasn’t built for you. Not for most of us, was it? But you are here anyway, making it work how you can.

That is not failure. That is survival. That is a kind of brilliance.

You are not failing. You are not falling behind. You are responding to a world that punishes tenderness.

And still— you are kind. You are trying. You are here.

If you wonder whether I mean you, I do. Even if the voice says "not me," I still do.

Come as you are: tired, tangled, beautiful.

You don’t have to fix yourself to deserve rest. You don’t have to be better to be loved.

You already are loved.

Still.

Still.

[erenasia]

Project G1 : Chapter 1, Repairs.

This is an ongoing Series: Prologue Overview: Christian isn't very happy about your...accident. After discovering some unsettling news, you're alone for the night and after an accidental glance into the morgue, you begin to question things... ⊹₊⟡⋆ Tw: Toxic father Figure/ Mentalities. Mentions of corpses. Words: 2613

A/N: I have a backlog of six chapters (I am editing them as they go up!), so make sure to stick around if you liked this <3 I actually combined chapter 1/2 because nothing really happened in the first chapter originally. (I also do reqs btw!)

You cradle your detached arm and rush down the concrete stairs, mind racing.

Christian is going to fucking kill me.

Clearing the steps and walking into the dingy laboratory, your body makes an involuntary pause. 

This place always seems so much more grotesque after you spend time away from it.

In your usual hangout spot—the local town—, there are lush parks with benches to sit on, buildings with pristine interiors, coffee shops which procure the strong scent of espresso. 

Here on the other hand, the lab stands as a glaring contradiction. So much so in fact, it usually takes a moment to readjust. Each time you return, you often find yourself wondering how the people who live in the town would react if they were to enter the lab.

The damp air reeks of muted antiseptic, rusted metal and something vaguely organic, like mold. Clutter litters each surface in abundance while the metal operating tables are rusted, essentially standing tetanus traps.

You theorise their reaction wouldn’t be one of a positive nature.

What would they do upon seeing the grey tiled floor, a sprawling biohazard and blatant health violation? Or the rat traps in each corner of the room, a breeding ground for disease and infection? What’s more, how would they respond to the shelves crammed with books, vials and research documents— objects which you regularly fiddle with when Christian is away on one of his many trips? 

Most likely, they’d view those shelves as housing for the crazed scrawlings of a serial killer. One who stashes his diary entries with his various weapons for murder. 

You always come to the same conclusion with this hypothetical: 

They’d run for the hills.

You shrug off the grimy feeling and enter into the lab, now eyeing the ‘serial killer’ himself.

Currently seated at the dishevelled wooden research table, he scrawls his notes for the day on a jotter, surrounded by empty cups of coffee, painkillers and textbooks. He grumbles at your arrival and tosses the notepad hastily into the desk drawer beside him.

This doesn’t bother you, though; the man is always secretive about his projects. 

However, the scientist's calm demeanour vanishes almost immediately, the moment he sees what you are holding. 

A limp, detached, bionic arm. 

Fuck.

It has been less than a month since the previous replacement, and considering he was ‘less than pleased’ previously, this time around you know you’re swimming in deep waters. 

He grumbles. 

“Is it your hobby to destroy my precious technology that I’ve worked so hard on? A pastime, possibly?” 

The dark haired man shoots an accusatory glare over to you, his wrinkles creasing in between his thick brow as it furrows. Head hanging low, a sheepish mumble escapes your lips in response. 

“Look… I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.” 

The man rolls his eyes and stands from his desk. In turn, his heavy pockets filled with pens, drop with a ‘clack’, the noise barely masking the sound of him clicking his tongue in irritation. 

He approaches, and with various mutters from under his breath, gently takes the arm from your now struggling grasp.   

“It always is.” 

Your tongue is bitten in restraint; his snide comment does not go unnoticed. Your lips purse in aggravation whilst he retreats further into the room. 

He told me it was waterproof, no?

Your mind debates over his exact phrasing, convinced that the man is lying to you.

”Look, when I dipped it in the river, it shut down. I didn’t know it wasn’t waterproof. You told me it was.” 

He spins around to face you, the arm in all of its saddened glory now lying limp upon the operating table. His eyebrow raises in disbelief, matching an exasperated groan.

”Should I have replaced your brain with robotics too? Instead of just your organs? Maybe If I had, you'd have figured out the difference between something water resistant, and something waterproof, G1.”  

G1. 

The title causes acid to boil in your throat, while five fingers curl into a fist. 

That’s not my name, Jackass.

Your mind hurls silent insults at him, watching as he darts about the lab. 

Yes, Christian is your creator. Yes, G1 is your ‘official’ name.

But that doesn’t make hearing it any less bitter. You discussed this feeling with the man four years ago, and both you and Christian settled upon a new name. 

Now he only uses it when he either wants to get under your skin, or reprimand you.  

Recently, you discovered that parents refer to their children by their full names if they are really in trouble— and you now believe that’s what Christian has taken to doing— even if he isn’t biologically your father. On the subject of who is your dad;  neither of you are aware— but it’s a question that has caused countless nights to be restless. 

You swallow, watching the man sigh, then reach for his tools. If this isn’t a quick fix, you just know you’re going to be deep cleaning the lab until sundown. 

”I didn’t know there was a difference. I have amnesia, damnit, there’s some things I won’t know that others—“

A white gloved hand raises abruptly, cutting your sharpened words short, while a disgruntled groan follows shortly after. 

“Cut the attitude, and go retrieve the rice, (Y/N).” 

You pause, mouth slightly agape. It takes a moment, before you finally give in - choosing not to cause a bigger scene.  

“Rice, yeah? You mean the 3KG bag of rice I brought into the kitchen yesterday? The one for the emergency food supply?” 

Evidently becoming increasingly irritated with each rapid question, the gloved hand shoo’s you away frantically. 

“Yes, yes, that one. Be useful and go grab it.” 

Retreating to the nearby kitchen—  a small dingy room to the left of the entrance— you eye the rice sack sitting slumped by the kitchen cabinets. Then, Hoisting it over your shoulder with a grunt, you turn around, glancing at the piles of letters scattering the wallside kitchen table.

“He should really clear those letters out, they’ve been piling up for months now.”

With a brief headshake, you make your way back to the operating table. 

In your short absence, the bionic arm has been placed into a large plastic container, and is now waiting for your return beside an irritated short man tapping his foot. The sack hits the metal table with a thump, and with another passive aggressive remark Christian grasps it, tearing open the seal, emptying the contents into the container.

His eyes meet yours. 

“Please tell me, why, exactly, were you messing around in the river?” 

He dumps the now empty sack on the ground, his eyes still not leaving your own as they narrow; The man is already pre-empting a stupid reason. 

“… I saw a rock that looked like Ezra’s hair”.

The scientist shot you a deadpan look.

You responded with a sheepish smile. 

He wasn’t wrong about it being stupid.

⟡ ݁₊ .

(Y/N), 10:37 AM : Christian had me clean the rat traps again this morning. If I see one more rat today I will actually scream.

Ezra, 10:39 AM :  srsly? TF did u do this time?

(Y/N), 11:02 AM : Arm broke. Not my fault. Rock in river looks cool. The end.

Ezra, 11:15 AM : Moron.

(Y/N), 11:16 AM : Give me a break. The rock had the same colour scheme as your hair so I wanted to give it to you. Black with red bits in. 

Ezra, 11:32 AM : I take it back. I’d fcking kill 4 a rock like that. U get it? And did Chrizzy manage to fix it or are u fucked for a while?

(Y/N), 11:33 AM : He’d have a mental breakdown if he heard you call him that LOL. But nope, couldn’t reach it before arm died and disconnected. ‘Chrizzy’ managed to fix it somewhat with rice (don’t ask) but he’s gonna work on it properly later to restore some shit. It attaches fine for now though. 

Ezra, 11:34 AM : Rice FTW. RIP sick-ass rock. Use ur other arm next time, champ. 

⟡ ݁₊ .

The phone clatters against the operating table you’re sat upon as you carelessly throw it to the side, focusing instead on the TV above. The sound rouses the focused scientist beside you.  

“Ezra causing you grief again, I assume?” 

His statement garners a slight chuckle as you flick through each channel, waiting for one to ‘feel right’. All the while, The sun glares through the small and only window this lab has access to, beams unfortunately landing directly on the TV opposite. 

You squint, attempting to see past the glare on the screen.

“Yeah. He’s lucky I like him. I wouldn’t let anyone else bully me as much as he does. The guy is kind of a—” 

Christian cuts you off.

“—An Idiot? Someone to not be trusted? A man who is pointlessly reckless?”

A deadpan glare is thrown in the scientist’s direction, just as the sun hides behind a cloud.

”… a dork. He’s kind of a dork.”

The room quietens once more, the only noise coming from the rapidly changing TV channels on low volume. 

“I don’t trust him, (Y/N). You should never have become friends with him, and let him see you. It’s all well and good taking the necessary precautions outside, but with him around? All it takes is one slip up.” 

Peace once more interrupted, you purse your lips. Static sounds out as you flick to the one dead channel on the TV. 

“I already told you, he won’t slip up. He’s careful. Besides, what’s the alternative? Live here, read books, and be alone my entire life? I don’t want that.”

The remote switches to channel thirty-two. You usually like this one as it shows reality shows most of the time— but there’s just ads right now. You decide to skip. 

“I have already told you, (Y/N). I just need to figure out a way to get you introduced into society again so they will be comfortable with you. I have been working on this for—“

Your blood stills.

”Christian, shut up.”

”Excuse me?”

”I said, shut up. Look.” 

The volume is raised and you place the remote beside you, gesturing to the TV with your robotic arm. 

Forgetting about your attitude entirely, the scientist’s eyes grow wide as he takes in the information. The bold lettering of the headline runs across the screen, whilst a young reporter takes centre stage. 

Markson will be released later today, his parole being granted after 15 years. Previously charged with murdering two adults in their home, Markson states he wishes… 

The television shuts off, turned off at the plug.

Christian stands below it, his body slumped against the wall, his breathing rapid, his brown eyes almost black. 

“That’s the guy who…”

You mumble, swallowing thickly.

”The guy who murdered my parents. Yes, it is.”

He finishes, before rushing over to his desk and yanking open a wooden drawer. Finding what he was looking for, the man takes out a single cigarette and puts it to his lips, lights it, then takes a long, shaky drag.

He turns around to look at you.

Christian had quit smoking long ago, but you can’t blame him for needing one after hearing that; anyone would. Saying something, words of comfort, condolences, anything empathetic, wouldn’t be unusual for others in this situation—- but this was the two of you— in situations like this neither of you are competent. 

“I…” 

He cuts you off, a gloved hand raising for the second time in the last two days before it falls, swinging softly by his side. 

“I’m heading out. There are leftovers in the fridge. I will not be back tonight.”

⟡ ݁₊ .

Christian left a few hours ago and with nothing else to do, charging became the only option. Whilst you enjoy the naps and rest your human body allows, charging is more effective; Sure, after a few days in a row your brain slows to a grinding halt and shadow people make an appearance, but so what? Charging is exciting, and the first step out of the chamber is pure euphoria— it’s a feeling you just can’t replicate any other way, unfortunately. 

Stepping out onto the metal landing, your hands grasp for the towel on the railing alongside, grumbling as it drops to the floor. 

"Great. Dirty legs. Love it."

You shake your head as you pick it up once more, drying off your calves from the green plasma that swells in the bottom of the chamber, before turning and closing the glass entrance. 

Shaped like a large glass cylinder, the recharge chambers sit on a slightly elevated platform overlooking the rest of the lab— with yours thankfully tucked in the furthest corner away from Christian. You don’t like the idea of him being able to watch you ‘sleep’ and neither does he, so the one chamber that is entirely out of view? Perfect. 

There are four more chambers on the platform, seemingly for no reason; when asked, Christian shrugged and said it was some sort of ‘precaution’, and you didn’t feel the need to pry further. It was just another quirk of this place, another quirk of Christians. 

Briskly walking down the steps and grabbing your phone, you open up the messaging app. 

(Y/N) 7:04 PM: Christian is gone for the night, so you can come over. We could watch Catfish?

Knowing Ezra takes his sweet time with responses, you head towards the kitchen to heat up the leftovers, but pause; the door to the morgue is slightly ajar.

That's… unusual.

You walk by the kitchen, heading instead to the morgue entrance. 

Realistically, it was less of a morgue, more of a freezer. Unlike those seen on television shows, where each body has a separate rack, this one is just a very cold room, fit with a large metal table that stands in the centre, littered with frozen corpses dressed in white sheets. Evidently, it is important that the door remains closed, or else… Well, let’s just say, spoiled people do not smell good. 

Now at the entrance, you hover in the doorway, pushing the metal door open slightly further. 

Nothing looks off or out of place, and Jemima, Barry and David all lay in the exact same positions as they did last time you saw them. 

Shaking your head with a faint smile, the memory of the first time Christian brought a corpse home resurfaces; you freaked out, called him a murderer, and didn’t speak to him for two days. It wasn’t until he calmed you down, and informed you that he didn’t kill them, and that they were to cure the world of various horrific diseases, that you forgave him. 

Two years later, you have given the fresh corpses names, with Barry being your favourite. 

Ezra, 7:10 PM : ‘Can’t 2Nite soz. Elissa wants to go out on a date. Taking her somewhere nice 4 a change. Heat up some popcorn in my honour tho.’

The notification brings you back to reality. As you check your phone, slowly coming to the realisation you will sadly be alone for the evening, you pull the metal door closed, and step towards the kitchen once again. Yet, a small seed of uneasiness plants itself in your stomach; a thought breaks into your mind, one that— for some reason— you’d never thought about before now. 

Christian doesn’t kill them, no. But who does? And how is the supply so… regular? 

You shake away the doubt, knowing that there must be some reasonable explanation.

For now? A night of Catfish and popcorn, alone.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Thanks for reading! <3 𓆏 Comments/reblogs appreciated! 𓆏

[opossum-rights]

A Cursed Place

Cursed Spirit Gojo x Reader

You’ve always been deemed ‘weird’ by your peers. You’ve always seen things that aren’t there.

When you try to get away from it all you come face to face with something you never thought possible. The first one to seek him out in so long, he decides he doesn’t want to let you go.

<<Next Part>>

Word Count, 2.5k

Dozens of years ago, the building was used as a temporary shelter for civilians impacted by some sort of natural disaster, one of the worst in recent history. Its still halls and rotted walls were festering in negative energy from unpleasant memories.

Of course, you didn’t know that at the time. You didn’t know what things were drawn to that type of stale environment. You’d been using the place as a sort of safe haven. A place you could go to be totally alone. No one else in your town dared to trespass, the tragic history of the place gave rise to many rumors of ghosts or spirits. It was frightening the first time you stepped through the rusted doors, but with time you got used to it, having made the place your own.

You were forced there, that first day. By the time you learned to keep quiet about the world around you, the things others couldn’t seem to see, you were already ostracized by your peers.

Through the years you’ve tried repairing your reputation, but eventually something would happen: one of those things standing in the corner of your sight, or getting attached to those around you. It’d draw a reaction out of you despite your best efforts at keeping cool, convincing your classmates that there was something wrong with you.

Normally they’d stay clear of you, sure they’d sneak glances and let out a couple of chuckles behind your back, but there was never any violence directed your way. You guessed with exams coming up that they needed a stress ball.

Getting later in the year, the sun was making its way westward, dragging the light with it through it was only mid-afternoon. A couple of boys in disheveled uniforms were waiting near the gate. They were glancing at you, smirks on their faces, but being used to that type of reaction you thought nothing of it. Keeping your head down, you walked right past them.

The only warning was a single footstep. A hand harshly gripped the back of your uniform dress shirt, collar slightly choking you. You were pulled into their little semi-circle. The one who grabbed you then put his arm around your shoulders, it felt more threatening than friendly. One of them told you how this little game would work, you’d run, they’d chase after and try ‘tagging’ you. The look in their eyes told you that they would do more than simply tap you.

Not giving you much time to think, they shoved you away and started counting. You ran. A dozen yards away you could hear the dull sound of sneakers on pavement. You turn. They must be toying with you, you think, as there’s no way you could out run them for as long as you have been. They must like the sound of your panting, the frantic looking in your eyes as you glance over your shoulder to see them only feet away.

This proves to be a fatal mistake. You feel your foot connect with concrete and turn your head just in time to see that you tripped on a stair, letting you thrust your arms out to catch your fall. They slow to a walk behind you, laughing at your mishap. On shaking palms you try to push yourself up; a shoe connects with your back, doing the opposite.

They surround you,

Fucking Freak, A shoe is driven into your side, making you wheeze.

They break out in laughter as you use a hand to hold the spot you were kicked, wincing at the throbbing pain. They back up, giving you enough time to stand back up on unsteady legs. Again, you run. Again, they follow. You know you don’t have it in you to run all the way home, the pain in your side is already causing you to slow down.

On the right side of the road, you catch a minor gap in the trees. You know there’s a small path beyond, and past the overgrown grass there’s a building. You know that there’ll be a place to hide.

Quickly, you make a sharp turn. Sacrificing your speed to watch for sticks under foot and branches overhead. A structure comes into view. You believe it’s an old storage facility. It’s run down, doors rusting and a majority of the windows broken. Turning around the side, you find a window close enough to the ground that you can climb in. It aggravates your side, but you manage to hoist yourself through.

The inside isn’t much prettier. Dirt and grime cover the floors, broken pieces of furniture scattered here and there. There’s a shout coming from outside and you know you don’t have time to look around. Going through an empty doorway, you find a staircase. It’s rusted and broken in some places, but you can hear the doors being forced open, metal grinding against concrete.

You skip up, two stairs at a time. At the top, there are a series of doors. The sound of them yelling for you, more aggressive and less playful than back on the street, echoes throughout the building as you try to open and close a rotted door as quietly as you can.

There’s an old wooden cupboard, not in as bad condition as everything else you’ve seen, that you duck into. You fold your knees to your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The air is heavy; it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

On the ground floor, your pursuers spread out to look for you. You can hear only one set of footsteps make the stairs creak as they ascend. They still as he reaches the top, presumably picking a door to start with. He chooses the one right next to yours, the one that shares a wall with the cupboard you’re in.

You hold your breath.

There’s the sharp sound of the window breaking. There’s the piercing sound of the boy screaming.

The floor beneath you begins to shake, you curl up tighter into a ball. The others downstairs shout for each other, you think it’s an earthquake. Items and furniture rattle around and fall to the floor. The lights flicker on and off forcing you to tightly shut your eyes. You can hear the other windows on the top floor break and you cover your ears at the sound.

A minute passes and the shaking stops. You open your eyes and uncover your ears. You realize two things then; that the only lighting in the room comes from the window, and that there’s no sound in the building anymore.

Despite how frightened you are, you don’t leave the building until the sun has gone down. Only having a cell phone as a flashlight, you step over flung items and broken glass. The main doors are still open. Standing at the edge of the road, you take one look back down the path. You may have just been imagining it, but deep through the trees, you can see small lights blinking. Six of them, light blue.

The next day it’s almost as if nothing happened. The boys who gave you such a hard time yesterday didn’t even glance at you. No one ever tried getting physical with you again.

/

It’s a month later when you decide to go back.

You can’t stand the pity in the eyes of your parents, the disappointment when you come right home from school everyday by yourself. At dinner, your mind moves faster than your mouth. You’re going to be staying late at school tomorrow, to study with a couple of classmates. They’re ecstatic to hear about some friends in your life, or at the very least acquaintances. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

The next day, you take longer than usual to pack your things, trying to think of somewhere to hide for a couple of hours. You know your classmates disperse to the various parks and restaurants around town, so those aren’t an option. You rack your head for a place where you can be sure that no one who knows you would see you. Then It comes to you; the old storage facility.

Walking down the overgrown path, you start to feel nervous. You haven’t been back since that day; hadn’t even thought about the place. Now you think back to the strange events that took place. A part of you insists it was just a mix of an earthquake and panic attack, and you’re inclined to believe that explanation. What else could it have been?

Through the branches, you can make out the front of the building, doors gaping open just as you left them. It makes you pause. The sunlight almost drops off after the entryway, leaving the inside barely visible. If the sun isn’t invited inside, who’s to say you would be.

Shaking your head to get rid of those silly little thoughts, you pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight. You reach the doorway, taking a moment to shine your light around. There’s broken glass and broken furniture thrown about, just as there had been a month ago.

There are footprints on the ground. You’re surprised, knowing that there has been harsh rain and wind, but the footprints made of dirt mere inches away from the door are perfectly clear. Thinking about it, that’s another oddity of the place. There doesn’t seem to be any weather damage; no mold growing along the floors and walls, no leaves or grass blown in despite the broken windows. The filth on the floor seems to have only been tracked from the feet of people and animals.

Cautiously you move from room to room, checking for signs that someone else may have been around. Once you make your rounds, your shoulders relax. Nothing looks like it’s been disturbed recently.

In one of the backrooms the floor is clean enough that you lay an old blanket over it to make a seat against the wall. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’ll do for now.

You bring out a folder from your backpack, opting to get started on some homework. Dumping out your container of multi-colored pens you decide to use the dark blue one, grabbing it and leaving the others scattered around you.

That’s how you spend the next half hour or so, marking here and there, trying to explain your reasoning, all the usual for language arts.

Soon enough you find yourself stuck on a point, pen cap between your teeth as you think. A soft howl rings out as a gust of wind blows through the window, carrying your paper across the room.

You hurriedly make to grab it, cringing at the thought of it dirty. Glancing across it, you find something has been added to your paper. Not dirt smeared on the back like you were worried about, but six light blue dots placed in the margin.

At first you think nothing of it. Though when you try to brush it away it only smears like pen ink. You slink back to your seat, taking a moment to look outside and admire the stillness of it all. Not a single leaf seems to be moving.

That’s something you like about this place; Always still, always quiet.

Looking back down you find that multiple spelling errors had been corrected with a light blue pen. You don’t remember doing this at all. In fact, you couldn’t have done this. Not only did the handwriting look completely different to your own, when you grabbed all your pens you found that the light blue was gone.

“What? Who’s here?” Looking back, it was a pretty stupid question-the paper was always in your sight if not in your hands, but you were genuinely baffled.

Another gust of wind came blowing through the window, taking the paper from your hands to the center of the room. A chill shivered down your spine. Taking a quick glance outside the window freaked you out all the more, as the trees outside indicated it wasn’t windy at all.

You crawl towards the paper, seeing it’s blank side up. With a slightly shaky hand you turn it over. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Written right after your own name in the corner is:

Satoru Gojo

“Satoru Gojo… is that who you are?” You ask in a hesitant whisper as you twist your head trying to catch a glimpse of him. Turning back to the paper, a small :) was drawn next to his name.

You yelp and drop the paper as if it burnt you. Backing up, you jump as your back hits the wall. It hits you that either you’re completely losing it or something supernatural is messing with you.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll leave!” In your panicked state, you can only assume that he’s some ghost that’s going to kill you now that you’ve figured it out. That’s what they do in the movies.

You hurriedly shove all of your things back into your backpack.

“AH-“ You scream as something brushes against your arm. You harshly flinch and look down to see the paper with something new scrawled on it.

You scared?

Is he mocking you? You’d hate to say he’s right, but your rushed breathing and hurried movements make it more than obvious. You almost fall multiple times as you grab your bag and race to the door. Twisting around a corner, you find something that stops you for a moment. The main doors are closed. You yank and pull on them but they won’t open.

Spinning around to look for another way out you see your paper on the wall of the hallway you just came from. Slowly, you inch closer and closer until you can read what was written on it.

Don’t forget this!

You take the paper off the wall, and as soon as your fingertips touch the edge, light spills out from behind you. The doors are open. Grasping the paper so hard it crumbles, you sprint outside and don’t stop until you’ve hit the main road.

Once you stop, it takes you a moment to catch your breath, legs already sore. You spare a glance back to the woods, but of course, nothing is there. Adrenaline wearing off, you make it back home and manage to put yourself together before your family can see you.

Later that night, you find you can’t sleep. Going over the events of the day again and again; paper in your hand all the while. You rely on it to convince yourself you’re not crazy, that something was there.

The next morning you figure you should reorganize your backpack, having left it a mess in your haste to leave the warehouse.

You can’t find your light blue pen anywhere.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I had this sitting around since Halloween, and only recently came back to it. I’m sorry if the writing got a little wonky halfway through.

[fandomzwriterk]

We need a continuation to f.r.i.e.n.d.s, I honesty don't know what is going to happen next, this fic was so good

A/N: you ask and I shall provide! Aw shit, here I go again!! Also I was playing Cult of the Lamb when I was writing this so it got a little dark😱😨

Warnings: sorta non-consenty, Remy sorta watching, Hostage Reader and Remy, sorta NSFW under cut, cursing, MDNI

F.R.I.E.N.D.S pt2

“Come on Y/n we have to hide somewhere!”

“Where?!”

“Here!”

It was the warehouse from where they rescued Roberto months ago from those cruel Liberators. You had wanted to kill them yourself, but Scott stopped you. Death was too easy of a punishment for them. So, they were thrown in jail, the Sentinels scrapped and the building being closed for repairs. You both remembered a window that could be opened up on the roof, so Remy lead the way up the side of the building, walking and carefully climbing over boxes.

“Shh. Right here.”

Remy crouched, walking quietly through the window and up into the walkway above. He moved his arm past you, holding up the window as you crawled through. He could’ve easily gone first, but he needed to make sure that you weren’t in view from outside in case Scott was somewhere near you two.

“Brings back good memories eh?”

“Remy now is not the time.”

“Cherié I’m just trying to calm you down.”

“Sorry.”

You bit your tongue, knowing the last couple of months have been confusing for everyone. You fooled Remy into thinking you were in love with Scott, and Scott did the same to Jean. For Scott, it was real though. What was he to you now? An ex? A friend? A… murderer? No. It wasn’t possible Scott wouldn’t… would he?

“I know you’re in here! Come on out Remy let’s settle this like men!” Scott taunted as he rammed down the wall

Remy put a finger to his lips, telling you be quiet so you both wouldn’t be heard. He slowly stood up, but you grabbed onto his arm, making him stop. He kissed your cheek, staring into your eyes as he turned to slowly and carefully walked down the stairs. If you stopped him it would just delay the inevitable, that Scott was going to kill Remy and take you from him.

“Up ‘ere fucker!” Remy shouted as he flung a playing card at Scott’s head while Scott walked into the center of the room

“God I’ve always wanted to beat the shit outta you and your ego.” Scott retorted back as he dodged it

“And I’ve always wanted to put you in your place for hurting my friends.”

Remy and Scott swung fists at each other, Remy dodging to making sure that Scott wouldn’t see you. You noticed his eyes went up to you, him giving a wink to you as a way to tell you to run.

“I know she’s here Gambit.”

Scott was quicker by just a second, grabbing Remy’s throat and slamming him down in the concrete. Remy still clung onto his rage and urge to protect you, desperately trying to take a swing at Scott’s head with his staff. You could see Scott’s grip was iron tight, almost crushing Remy’s throat with his own hands. And that was it, Remy’s eyes glancing to you as Scott did it one more time, as you watched Remy go unconscious in front of you. You hope he is unconscious and not dead.

“Come on out Y/n in know you’re here darling.”

You put a hand over your mouth, seeing Scott drag Remy over to a concrete pillar, leaving him there as he went to look for something. You debated on going to save him, but doing that would destroy the sacrifice Remy made to get you to run away unharmed. You watched as Scott came back, dragging a half ruined chair to Remy, picking him up and sitting him on it. Remy’s hand were tied behind him, and you watched as Scott pulled out a Liberators Mutant Collar and put it around Remy’s neck.

“Come on out Y/n~ Come on out and I’ll let Remy live. I’ll even consider leaving you two alone as an agreement.”

You felt your skin crawl, the hair on the back of your neck rising as you watched Scott kick Remy’s chair over and start to push his foot down on Remy’s neck. You stood up slowly, raising your hands in the air as a surrender. You were not going to let Remy die for your sake. You walked down the metal stairs, making Scott turn his head to face you. His evil smile widened as you walked slowly up to him.

“Let him go.”

“Y/n don’t do it cherié. Don’t ‘cha let him take you!”

Scott kicked Remy, making Remy groan in pain while Scott had a cruel smile on his face.

“Now… come here my darling~”

He stretched a hand out to you, waiting for you to grab it. There was a small hesitance, slowly moving it to grab it. You stopped when your finger tips touched. Your face fell, and Scott didn’t like that. So, he grabbed you, put an arm around your neck and having a hand covering your mouth. You tried to scratch at his arm, but Scott was faster, his grip on your arm almost crushing it with his hand.

“You son of a bitch when I get out…”

“And you won’t. I made sure of that.”

Scott pulled you backwards, your heels dragging on the floor while Remy struggled in his chair. Scott stopped once he had you moved a few feet away from Remy, making him face towards you two.

“You are so dead Scott. I’m gonna make sure you suffer for this.”

You could see out of the corner of your eye, Scott’s eyes glaring and staring at Remy. Then, his attention went to you.

“And now my darling… why don’t I show him who you really belong to.”

Scott’s other hand traced your thigh, slowly going up and tracing your hip, your chest, and then ending with it moving towards your ass. You clawed against Scott’s skin, but he was so much stronger than you. Remy wasn’t happy either. He was pissed and wanted to save you.

“So beautiful darling~”

His hand went back up, reaching your chest. His big hands started squeezing and playing with your breast. You screamed into Scott’s hand, his grip getting harder with each scream and kick against him.

“I don’t want to hurt you but if you don’t listen…”

“I swear to god Cyclops I’m going to fucking kill you myself.”

“Try me mother fucker.”

You were scared, Scott touching you in places even when you were fake dating you wouldn’t let him touch. Hell you never even kissed the man. Only just a hand on the thigh or hand holding. Where did it all go wrong?

“You son of a bitch!” You heard being shouted from above

Logan and Morph came crashing through the roof while Jean flew through a broken window. Scott gripped you like his life depended on it.

“I’m going to kill each and every one of you if you get in my way.”

Jean slowly flew down to the ground. She now knew this wasn’t the real Scott.

“Scott please let them go. They’ve done nothing wrong.” Jean begged

Scott’s other hand was still over your mouth, now his free hand moving up to his glasses.

“Run!” Remy shouted

And just like that, the building came crashing down.

A/N: hope you enjoyed!

[frannyzooey]

10 People I’d Like to Get to Know Better

thanks for the tag @arcanefox207 ❤️

—

Last Song: the original Zelda soundtrack

Fav Color: Dusty Orange or any version of pink

Last Book: After Sundown: a historical western romance 🫣

Last Movie: Roman Holiday

Last TV Show: 30 Rock (rewatch for 800th time)

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Sweet, every day all day, much to my detriment 🙃

Relationship Status: Married!

Last thing I Googled: Thomas the Tank Engine on Ao3 — my son and I laughed and were also horrified at the total of fics on there (617)

Current obsession: Pedro’s Gladiator 2 press looks, finding the perfect 90s jean, buying crewneck sweatshirts in every color, walking in the crisp fall air

Things I’m looking forward to: oddly, patching the concrete on my stairs this weekend — I’ve been into home repair projects lately lol

n/p tags: @joelstummy @itsokbbygrl @teakstripe @pedrit0-pascalit0 @whocaresstillthelouvre @macfrog @jessthebaker @ace-turned-confused

[obscurecurse]

the thing about 3d printed concrete is i can go spraypaint the word "ugly" on it and if they didn't apply a graffiti/sacrificial coating - the texture makes it really hard to remove. if it's set at the wrong temperature, it will crack and spall. (i think a lot of 3d printed concepts are prefabricated in a warehouse where it's easier to control climate factors) but there's no maintaining it in a way that will look homogenous. you will see the repairs. ugly ugly ugly ugly

you can actually get beautiful, SCULPTURAL, textures out of 3d printed buildings. this first one has waves like the sweep of fabric. you could make one big curtain building.

^this is 3d printed CLAY (also boobs)

look at the undulations to accommodate a cantilevered stair?

this cabin by HANNAH in upstate ny, where the base/chimney was 3d. the program was open source, she bought a kit online and 3d printed this shit with a small team at cornell.

the first 3d printed starbucks could have been printed to look like one huge coffee bean lmfao but noooooOOOOOOOOOoooOOOooOOoOoOooOoOo they said:

shoebox.

[braveclementine]

Loki's Departure

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC Elizabeth Lightwood. I do not condone any copying of this.

You, Steve, Hulk, Tony, Thor, and Elizabeth all made your way up the ruined streets of New York. It definitely was not a pretty sight and it was going to take a very long time to clean and repair everything. You wondered if Tony would have little robots fly around the city and repair things. That might actually be kind've funny to see.

Tony kept an arm around your shoulder, not wanting to let go of you. You didn't object at all, even if the metal was a little heavier than his normal arm. But thanks to his genius, it wasn't to much heavier.

Elizabeth seemed downcast, her head hanging as she padded along beside you. You felt bad for her. She had waited longer than anyone ever had to meet their soulmate. Everyone always met their soulmate within less than seven days of their birthday. A whole year was unheard of. And it had been longer than that.

And then when she finally got to meet him, he was a raving lunatic. And she had to both defend her family and friends while also trying to stay loyal to her soulmate. It could not be easy and you admired her strength.

You headed up to the floor where Loki had been laying. Judging by how deep the holes in the concrete were, you had a sneaking suspicion that Bruce might just have thrown Loki around.

Loki looked just as bad as the rest of you, with several bloody scratches across his face. Elizabeth padded faster than the rest of you, coming over to lay by his body as he started to get up.

Loki slowly pushed himself up and turned to sit against the stairs to look at the rest of you. You stood between Tony and Steve, still holding one of the Chitauri weapons. You couldn't wait to go home. . . oh wait you were home. Hmm.

"If it's all the same to you," He groaned, putting his hands on the stairs and looked at Tony. "I'll have that drink now."

Instead, you went down to the Shawarma unit and ate. It was very quite, very awkward, but the food was delicious. Loki was made to sit outside of the shop, Elizabeth staying with him. Her tail continuously flicked in displeasure, though you weren't sure if it was the smell of the food, the fact that she had to watch over Loki, or that Loki wasn't being fed. Probably all of it.

Thor was the one to take Loki away and keep him safe. Elizabeth went with them.

The other heroes were given rooms in the parts of the tower that weren't destroyed. You were going to watch Thor take him back to Asgard tomorrow.

"You okay?" Tony asked when the two of you were finally sitting in your room by yourselves. It was finally just the two of you.

"Yeah, I'm alright." You answered, looking at yourself in the mirror as you stripped out of your agent wear. Tony put the first aid kit on top of the dresser. "Are you okay? You almost. . ."

You couldn't bear to say the word 'died'. It was still to real. It had only been less than two hours ago. He had almost died.

Suddenly, anger flared inside of you and you spun, slamming your fists into his chest. "How could you? Why did you have to play the hero Tony? You almost left me! Us!"

Tony caught your hands, lifting them sweetly to press kisses to them. "I'm sorry love. But I thought if I could get the nuke through the portal, I could aim it at the ship, kill the commander. I. . . I knew if the nuke blew up in New York, all three of us were dead. At least this way. . . you and Everleigh would have made it."

You couldn't be mad at him for that. You knew if the positions were reversed, you would have done the same. Made sure at least your husband and daughter could have survived, even if it meant you couldn't. Because the two of them living was better than knowing all three of you were gone.

You sniffed, wiping your eyes. Tony led you over to the bed so he could administer small butterfly bandages to several of your cuts.

"Do you think Elizabeth is okay?" You asked suddenly, glancing up at him.

Tony hesitated. "It's hard. I mean. . . you know that she's a wonderful person. I feel bad for her, to be soulmate to such evil."

"I- I am worried." you admitted softly. "I've started wondering if maybe I didn't know her at all. If maybe she always was evil and I just never saw it. Because the only other alternative is that somehow, Loki is good."

"Well," Tony said softly, putting the first aid box away. "Maybe it's neither. Maybe Elizabeth is exactly what Loki needs to become good. Gods live a lot longer than us. Maybe. . . this is just a phase?"

You smiled a little, thinking about Gods going through rebellious phases before 'growing up' and then your smile fell, thinking about what the rebellious phase had cost the Earth.

Tony kissed the side of your head, "Get some sleep sweetheart."

"Wait." You said, reaching over into one of the bottom drawers and pulled out a couple of photos. "I know you would have wanted to be there the first time, but I wanted to surprise you, so I brought these back."

You handed him the black and white photos of the tiny human inside of you. "Isn't she adorable?"

"Aw her head is so big." Tony smiled. "She's going to be a genius just like her daddy."

You smiled, laying down beside Tony. He continued to stay sitting up, one hand on your stomach, the other hand holding the pictures. You closed your eyes, the image of him staying there behind your eyelids, and you fell asleep.

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

You and Tony showed up to the bridge where Thor was going to call the Asgardian gatekeeper- whose name was Heimdall- to bring him and Loki back to Asgard. Tony was wearing a gray suit while also wearing tennis shoes, something that drove you crazy. Why dress smartly and then wear something casual? It was like wearing a prom dress with converse shoes! Mental!

You were wearing a dress, a F/C that complimented Tony's suit. You were wearing two inch heels that matched the colour of your dress.

Tony carried the briefcase that contained the Tesseract.

Thor, Loki, and Elizabeth were the ones closest to you, though you couldn't figure out how they had gotten to the bridge you were standing on. Thor had Loki's arm in his grasp, his hammer in the other hand. Loki's hands were chained in front of him, while a strange gag was over his mouth. Elizabeth walked next to Loki on the other side, her tail drooping and her ears flat with displeasure. You wondered if it was because of the way Thor was treating Loki.

Steve was next, walking somewhat side by side with Banner. Steve and Banner were both dressed nicely. Steve was wearing a brown leather jacket, tan dress pants, and a blue dress shirt that made him look like he was. . . well he was probably dressing from the 40s. Banner was wearing a yellow dress shirt tucked into the same tan pants that Steve was wearing.

Nat and Clint were dressed more casual, the two of them holding hands and looking very happy together.

Elizabeth broke away from Loki and Thor's side to approach you. You knelt down, petting along her head.

"Are you sure?" You asked softly, not really wanting to lose your best friend, even if she was a cheetah at the moment.

She dipped her head once, licked your fingers casually, and then padded back over to Loki's side. You watched as Loki subtly dropped his hands so that his fingers were just touching the top of her head. The movement was so careful and slight, that you weren't even sure anyone else noticed as he petted the inside of her ear.

Maybe Tony was right. Maybe Elizabeth was exactly what Loki needed.

You watched Thor and Bruce have a sweet good-bye as they kissed enthusiastically. Thor tried to persuade Bruce to come back to Asgard with him, but Bruce told him he was needed here. You decided not to listen in anymore.

You watched Erik Selvig come with a huge containment chamber, which Tony put the Tesseract in. Thor took the cylinder container, holding one of the handles. He held the other handle out to Loki who stared at him for a moment, and then took the other handle. Now, his grip on Elizabeth became more pronounced as he had to hold onto her as well.

Thor turned the handle and the three of them became blazing blue light, before the headed up for the sky.

Huh. Maybe they didn't call on Heimdall after all.

Everyone sort've dispersed after that, Tony and Steve shaking hands before Steve held his hand out for you. You went to shake it, but he was still the gentleman and kissed the back of your hand, though it was less of a kiss and more of a brush.

Tony just rolled his eyes.

Bruce got into the car with Tony and you and you drove off into the morning sun. It was fun, watching Steve catch up on his motorcycle, and then pass you all by to go his own way.

And when you and Tony got back to Stark tower, you, Pepper, and Tony would redesign a new tower.

Avengers Tower. 

[seattlefoundat]

Top Foundation Challenges in Seattle, WA: Identifying and Solving Common Issues

Discover the essential insights into managing foundation issues with our comprehensive guide on the top foundation challenges in Seattle, WA. This resource provides homeowners with valuable information on identifying and addressing common foundation problems, such as ceiling cracks and basement cracks. Learn about the typical signs of foundation distress, including structural shifts and water infiltration, and understand the importance of timely Seattle foundation inspections.

[megamanrecut]

Return to the Night, Part 6 (Now on Ao3!)

After ushering Elec Man back up the creaking, rotted stairs, they returned to Elec Man and Top Man's apartment without much difficulty by calling a cab (the driver had questioned if they were sure they didn't want to go to a hospital, but Elec Man had glared so fiercely at this suggestion that the driver just shrugged and muttered that they could do what they wanted, he didn't care anyway. Elec Man was sullen and embarrassed the entire trip, and no one talked, though Top Man had gotten over his previous indignation and had warmed up to Proto considerably, occasionally catching his eye and giving him a small smile).

Winston, Top Man's valet-drone, let out a startled beep when they first entered the small apartment, then quickly began fussing over Elec Man with a microfiber cloth and lint roller until Elec Man pushed him away impatiently. He sat slumped on the edge of his bed like an angry, flightless bird, sipping dismally at an energy can while Proto carefully inspected his injuries.

"Well, you're real lucky this time, ya know? Your damage isn't too bad," Proto pronounced finally after performing a few spot repairs. "Nothing internal. I think you can skip a trip to the repair shop this time around."

"Good, because I have a full agenda of tasks I must catch up on," muttered Elec Man, slipping down to the floor and teetering unsteadily.

Top Man looked aghast, but Proto only snickered, pushing Elec Man back onto his bed.

"Some things don't change—sit back down, hot shot, before you hurt yourself," Proto told Elec Man in a mock-sanctimonious voice, reaching toward Elec Man's hair and ruffling it until it no longer swept backward in its usual neat lines. "You're not going anywhere."

"You're messing up my hair—"

"Yes, I am. Because today, you're not playing the role of 'big bad mobster' or the intimidating 'Mr. Smith' —today you're just Elec Man, who never takes a day off and sorely needs to rest."

Catching Proto's eye again, Top Man let out a small laugh, amused at Elec Man's discomfort (seeing the critical, 'never a thread or hair out of place' Elec Man being grounded was a rare sight indeed, for few had the nerve to boss Elec Man around). Proto smiled back. He had finally gotten Top Man to laugh after all; mission accomplished.

…The fact that Elec Man needed to rest was of course obvious to everyone (including Elec Man), still, Elec Man wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"Why?" he demanded.

Proto smirked. "Uh, because of what you went through? Because you're damaged? Because you never take a break? …Because you want me to help you keep this quiet?" Proto added the last one in a warning undertone. "Pick one. Now, let's get you undressed—" he said, unbuttoning Elec Man's suit jacket.

Elec Man gave an involuntary jerk, flustered. "Thank you, but that's unnecessary—"

But Proto had tugged off Elec Man's ruined suit jacket and tossed it carelessly to a heap on the floor. From its perch on Top Man's vanity, Winston gave a scandalized beep. Proto went for the tie next, then the buttons of Elec Man's black dress shirt, Winston trilling like a police car toy—

"Really! That's unnecessary!" snapped Elec Man quickly, squirming away when Proto reached for his belt. Glaring reproachfully, Elec Man pointedly gestured with his eyes toward Top Man, who was still in the room watching them.

At this, Top Man had hastily turned his back on the scene, his gaze averted toward the ceiling, though Proto could see him shaking with silent laughter.

Finally, Elec Man was dressed in a pair of black silk pajamas embroidered with small lightning bolts that Winston had presented him from the bottom of Elec Man's dresser. Elec Man sank back into his small, uncomfortable bed. Save for his pale piercing eyes (which by now could have incinerated concrete) there was nothing even remotely mobster or even intimidating about him, his short black hair sticking wildly out in every direction. "There…happy?"

"Actually, yeah. Thanks for the assist, Winston," said Proto pleasantly, pulling the covers up over Elec Man's shoulders and smoothing out his collar (Winston, who had cleared away the ruined suit and was now hovering by Top Man, gave Proto a cold, tut-like beep). "Nice PJs. They look comfortable."

"Shut up."

Top Man stood at the foot of Elec Man's bed, beaming down at him. He appeared to be thoroughly enjoying this and cast a regretful glance over at the clock on his nightstand. "I have to go to the theater—I've missed three performances already, they'll be worried. Will you be alright?" he asked Elec Man anxiously.

"Don't worry, Top Man, I'll stay and make sure he takes it easy tonight," Proto assured him. Elec Man shook his head and muttered something under his breath on how unnecessary this all was, but his eyes were already drooping and the protest seemed perfunctory.

Top Man gave Proto a large grin. It really looked more sincere and attractive on his face than any of his closed-off Syndicate sneers or haughty looks had. Finally, Top Man tore himself away, grabbing a duffle bag filled with ballet gear.

"Be careful—watch out for anyone suspicious, and take a laser pistol just in case!" Elec Man called after Top Man.

"I know!" replied Top Man, rolling his eyes as he stepped out the door with Winston hovering dutifully behind him. He looked over at Proto. "I'll be back later, okay?"

Still grinning, Top Man shut the door, leaving Elec Man and Proto alone.

It was quiet in the apartment—Proto suspected the walls were soundproofed. He rolled Elec Man's office chair over to the bed and sat down, taking off his aviators and sticking them in his pocket.

"So, you two share a room?" Proto asked to break the ice. He was both amused and interested in the situation, for neither Elec Man nor Top Man were very much alike.

"Top Man insisted," Elec Man responded wearily. "A scrapper ambushed us one night when we were walking home. I dispatched it quickly of course, but ever since then Top Man doesn't like to sleep alone, he wants me for protection…so now we share a room."

"I can't imagine what that's like for you."

"It's been a bit of an adjustment."

"Not to mention your new human-like programming?"

"…It's a nuisance, all part of the upgrades my creator made to my programming to protect me from becoming reprogrammed—I guess I have you to thank for that, he was inspired by your systems."

With a heavy sigh, Elec Man rested his head deeper into his silk pillow, staring up into the ceiling.

"You weren't supposed to be here," he said finally.

"But I am here. And you're stuck with me again, at least for a little while."

...A small smile flickered across Elec Man's face, though he quickly banished it, making his face as blank and unreadable as pavement. "Thanks for everything. Though I still think this is a bit overkill, Top Man will feel much better knowing you're keeping me safe tonight."

"Well, I dunno if you're ever safe with me, pal," Proto said mischievously. He leaned forward to whisper into Elec Man's ear. "Say…I have a crazy idea. What if I were to capture you like you did to me a year ago? …For your own good."

"Proto…"

"—Have Light reprogram you as a lab assistant, force you to live in the lab like a human…to always have messy hair and wear the same baggy polyester clothes from the mall most humans wear, to spend your afternoons playing video games in the family room, to sleep through every night in a proper bed with cotton sheets, to act like a normal brother to Top Man instead of his strict Syndicate mentor…"

Elec Man wrinkled his nose. "Well, Top Man would like that. Is this supposed to be revenge for me telling Dr. Light where you were and forcing you to go back home?"

"No…but I am livid you almost died and wouldn't even call me."

"You shouldn't be involved. …You were supposed to be happy."

"You should have called me." Proto leaned back in his chair, surveying Elec Man for a moment. "…I can't possibly tell you how irresponsible this is. Not just for you, but how you left Top Man completely in the dark."

Elec Man winced. "I thought I could do it, I didn't want him to get involved either."

"He was freaking out when you went missing, didn't even know who to call, suspected the worst—with good reason. I know Syndicate matters are secretive, but if you're going to pull a stunt like that you should have at least left him some sort of emergency contact!"

"I know," Elec Man admitted feebly. He seemed to be shrinking deeper into the sheets.

"Speaking of which…How did Top Man know to find me? Pretty sure you were supposed to keep quiet about me…seeing as I'm not in the Syndicate anymore."

"Yes, I was…" It was a moment before Elec Man elaborated, and when he did, his voice was very soft, as though afraid of being overheard, yet direct. "A few weeks ago, Top Man had something going on with one of the human dancers in his ballet troop that he had to break off because, well, Top Man's not human, he's Syndicate, and some worlds shouldn't mix." Elec Man swallowed. "He was feeling really down about it, so I told him about you."

"…Oh."

Elec Man's eyes darted away from Proto's again, and neither said anything for a while.

Finally, Proto cricked his neck restlessly, glancing over at Top Man's vanity and the vase packed with slightly wilted white roses, and said, "I don't think Top Man wants to be Syndicate, he only pretends to play the part to please you, ya know?"

Elec Man nodded. "I know. He wants to be human." He gave a small shrug. "I don't get it."

"Rock's like that…I don't get it either. But you should be happy at least about how much Top Man looks up to you."

"I get that even less," Elec Man responded gruffly.

Proto chuckled softly, and began slowly ruffling Elec Man's already disheveled hair again, his thumb massaging Elec Man's temple. "Well, some things are softer than they look."

The small beginning of a smile softened Elec Man's face, and he closed his eyes.

"You make yourself miserable with all this self-discipline you impose on yourself—" Proto added. "Maybe you should take up my offer, come back to Light's lab with me."

"It'd never work. Like I said, some worlds shouldn't mix. Nice suburban families don't like dangerous robots like me."

"You don't know that…they tolerate me, after all." Proto smiled softly to himself. "…Who am I kidding, you'd hate domestic life as much as I do, too boring. Still, kinda hoping you'll drop by some night. I know you're busy, but it's been what…another five months since I last saw you? I started working on this jet in Light's garage. Ever been flying? It's incredible. You should come flying with me. I'll take you somewhere you've never been. You won't believe how freeing it feels when you can just hop in a jet and get far away from it all…"

Elec Man didn't respond. He looked relaxed and appeared to be listening, a small, unconscious smile on his face—but then a few moments later he had finally drifted off to sleep, his breathing light and even. Yet as he slept, his guard completely down, a sadness had settled into his face—he seemed exhausted beyond what even a good night's rest would cure.

After watching Elec Man for a moment longer, Proto's hands fell into his lap again as he leaned back in his chair again and sighed.

Later that night, Proto heard the soft creaking of stairs as Top Man returned to the apartment. Quickly, he replaced his aviators, stood up, stretched, then walked out the door.

"Hey, how was your performance?" he asked as he met Top Man in the landing outside.

"Excellent as always," grinned Top Man, but then he frowned, casting Proto a sharp look. "…Where are you going? Surely you're not thinking of leaving so soon after all this! It's late. Please, spend the night with us. It's not much, perhaps not up to the human standards you're used to, but we will try to make it comfortable for you. You can sleep in my bed, I'll sleep on the floor—"

"Whoa whoa whoa, kiddo…I can't stay here. Elec Man doesn't want me to."

"Oh." Top Man's face closed back up into the cold Syndicate facade like a door locking. "Well, when will we see each other again?"

"Up to your older brother. Here are my digits—" Proto handed Top Man a slip of paper with the laboratory's home phone number on it. "Call me if Elec Man does that disappearing trick again, I guarantee he's up to no good. Oh, and feel free to visit anytime."

Though Top Man seemed pleased at this, he gave Proto a curt nod, returning to unnatural formalities, almost like how a prince might treat a foreign ambassador. Proto waved goodbye, then chuckled to himself as walked down the dirty creaking stairs.

The lights at Dr. Light's laboratory were dark when Proto returned to New York. Proto brightened. Hopefully everyone had gone to bed, yet as he crept silently in through the window to his room, a light clicked on and two faces were staring disappointedly from the edge of his bed.

"I am going to kick your ass so hard you won't need a jet to go flying around the world, mister!" said Roll, standing up with her hands on her hips. Though she kept her voice low, it was as scolding as a shout. "Where were you? The air raider was gone, no note, no phone call, you could have been kidnapped by gangsters for all we knew!"

By her side, Rock was also frowning. Both were dressed in their pajamas, Roll's a creamy yellow, Rock's a true blue.

"Uh, sorry if I worried you, but you see this troubled ballet star showed up on our doorstep and I had to help him rescue his brother from a botched assassination mission."

"Shut up! Your stupid-sounding stories get old after a while, ya know?"

"…Where's Dr. Light? Was he worried?"

Proto had a slight sinking feeling. Dr. Light disapproved of Proto going on secret adventures. It wasn't that Proto was worried about getting into trouble, but he hated Dr. Light's gentle lectures about roles and responsibilities. It made living here all the more…suffocating.

Roll rolled her eyes. "No, I covered for you, as usual. But seriously this has to be the last time, I hate lying to Dad for you when he trusts you so much. I swear if you ever get into serious trouble, don't expect me to come rescue you! You're not supposed to sneak off on your own like this!"

"…Are you mad because I didn't invite you?"

"Yes!"

"You wouldn't have liked it, I didn't even bring my armor, and didn't get into any fights."

"…Really?"

"Really."

"Oh. Huh."

Roll's anger seemed to abate a bit, though she still cocked a brow skeptically at Proto. Meanwhile Rock stared at Proto in grave silence. It always surprised Proto that Rock never tattled on either of them. Perhaps Rock was hoping he could guilt Proto into coming clean with his silent, accusing stares. So far, his strategy had no effect.

"Well, I'm home now, and all's well that ends well, right?" said Proto with a careless shrug and a winning grin.

Roll just glared.

"I'm glad you're alright," Rock said finally, looking tentatively from Roll to Proto and resigning himself to the fact that Proto wasn't going to be properly remorseful for his mysterious disappearance tonight. He crossed over to Proto's door. "It's late and I'm going to bed. Night, Proto."

"Yeah, night Proto," said Roll, sticking out her tongue at him as she followed Rock out.

"Night guys," Proto called softly after them, cringing internally. Great, they were annoyed with him. Again. He got it, he'd have to make it up to them tomorrow—being a responsible older brother was a lot of work!

Sighing, Proto closed his window which had been left open behind him, shutting out the tempting night breeze.

A/N: this mostly concludes this little interlude but there will be a final chapter I’ll post eventually

[foundationsolution1]

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[scattered-shadows]

As seen on my FF.net Also seen on my Ao3

Following the events of fifth year, a new adventure awaits for Norah Lee. Boys, exams, school events, common room parties, and old foes outside of Hogwarts. Even battling pensieve guardians was easier than this.

Main Pair: OC/? Genre: Adventure/Angst/Fluff (it's a little of everything, tbh)

KEEP IN MIND: Characters are aged up (even if the story's got them in sixth year) to make it more appropriate. Time period is leaning towards the modern day so in case you might find anachronisms in the dialogue or references, this is why. This may also be quite a lengthy fic too.

BE WARNED: Social anxiety, mentions of blood and injury, grief, drinking, kissing but nothing more than that, death (this is Hogwarts Legacy, after all)

P.P.S: Here you go. Also, an interaction between another OC of mine! Adele!

Masterlist

Chapter 14

Norah was brought to the hospital wing following the duel, with Nurse Blainey particularly alarmed at the sight of her blood spattered form. The blouse that was once a starched white had turned red It took a simple counter curse and a few vials of wiggenweld to heal her and other spells to repair her slashed clothes and scars. The next thing she remembered, she was in the bed once again, and this time, Professor Hecat was standing by her.

"Are you doing well, Ms. Lee?" She asked.

"Yes, Professor," She nodded, feeling her face for any scars that the curse left.

"While I do appreciate a good duel for practice, I hardly think resorting to dangerous curses is the mark of a good duellist especially within the confines of the school," Professor Hecat explained. "By the looks of it, and from the testimonies of the students who watched, Mr. Carrow's intention was, well, anything but good. Frankly, and don't quote me on this, Mr. Carrow possibly wanted to kill you, or at the very least, injure you severely."

"I've handled him before. It's not the first time he's tried to disarm me," Norah said quietly. "The first time was in the common room, when I asked what he wanted since he kept calling me-"

"Mudblood," Professor Hecat finished. "Sadly, Mr. Carrow is not alone in that belief. Our very own headmaster is one with that same belief. Any warnings will fall on deaf ears because of that belief. I doubt he'll stop, however."

"People like him never do," Norah shook her head. She slowly sat up. "Unfortunately, he also happens to be under the same house as me."

Professor Hecat hummed in agreement. "That is also true. As I've expected from you, you've held your own, and didn't need to use any curse to respond. I'd give you some advice, but I know I can trust you to properly defend yourself, especially to a bully like Mr. Carrow."

Norah watched her walk off, giving a wave to Nurse Blainey, who gave her some more wiggenweld potion to make sure she was completely alright. "For brutes like Mr. Carrow, he'd have used an Unforgivable on you if he could," Nurse Blainey scoffed, shaking her head.

"Thank you, Nurse Blainey," Norah drank the potion, feeling a little more energized.

"No trouble, no trouble at all. If Mr. Carrow knows what's good for him, he'd keep away from the curses otherwise it's Azkaban for him," She said. "Good on you for keeping your ground, his track record is no match for yours."

It reminded Norah of what Nerida and Imelda told her about Nicholas. She smoothed out her outfit before leaving, unsure whether she wanted to see anyone or return to the Room of Requirement, or even the map chamber. But there was one other place she knew to go to, one that wasn't frequented by a lot of students, a place that she could ironically be alone.

Taking several passages later, keen on not showing herself to Sebastian, Ominis, Amit, or even Natty and Poppy, she went to the Bell Tower, down the passage to the north dungeons, where the concrete dragon was. Just before going down the stairs, she entered the secret door that led to the room she thought of going.

The werewolf displays, including the werewolf saga tapestries on the walls.

Since the start of the term, Norah found herself wanting to be alone more often. There was a kind of shame that came over her, after simply going through the motions of everyday life in Hogwarts. This was despite presenting a rather unbothered disposition. Now everyone knew her family background, everyone saw her fall from a duel, even if she was taken aback by the curse Nicholas cast on her, and she still couldn't forget the boggart incident.

No one even showed up at the hospital wing when she was brought there after the duel earlier. It was probably to be expected, she thought, as she sat down in front of the tapestries, observing every detail of the story. The witch was bitten by a werewolf, and tried to run away to protect her son.

Norah eventually settled on the possibility that she probably, unknowingly, skipped a class today, which would explain for them not coming to see her. She spent another moment in the secret room before eventually leaving, an idea forming in her head, something she nearly forgot.

Harlow. The loyalist mines. What she remembered the ashwinders and poachers talking about in Horklump Hollow. She needed to see for herself what he might be up to. As it was still a weekday, Norah made her plans to travel to the Overlook mine once again, to see if anything restarted in recent months.

She was about to go down the stairs, down the path to the map chamber, when she saw the Gryffindor Adele Kang, one of the chasers of their house team. From what Norah knew about her, she was the younger sister of Alexandra Kang, a keeper for the Montrose Magpies. Imelda saw her as a rival.

"Did you just come from in there?" She asked curiously.

Norah glanced at the "door" behind her. "Yeah. I was looking at some interesting tapestries. The werewolf displays are inside if you're curious" She gestured to the passage.

Adele just grinned. "I might just later, kind of like a dare after-hours," She said. "Well, you've cleaned yourself up. Just not too long ago, everyone could've sworn you were a Gryffindor instead of Slytherin with how red your face and clothes have gotten."

"Oh," Norah chuckled. "I'm alright now. Nothing some wiggenweld couldn't fix."

"Glad to hear it," Adele nodded. "That bastard Carrow's got some nerve to cast sectumsempra on you, it's almost like he wanted to kill you!"

Norah shook his head. "He's had plenty of chances to try, he just wanted to show off."

Adele chuckled. "Oh yeah he definitely wanted to, since winning Crossed Wands. Well, he's an easy target, don't you think? At least ashwinders and poachers posed a challenge, if those rumors were true. If I were you, I'd have just treated him like a dark mongrel, and even I know those seem easy to subdue, much less kill."

Norah just smiled, unsure whether to reveal her own experience in defeating those creatures. "So, practicing today for the season?" She asked.

Adele tapped her broomstick. "Yeah! This season should be fun. But I am surprised you're not playing for Slytherin house, I would've thought the person who bested Imelda and her time trials would have a spot on the team."

"Oh she asked me, kept asking to be honest, but NEWTs are already doing my head in," Norah replied with a shake of her head. "Besides, I couldn't be the only one who can beat Imelda."

Adele raised a brow. "I'm just gonna think that you haven't been in Hogwarts long enough. Imelda's one of the best fliers in the school. In fact, she beat my times during third year. Not that I was sore about it, of course. I already know my sister's just waiting for me to try out for the Magpies."

"That must be nice, having someone in your family play quidditch professionally. My father talks a lot about the Magpies, they're his favorite team aside from Puddlemere United," Norah recalled, smiling at the memory while also being impressed.

Adele looked proud. "That's great. I could send you a signed poster if you like. I need only write to my sister for it and she'll happily give some to a fan."

"That would be brilliant," Norah nodded. "Thank you, Adele."

"You're welcome!" Adele said, before walking off, following some students into the Alchemy classroom.

Norah went to the nearest floo flame, thinking that she should probably head to that mine at once. She looked around, wondering if anyone was nearby. "The Overlook Mine," She muttered, and suddenly felt someone grab her arm as they vanished.

~

It was when Norah reappeared in the floo flame close to the mine that she realized who it was. It was Ominis, who immediately straightened himself up, wand already outstretched and its tip glowing red. "Norah," He said, with a little clear of this throat. "Why are you going here?"

"Ominis?" She stared at him. Although he looked a little different, noticing the little bandaid over his cheek. "Did you get into a fight?"

"I-" Ominis wasn't sure whether to say it. Not long after she was cursed with sectumsempra, a commotion ensued even as Professor Hecat issued a punishment to Nicholas Carrow. He felt his blood boiling then, consumed with rage over what the fifth year had done to Norah. While he tried to knock out some of Nicholas' friends, he suffered some injuries of his own. But it wasn't just him. Garreth had also broken free from Amit and Leander to try and attack Nicholas with a few punches to his face because blood status be damned, it was clear to them that Nicholas would do anything to hurt Norah badly.

Ominis was quick to exploit his familial connections to Professor Black, telling him that it was a simple duel, and that Nicholas brought it on himself. Professor Black seemed convinced by his explanation and decided not to impose anything else. He was also prepared to hold true to his threat to Nicholas, that he would gladly frame him for something if it meant he would stop coming after muggle-borns and those who weren't purebloods.

But before Ominis could say anything, Norah gently touched the corner of his mouth, which got just as busted from a punch thrown by Nicholas. "You're hurt," She said softly. "Did you got to the hospital wing at least?"

Ominis shook his head. He swore the spot where she touched him was warm. "I don't think it'll be any good. They're all there. Everyone has been looking for you when they saw you weren't there," He said.

"Oh, that's strange, no one else was around when I regained consciousness," Norah said. A part of her wanted to keep looking over at his wounds, see if he was really okay. Her fingertips lingered for a moment, Norah fighting the urge to touch his cheek. She swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in her throat. "Did you-did you fight someone?"

Ominis placed his hand over hers that was on his cheek, his fingers slowly closing over hers. Should I not fight the one that nearly tried to kill the woman I love? He thought. "It wasn't just me," He looked down, almost embarrassed about what he did. "Forgive me, Norah, I wanted to hold true to my threat to Carrow, I shouldn't worry you like this."

Norah stared at their hands, her heart racing. It was the first time Ominis ever held her hand, in this way. Since she realized her feelings for him in fifth year, Norah found herself observing him more often. She didn't want to overwhelm him with her feelings, and tried to keep her distance, only to realize how hard it was to do so, even if the object of her affection, that was standing in front of her, was visually impaired. "Ominis Gaunt, would punch someone even if he's at a disadvantage," She said quietly. "That's very bold of you."

Ominis swallowed, wanting nothing more but to keep holding her hand. "I-Thank you," He said, internally groaning as he let her hand go, his own hand falling to his side. He cleared his throat again. "What are you doing here for?"

Norah pulled her hand away as well. "I wanted to get back to investigating Harlow. I have a feeling he'd be seeking out all the drills and things that the loyalists left behind. We overheard the poachers and ashwinders say Harlow plans on rebuilding the enterprise, perhaps come after the repository of power again," She explained. "I'm not sure if Harlow will succeed in getting to the repository, but if he's going to try and rebuild the empire he once built with Rookwood, he might resort to something dangerous."

The blonde nodded in understanding. "I trust you, if Harlow seems up to something, it is best we put a stop to him. I just hope we don't regret any of this," He said.

Norah looked at him curiously. "Really? That's all you'll say? You're a lot more cautious than I am, Ominis."

"You know I won't be able to stop you even if I could," Ominis said, almost defeated in the way he said it. "I just don't want you to go at this alone. Even something like this. And besides, I have a supply of wiggenweld potions with me from if anything happens."

The moment was met with levity as Norah chuckled. "Alright, the Overlook mine, here we come."

The two of them treaded down the path that led to the entrances of the mine. It wasn't surprising that the loyalist camps remained, abandoned, some of which had been overrun by nature. Some of the nearest tents were already covered in Devil's Snare. "Sebastian told me you two went in here last year," He said as they entered the cavernous mine.

"Yeah, we found the pieces of the triptych in the Undercroft. Who would've thought a fifth Keeper used the place," Norah muttered as they carefully looked around, staying alert in case they saw a sign of Harlow's lot. "I wouldn't be surprised if this entire mine is overrun by spiders too, so dead ashwinders, dead poachers, and dead spiders are what we can expect in here."

"Are some of those you've killed?" Ominis attempted to tease.

"Very funny, Ominis," Norah had one gloved hand in her satchel, ready to hurl a chomping cabbage or venomous tentacula in case a spider was near. "You'd do the same if you were in my place...but then I'm not a Gaunt."

Ominis frowned and shook his head as he tried to stay close to her. He swore he could get a whiff of her perfume. "Well, I'd say they should have a reason to be terrified."

"Oh they will be, they'll be more terrified of you than you are of them," Norah said, making her way through the mines, making sure to tell Ominis to jump over the small gaps. "Hold on to me," She whispered, a yelp escaping him as they slid down a slope that she remembered that led her and Sebastian to deal with another set of loyalists, as if the loyalists in the two encampments leading to the mine weren't enough.

The room they landed in was considerably, yet unsurprisingly, littered with the skeletons of loyalists and spiders. But this time, the only change was that there were more crates, crates that included explosive barrels. "I have a feeling there are others in here," Ominis whispered.

He had spoken too soon when a few Ashwinders apparated in front of them, surrounding them. "Fuck," She muttered, non-verbally casting both depulso and diffindo at a duelist and a ranger, making sure to pull Ominis away when the executioner of the group conjured a fiery ring. "You'd rather let this place fall through, eh?" She said, banishing the last remaining soldier back, hitting the stone.

The two of them climbed up the ledge to move forward. "It's safe to say you live an extraordinary life," Ominis tried to keep himself composed, only to let out another yelp when they slid down another slope. "This mine seems a lot bigger than I thought," He said.

"It is," Norah looked out on the open space beyond where they stood. Ominis immediately noted how the ground now felt different, a makeshift stairs having been built along with other things that he could sense, based on how Norah sounded, weren't there before. "Within this mine, also happens to be a secret living space," She said.

"A living space?" Ominis was confused. "Inside a mine?"

"Yes, hundreds of years ago, Isidora stayed in here, one of the places she stayed in to hone her magic," Norah cast a disillusionment charm on herself, along with two bottles of her invisibility potion. Ominis took it as a sign to do the same, Norah handing him an extra vial of the potion. They slid down toward the open space where she remembered had the familiar runes and the way to Isidora's secret space.

Only this time, more Ashwinders seemed to have set up camp, with the use of old loyalist drills and metal devices to try and force the door open. It had closed since she was last there with Sebastian.

"Harlow said a clue to the magic Rookwood and Ranrok sought after was in here," One of them said. "It would've been gone by now."

Norah raised a brow, drinking another invisibility potion to keep herself unseen, as she and Ominis quietly crept up to the farthest people on the sides to start petrifying them. Each of the soldiers and scouts fell to the ground with a slight thud, hardly anyone noticing as Norah cast disillusionment charms over them as well.

"There's always something here, left behind, just look at this door, with those symbols," One duellist pointed out. "They said this was where the child went once last year. There's definitely something behind these doors."

"We're nearly there, Ominis, we'll be back at the Undercroft soon," Norah said, sensing his presence nearby as they approached the remaining few Ashwinders, who were still focused on the doors. Some of them were already trying to blast the doors open, but to no avail.

"Drill them, then," Another duellist commanded, the drill already boring a hole on the ornate marble doors. "Imagine what we'll find behind these. Treasure, I reckon."

"They can't get whatever else that's in there," Norah shook her head, feeling the effects of the potion wear off. Ominis crept up to the other side, and both of them successfully petrified the remaining Ashwinders that were trying to open the door. Taking the disillusionment charms off, Norah threw some of the explosives towards the petrified forms as if to create a diversion while hitting all three rune symbols to open the door.

"I found something," Ominis said as they climbed down the stairs that led to Isidora's private space, along with the crystallized stone that was a secret passageway back into the Undercroft. "I found orders, probably from Harlow, at least that's what I can tell," He handed her the parchment.

"We'll have to get Sebastian and Amit to look through these books. Anything to learn something new about the magic Isidora performed on everyone," Norah said, stuffing some of the books she could get her hands on inside her satchel. Once she was done, seeing Ominis take some of the other books after pointing his wand at it, she grabbed his hand, tugging on it to lead him out of the place. For a moment she felt her cheeks heat up at her own boldness to reach for him in that way while they passed through the crystallized stone.

In a second, they were back in the warmth of the Undercroft. "That was unbelievable," Ominis said breathlessly. "I want to say we were nearly killed, but I have to admit we handled it well," He said. "Thanks to you."

"We make a good team," Norah agreed, realizing that she was still holding his hand. "Thank you for coming with me."

She let go, pulling her hand back before she felt the situation becoming awkward. Only it didn't feel awkward at all. Ominis's cheeks were tinged pink. "O-of course," He said quietly. He remembered his dream again. That it was here in the Undercroft that he tried to bear his soul to her, told her how he felt. "You have to let me know next time where you plan on looking."

A small smile appeared on her face. "I will."

[whatever-letmebe]

nuthphop mermen for the wip asks! 👀

NuthProm mermen AU, you mean. I'm so glad you asked :D

I'm not working on it at the moment because it's extremely angsty and sad and also at least three chapters. Basically, the story starts after Nuth gets out of prison. (edit: the timeline is scrambled -> Nuth goes to prison three years before Nant & Prom meet; Nuth and Prom have not met before.) Phop and Nant are both dead, Prom and Nuth are both mourning and just generally at a bad place in life. They meet, they have sex, they kind of find solace in each other but it's way more complicated cause of Jason. And half the characters are mermen because why not.

This is how it starts (still a very rough draft):

When Nuth is let out of prison, he has nowhere to go so he just starts walking down the street. He walks past restaurants and shops, people going ..   Busses and bikes pass by him, honking and … . The city is so much louder and dirtier than he remembers. Have there always been that many people? 

Without meaning to, he finds himself in front of the building where he used to live and climbs up the stairs to his former apartment. 

Somebody sometime in the past has broken down the door and nobody bothered to repair it. It’s hanging crooked in its hinges with some of the wood splintered off.  

The apartment is empty. As Nuth steps inside, his shoes leave footprints in the layer of dust that covers the concrete floor. 

Nuth walks to the small room that used to be his kitchen. Their kitchen. They kept flowers in mismatched plant pots and plastic water bottles. Phop used to bring them home sometimes after work. Now there’s nothing left but a yellow water stain on the wall.   

All his things are gone.  

Phop is gone.

In prison, missing Phop was bearable because he wasn’t supposed to be there anyway. But here it rips him apart. Phop belonged in this apartment. This was their place. Maybe some part of Nuth expected Phop to be here, to wait for him.

Maybe he expected the world to stand still while he was in prison.

Seeing their shared home deserted and lifeless like this feels like the last …. thing that kept him ... 

He has nothing left.