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i-drop-level-one-loot · 2 months

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hii I JUST LOVE YOUR WORK i stay and read them every day tbh, it's my first time requesting so I'm a lil nervous (also english isn't my first language so if i write too tangled things don't mind please) yandere disease has been corrupting my mind lately like this disease has taken over the world and now people are divided in two types: yanderes and darlings. Every darling is forced to stay with their yanderes by their parents and government when they turn 20 , like goverment has been taking care of yanderes too much, there's territories and special occasions where yanderes can meet darlings, if darling tries to escape people are just gonna drag them to their "soulmate" otherwise they think darling are too weak and fragile to protect themselves.

If you're too busy, just ignore this. I also know how hard it is to write. Hope you're doing good💗💗

Your English is perfect ❤️ better than some native speakers' ❤️ I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!!

Yandere!Fiance x GN!Reader

There were conspiracy theories as to how it happened.

Populations around the globe had declined dramatically, worrying nearly every country in every continent. The most popular theory online was that to combat the rapidly declining birth rate, one (or more) of the suffering countries conspired to create a new kind of biological warfare; an illness directed at their own people to foster relations. Unfortunately, while half of people were naturally immune to the attack, the other half were affected too much.

It was just a theory. Nothing could be proved. No government wanted to get to the bottom of the "attack" because their economies were booming; who would want to rid people of an illness that drove the rate of divorce to an all time low? It didn't matter if there were a few hiccups along the way.. As long as people were pushing out more babies, governments across the planet were more than happy to just create new laws to keep the death rates minimal ensure happiness amongst couples.

(Reader) prayed on their knees like fanatic, begging any God that may be listening, for years that they could be one of the Lovers instead of a Darling. They were terrified of the idea of becoming someone's Darling; becoming a prisoner to a loving murderer. No matter how perfect each family unit seemed to be, the young adult could see it in their father's eyes, the longing for the outside world, away from their mother. The suffocating love their mother drowned him in; the almost unnoticeable quiver to his smile.. (Reader) wished upon every single star in the sky that they could fall madly in love with someone, just so they didn't have to live through the rose tinted hell their father did.

But every crush they had was normal, none of the guys they thought were cute in highschool awakened some kind instinct in them. Eventually (Reader) turned 19 years old, and found out that they were engaged.

"To who??" (Reader) nearly barfed onto the dinner table. Their parents sat across from them, smiling happily from the good news they had just delivered to their child.

"He went to the same elementary school as you! Isn't that romantic?" Their mother cooed, poking her husband while doing so. "Apparently he's known since forever that you two are soul mates, but he's been too shy until recently to approach the Family Planning Bureau about his feelings~"

(Reader) gripped their thighs under the table while their eyes stung from the blossoming tears. ".. Do I have to meet him?" They asked quietly.

Although the building was painted bright blue and was surrounded by a beautiful, flowery landscape, it felt like a prison with it's tall chain link fencing.

The sorrowful expression on their father's sympathetic face burned into their retina so painfully, that every time they blinked while on the bus to their first meeting with their "fiance" they could still see it. He knew just as well as (Reader) did that there was no escape.

Even the walk towards a private meeting room past other Darlings felt like a death march. (Reader) could only hope that the "electric chair" wouldn't be too painful.

The kind guard opened a door, and a young man they did not recognize sitting inside immediately stood up, his face bright red.

His freckled and bespectacled face was almost hidden by his wavy, unbrushed hair. A smile stretched sweetly across his round cheeks, and (Reader) noticed that his blush went down his neck. "Ah- (Reader)! It's nice to- it's nice to meet you!"

It didn't matter that he was incredibly adorable: (Reader) was determined not to let their guard down.

"You said we went to elementary school together?"

"Yes-"

"-I'm sorry, but I don't remember you." They interrupted him, curt and to the point.

Instead of looking offended, his eyes softened and his smile became (somehow) warmer. "I'm sorry." He motioned to a seat near the table he was just sitting at. "I can explain everything.. if you give me a chance."

Reluctantly, (Reader) sat across from him. It was hard to deny that he was attractive, really being their ideal man, but they continuously bit the inside of their cheek to prevent themselves from feeling any sort of positive emotion. They knew better than to fall into this trap.

"My name is Anthony." His freckles almost disappeared entirely under his blush. "I'm sorry I never had the confidence to approach you.."

"Huh?" The confused teen forgot to hold their tongue. "Isn't it, like, frowned upon to talk to your Darling before registering with the bureau?"

Anthony rubbed his hands together nervously. "I - I really didn't want you to meet me this way.." He sucked in air between his teeth, looking faint. "I.. Do you believe in true love?"

A pang shot through (Reader's) heart. They remembered every time they would chase a crush, yearning for something true and genuine. Reading love stories from the days before the bureau, and wondering if that was what love was really like once upon a time. "No."

He sighed sadly. "I believe.. or at least, I want to believe in true love." Anthony sat straighter, staring into (Reader's) eyes with a shaky confidence. "I should have asked you out when I first met you in the fifth grade. I'm sorry I was too nervous to talk to you back then."

Vibrating adrenaline shook their system as they tried to make sense of what this stranger was saying.

"I wanted to ask you out, and take you on dates, and get to know you like in the old days."

"Why didn't you?"

His head fell slightly, obscuring his face entirely. "I thought that my feelings for you weren't strong enough.."

(Reader) suddenly felt as though they were connected with Anthony on a spiritual level; as though he was the only person in the whole world to understand them. The need for love, conflicting with the fear of not being a Lover, being destined to be labeled as a Darling. "Are you.." (Reader) dropped their voice to a whisper, "are you a lover?"

Sorrow filled Anthony's figure. Shoulders slumped, and back shuddering under his uneven, heavy breaths. "Would you report me if I wasn't?"

It was as if God had finally answered (Reader's) prayers. Their heart was racing; their head felt lighter than a cloud. Stuttering over their words, the young adult had to avert their gaze. "I don't remember you.. but I wouldn't mind getting to know you." Even though they didn't love him, Anthony felt like their one and only chance to fall in love naturally. To not be trapped like their father.

"Then.. I can see you again?"

(Reader) smiled. "Yeah.."

....

The second (Reader) left the room, Anthony's head hit the table with a loud bang.

It felt like he was going to vomit with how excited he was, and he couldn't contain his giggles any longer. Being in the same room as his childhood love was almost too much for him, and he almost ruined everything.

Anthony had worked so hard to make (Reader) love him.

He knew they liked shy, nerdy types, so he morphed into that. Destroying his eye sight so he could wear glasses, growing out his hair so he could always look slightly dishevelled, biting his tongue until it bled to force himself to stay in character.

Tears pooled around his nose on the table. He was smarter than the Lovers that made his precious (Reader) scared to be a Darling.

"I'm so happy..~" Anthony sobbed loudly in the empty room. "Please fall in love with me quickly~ Although, I don't mind waiting on you forever.. I want you to love me now..!"

#yandere #yandere x reader #gn reader #thank you for interacting with me #sorry it took so long #yandere fiance #yandere oc #cw manipulation

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remwrites · 1 year

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AU where Scar wins 3rd Life on accident? (we know he was never gonna win on purpose)

hmm

[]

Scar wished he could say it was the first time he'd soaked Jellie's fur with tears.

In reality, she'd probably bore a lot more of Scar's mental load than was really healthy to put on a cat. She was his whole soul and sanity. He clung to her, sobbing so hard he couldn't feel his own fingertips.

When he'd come back from Third Life, respawning with a jarring plummet back into his bed, Scar hadn't moved from that spot. The weight of everything that happened crushed him, compressing his chest.

Then it snapped. And he just started bawling.

Jellie found him quickly. She leapt up, distressed, meowing at the top of her lungs and worming under his arms. Scar hid his face in her soft fur and cried with earnest. Cried with misery and guilt and shame.

He hadn't wanted to kill Grian. He hadn't meant to. He'd wanted to take the fall, to give Grian the win. It didn't matter if Scar died, but it mattered so fucking much if Grian did.

And he'd failed even that, the only thing he could think was that Grian must've depleted his health before they fought, because there was no way such meger hits could've won the game.

Won. Scar was still numb to the feeling, because victory had never felt more like defeat, like devastation. His partner, his better half, the one who undeniably carried him through the game. Grian deserved to win. Scar never should've so much as raised a fist to him, he should've grabbed that sword when it kissed his throat and thrust it through his trachea before either of them could think twice.

Instead he had the afterimage burnt into his retinas of the expression on Grian's face when he killed him. It was a grimace, pain, it was resignation.

It was the light of the universe going out. It was all the stars fading to black. It was all the molecules stolen from his lungs.

It was Scar and bloody fingers and a pounding headache. Alone. There was no greater punishment than a man who lived for others to stand there, bloody and alone.

The tears tore holes through Scar as they fell. He couldn't breathe as the sobs punched with such power. Jellie gave a distressed yowl but it did nothing to halt the tide. He was home, he was safe, he wasn't there anymore. It didn't matter anymore. It was all reset.

It had never mattered more. Scar was beginning to feel light headed. Oceans sank and rose in the fluid of his brain. Every moment he felt like he might catch his breath he had a flash of Grian's face and it all broke down again, body struggling to keep up with the muscles pushing the force of his cries.

Scar tried to tell himself he wasn't alone, he had Jellie. He hadn't done anything irreparable, Grian would be alive in his own base right then. His fingers weren't bloody, but he couldn't see clearly enough through the tears to prove it.

He never wanted to hurt Grian. His partner. His G. The echo of his laughter, sharp like a shriek when he was truly overtaken with joy. The light of his cutting gaze meeting his, a spark of conspiracy. The feel of his hands, leaving trails of goosebumps and the gift of a lingering touch. Loyalty beyond what he ever expected, skill and wit more than he could've achieved on his own, and beauty beyond compare.

All killed by Scar.

The ocean relentlessly renewed its pound against the shore, salt water washing over, the rush behind his eyes. Now painful and burning, the tremble of his lips trying to gasp for air, the shake of his limbs from dizzy inhales.

Jellie squirmed from his grip, leaping from his arms. Something vulnerable collapsed inside him, red eyes looking up to chase her with a desperate and devastated look, only to find she was escaping to greet their visitor.

"Oh, Scar." Grian said.

Scar licked his lips and failed to hide his shaking sobs.

Grian sighed, and climbed onto the respawn bed Scar had never left and took the spot that Jellie had vacated. Inserting himself in Scar's arms and hugging around his back, pressing his nose into Scar's shoulder and muttering, "Sorry. I couldn't let you die."

"You tricked me." Scar gasped.

"I thought it would be better if you won." Grian sounded sorry, at least, like he hadn't been expecting this kind of reaction.

"You thought wrong." Scar said, fervent, and took a horrible moment to squeeze the life out of the man he killed. It made him cry harder.

Grian said nothing more, merely letting Jellie join them, and not complaining when Scar made absolutely no move to let him go as he cried.

ETA: there is now a longer version of this on ao3

#scarian #rem askbox #fic stuff #this is v messy #bc i am projecting you get scar fucking crying

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dirtbra1n · 3 months

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okay. so. the kagiweek prompts are out now and I saw what day 4 was and it immediately made me realize something. What is kagi up to during his third year festival. Did he take hirano to it? Did he help niibashi with the cross dressing comp? Was he in the cross dressing comp? What was his class doing? If we assume that kagihira have/haven't gotten together at that point, then how would that affect his experience? So many questions… so many ideas…..

BACK FROM THE DEAD AGAIN . HI MALT I’M SORRY I’M SO LAAATEEEEEE….. folding my hands Lets discuss

I think regardless of what kagi’s doing in his class (or elsewhere; placing a pin) he’s needling hirano into coming to it with him and winning. hirano showing up in his unbelievable homosexual drip. kagi fighting for his life for a number of reasons. we all deserve this.

(hirano was not informed of the fact that hanzawa would also be here, which is fine, because most people were, in fact, also not informed of this. I’m smiling thinking about this :) <- Disregard)

really fun to think about niibashi here Also smiling about this please Also disregard. what’s niibashi’s hashtag Girl concept here. I think kagi could probably nab a few hair clips from home (“borrowing” from his sisters) but I think otherwise his calling is in sharp critiques of what works and what really, really doesn’t. sniping bad ideas down from the seat he’s sat in backwards before niibashi even processes them enough to furrow his brow. resting his cheek on his knuckles calling out Tacky! kagi the fashion world needs you.

also kagi Put on this skirt. its one of those things where miyano walks past an open door, muttering to himself about something That could be another pin, sure, and out of the corner of his eye he sees a tall figure, muscular, bashful, wearing a skirt. and he takes two more steps as it sears into his retinas. and he scrambles backwards to see an open window, curtains fluttering in the breeze, and nothing else.

kagi has himself pressed up against the wall, chest heaving, praying a little bit, until miyano leaves.

otherwise though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t compete. boooo…..

outsourcing on what his class is doing I wish we knew more about kagi’s classmates…… I’ll think up some options if no one else does and make a poll maybe. I DO think though that basketball club (removing the first pin) is up to something . Hey kagi would you be a doll and coerce shirahama into convincing that pudding-head he’s always hanging around with to convince—well actually who does he need to convince if he’s president. Get shirahama to coerce that pudding-head ping pong president to get an athletic competition going between clubs. it’ll be fun. I promise. scooouuuts honor.

removing the second pin as well. miyano is conspiracy board-ing the best way to get in contact with hanzawa senpai’s cosplaying sister to fulfill a particular Vision he has. only time will tell if it works out for him the way he hopes it will.

Ha ha . I’m foreshadowing a little Love you malt….

#this is before he contacts hanzawa senpai. he does not tell hanzawa senpai about this #i don’t like the word situationship but i think it’s probably as close a word as any to what hirano and kagi have got going on here #askbox #Seriously though malt….. i’m sorry i left you out to dry for so long here……… your presence in my notifications is the light of my life……..#i love you malt………#EDIT: FORGOT TO MENTION SOMETHING AND I’M WAITING ON SOMETHING ELSE TO PUT PHOENIX HEAD IN HANDS

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lego-man-speer · 8 months

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The Spandau Seven

Despite having a name that sounds like a cheesy nineties boyband or even some form of crappy Justice League, 'The Spandau Seven' was the name given to the Nazi war criminals who had been handed down prison sentences. These seven were held in Spandau Prison in West Berlin, a prison designed to hold 600 inmates, built in 1876 and demolished in 1987 shortly after the death of it's final remaining prisoner, Rudolf Hess. This post will go over the seven Spandau inmates briefly, from prisoner 1 to prisoner 7.

Prisoner No.1: Baldur von Schirach

Baldur von Schirach started off as the Reichsjugendführer (Reich Youth Leader) and Reichsführer for the Hitler Youth. From 1940 until the end of WW2, von Schirach became Gauleiter of Vienna. At the Nuremberg Trials, he was found guilty of Crimes Against Humanity and sentenced to twenty years in prison. He was the youngest of the prisoners, aged 40 when he arrived. Eugene Bird describes him in his book "The Loneliest Man in the World" as a "tall, superior man, hair brushed back from his forehead, an air of aloofness about him." as well as "arrogant" and "knowledgeable". During his time in prison he went through a divorce with his wife Henriette, and had suffered a detached retina which had to be operated on. He was released from prison on the 1st of October 1966 having served his full sentence. He died in 1974, aged just 67.

Prisoner No.2: Karl Dönitz

From 1943, Karl Dönitz (a career naval officer) had replaced Erich Raeder (we'll get to him later) as Commander-in-chief of the navy and Grand Admiral of the Naval High Command. In Hitler's last will and testament, Hitler named Dönitz as the Reichspräsident and the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces. Under his order, the instrument of unconditional surrender was signed, marking the end of WW2 in Europe. At the Nuremberg Trials, he was found guilty of Planning, Initiating and Waging Wars of Aggression Crimes Against the Laws of War. He was sentenced to ten years in prison. He was released on the 30th of September 1956, having served his full sentence. He died in 1980, aged 89.

Prisoner No.3: Konstantin von Neurath

Konstantin von Neurath was a diplomat by career, having even worked for the SPD Weimar president Friedrich Ebert before the rise of the Nazi Party. He is probably most notable for serving as the Minister for Foreign Affairs under previous chancellor Franz von Papen and then under Hitler, a post which he held from 1932 until 1937 from which he was succeeded by the more compliant Joachim von Ribbentrop. He was subsequently made Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia. He remained a member of the Nazi government until 1943. At the Nuremberg Trials he was found guilty on all four counts, but the tribunal acknowledged that his successor, Joachim von Ribbentrop, was more culpable for the atrocities committed under the Nazis than Neurath was, and so was sentenced to only fifteen years in prison. However, von Neurath was released early on the 6th of November 1954 on the grounds of advanced age and ill health. He died two years later, aged 83.

Prisoner No.4: Erich Raeder

Erich Raeder was the former Grand Admiral and Commander-in-chief of the Navy, prior to the appointment of Karl Dönitz in 1943 after Raeder's resignation. At Nuremberg he was found guilty of Conspiracy to Commit Crimes Against Peace; Planning, Initiating, and Waging Wars of Aggression; and Crimes Against the Laws of War and was sentenced to life imprisonment. Raeder was released early on the grounds of ill-health however on the 26th of September 1955. He died five years later, aged 84.

Prisoner No.5: Albert Speer

Albert Speer had started off as Hitler's architect. He had been commissioned by many of the Nazi inner circle (including Göring, Goebbels and von Ribbentrop) for the design and construction of new homes for them, as well as the 1934 Nuremberg Rally which is arguably his most well-known work. Speer had a very close relationship with Hitler, with some regarding him as Hitler's "only real friend". In 1942, after a plane crash caused the death of Dr Fritz Todt (which Speer had in fact narrowly avoided himself!), Speer was appointed as the Minister of Armaments and Munitions and held this position until the end of the war. At Nuremberg, Speer was found guilty of War Crimes and Crimes Against Humanity (on the grounds of his use of slave and forced labour). He was sentenced to twenty years in prison (this was the result of a compromise, some of the judges wanted Speer to hang). Eugene Bird described him in his book as "hard-working, pleasant, resigned to his remaining time in prison." During his time in prison, Speer would keep a record of the distances he walked each day as part of his 'world tour', and had claimed to have walked more than 30,000 kilometres. Speer's parents also died during his incarceration. He was released from prison on the 1st of October 1966 and became a media sensation, giving countless interviews (as well as that one Playboy interview). He died in 1981, aged 76.

Prisoner No.6: Walther Funk

Walther Funk was an economist. He was made Reich Minister for Economic Affairs in 1938 and President of the Reichsbank in 1939, and he held both of these posts until the end of the war. In these roles he signed laws that "aryanized" Jewish property and as Reichsbank President he accepted the forwarding of gold teeth extracted from concentration camp victims to be melted down to yield bullion. At the Nuremberg Trials, he was charged with Planning, Initiating and Waging Wars of Aggression, War Crimes and Crimes Against Humanity and was sentenced to life imprisonment. Eugene Bird described him as the "sad clown". Due to failing health he was released on the 16th of May 1957. He died three years later, aged 69.

Prisoner No.7: Rudolf Hess

Rudolf Hess was Deputy Führer of the Nazi Party and third in line to the role of Führer (behind Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring) in the event of Hitler's death up until 1941. In May of 1941, Hess took off in a Messerschmitt from Augsburg and flew to Scotland in an attempt to begin peace talks with the British in the Second World War. His attempt massively backfired and was apprehended as a prisoner of war. While in prison, Hess began to show signs of memory loss and would sometimes refuse to eat as he claimed he was being poisoned by the British. At the Nuremberg Trials he admitted that this amnesia was simulated. He was charged with Conspiracy to Commit Crimes Against Peace and Planing, Initiating, and Waging Wars of Aggression, but due to his flight to Britain he was found not guilty of War Crimes or Crimes Against Humanity. He was sentenced to life imprisonment and the Soviets made sure that he would serve out his full sentence. During his time in prison, Eugene Bird had made an attempt to get close to Hess. He described him in his book as "cantankerous", "difficult to manage", and a "problem-child". From 1966 until his death he was the sole prisoner. Although Raeder and Funk (who were also imprisoned for life) were released from prison on grounds of ill health, this was never the case for Rudolf Hess. In late 1969, Hess was taken into hospital for a stomach ulcer and it seemed as though he was close to death. However, despite this, Hess was not released. Support was growing for Hess's release in Germany as well as three of the four allied nations (UK, US and France). The Soviets vetoed every attempt to release him. Rudolf Hess died in Spandau Prison on the 17th of August 1987 at the age of 93, reportedly of suicide, however debate remains as to whether he really committed suicide or whether he was murdered. Shortly after his death, Spandau Prison was destroyed to prevent it becoming a shrine for Neo-Nazi pilgrimages.

#reichblr #rudolf hess #baldur von schirach #albert speer #Konstantin von neurath #walther funk #karl dönitz #Erich raeder #spandau prison #ww2

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paigelts05 · 8 months

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Hell's coming with me [FNAF Renegade AU: Raid]

Deviantart Link: https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/Hell-s-coming-with-me-FNAF-Renegade-AU-Raid-985555310

Renegade File Server Lcoation: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36911932

Published: Oct 1, 2023

Oh boy this story's been in the works for a while.

And what a way to show off the start off the Raid on the Megaplex.

Because this happens before 'Misremembering the past' and 'Sylvia's investigation reports'.

This fic was inspired by the song "Hell's coming with me" by Poor Man's Poison, if you can't tell from the title. I was on a PMP binge when I started this fic, and another that I've had in the works for way too long.

═°•.🌹.•°═

Almost everyone who Faz Ent has ever scorned have made it to a special event.

The Raid.

Those fired in the mass layoffs, almost killed by the robots at the resulting Riot, are all coming back. Faz Ent doesn't recognize many of their faces or the weapons they chose to wield, but that doesn't change the facts and their intent.

The wrath of those wronged will lead the investigation.

And it'd be nice to see the megaplex burn, don't' cha think?

=°•.🌹 Story 🌹.•°=

°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

Re-entering the Pizzaplex seemed to be a daunting task, yet, it felt like nothing when they had an army behind them.

Sylvia Blake, Vanessa Diego, and Gregory.

The trio knew they'd step foot in here again from the moment they first left. Gregory's uncanny ability to predict showed him as much about what Vanessa had been forced to revive during her time as Vanny.

They had come back here with an army of law enforcement, jaded ex employees, and individuals negatively impacted by 'big bear' for this very reason.

Even if William would just latch onto someone and revive himself again, Henry's arson had forced William to only operate through a digital form for over sixteen years, effectively killing the main body during that time, and it was only the digital form hijacking the unfortunate beta tester and forcing her to collect remnant that brought what was left of William's physical form back onto a new endoskeleton.

If that would stop him for that long, this should set him back about as much at least, and that doesn't even begin to cover the PR damage that this would do. The 'Help Wanted' VR game project Fazbear Entertainment had tried to use to cover up its wrongdoings already turned into a PR disaster for big bear, less denouncing the rumors and more confirming them, as former staff and conspiracy board regulars alike spoke up in its wake.

Building plans and locations between the Pizzaplex and the restaurant Henry burned down many years ago had already been compared, and the conclusion was that this Pizzaplex was built over the ruins of the sinkhole left in its wake.

Both Sylvia and Vanessa already knew that they'd find the Fazbear restaurant that William burned in underneath this Pizzaplex, Sylvia having been the first to compare building plans after a group of electricians went missing in the raceway, and Ness from having spent long nights down there, tending to a reanimation that she did not want a part in.

Sylvia already saw the Journalist preparing various versions of the same article to to give to all of the different types of newspapers, from scathing hitpieces to academic style reports. She knew that he'd not leave anywhere for Fazbear Entertainment to turn. She also saw the Photographer, a former colleague of hers, snapping more photos than she could imagine, and despite the Fazcam hooked to his belt, he was using a using a Polaroid, which she was thankful for as she didn't want her retinas burning out quite yet.

As she noticed the Photographer still in his old guard uniform, she felt less awkward about wearing hers.

She noticed that tailing the journalist was his wife, the Mechanic, the muscle of that trio. The Mechanic was strong enough to restrain an animatronic and dismantle it with her bear hands, and smart enough to repair it to her own design. Sylvia was glad that she had been available to come along.

She looked to the side and saw the chief of the Chicago police department and her husband, the head of the CPD paranormal department. The former chief was with them, in surprisingly good heath for her age. Thier persistence in uncovering the truth of Freddy's in thier home city lead them all the way out here, and they were ready to finally close this case.

She looked back at Ness, and saw that she was practically hanging off Luis's arm. The duo held a stern demeanour, cold and vengeful. The pain this place had inflicted upon them was great, and she knew they'd not hesitate to burn this place to the ground given the chance. They deserved this chance to dish out thier just deserts.

Nearby, she saw the Private Investigator and his husband, a Software Engineer. The PI's face bore a large scar across the bridge of his nose that reached to the edges of his face, a scar from a fight against a physical manifestation of Glitchtrap. Both the PI and software engineer were skilled and both prepared for all out war.

Cassey and Jeremy were also here. Her having lost her eye and him his face, the two of them wouldn't miss this chance to turn torment back on to William for the world.

Beyond them, on the other side of the room, she saw the gas mask guard, green hair and olive skin. His face was obscured but vengeance burned through the eyeholes as he pressed onwards. He had lost his dad - an electrician - to the building in the basement of this place, and he was here to burn this hellhole down no matter the cost.

She was both surprised and not surprised to see Rachel and her grandpa. They knew this place well, and as now the offensive belonged to the side of the guards, she knew they had some trick up thier sleeve to aid in the investigation.

Patty and her mom were also here, the daughter off her own volition and the mother a mix of her own choice and being a paranormal responder. She would not be surprised if patty played the pied piper and whisked all the wet floor bots away.

A musician and her office clerk wife danced onwards, thier light-hearted attitudes a contrast to the calculations that were going on beneath the surface. The office clerk knew what William was capable of, being posessed by one of his adult victims and almost being a victim of his machines herself. The duo had learned the rythm of the machines of the past and could dance thier way around unseen. Such knowledge and skill was well placed in this crowd.

To thier side, she saw a rather normal looking husband and wife, yet she knew that the woman was a living machine whose killer was the same entity that lived in the burned remains of the restaurant below them, the same restaurant the woman's father had burned to the ground. The woman had killed him once herself, and she'd do it again. Alongside the duo stood the current chief of the hurricane police department and his father, the former chief; a little worse for wear but a vengeful obsession goes a long way.

As she ascended the stairs that lead to the elevators to the atrium, she took a moment to look out onto the floor below, bustling full of fellow vengeful folk who wanted this place gone just as much as she did.

She felt her heart beat in her chest; she hadn't felt comradeship like this since the mass layoffs.

She felt like the commander of an army, like a drifter returning alongside the wronged to raze hell, like a knight in shining armour.

As she gazed across the lobby, the once imposing building felt a lot smaller now.

°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

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voorvore · 5 months

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The Boy and His Dog

No. Time.

I stand at the window of my room. I watch the entire world, everything, all go on without me. I need not interfere.

I can't interfere.

The sky is a maligant depressive shade of grey. No joy to it. No sorrow to it. Just a covering, a tarp thrown over any real chance of feeling. A late-night horror movie viewed through child-sized splayed hands. Too scared to look at it face on, but stricken with enough of a disgusted, morbid fascination to continue watching in this zero-sum state. No risk. No gain. A shaft of His light 'graces' the corner of my room. I do not look. I do not know what I am missing. I do not feel incomplete.

As if driven by my own rejection of His 'grace', a cloud covers the shaft streaming through the window. This window is at the basement level.

My room is closer to a prison cell than an apartment. The walls are bare, naked with all the subtlety of a brutalist concrete painted lady, constructed from cinder blocks. A bare mattress lays on the floor to the south. Covered by a singular piece of soiled cloth masquerading as bed linens, soiled with blood and shit and piss and cum. A thin ebony crust has formed on the spots infected the worst, whereas the mass-at-large of the cloth remains a sickly pale yellow. It reeks like an abandoned parking structure, forgotten by all those who walk by, its urine soured, asphalt melting in the summer light.

The window is to the north. The glass has yellowed over decades of abuse and misuse, forcing a view of the world through a pair of piss-coloured glasses. I suppose that only to be fitting of me.

A boy walks on the other side of the road, on the sidewalk, a companion walking alongside him. A dog.

I struggle to make out the finer details of their appearances. My retinas have rotted in this self-created contrievance.

The boy is young, perhaps a prepubescent, unaware of the conspiracy against ourselves that we all partake in. He wears golden hair atop his crown, like an innocent prince. A noble. A sire. An adventurer. His eyes are a stunning azure, striking awe into wherever they glance. The boy wears a simple coat and children's shorts. The dog walks without a leash. Its fur is groomed to an exquisite standard of near-perfection, slicked back. Its thighs are plump with maturity and age, as if to suggest the wear and beauty of motherhood. Its eyes… oh, its eyes… stunning; eyelids covered in a sheen of iridescent makeup, eyelashes delicately blacked and exposed for all to see and worship, emerald-coloured irises, nearly human in nature, uncannily so.

The boy and his dog continue walking on. I can only watch for so long. The beauty in this life stays around for such little time. But the suffering is constant.

The boy and his dog turn a corner, out of sight. They do not leave my mind. All that remains is the same dampened skies, the same urban decay, the same decrepit apartment complex all around. And me.

I turn around. A lone rusted knife sits in front of me.

Demons mock me in my mind. Abraxis, sitting upon His throne of hate and conspiracy, spits upon me. I am useless. I am a malignancy upon this world. I am a diseased algorithm. A great procession of horrors, of monsters and revenants, of those things that act behind the scenes, of those things that we may never accept the existence of, carries me down to the river. A river of death.

I am lying on the mattress. I hold the knife above my chest. Pointed downwards.

Yet I do not plunge the knife inside. I do not end this contrievance of organic shit that festers inside these concrete intestines only to be shit out as a corpse waiting to be taken away by the sanitation workers who call themselves the law. I limply let it fall to the mattress beside, apathy becoming one with me. I am no longer anything that should exist. A paradox. A self-conscious nothing. A body without organs. A self-perpetuating neverending crypt.

I am haunted- By that which I would not do. No. Time.

#voor.txt #voor.reblogs #tw suicide #tw: suicide mentions #tw self destruction #creative writing

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dr-whoopsie-daisy · 5 months

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Remember when everyone and their conspiracy parents were getting hydroxychloroquine to protect from covid and ignored that it can be toxic to the retina in certain dosages?

Got my first pt with permanent decreased vision from HCQ and theirs was prescribed *correctly*

#optometry #doc life #eyes #hydroxychloroquine

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olko71 · 1 year

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New Post has been published on All about business online

New Post has been published on http://yaroreviews.info/2022/12/ftxs-sam-bankman-fried-charged-with-criminal-fraud-conspiracy

FTX's Sam Bankman-Fried Charged With Criminal Fraud, Conspiracy

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Markets

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Currencies

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Cryptocurrency

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Charges are latest twist in saga that has rattled world of cryptocurrencies

#PAID

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ivanreycristo · 2 years

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..y hoy no sé porque GOOGLE FOTOS me recuerda bajo el título de CABEZA DE CARTEL:

31-5-13 concierto de la UNION sala ROCKITCHEN presentando su CD de mezclas HIP.GNOSIS (grupo de artistas como STORM THORgernson q hacia las portadas de grupos ingleses como PINK FLOYD o LED ZEPELLIN) y me dio x grabarles los 13 seg finales de VUELVE EL AMOR del CD EL MAR DE LA FERTILIDAD (del q venian 2 iguales y q se lo vi presentar en sep'2002 en la plaza de TOROS DE TERUEL donde murió último torero en ESPAÑA como fue VICTOR BARRIO y dónde hacen la FERIA DEL ANGEL..pues solo x acabar la 1/2 maratón te REGALABAN la entrada y la cual acabe justo x delante de la 1era chica o entre 10 primeros pues ademas fui reservando xq el año anterior no conocía recorrido..me escape y me encontré un MURO en forma de ascensión a un CERRO.. y luego ELLA consiguió ser OLIMPICA en PEKIN'08 con 38 años=MARIA JOSE PUEYO)..o justo hasta q una MUJER le tira un SOSTEN al GAY de su CANTANTE diciendo q hacia AÑOS q no le tiraban UN SOSTEN y a los CUALES (LA UNION autores de CD HIPERESPACIO=espacio hipotético d más de 3 dimensiones y CD TENTACION q incluye DAMELO YA donde comparan a la MUJER COMO SI FUERA UNA ATRACADORA con el PODER DEL SEXO) los acababa de ver x FIESTAS VIRGEN D LOS ANGELES DE GETAFE en plaza de la CONSTITUCION (18-5-13) tras haber visto también en sala ROCKITCHEN (7-5-13) a BURNING (1er grupo de Rock d Madrid q fundo malogrado PEPE RISI tras THE DIVINES PICTURES)

18-12-14 concierto de BUNBURY (1er grupo APOCALIPSIS) en el PABELLON SAN PABLO (saulo el romano converso) de SEVILLA q retraso 6 meses x DESPRENDI-MIENTO DE RETINA de su guitarrista Jordi MENA (Ex JARABE DE PALO =CASTIGO) y del q recuerdo q cuando cantaba HAY MUY POCA GENTE (q como muestra el vídeo es sobre todo tipo de GENTUZA q crea esta civilización de la FALSA MORAL o del DINERO..es decir lo q refleja la canción CAMBALACHE) d CD HELL-VILLE DE LUXE..me pilló meando en una LETRINA q fotografié xq REBOSABA DE MIERDA FLOTANDO..x cierto..de esta gira de CD PALO-SANTO BUNBURY (retirado en CHICA+CAGO x no poder continuar su gira americana ) grabó un DVD en MADRID : AREA 51 EN UN SOLO ACTO DE DESTRUCCION MASIVA.

15-1-15 carrera nocturna o de las ANTORCHAS de JAEN (provincia donde nació VIRGINIA MAESTRO)..en la que además hacen HOGUERAS TODA LA NOCHE y estuvo DILUVIANDO

23-12-16 concierto en SALA REPUBLIK de MADRID de unos veinteañeros (no recuerdo su nombre x lo q he mirado en internet y único concierto que me sale por entonces en sala REPUBLIK fue de FLASH ZERO un grupo de la escena electrónica de los 80 en MADRID q empezaron tocando CONSPIRACY)..pero recuerdo q como intro pusieron la BSO de la GUERRA DE LAS GALAXIAS

youtube

#Youtube

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brysmaleidols · 3 years

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Cody Vanallen by Retina Conspiracy

#cody vanallen #model #male model #shirtless

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artsyjesseblue · 2 years

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Oh no, Lotor… (alternately: Oh, no Lotor…)

I’m going through this process of post-Voltron-trauma mental healing (no, not for the past 4 years; I only watched it this year - 2022). Some people refuse to watch it again, because of the emotions some images might stir up. It’s weird, but for me, it’s kind of the opposite. Revisiting certain scenes makes me more immune to having that visceral reaction, and in return, I start noticing details I missed on the first pass. Especially Season 8. The one everybody hates watching again.

So, most likely by now everybody knows about this famous ending scene with Lotor standing next to the Old Paladins, all of them looking at us from the realm of afterlife.

And probably some of you have read certain metas about the obvious fact that Lotor has been inserted in this image, after the animation studio finished its production. The consensus is that this is the stock image of Lotor from the Voltron fandom wiki page. And, also, that his right foot has been moved a little bit to accommodate him in front of Zarkon. Also, that he does not have a proper shadow.

All of these are true imo, and I don’t know if anybody else has done it before, but here is my proof. I took the stock photo from the Wiki page and overlapped it with the image. Here we go (first image is 50% transparent, so you can see the original position of both feet):

For obvious reasons, they had to lower his right foot, so he doesn’t step on his daddy’s toes. A simple push with a Liquify tool. Which is a bit too obvious, because the foot appears a little crooked, the tip of the shoe is bent towards us and the perspective is screwed.

They made his left foot a bit smaller, to accommodate for perspective as well, but that is a crappy manipulation, because it doesn’t seem to be in sync with the perspective of the other shoes in the picture. Simply pushing the foot up with the liquify tool won’t solve the fact that the forefoot needs to be a bit wider when shown in perspective, to rest flat on the ground. Look at the other guys’ frontal view shoes for comparison.

And the one thing that scratches my retina (and it did to many others as well) is Lotor’s shadow. Like, seriously, everyone’s shadow projects from their heels. His seems to radiate from… um… the edge of his pinky toe? He kind of floats in a surreal space.

A detail that is quite hard to spot is the fact that inside the shadows there are darker shadows. Especially visible for Alfor. Zarkon has them too. The shadow of their legs is darker, on top of a lighter shadow of the body. Um… Lotor’s is… maybe non-existent? He only seems to cast a lighter shadow, from his pinky toe. Pffft.

But enough of this hair-splitting. Dang these conspiracies.

I’m moving to the next image, where I played with no Lotor in the picture. Oh, no Lotor!

Exguse meine rough zchetch… It’s for demonstration purposes only.

— With Lotor in the picture, the composition is out of whack (Remember, this is a static image, so there is no animation movement from left to right or anything like that. Just a small zoom in effect, expected in static scenes.)

— Without Lotor: just look at the new space created next to Zarkon. Doesn’t it look more balanced visually now? The whole pack of five is centered. Oh, what a joy.

It’s not like every scene in Voltron is always perfectly centered, but the static ones seem to be! Or they have a symmetry. If you don’t believe me, just watch randomly some episodes from the first few seasons (don’t trust anything in S7-8) and you’ll see my point. It’s common in animated series. Centered scened are visually pleasing.

And now to the more subjective discussion.

What business would Lotor have, to hang out among the Old Paladins? I get it, the one thing they all have in common in this so-called canon version is they are all dead.

And let’s not forget he actually never made peace with Zarkon, like Allura did when she traveled in Honerva’s mind. So now he’s just Zarkon’s peaceful companion, after he killed him?

And here is where my suspicion lies (albeit unproven), that what we see here is actually a scene that was supposed to happen a few episodes before, in S8E10, when Allura and the Paladins travel to Honerva’s mind and find the Old Paladins trapped in there.

Two things point me to believe this:

1) At the end of the episode, when all Paladins return to reality, Allura remains unconscious in her Lion, trapped in some sort of dream. They never show us what she was dreaming but I’m like 100 percent sure she was continuing her journey out of Honerva’s mind - because they punched out of there when Zarkon ordered the team of 10-Voltron Paladins to form sword and pierce the barrier of Honerva’s mind. So Allura is somewhere else… Where exactly? (Oh no, Lotor! Hello, anyone there??)

2) We were never shown a proper goodbye to the Old Paladins, when they left Honerva’s mind. Where the quiznack did they go? They helped the Paladins get out of there and they just poof! went into the void? Allura must have traveled with them somewhere else, meet *cough*Lotor, then wake up, angry as she looked in the canon part we were allowed to see. Maybe daddy got to meet one angry piece of son, they all solved their differences, Lotor tells Allura more details about his state in the Sincline, she now knows how to save him, and now it’s time to say goodbye to the Old Paladins... And that is where this Old-Paladins-in-the-blazing-lights image comes from. Not at the end, not with Lotor in it.

Wishful thinking? I think not.

Fell free to throw in your opinions. There are variations of this scenario of what happened with Allura in her dream, but they all lead to the same conclusion.

#lotor deserved better #lotor #voltron meta

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middling-poetry · 2 years

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Mighty Balls?

I know Mighty Balls was a funny joke Travis made but how is it in this Emily Dickinson poem? Is Travis a big Dickinson fan who knew this was a reference? Is it just a strange coincidence? Is Chetney secretly a gay poet? Is this a conspiracy? I have so many questions.

<ID>

A Dying Tiger — moaned for Drink — I hunted all the Sand — I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand —

His Mighty Balls — in death were thick — But searching — I could see A Vision on the Retina Of Water — and of me —

‘Twas not my blame — who sped too slow — ‘Twas not his blame — who died While I was reaching him — But ‘twas — the fact that He was dead —

#critical role #c3 #chetney pock o'pea #mighty balls #chock full o' nuts #c3e16 #the shade mother #emily dickinson #poem #poetry #conspiracy #a dying tiger #chetney meta

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1-800-roflmao · 3 years

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SIPHONEM "BIRDS OF PARADISE" INFO POST

This is a post with general info about my fictional race. It will be updated/editted as needed. This is not a character sheet or character background post, but there are tidbits about my two angels so far.

What are “Birds of Paradise”?

Birds of Paradise, or Siphonem, are a tier of angel specifically made up of restless souls that feel they are not ready to move on, whatever that may entail. Usually these souls have died suddenly, unexpectedly, and often traumatically, but not always. Their restlessness stems from trouble processing that they are in fact dead and everything that implies.

If the soul cannot be soothed by a guide then they are offered a purpose and temporary relief. Their memory will not be wiped, but better put, a film will be put over it. Something to dull the impact of their death, but not let them forget completely who they are. They are given a new form with their new status as an angel.

Their main job is collecting “energy,” which is mostly used to keep them going, fuel their powers, but a portion is siphoned off to other realms. This energy is collected indirectly from the emotions of beings, but is actually excess magic from their souls that surfaces when emotions spike. There is no difference in potency in energy collected from conventionally considered positive or negative emotions, but the angel needs to keep in mind the empathetic effect it will have on them.

Example: energy/magic derived from happiness will in turn fill the angel with happiness, and energy/magic derived from sorrow will drown them in that same level of sorrow.

Depending on the angel, they may or may not be able to handle the wave of feelings.

Their second job is running and completing minor missions for the Lords. Lords are simply the overseers of different realms in the afterlife.

Why were the Siphonem established?

The Lords decided to kill two birds with one stone, empty Limbo that was becoming too full and solve the power crisis they were experiencing. A bonus was that the more capable Siphonem could be trusted with missions and tasks after the power situation stabilized.

Siphonem permanence?

For the majority of Siphonem, they will eventually feel a sense of fulfilment and contentment and choose to finally move on. This “moving on” is unique to the individual, but they will all leave behind a flowering plant once they pass. They can also choose to remain as a Sipho and possibly climb the tiers.

Does collecting energy/magic affect the collectee’s emotional state?

Yes and no. Yes, it technically does as the angel is essentially taking on some of the burden. No, since depending on the emotion and the amount collected, it may not even be noticeable. The tapping is usually less noticeable with positive emotions, but not always, as some angels can get greedy and addicted to the high that comes with those collections. With negative emotions, it is usually more noticeable as the odd relief and calm sets in with the edge taken off thanks to the collection. Plus, a suddenly sobbing or roaring angel is just a bit shocking and can pull anyone out of a funk or fit.

Why “Bird of Paradise”?

When this tier of angel was first formed, they were called Sipho (sih-fuh), or Siphonem plural. They were compared to succubi and incubi since the first few waves found the easiest way to connect with a being and cause an emotional spike was through an orgasm. It was around wave three that they were given their nickname, “Bird of Paradise” by humans.

One angel didn’t quite convince their collectee that they were just a nice dream after said human got a very good view of their silhouette flying off after a night of fun. Said human started the mythos of birds with plumes that outshine even the sun. The sun grew jealous of the bird’s vibrant plumes and struck them down, bound their wings and forced them to take a mortal form. These beings wander until they find someone who can unbind their wings. You both will find your own “paradise” in a successful unbinding. And of course, as the story was passed around, others began recalling their own experiences and putting their own spins, but the original tale is the favorite amongst humans. The myth grew and the name stuck.

With all human myths and stories told over generations, there are derivatives and conspiracies. Tame beliefs that you have been blessed and should expect good things in life after meeting a bird of paradise. Dangerous beliefs that a Bird of Paradise’s “feathers” or blood could grant you immeasurable power or immortality (despite the fact that Siphonem do not have feathers, but they can bleed a substance called ambrosia that does have healing properties, but no immortality fulfilment).

Explaining Siphonem’s Halo

Alternatively called their crest or crown. Those are not feathers, but they are featherlike in how soft they are and in general appearance. The reason they do not count as feathers? They lack the anatomy for them as there is no hollow shaft or vane or any other parts like an actual feather would have <this allows for Sipho to style their halos into ponytails, braids, updos, et cetera>. Its closest comparison is a fur stole, but fluffier and longer. They are extremely flexible and can be flared or flattened depending on their mood. You can tell when a sipho has recently collected energy as their halo will be tinted with the color of their collectee’s aura/magic.

Why is it called a Halo?

When they flare it fully purposely, it gives the appearance of a “halo” as it along with their eyes and markings will glow. This appearance usually is used for intimidation and sometimes they will flare fully while collecting. If a Sipho is sporting this look outside feeding, consider your soul damned.

Explaining Siphonem’s Wings

Most Siphonem rarely use their wings due to the nature of them. They are light, but with mass. This makes them no where near stealthy. They do not blind the Sipho, but anyone else looking at them will have some retina damage if they don’t have protection. If someone was wearing protection and looked, they would notice their wings take the form of several floating polygonal structures. Touching them wouldn’t seem harmful at first, just hard and cool, but you’d find you have blisters later. Do not touch their wings. Do not look at them directly. Not that a Sipho would give you the chance.

Siphonem can float!

Floating is simply the Siphonem not falling. This means there is no movement while floating unless they have built up momentum or applied force. So, they would have to hop, jump, push, or get a running start, or possibly use something to help propel them.

Fun facts!

They use their float ability simultaneously with their wings to fly.

Siphonem have fur. Some more than others, like Impes, who has a very fluffy upper chest.

Siphonem do not have to have sex with you to feed. They can simply vibe with you after the initial connection is made through an emotion spike, like heartbreak, surprise, excitement, or fear.

Siphonem are naturals at helping those who have excess/built-up magic and are usually perfectly willing to take it off your hands.

Siphonem can sense other Siphonem. They are usually not territorial, but there are the odd few who are.

Siphonem can feed off or share energy with each other if needed. This does not require an emotional spike and is usually only done in emergencies or special circumstances.

Siphonem can summon weapons/items based on the magic/energy they last collected or one item that has meaning to them <Impes and his bat>.

Siphonem’s given name are all Latin and their old human name is considered their “dead name.” Some Siphonem, like Mikael, do not remember what their dead name was.

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Codename Cupid: Chapter 22

Previous: The Final Notice

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Abortion

Summary: Black Panther, Cricket and OT7 finally meet.

Cricket & OT7: Return to Sender

Present Day

“Why are you following me?” I ask, hands bound together, eyes blindfolded. The car has stopped, and whomever was driving has exited the vehicle in favor of opening my door and yanking me out. It’s silent, apart from my breathing and unavoidably stalky footsteps. I’ve never been able to walk on eggshells, perhaps it was my mother’s direction that stomping on them was far more impactful, that has led me to wear through every heel of every shoe I’ve ever owned. Now, it isn’t my saving grace, rather a rude awakening that I must sound like an ogre to the people who live below me.

I arrived at the designated location, Jungkook trailing behind me. He refused to let me go alone but did compromise and stay in the damn car. He could see me, and I could see him. I was waiting for no more than a minute before promptly kidnapped. Not even chloroformed, just fucking grabbed and taken. Kidnapped, blindfolded and bound. Bound! Some knot a boy scout or aspiring I’m tossed in the back of a car, which, is how I’ve found myself willfully dragging my heels as they ever so gracefully force me in their desired direction.

“Black Panther, why are you following us?” The voice asks. I know that voice, I’ve heard it before, I’ve heard that code name. Had it been referring to me this entire time?

“Us?” I ask again, tossing my voice to see if it reverberates against anything, any sign that furniture or people are nearby.

The man guiding me stops abruptly and peels off my blindfold. Empty spaces are their own kind of hell, and this is no exception. The panic of darkness arises as I close and open my eyes, ensuring they’re really open and not a trick of the mystery man’s charms. I jump softly as seven lights are dropped, one in each spot in front of me, a delicate row of halos waiting to be adorned. Five men step out of the shadows, the one holding me in place making number six. Their pressed suits, cut from the finest cloth, each distinct in their pattern and style, garnish their bodies. As if on cue they cross their arms over their chests and glare openly at me.

“Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung,” I rattle off, each man nodding as I speak their names.

I know them all, tailed them, surveyed their homes, run into them at the grocery story and Mexican restaurants. All except fucking min Yoongi, but I know them. I know these men. I’ve spent the better part of what, two years, trying to understand them, trying to figure out how they’re related, and here they are. There’s space for another, and it takes me a minute to realize who it is that occupies that is supposed to occupy that spot.

“There’s only six of you… where’s -

“Jeon Jungkook,” His voice comes from behind me, goosebumps running up my spine as the heel of his boots hits the concrete. My body is awash in shock, anger, comfort and hope. My Jungkook. My, I have to come home to him, my north star, my sunshine on a cloudy day, my Bunny.

I was fucking right all along, wasn’t I?

“Welcome to the party.” Seokjin says.

“Is this where you tell me that Euna is Hans Gruber and somehow I’m Sergeant Powell?” I question, by tone delicate against their stone expressions.

“If anything, you’re Harry Ellis,” Yoongi says.

“That’s so rude,” I retort. “At least let me be Holly Gennaro.”

“Then who are we, McClane?” Yoongi snorts, the absurdity of my statement causing a brief moment of joy. “Bunny wishes.”

“You’re interrupting our mission,” Namjoon states, pulling my attention to him. His broad shoulders give way to a tapered waist, round golden spectacles are situated against his face, and his jaw is locked tight.

“Me? How the fuck – oh,” My eyes move towards the bulletin board against the far wall, in quintessential fashion there are pictures, string, maps and enough thumbtacks to secure the list of vets from the Vietnam Memorial. I can’t read it, but I can see it. “You guys aren’t the bad guys.”

“No, we’re not,” Namjoon says.

“The Lee family is,” Taehyung says. It’s odd seeing him this quiet and stoic, after all he’s the hottest librarian in the damn county. He comes alive within the confines of his books and stories, he comes alive. He has voices and characters and gestures to match each. Looking at him now, it’s wild to imagine him doing a full interpretive reading of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, or his most famed retelling, Peter and the Starcatcher, when he’s glowering down at me.

“They are poison, seeking revenge on anyone who has worked on cases to bring them down,” Hoseok says.

“So, you all, how did she find you?” My mind is moving too fast for me to form coherent sentences.

“Cupid didn’t find us,” Jimin tells me, eyes still boring holes into mine.

“You did,” Namjoon answers.

“I did?” I ask, eyes wide.

“Mm, your little stunts, your run ins, your photos. She gave you our real names and you-

“Gave her our locations,” Taehyung finishes the sentence, eyes still trained on me.

“You left the notes, and the photo for Euna to find,”

“Yes, but unlike you, our move was intentional,” Yoongi says.

“Codename Cupid needed to know there were higher stakes at play,” Hoseok tells me.

“How was I supposed to know this was some larger conspiracy?” I demand, temper rising.

“Did you not receive notes?” Hoseok asks, by his expression I can tell that he’s responsible for the code breakers that have arrived at my apartment and office over the last nine months. “Strange packages arriving out of nowhere, sent to your office, on the driver’s seat?” Hoseok pushes.

“Yeah, but I’ve had some really sketchy clients in the past, though none of them preferred an ABA rhyme scheme,” I retort.

“Do you know how we found you?” Yoongi snaps.

“Yes?” I ask, genuinely confused, “Google my name and my office pops up. Anyone can find me.”

“Your tactics are fucking bush league, Black Panther. They’re embarrassing,” Yoongi tells me.

“You’re a P.I., not a cop, not an agent, you’re not in the Bureau, yet you’re overstepping into situations that you have no grounds being involved in. You are fucking playing with fire and we were about to be burned if we hadn’t –

“Seokjin,” Namjoon’s voice is biting, harsh, a belt to the back as it cracks in the hot air.

“She needs to know,” Taehyung responds for his hyung.

“Cupid has been lying to you for months, leading you on, paying you over your asking to track us down for what? A few lies you don’t even believe to be true?” Jimin asks.

“We embezzled funds from their charity organization? We reported her family to the IRS?” Taehyung asks.

“We stole jewelry from her famed collection to sell on the black market?” Seokjin adds.

“We’re trafficking high quality cocaine from Colombia into the upper echelon of society?” Jimin rattles off more lies.

“We fucked her, broke her heart, and god – the worst one – we made her abort our child?” Yoongi spits on the floor, disgust flowing through his saliva like blood in the Nile.

I stare at them, mouth agape as they recite words I’ve only spoken to one person. My vision becomes blurry as I try to breathe, in through my nose, out through my mouth, but my heart is pounding in my ears and I can’t breathe. The tears always sting before they fall, and my eyes land on him, tall, blonde hair, clear framed glasses, doe eyes.

“You told them?” I whisper, the end of my sentence curling up into itself as the first tears start to fall.

“I had to,” A whisper, feet frozen to the ground as he refuses to make eye contact with me.

“You were using me?” I ask. “Look at me.”

“I wasn’t using you,” He says, soft eyes meeting mine, the fire scorching the earth.

“So how do they know?” I spit, the little droplets doing nothing to squelch the flames.

“I had –

“You told them information that I shared with you, in confidence, in my fucking bed, in my fucking homeJungkook!” I yell.

“Cricket, can we talk about –

“How dare you use my nickname to get me to calm down, I’m not a fucking child,” the sound of my cries reverberates against the warehouse, echoing violently.

“I can exp-

“There isn’t time for you to sort out your fuck up, Jeon. We have real problems to discuss,” Yoongi snaps. I can feel the tears dripping from my chin, falling to the concrete beneath my feet. The adrenaline pumping through my body as both a reaction to fear and a telltale sign that I’ve been embarrassed beyond repair. Not just embarrassed, eviscerated, betrayed. An hour ago, hadn’t I been deeply in love, terrified I wouldn’t return home to him?

“What do you want from me?” I ask. Jimin hands me a tissue, which I am grateful for as I attempt to gently blot my soaked skin. My mascara, never waterproof, comes off my eyes in dark splotches. How poetic.

“Come, have a seat, Jungkook, get her a water,” Namjoon instructs. He strides towards the bulletin board and pressing a few buttons, the board sinks in the floor to reveal a hallway. The gasp that echoes through the warehouse is audible, and louder than I intend.

“Sorry,” I say, feet guiding me past Jungkook, towards the corridor. There are no pictures on the walls, no signs that this space is used by anyone. The industrial style gives way to a door, bulletproof.

Namjoon pauses, inserting his thumb into a scanner that gives way to a retina display, where he gently places his chin against the base. The machine works quickly before giving him entrance. I watch, amazed. Who knew in the 21stcentury that covert ops and me, a lonely P.I., would intersect?

“This is, headquarters,” Seokjin says. He takes a seat at the long table in front of us and points to the chair next to Taehyung. I sit quickly, my eyes adjusting to the surprisingly bright space.

“Oh my god the view,” I say, composure slightly recovered as I take in the expanse of greenery.

“Yeah, benefit of being in the middle of nowhere,” Yoongi says.

“Read your file,” Namjoon instructs.

The file in front of me, manilla of course, is packed. “Why paper copies?”

“Easier to burn,” Yoongi mutters. He’s taken out his computer and is busy typing away, no doubt pulling up a list of my infractions. Undoubtedly fucking an undercover operative is number one, though falling in love is objectively far worse than sex.

Jungkook brings me a water and deftly cuts the zip ties around my wrist. His hand moves to sooth the indentation and redness from their grip, but I pull them away before his thumbs graze over the skin. Out of the corner of my eye I watch him retreat to his seat at the end of the table.

“If you’re the top of the line, 007 should be shaking in his oxfords, can’t you encrypt it?” I ask.

“Your encryption is only as good as your worst coder. We can’t take that chance,” Namjoon tells me.

“First, I don’t think that’s the saying. Second, the government, who I’m assuming you work for, Interpol, MI6, etc. all use computer systems,” I counter.

“Do you remember the election of 2016?” Yoongi retorts.

“Point taken,” I nod. Of course, Russia. No one was ever safe. “But can’t you blame a lot of that on Zuckerberg and the higher ups at Twitter?”

“Read your file,” Namjoon instructs again.

I open it to find a rather aggressive breakdown of my work as a PI, both items that were on the internet and ones that only top-level government agents could have accessed, that is, unless the NSA has been tapping my phones. Details of my family life, my past relationships, my driving record, it was all here.

“Why isn’t Jungkook on the list of romantic partners?” I ask, eyes looking from Seokjin to Namjoon.

“Are you in love?” Namjoon asks.

I don’t wait for a response from Jungkook, or to find the courage to say the simple three lettered word, yes. Instead, I busy myself by clearing my throat and loudly moving the pages about my life to a separate pile. Underneath is all my evidence, print outs of my documents, surveillance photos of me working. I stare at them, horrified.

“How long have you been tailing me?” I question.

“How long have you been working with Euna?” Taehyung asks.

“Sixteen months,” I reply.

“Ten months.” Taehyung answers.

“You hacked my computer? Is that legal?” I inquire, knowing full well that it isn’t.

“I can tell that you don’t understand who you’re dealing with, so let me put it this way. We’re the ones who knock. We’re the ones who cause dignitaries, presidents, whole countries to quake in their boots. It’s us.” Namjoon’s voice is calm within the storm, its resolute and baritone and every word that he utters is meaningful, impactful. He means what he says, and he fucking says what he means. In every interaction I’ve had with him, which frankly have been maybe more than he realizes, he’s been measured in his speech, only speaking when he has something worth saying. He is patient with himself, kind to others, except for today, when he clearly does not want to deal with me.

“How very Heisenberg of you,” I roll my eyes.

“You don’t want to be Jane,” Namjoon urges.

“Okay first of all, in a Breaking Bad scenario, I’m clearly Jesse. Second of all, Krysten Ritter has had a very lovely career. Finally, this cannot be overlooked or underestimated, I’m Veronica Mars, bitch.”

“Read. Your. File.” Namjoon’s teeth are clenched, his fist resting on the table, his patience going.

I glance at Yoongi who is sniggering, Seokjin who is making eyes at Jungkook, and Jimin who is busy doodling along the margins of his file. These glimpses, these little hints at the weight of their souls, these are the men I’ve been following for nearly two years.

It’s in staring at the remnants of my evidence that it hits me. “Jungkook gave you these photos.”

“Yes,” Seokjin answers.

“Everything you told me was a lie,” I say, eyes burning holes into the stolen images of my work.

“Crick- Y/N, that’s not true,”

“I knew you were connected, that day in the dog park, I knew,” I should’ve trusted my instincts, though they told me to trust him, maybe I should’ve run.

“I didn’t lie, Cricket, I -

“Look, I’ll work with you, whoever you are, but I’m not working with Jungkook,” I look at Namjoon.

“That’s not an option, Black Panther,”

“How did I get that nickname?”

“Can you focus for ten minutes? Read your damn file so we can discuss the next course of action before you have to go meet Codename Cupid for your weekly meeting,” Namjoon bites.

“Fine, do I have to go to that meeting if you’re, doing whatever you’re doing?” I question. “Seems a bit redundant.”

“If you don’t meet with Cupid, she will know we found her, and our decade of work is completely useless.” Seokjin says, stepping in to mitigate the anger erupting from Namjoon.

“What am I supposed to say to her? She knows too much already,”

“She doesn’t know what she knows,” Yoongi answers. “Looking through her emails and texts, it’s clear that her family wants the seven of us dead for espionage, and for attempting to bring them down. All Cupid knows is that you found us, which she assumes is a fatal flaw in our plan, though she has yet to understand the plan at all.”

“It’s completely intentional,” Hoseok adds. “Cupid only knows that we either worked for her company or dated her or a sibling. She knows our fictitious careers and lives but has no clue about who we truly are.”

“Her brother, Dae-Seong, Codename Archer, is the one who wants us gone, eviscerated, eradicated. He’s the one driving this whole thing. Archer’s convinced Cupid that vengeance will solve her romantic woes,” Jimin tells me.

“But what about Jun-Seo? You left him the night of your engagement party, and Kwan-Min, you went on a few dates… Couldn’t this be about them?”

“Codenames Bow and Arrow are less of a threat than Cupid and Archer,” Taehyung answers.

“Cupid has been kept in the dark for the past, fifteen years, in regard to their business. The dark dealings of her company reside solely with her siblings and their parents. We want them,” Namjoon finishes.

“Why not use Euna, sorry, Cupid, as the patsy?” I ask.

“Who will run their company?” Yoongi asks.

“Someone else?”

“There’s too much evidence, nearly the entire company is dirty,” Jimin tells me.

“So, you’ve been spying on them from the inside?” I question.

“Sort of,”

“It’s Nixon, Watergate extreme?” I ask.

“What does Cupid know, and when did she know it?” Yoongi answers, his annoyance completely dissipating at my Watergate mention.

“Why do you think she’ll believe me? She doesn’t have much faith in me as of late,” I question, the lilt of insecurity in my voice. Jungkook glances at me, eyes soft at the familiar tone, he tries to offer a smile, at least, it looks like he’s trying.

“Yeah, because you fucked Jungkook and she found out. Before that though, she couldn’t sing your praises enough,” Namjoon’s calmed down, his frustration settling like sediment at the bottom of a pot. Adding an eighth person to the group was always going to shift the balance, move the power around and rattle nerves. But me? I’m burning it down. Though I can’t completely be to blame - Jungkook is also at fault.

“Fine. What do I say to her?”

“Haven’t we gone over this before? Lie,” Yoongi says.

“Yoongi, if you’re going to be an ass, can you please direct it at someone else?” I snap.

“Feisty,” He nods approvingly.

“Black Panther, you have notes in your file about what we need from you,” Namjoon instructs.

“You want me to end my relationship with her?” I question.

“Yes,”

“What about –

“Either you end it first, creating an enemy, or she ends it with you which will not be helpful for us,”

“I just,” I look at them, eyes finally glancing to Jungkook. He looks exhausted, and sad, so sad, his irises choppy waves searching for harbor. “Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Namjoon answers, but Jungkook’s eyes tell me exactly what I need to know. I don’t have a choice, and somewhere along the line, he stopped having one too.

“Fine, tell me what to do,” I flip to the page in my file, eyes scanning the words, mind no longer full of Jungkook my boyfriend, but of Jungkook, Operative, member of OT7. This is a job, a job that seemingly could make or destroy my career. I don’t have time or the emotional space to navigate his crashing midnight eyes. All I have now is focus, drive, determination, and hints of stubbornness. This is the same drive that in a weird twist of fate, has led me to this very conference room, with these seven mysterious men.

I cannot fuck it up.

I will not get a second chance.

Next: Black Panther Meets Codename Cupid

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