#your epidermis is showing

[verthanthi]

If I had a nickel for every time it was useful to talk about the time I put garlic between my toes I might have a handful of nickels

And it’s much more than I ever thought I’d have… which was 0 nickels.

#you taste it in like 30mins #things to try at home #unless you’re a vampire #then maybe be cautious #epidermis #skin care #the more you know #your epidermis is showing

[krkiiz]

sly swordsman . luke castellan x reader

luke decides to distract you by confessing in the middle of a duel

luke castellan x f!reader , reader is the daughter of apollo , luke being head over heels , confessions , fluff , slight teasing

note : sorry if there are lots of mistakes, i wrote this on my phone with nail extensions and it’s so hard to type pls help 😭😭 apologies for grammars n errors, i’ll edit them tmrw hehe (also this is my first time writing pjo n fight scenes so i hope it’s decent!)

let me know your thoughts ! likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated <3

“Let’s go Kayla! Beat his ass!” Shout one of your fellow half-siblings along with boos from the opposing side.

Clanking of swords can be heard from miles away. Today the children of Hermes and Apollo are scheduled to a joint swordsmanship practice. Where the two cabins will have to engage on a 1v1 duel against another.

Right now stands in the center of the battlefield is your half sister Kayla, along with one of Hermes’ son. Kayla is known to be a skilled archer just like any of Apollo’s children. But that doesn’t mean she can’t beat the swift son of Hermes.

The battle ends her sword pointed right at his throat as he gives a sign of defeat to his opponent. The children of Apollo cheers with glee as they congratulate their half sister.

The two retreat, their places soon replaced by none other than their head counselors. Luke and you approach the center of the battlefield as your fellow half-siblings watch in anticipation.

It is so secret that Luke is an outstanding swordsman. As his skills rivals Ares and Athena’s children themselves, you knew he was a challenging opponent.

Well that’s a good thing you love challenges.

“I admit my defeat on our archery battle last week. But now, let me show you how good I am with the blade, Yn.” He smirks as the two of you start circling one another.

“Must’ve hurt your ego, Castellan.” A chuckle left your lips like honey and Luke suppresses the butterflies swarming in his stomach.

“Let’s see how good you really are, Son of Hermes.”

The two of you got in your positions, fingers tightly gripping on the sword and the shield, waiting for a sign to charge.

The hornet blows and Luke wastes no time to charge forward. The point of his blade almost piercing the epidermis of your skin before you block him with your own sword.

Luke knows better than to underestimate you. Sure, you are the daughter of the god of Archery, not swordsmanship. But everyone knows that you are an outstanding dancer and you treat the battlefield like it is your stage.

Your movements swift and laced with elegance. It’s always extremely difficult to predict your next moves. Your footing carefully calculated as you deflect all of his upcoming attacks.

Luke is also quick to encounter your offense as he blocks the side your blade that was aiming at his neck.

With such close proximity, Luke can see how the sun compliments your e/c irises. Complimenting every contrast and detail of the pupil.

Gods were your eyes always this beautiful? Were you always this beautiful?

Luke feels himself caught in a trance just for a second before earning back his composure. But one second is enough for you trip his leg leading him to fall right on his back as he looses his grip on his sword.

The sides of your blade nearly makes contact with his neck as you lay above him giving him a look of triumph.

“Yn, have I told you how beautiful you look on top of me right now?” The boy starts causing you to roll your eyes and scoff at his antics.

“Yeah, try again because that’s not going to work on me, Luke.” You press the blade against his adam’s apple causing him to wince slightly.

The crowd wonders on what was happening and why hasn’t Luke gave a sign of defeat knowing well that being under your sword doesn’t give him a good chance at winning.

They fail to see how his right hand is slowly reaching discreetly trying to get ahold of his fallen blade.

Luke lets out a lighthearted chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I like you, Yn. Let’s go on a date.”

Now this caught you off guard. “What?”

The sly swordsman took your state to his advantage as he unclasps his knee from your hold and flipped your positions, your sword disregard in the process.

With his blade firm in his right hand, now it’s his turn to reside his sword against your neck, just like you did to him a few seconds ago.

You try fighting back but he just tuts and starts applying more pressure to his blade before you finally give the sign of defeat.

The Hermes cabin roared with glee congratulating their win, knowing that their head counselor will never fail them.

Luke quickly stands his ground giving you a helping hand, in which you accepted with a smile. He pulls you up against him, the sudden movement made you loose your footing but he’s quick to steady you with his free hand placed on your waist.

“So, about that date.”

©️ sirena | krkiiz 2023

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan #pjo x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo tv show

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

CULT OF VAGABONDS: PROLOGUE

NAVIGATION || COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER I ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: It all began with a white van, a gun to the spine, and five smooth words. It ended with death.

WORDCOUNT: 4.07k

WARNINGS: Abduction, blood and gore, high stress situations, angst, major character death, vomit, descriptions of wounds, canon typical

A/N: I apologize to the people who hate reading all italics - I had to do it for my own sanity since this is a flashback, lmao. I promise it’s not sticking around. Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*  

OPERATION: KINGFISHER

OVERSIGHT: STATION CHIEF KATE LASWELL, TS/SCI

OPERATIVES: CLASSIFIED

STATUS: ACTIVE

MISSION REPORT: MONDAY, 0823, CHICAGO, USA: THREE YEARS PRIOR:

It would have been kinder to take the bullet.

Your mind runs as you’re placed into a wooden chair roughly, the bag over your head obstructing everything but the thin beams of light passing through the itchy ramie fabric. Bits are glimpsed—people moving, shifting large bodies; tapping feet, and muttering voices like a grim party of ghouls.

You’re going to hyperventilate, you admit with a startling calm that bleeds into induced shock. Under the binds, your hands shake so violently in your lap that you wonder if they’ll break apart like glass—the skin fragments shattering as bones turn to sharp dust. Air gets thin. Black dots start dancing.

“Sir,” a voice to your left speaks, American, and you’re flinching away before the word is fully out, head whipping to the side as if you could make out more than a blob of black and gray. A sob lays heavy in the bareness of your throat as sweat slicks your neck. What was going on? “I…I can’t—”

“You’re excused.” 

The sound of receding footsteps and the slam of a door is scarcely heard above your own breathing, a deep inhale to help push back the void, and a wheezing exhale to welcome the next. Bare membranes of your throat reek of bile, and you think you threw up in the van that had driven you here, though you don’t remember much of that. 

Just the gun in the base of your spine and a low, smooth, voice with a British accent into the shell of your ear.

“Head down and stay quiet.” Someone had said, sternly.

Oh, it would have been kinder to take the bullet. What was it that those shows always warned you about? Never let someone take you to a second location? Your eyes wrench closed as the muscles of your numb fingers tense and loosen in an anxious pattern.

Along the floor, your feet shimmy, not able to keep still despite your mind screaming at you to try—try and disappear into molecules of oxygen and carbon. Everything had a sheen of hypersensitivity. The lights buzzed in your ears like bombs, the rope peeled back atoms of your epidermis, and the tiny groans coming from the left of you were like screams as your senses burned with a thousand suns.

But the British man had said to stay quiet—so stay quiet you did. What other choice did you have? You knew they had weapons, you shouldn’t doubt that they would use them. 

But you really wanted to start screaming your head off.

When the heavy hand landed on the top of your head, only a soundless sob fell from the strained noose of your esophagus. The bag was ripped from you with a flurry of hair and dribbling tears, sweat flying down your neck faster than Pegasus sprang from the Gorgon Medusa’s blood. 

Immediately wrenching your small-pupiled eyes closed with a whine, an invasive overhead light composed of knives stabs into your already blurry vision; your hands jerk upwards to attempt and cover the attack. Silence reigns above all, besides from the single source of that muffled groaning from beside you.

“Mhm…Erm…Hem,” it seemed like the sounds were gasping breaths of your name, hidden behind layers of gagged fabric, swathed in saliva and distress. But…how?

Who else was in this room with you and your kidnappers?

Blinking away the shock to your senses, your chin rises from your chest and your hands lower back down hesitantly. You’re ashamed to admit it, but the first thing you noticed was the state of the room.

Namely, how tiny it was. 

Peeling blue paint hides a slideshow of broken drywall, a layer of indiscernible wallpaper hanging off like broken limbs that reach to the concrete floor. Although this might have been a beautiful basement in the past, now your flickering eyes lock onto the newer additions. 

Swallowing saliva through a closed airway, the tray of silver metal doesn’t fully register with you, nor, then, does the revolver and the six bullets placed beside it. That dying innocent speck in your heart tries to persuade you to a state of fantasy. 

‘If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not—’ The sentiment replays over and over in your head when you rapidly look away from the weapon like it was on fire and begin to notice the statue-like men instead. 

This can’t be real…it has to be a joke. Some sick, twisted, joke.

Five of them, all dressed in black; balaclavas over slate faces tainted with grim determination. You glance over the lot of them and feel your intestines bunch, the beasts shuffling from one foot to another with a predatory gleam to the laced boots. Not one of them was lacking combat gear—vests, holstered weapons, and packs filled with God-knows-what—they looked like soldiers, but that wouldn’t make any sense. 

Your hysterics only increase when one speaks, body flinching back.

“Let’s get this started, then, shall we?” You can’t even tell which began the uttering, but the accent is undeniably British. Gruff, tainted with sharp gravel; not to be ignored if that authoritative edge was anything to go by. 

The individual with crossed arms takes a step forward, buff and taller than all of the others except for one. That gargantuan creature watches you with numb light-blue eyes and pale lashes from a place against the wall. A shiver travels up your spine, and your shirt sticks to you, but you can’t look away. 

They are the eyes of the living dead.

 “This can’t be happening…” Your lips twitch, but only you can hear your words.

The one who appears to be the leader—Buff—tilts his head, but the dark cerulean orbs don’t even look at you. They keep to your left, at the sounds of panicked scuffling and scraping wood. “Gaz.” 

Another man advances, not as robust as the first, but nonetheless built with violence. Tall. Steady. He bleeds contained purpose in the sinuses of his long fingers.

Biting your lip, number two — “Gaz” — stops near the metal table, but he doesn't look at you when your tear-flooded eyes bore into him. Your tongue is lead. 

Who are you? You want to scream. What do you want?! 

From the side of your eye, you see a flash of a navy blue suit, and your vision snaps to it aggressively. The air gets heavy and a stone sits in your guts. 

Gaping, a familiar visage stares right back at you, the build of the face and the structure of the bones reflected back onto you––slated in the very genetic makeup that builds your frame. 

A nice suit. A hurried goodbye in the morning as the butler made breakfast in the kitchen—A kiss to your forehead. Your tears slap your clenched hands, and you think you’re digging your nails into your flesh, but the thing that hurts the most is the hopelessness in your chest.

“Dad?” You sob and stare at the ragged form as your father struggles to speak around a gag, eyes running from one scuff and cut to another as the lights suddenly get ten times brighter. Damn not speaking, this was your father!

But if he was here along with you…

At that moment, all you can describe is the way your own heart was going faster than it ever had, to a point that the world swirled around you in shades of blue and red. If there was a time reminiscent of events that had never happened to you, getting into a deadly car crash or hanging onto the edge of a cliff as torrent rains battered your head, this would be it. 

The alarm in your still head was telling you that this is the end of the road. 

Your father’s hands are tied behind the chair, and you can see the signs of crimson dotting the floor from the binds, skin torn and weeping. His eyes are bathed in fear, the fast rise and fall of his lungs telling you all that needs to be unsaid. 

And his blatant fear only increases your own.

“Dad…what’s going on?” One of the men in the front shifts, standing beside the dead-eyed individual, looking away to glance in the corner with shades of blue in his orbs and a fixing of his stocky biceps. “What is all this? Where…where are we? I was just walking to school—p-passing through the old neighborhood—” 

You’re rambling through panic, and everyone just watches. They watch and watch and watch. Was this a game? A sick, twisted prank? How could they do this and just watch you panic like a bear in a trap?

A hand snaps to your father’s gag and you yell when he rages, body shifting forward feebly before a shadow descends upon you. A swift force keeps you back, and your head snaps upwards. 

You’d never thought that eyes could stay with you for all eternity—when you had a friend that moved away in sixth grade, the first thing you forgot about them was their eyes. The voice was much more important to remember; their gentle touch when they pulled you up at recess after an unfortunate collision when playing tag. But at that moment…

Never would the image of sepia-colored eyes like those leave you again. Inlaid in brown skin and below dark eyebrows. Like a meadow, brown was encircled by light—a ring of amber around the pupil and flecks of emerald, though most of that was lost by numbness.

The hand digs into your shoulder, forcing you to stay in your seat as your lips quiver. It’s not delicate, the hold, and when your eyes scrunch in pain, he somewhat lessons it though not enough to stop the sting. The man everyone called Gaz was incredibly strong. 

Something swam in the recesses of his gaze, some hidden emotion of sorrow or pity that showed as hesitation. He clears his throat and takes a glance at your now-raging father. You shake more violently than a house in a tornado; frozen and unable to speak. What was he going to do to you?

Gaz turns back to you and whispers, blinking through long eyelashes as the fabric of his face covering slightly moves, “It’ll be over soon.” British as well, but a tone smoother than the previous. The hand squeezes your flesh, and you flinch as far back as the seat allows.

He was the one that grabbed you this morning; your legs seize up like a dead deer at the familiar speech pattern. 

The man moves back without uttering another word on sure feet, and you stare after. The sentence Gaz had given you was anything but reassuring, and with your state, it was more of a threat. 

“Get your fucking hand off of her! What the hell is going on? Why is my daughter here?!” Your father’s voice fractures your gaze away from the menagerie of masked abductors, and you turn to watch him growl out in hatred; shell-shocked. “Are you after money? Ransom…? Answer me!” 

“I’d think this would work better,” Buff grunted out, dropping the gag to the floor carelessly, “if you answered me, instead, eh?... Now, where’s the shipment?” 

“Sweetheart,” your father turns to you, but your eyes always filter back to the gun—the men. The last out of the five strangers was one that you hadn’t seen move from the far corner yet. His hands were constantly readjusting over the black metal of a large assault-style rifle that you had only seen in movies. “—Sweetheart! Hey!” 

Snapping to the feral expression of your father, you suck down air you’d been taking for granted and push away the dark spots. You’d forgotten how to breathe properly. Staring into his burning eyes, a plea is stuck to your tongue and a hunched build of your spine. But making yourself smaller wouldn’t help you like it would a rabbit hiding from a circling hawk.

“What’s going on? Please, Dad, what’s happening?” The world is swirling with technicolored lights.

“It’s all going to be alright, okay?” He gasps at you, head swiveling to all parties faster than a racehorse. Buff seems to listen intently, arms loose over his chest and huffing under his breath. His deep blue eyes swivel to you, glinting darkly. “Everything is going to be alright—”

“Pick it up, Sergeant.” The command is cold, numb, and the clinking of a silver barrel connecting to a tray as it was grasped was enough to set your atoms on fire. 

The gun lays loose in Gaz’s hand, hanging at his hip as Buff moves closer to your father and bends down to look into his eyes. 

“The shipment. Tell me. I don’t make a habit of repeating myself.” In the corner, the isolated man hunches his shoulders, eyes darting from you back to your dad—but your own stare stays stuck to the gun. Ears twitch at the loud conversation as the black wave of overwhelming delirium gets larger. 

Shipments? Your fast mind runs as your eyes dart from the weapon to your father, your wrists now raw and skinned from the constant movement. 

Your dad grunts and his desperate eyes look at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“I–I don’t know what you’re talking about, what shipments? Who are you?! If you’re after ransom money just call my wife—she’ll get you what you need.” The leader chuckles lowly while shaking his head in exasperation, pulling back as his gaze goes hard. Your father strains forward after him and repeats the same sentence as before. “What is my daughter doing here you son of a Bitch? You don’t need her.”

He turns to you, his nice suit ruined with sweat. You’d never seen your father scared—not when you’d broken your arm when you were younger or any moment later. Not until now. His pupils are small; pinched in and glossy. Like a fearful animal trapped in a corner. 

You doubted you looked any better as you blink back with a thousand-yard stare, choking back gasps and biting a cut into your lip. Constantly thinking that if you speak your head will get blown off in a shower of crimson.

“Sweetheart, this is all some big misunderstanding, alright? Don’t worry, we’ll be back home soon and this’ll all go away.” 

“Yeah, you’d like that then wouldn’t you?” Buff growls, “Go back to a cush life while your weapons and drugs fund terrorists, eh?” 

Terrorists?! Your eyes widen, turning back to the men with horror. So this wasn’t about your family's money?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Your lips move, mouth parted and eyebrows tight as your very blood seems to cool over. Everyone looks at you and the one second of courage vanishes. “‘D-dad?” 

“Ignore them,” the patriarch hisses, trying to get your attention back on him, “They don’t know what they’re talking about. They—You’ve got the wrong people!” 

“I…I don’t understand why–”

“Sergeant.” Dread seeps like poison one drop at a time to corrupt you. There was never a moment in your life where you had ever felt like you were going to die before—an innocent sentiment of invincible youth. 

But the gun being loaded puts the sense of watching a train crash right into the forefront of your mind; a sudden knowledge of your own morality. Your jaw goes slack as you hold back a scream. Steady, gloved, fingers pick up bullet after bullet and place the copper metal into a steel chamber, brown eyes hard as the stunned silence from your father physically hurts. 

Clink-shunk, chink-shunk.

“What are you—?!” 

“Last chance to change your mind.” The leader interjects, sighing, and you wonder as you hunch into yourself just how cruel this man really is. “Best pull the memory to you quick.”

“What?” Your father laughs in pain, throat getting choked up as he looks to every person, “Are you going to shoot me? In front of my kid?” 

At this point it would be more accurate to call you ‘checked out’ if the blank look on your face was anything to go by; tears were falling and mixing with sweat, but your eyes were far away. As if about to fall asleep as you watch the world pass you by from the car window. 

The leader shakes his head as Gaz finishes loading the revolver, flicking the barrel back with a deft movement of his wrist. Those brown eyes stay firmly stuck to the back wall. 

Dead Eyes sends a long look to your father, and the wide-gazed form beside him tightens his grip over his biceps, shifting large hips. The man in the corner only snaps his head down and tries to disappear. 

Electricity sizzles the air.

“No,” Buff answers casually, “we’re not…We’re going to shoot your daughter.” 

Bile hits the floor as it rockets from your mouth; hissing through the lines between your teeth and splattering to the concrete in a sound of viscous liquid. Breakfast from this morning was unrecognizable as you blink down at it. 

Someone’s shouting pleas—you’re sure it’s your father, because who else—and while you stay half-bent over the chair as your side leans on the arm, everything starts to ring. Feet struggle to stay steady on the ground below you, shoes stained with stomach acid and saliva as it drips from your chin. Over the rageful screams from your dad, the leader continues and you sputter.

“Gaz, it’s all you.” 

“Yes, Sir.” The gun raises to your head, and your face tightens as you spy it from the corner of your eye, not registering beyond words and colors fading out before wafting back in. 

Were you going to die in this basement? It seemed your body knew the answer even as your brain tried to disagree. There was no running or escaping, not a chance with all of these people. Even if you did manage it, how far would you get before a bullet was in your neck?

“Hey!” Your father yells, voice fracturing; arms twisting and feet splaying. The hammer of the revolver is clicked back and your pulse mirrors. “Hey, no, no, no. That’s not—She…She has nothing to do with this!” Your eyes slowly widen, face tilting as you still try to break through your dizziness. “I swear, she doesn’t know anything!” His face peels back, yet his eyes seem to focus on nothing as his attention hops from one person to another in distress. “Let her go and I’ll tell you all of it, okay? I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Tell you all of it? What does that mean? You want to ask, but the knowledge that your body had chosen neither fight nor flight but freeze was heavy in your heated and pounding brain as it pulses against your skull.

Thump-thump, thump-thump. 

You count the flood of blood that spreads through your body as the taste of vomit sticks to the back of your throat. Rats squeak from behind ventilation grates but wait eagerly for a meal as particles of dust fly past your wide vision. 

Your father doesn’t look at you as you gape, and you’re not sure what to think. 

Shipments? Terrorists? What could your Museum Director dad have anything to do with that? He had to be lying to save your skin—giving these people a false reality. Yes, yes, that was it. He was trying to save both of you, you just had to trust him. 

Your chest rises and falls swiftly.

“I–I swear! I promise, let my little girl go and I won’t—!”

“I think she’ll stay right here.” The leader grunted, hooking his arms into his vest collar, pale eyelids half-closed. “Speak. Quickly”

“Okay! Just put the gun down—please!” The gun is lowered immediately, but it doesn’t make you feel any more present. Brown eyes surrounded by dark lashes meet yours for a few seconds before blinking away to the wall behind you; eyebrows minutely pulling tight.

You’d never hated a look of shielded pity more. 

“They come in at night and stay by the dry docks—I don’t know how they get here so fast,” your father speaks as a man possessed, and, strangely, the individual in the corner starts to hang onto every word. Sending your form quick glances with rapidly moving eyes. Not that you noticed. “The products all just sit there until I can come by and take inventory! Two fifteen in the morning! It’s all under my name, I pay off the inspectors every month. Check dock number seven-one-three and the blue cargo containers.”

“What?” You mutter, trying not to gag and shake as if pushing away the instinctual actions would help you focus on the bitter revelation. “What are you…” 

This is more than a lie—these are details. In-depth. 

No, your mind tells you, no he’s just lying. Everything’s a lie.

“I swear it’s only me, no one else knows about it.” The man in the corner’s feet are shifting, leg muscles testing and relaxing as his fingers twitch over the metal of his gun. Your dad looks at you from the side of his eye, guilt in his bones. “God…I–I sell everything over the auctions held at—” 

A gunshot pierces the air. 

Liquid splatters your face, warm and heavy, and before you even know what’s happening you’re releasing a scream so loud it echoes off the walls. Snapping your chin down to your chest and bound hands over your head, a great yell erupts from the men, and a clamber of skin on gear follows the dragging of feet. Grunted breath and calls of alarm. All the noise scares off the scavengers in the vents with shrieks.

“What in the fucking hell are you thinking, Private?!” The leader's voice yowls and grunts as you slowly open your eyelids, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. “We needed him alive, you Muppet!”

You find a slumped figure in the chair your father had just been in with a shuttering inhale. Slack-jawed, you look over the crater that was left of his face numbly; lips and teeth ripped apart and a caved-in skull. His hair was strewn about, and without a cohesive thought, your fingers itched to smooth it down. 

He hated when his hair was unruly. 

A navy suit you’d seen at breakfast was stained—irreparable—with brain matter and blood that cascaded down a massacred face with a head tilted forward. His nerves jump with activity, spurring fluid to the ground until a puddle forms. 

Your father was a good man. You—your father was a…good man. 

The rest of the men continue to scuffle, barking orders as more feet suddenly race from the other side of the door. Your ears tune it out. You can’t look away, not even when a hand is placed on your shoulder and you’re suddenly being forcefully turned in the opposite direction of the corpse. 

Unresponsive, your far-away look meets creased amber and dark lashes—eyes you had decided you’d never forget and now that sentiment was forged with steel and tempered to perfection. Just like you’d never forget that your father’s body was just a reach away, and it was never supposed to happen. His blood was staining your clothes; your face and hair. A bath of gore.

Dead…? No, he was just alive a second ago. He—he can’t be. How? I just saw him this morning. We were going to go into the museum tomorrow to help set up a new section.

Your mouth moves, but no words escape.

A smooth voice tries to speak to you, but all you do is watch the fabric of a black balaclava shift and strain as the noise sounds like car sirens. Gaz is attempting to shake you, lightly, and when it doesn’t help he looks around stiffly, pausing on the body before looking away to the ground in search.

Without much thought behind the action, your loose lips pull back and utter only one word. Weak. Fractured and horribly hoarse.

“Oh.” 

It was somewhat of a mercy when the itchy ramie fabric of the previous bag was refitted in one swift motion. And all the while you sit there, shaking, a hand never leaves the top of your head, holding it down.

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(sorry if some of these don’t work)

#gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz garrick #gaz #gaz call of duty #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x female reader #cod mw22 #Call Of Duty MW2 #mw2 2022 #MW2 #MW #call of duty mwii #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare gaz #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #call of duty #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x female reader #Female reader #x female reader

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

WC: 0.3k | CHARACTERS: scott barringer x gn!reader, shelby merrick, juliette waybourne, auggie ciceros NOTES: idk how old scott is i’m going based off of hayden who was 19 when he played him WARNINGS: mild sexual content

“Ugh, does she have to do that in the middle of the courtyard?” Shelby’s rhetorical question is deliberated amongst her group. They take pause in their studying as they regard you with calculative glances.

“Yoga’s good for you, I don’t see where else she’s supposed to do it.” Jules objects with a shrug, twirling her pen in her hand absentmindedly.

Auggie taps his against his textbook, resting his cheek onto his propped up fist, and he witnesses your deep lunge. “I hope she never stops.” he muses, but it’s mostly to get a rise out of the girls at the table who stop to look at him.

Shelby’s swift to bite back, “Have you ever considered you’re a waste of air?”

But he’s undeterred, buying into her game and playing a round. “Only when I’m around you, Shel.” He grins, and when she rolls her eyes he snickers.

Your stance changes, bending over to touch the mat with the tips of your fingers. Flexibly, you’re able to press your chest to your knees, and Auggie emits an audible, “Woah.”

Shelby scrunches her nose, balling up a piece of paper to throw at him. “Quit it, you creep.”

“Hey!”

As her attention remains on him, Jules takes note of SCOTT BARRINGER’s appearance onto the scene, and how his wandering eyes linger on your display. So, that’s why Shelby had a problem with you practicing here… “Do you think she’s showing off?” she asks without thinking, and resembles surprise at herself after it leaves her lips, covering them with the tips of her fingers.

Shelby finally turns, and sees what Jules does. You lean forward onto your palms, so your body shapes an upside down V. Wearing a little outfit so your skin can breathe, a hot sheen of sweat glistening on you. Of course someone like Scott takes in the sights. “Oh, my God.” Shelby scoffs.

You didn’t want to register the looks you were getting. The space in your dorm is too small to stretch out, and everyone’ll just have to deal. There’s a whole mess of idiocy you have to deal with being here. On your hands, you walk forward, gently straightening yourself out until you can lower your hips and prop your arms. A low arch to your spine as you tip your head back to pose. You feel the stretch in your stomach and your epidermis against the bottom of your ribcage.

When the sun is blocked out, you peek your eyes open to look at the source. Scott kneels down in front of you. “Lookin’ good.” A man of few words, and even fewer compliments.

You close your eyes, shifting your hips to one side so you can raise an arm to the sky. “Take a picture,” a light strain to your voice as you reply, “it’ll last longer.”

“No camera.” he tells you, and a curl makes his way onto his lips. He’s messing with you.

“If you like it that much, maybe I’ll show you a couple moves.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” And maybe he could show you a couple.

#i watched one episode of higher ground #indy: drabbles #ch: scott #scott barringer drabble #scott barringer x reader #scott barringer x gn!reader #scott barringer x reader smut #scott barringer x gn!reader smut #scott barringer x you #scott barringer x you smut #scott barringer imagine #scott barringer fanfiction #higher ground fanfiction

[oroniusn]

I feel the need to remind people because I’ve made mistakes like this before (covers safety when it comes to sh cuts)

988twt language not used layers of skin are referred to by their actual names/color descriptors)

Only tagged this way for reach, tw for some tags

I am pro recovery: anti recovery/pro @na dni (interaction on this post is ok, just don’t follow my account)

(Epidermis) cuts that look like cat scratches need to be disinfected either before or after breaking skin but can usually go without bandaids

(Dermis) if you hit white it needs to be disinfected before AND after, way higher risk of infection, I’d also suggest bandaging it as leaving these wounds in the open can cause complications

(Fat) if you hit yellow it needs stitches and or actual medical care, these have an insanely high risk of infection, bandages should be changed regularly and everything MUST be kept sterile

Don’t swim in rivers/creeks/the ocean/public pools with ANY open wounds.

along side this, try to keep track of major arteries to ensure you don’t nick them, as this can cause you to bleed out far faster then just hitting a vein; arteries are carrying blood away from the heart (it has more pressure behind it)

Symptoms of infection: Redness and swelling, heat at the wound site, pus or other drainage, fever/chills, swollen lymph nodes, delayed healing.

So what can be used to disinfect the site/blade?: skin safe alcohol, iodine, hydrogen peroxide (only for use on the skin, it’ll rust your blade), Vodka or Moonshine (burns like hell, BUT technically an option?), warm water (hot or boiling water for the blade, make sure to dry well to avoid rusting) and unscented soap (baby soap works well)

Always check that the blade you are using isn’t rusted nor showing signs that it might be starting to rust. (Stainless steel is your friend)

feel free to add on in comments or reblogs, I’m happy to make edits/add to this post!

#sh related #tw self harm #harm reduction #If you’re going to do it #Yeah yeah I get the whole point IS harming yourself #but most people I’ve talked to have no desire to get a severe infection #Feel free to add on in reblogs/comments for anything I should update or change #tw self h4rm #tw self h@rm #self mutalition #cvtt!ng #cvtaddict #sh cvt #i wanna cvt #styroblr #hitting styro #made of styro #beansblr #tw styro #988blr #styr0blr #hitting beans #cat scratches #baby cvts

[ivryne]

🌺 C’EST ÇA L’AMOUR ˖ ࣪ ( how they love )

⋆ ᳝ ֺ featuring — ayato, childe, kaveh, alhaitham

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, js literally how they love so (gn!reader)

AYATO loves like the tranquil waters. The still, calm, underlying surface that’s not so easily shaken by the morning breeze. The ripples that formed as raindrops collided into bodies of water. Blows of a thousand winds won’t disperse the firm lagoon that’s foundation is buried within the core of the earth. The challenges you face with another became one that bounds the unshaken perseverance between the both of you. The love he has akins to the serene waves that’s bound to the moonlit nights, luminous, filled with undying grace and serenity.

CHILDE loves like the tidal surge. Waves that reach ‘till the crown of the heavens, soaring so greatly with infinite strength and determination to reach the clinging stars of the above. He is afraid not to show the love he has for his dear. He desperately yearns for the time he touches the sky once more just as he fell into the unshaken sands of the shore. The everlasting torrent that continuously returns to the comfort of the stars, no matter how high he has to reach.

KAVEH loves like the setting sun. The sky that’s paint in an orange-like hue accompanied by a red undertone. The golden hour that surrounds you in an epitome of light, reflecting your ethereal glow. He loves like there is no tomorrow. The sun alters the entire skyline just to declare it’s presence on the morning day, and it does the same as it flutters away. Kaveh shows extravagance to his words and gestures but those aren’t little sweet nothings of a mere eye candy, those are phrases and brackets that surrounds you like the orange hue of the afternoon. And he will alter even the heavens just to justify his love for you.

ALHAITHAM loves like the subtle rain. He does not need loud thunderstorms nor hurricane schemes to display his affection. Little droplets that collide with the epidermis of your skin is enjoyable not worrying. He loves without any care about the world, just like how those little drops cascade into humid soil without any doubt. He might not be expressive with his words unlike the rainbow that comes after the roaring skies but the way his pupils dilate as he watches your endearing smile, the soft smile that highlighted his usually vacant expression as you drew near, glows more than all the colors that the rainbow reflects. He treats you with such grace akin to a falling feather and the humid air after the rain.

NOTE. i hope this wasn’t confusing as hell bc i wrote this in like 12am 💀 hope you enjoyed! like as well as reblogs are appreciated <33

© shrslair. do not copy, translate, or repost

#genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #childe x reader #kaveh x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin x you #kamisato ayato #childe #kaveh imagines #al haitam x reader #alhaitham

[embarrassedanon]

The Model Patient

Eddie's friend Tony assured him that being a model patient was an easy and painless way to make a few extra bucks on the weekend.

Tony had been given an index card with of symptoms to memorize and assigned a handful of medical students who clamored to be first to diagnose him. Sounded easy enough.

When Eddie pulled up to the medical school that Saturday morning and saw his index card his heart sank. The card's directive was simple yet humiliating.

patient seeks treatment for persistent painful rash on gluteal epidermis

Surely this was some sort of joke Eddie thought. Tony only had to pretend to have the flu, but he had some crazy butt rash. He was going to have to spend the whole talking about a butt rash with these medical students...

Before he could contemplate any further, the director of the model patient program barged into the room looking down at his clipboard.

"What are you doing still dressed?" the disheveled director said barely even looking up at Eddie. "Come on, strip down completely and put on the gown."

"Completely? No one said anything about being naked."

"The students need to grow accustom interacting patients as they'll actually be in real life. If you're going to be a problem can you just go, I've got like a million things to do."

As quick as he arrived the director was gone and Eddie found himself standing in the cold room in nothing but a paper thin gown.

The next 90 minutes were perhaps some of the most embarrassing of Eddie's young life. A revolving door of young, bookish, nerdy, wannabe dermatologists, the types of guys Eddie teased in school came and poked and prodded his exposed backside.

The line between fact and fiction quickly blurred as the simple index card diagnosis gave Eddie no answers for the med students exhaustive questions about his condition.

Not much of an improviser, Eddie was answering honestly engaging with questions about how sweaty his butt got, his habits of shaving his butt cheeks, and what type of underwear he wore. These doctors were intent on finding the cause of his phantom rash.

The invasive questions were nothing compared to the physical exams. Latex gloves did little to insulate cold hands. The students massaged, squeezed, and in one case even parted his cheeks, hoping to get full points for successfully completing a thorough exam. The embarrassment was physically painful for Eddie.

Worse were the students attempting to make him feel comfortable and break the ice. He cringed and broke out into a full body blush as he heard "well I don't have to ask about your exercise habits, it's clear your squatting?" or "No wonder you came in to see about this rash, it's totally cramping your style as you show off that thing."

When the final student finished up, Eddie quickly got dressed, anxious to get home and shower off the embarrassment of the whole ordeal. He entered the lobby where all the students were gather comparing notes from their respective exams. They all looked up at him and sheepishly smiled.

The way they looked at him made him totally naked again. He collected his envelope of cash, feeling cheap and used. He headed to the exit, the future doctors lingering stares on his ass felt hot enough to burn through the seat of his pants. Unbeknownst to Eddie the stress of this ordeal was already forming the faintest hives, exactly where he least wanted them.

It wouldn't be long before his cheeks were getting examined for real.

#full moon #enm #text post #medical #my writing

[rainesarxchive]

random aizawa headcanons and scenarios I

reader: gender neutral X Aizawa Shouta warning/s: I had a dream about him (now you get to experience my dream with me) masterlist here: non-existent

☆ Aizawa is a gentleman. (I had a dream about him and he was just so freaking ugh, yk) But I digress, Aizawa is the type to offer his services nonchalantly, however he makes it seem as if it’s a burden even though he is more than happy to do it for you.

☆ For Example: pulling your chair, opening a door for you and helping you stand. Chivalry is not dead.

Can you imagine him jogging around a car from the driver’s seat to the passenger seat to open the door for you (biting my knuckles!)

☆ Let’s say you’ve been married for 5 years (congratulations, many people don’t make it that far these days). How have you two kept that spark alive? By behaving like newlyweds. Secretive newlyweds that is.

You and Aizawa haven’t told anyone besides you’re immediate family and close friends (as they attended the wedding). Out of nowhere one day Aizawa posts on his IG story a picture of you with your puffed up eyes and swollen lips :“my significant other”. 

Your peace is disturbed for the entirety of the day until you confirm it’s true by posting a wedding day picture. Then the paparazzi gets on your case, it’s a whole ordeal and Aizawa made it up for no reason not thinking over the consequences, he’s so whipped.

☆ If you inflict pain on him in any kind of way you have to kiss the pain away. (if you so much accidentally cut or scratch him with your nails wherever it is, it’s getting kissed better until the upper epidermis looks brand new, no scabs, no scars, just skin, maybe hair, maybe peach fuzz who knows)

☆ Mama’s boy, he just gives off that energy. He goes home to see his mum and he switches up, it’s creepy, but you appreciate their healthier than mosts relationship.

☆ His teeth are the picture of perfection (in the anime when he smiled I got a little scared I’m not gonna lie) they are straight, white and he has prominent canines. 

☆ He has a pervy smile, but he also has an endearing smile. If Aizawa is laughing his overall expression would probably light up your day. But if he’s trying not to laugh his perverted smile appears and you shake your head snapping a photo to show him later.

☆ His laugh is absolutely atrocious, it’s like a witch and a seal merged together, you’d think he’s got asthma, but nevertheless infectious (to an extent, i mean imagine him laughing in the cinema for the 9th time he’s getting cussed out, cause wth is that? a dying hyena??)

☆ Aizawa is touchy, he’s an absent-minded toucher, it brings him comfort knowing you’re there even if he doesn’t realise it.

☆ In the morning without fail, he will pepper you awake with kisses which turn to long kisses which are pretty lazy ones but then dial right up (use your imagination). He doesn’t care about that hot breath of yours in that moment, afterwards however, he’ll come for you if you don’t both redirect yourselves to bathroom to freshen up.

#my hero academia #aizawa shōta #bnha aizawa #shoto aizawa #aizawa x you #aizawa sensei #aizawa x reader #eraserhead #aizawa fluff #mha aizawa

[wishcamper]

Class is in Session

Welcome to Prythian University, where I intend to write many unhinged long-form essays on cultural issues in the ACOTAR world!

Disclaimer: You will see me at times reference my credentials as a licensed mental health professional. Nothing I say is a substitute for real therapy or mental health care. To the best of my ability, I will reiterate my credentials on every post when I am intentionally speaking from a professional perspective. All other posts are personal and should not be regarded in a professional context. I am always happy to answer questions!

Almost all posts contain sensitive topics, and while content warnings are included, this material is generally not fit for anyone under 18.

COMPLETED

Nesta, Interrupted: gendered perceptions of alcoholism in ACOSF

Don't Worry Feyre, Darling: the relationship anxiety to coersive control pipeline

Gone Baby Gone: birth control and the ethics of risky sex

All in the Family: ACOTAR and Bowenian family systems theory, PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV

Heavy Lies the Crown: Rhysand, greatness, and the pressures of power

FICS

A Court of Vice and Victors - ACoSF rewrite. pro nesta, pro healthy nessian, ic critical, everyone is capable of change ft alcoholism taken seriously and family dysfunction examined

NON-ACADEMIC THOUGHT LOOPS

meditations on motivations at the beginning of acosf

the culpability (or not) of mor

on the politics of healing while loving, and loving while healing

Why is pre-acofas nessian compelling

IN THE PIPELINE

Your Epidermis is Showing: bias, culture, and when authors accidentally tell the truth

Daddy Issues and Daddy Issues: the aesthetics of female trauma

We Need to Talk About Kevin Azriel: sanctioned violence and private atonement

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Trauma: birth order, family roles, and why siblings have different childhoods.

#acotar #mental health #essay #nesta #cassian #azriel #rhysand #feyre #morrigan #acosf #nessian #pro nesta archeron #feminism #prythian university #sjm critical

[phoenixyfriend]

#phoenix polls #polls #childhood #words #middle school #elementary school #all caps #immature humor

[generic-sonic-fan]

Team Dark Week: Creation

Summary: After seeing some of the files regarding Shadow’s creation, Omega has something of his own to reveal. For @teamdarkweek.

1890 words, no content warnings

---

“A loud Omega is normal. A quiet Omega is a cause for great concern,” Rouge said as she filed her nails.

“You’re right. He hasn’t been acting like himself since viewing the files.”

“Yeah.”

“He thinks of me differently now, doesn’t he?”

Rouge looked up. “I wouldn’t think so. Why would he care about how you were born?”

“Created.” Shadow corrected. 

“Still. I don’t get how reading The Professor getting all weepy and emotional about you would piss him off. Unless his hatred of Robotniks is generational.”

“I shouldn’t have shown it.”

“Hey, look at me.” Rouge grabbed his hand. “You showed us for a reason. A damn good reason. Let me go talk to him, he might just be pissy about something stupid that’s entirely unrelated.”

“I doubt that.”

Rouge finished filing the nail she was on, before leaving the filing board on the countertop and disappearing into the hallway. She returned with Omega behind her. 

“So what’s got you all snippy, hmm?” She asked him.

“I AM NOT ‘SNIPPY’.” 

“You haven’t said very much since we got back.”

“I REQUIRED TIME TO PROCESS THE INFORMATION SHADOW HAS GRANTED US.”

“Did it anger you?”

“NEGATIVE.”

Shadow and Rouge glanced at each other. 

“YOU SHARED THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF YOUR CREATION SO THAT WE MAY, QUOTE, ‘HELP YOU REMEMBER’.” 

“I did.” Shadow replied.

“WHY WOULD YOU WANT US TO SEE A TIME WHERE YOU FOOLISHLY DID NOT HATE YOUR CREATOR?” 

Shadow took a deep breath. “Because it’s part of who I am. His initial kindness to me and his reason for creating me are things I don’t wish to forget.”

Omega paused. Instead of saying anything more, he turned around and stomped back to his room.

—

At 10:00 PM, Omega yelled “TEAM MEETING.” 

Shadow opened his bedroom door to see Omega standing in the doorway of his own room. Rouge emerged from her room with her headphones around her neck.

“What’s up, Omega?” She asked.

“THERE IS SOMETHING,” Omega paused. His cooling fans whirred higher. “I WISH TO SHOW YOU.”

“Alright.” Shadow replied. 

Omega beckoned them into his room with his hand. It was strange to see him use a gesture instead of words. His room was bare, as usual, with the exception of his power cord and his desktop computer. A data cable snaked out of one of the computer’s ports. Shadow didn’t think Omega owned one, given his distaste for having his processor accessed. 

Omega took the data cable and plugged himself in. The screen’s nuclear explosion background was overtaken by the scrolling data of Omega’s processor. Segments of the data began aligning, until a video player formed on screen. 

“What are you going to show us?” Rouge asked.

“WATCH.”

---

REPLAYING MEMORY LOG _001. . .

---

“Isn’t it magnificent?”

Dr. Ivo Robotnik stood five feet forward, gesturing behind himself in front of two smaller robots, one yellow and one red. 

“Yes, it truly is, master!” The red one crooned.

“I don’t know, seems to be missing a chin, if you ask me.” The yellow one put his hand on his own mentioned appendage. 

“It doesn’t need a chin, you dolt!” Dr. Ivo Robotnik stepped forward and backhanded the faceplate of the yellow one.

The force of contact between the flesh of his hand and the metal of the yellow robot’s chassis was not enough to fracture any bones, but it was enough to burst small blood vessels close to the surface of his epidermis. This constituted an “injury”. It was forbidden for any Badnik to injure its creator. Such insolence must be punished immediately!

Unit E-123 marched forward and snatched the yellow robot by the throat. He quickly calculated that the position of his claws was ineffective for a target that did not require respiration. Unit E-123 had not been programmed to destroy robots beyond information on the basic tolerances of metal plating. He created a new folder in his programs and began compiling data for the possibility, before-

“Hahaha! No need, E-123. Put him down.”

Unit E-123 released his grasp, and the yellow robot fell to the ground before floating away at what he calculated to be the maximum speed it could achieve with its thrusters. The red robot also activated its thrusters and traveled a similar direction. 

“See that?” Dr. Ivo Robotnik came beside Unit E-123’s extended arm. “That lethality? That obedience? Truly I’ve outdone myself this time.”

Dr. Ivo Robotnik placed his gloved hand on Unit E-123’s arm and pressed downwards. Unit E-123 understood the implicit command and returned to a neutral position. He swiveled his head and tilted his optics up to observe Dr. Ivo Robotnik’s face. 

“I certainly solved the particular set of problems that bubbled up from the previous of its series!” Dr. Ivo Robotnik grinned. “Not to mention fit the most superior firepower of my entire army within a single chassis!”

Dr. Ivo Robotnik strolled around Unit E-123’s frame, scanning his eyes up and down. Unit E-123 followed with his optics. 

“Heh, respectful, too! Keeping eye contact, ready to receive any order. Although we’ll see how that changes when its short-term adaptive processing calibrates and we start getting some more intelligent thought up there. . .”

Dr. Ivo Robotnik turned and interfaced with the computer.

“Oh! Seems to have finished calibrating a few minutes ago. In that case,” Dr. Ivo Robotnik whirled around and clasped his hands together, “hello, my creation! Status report?”

“Systems fully operational.” Unit E-123 reported. He then considered his next words for longer. He was a magnificent, superior robot. He should not reply with a basic status report. That was unbefitting of his actual status, evidently!

“Good, good.”

“Status: superior.” E-123 elaborated further. 

“Ha, it even knows!” Dr. Ivo Robotnik said to the red and yellow robots cowering near the door. 

“Indeed,” the red one ventured forward the equivalent of one of Dr. Ivo Robotnik’s strides, “you are quite superior, Unit E-123! You will do the Empire proud.”

“You’re going to get Sonic real good.” The yellow one nodded as well. 

Unit E-123 fired all of its scanners- visual, audial, tactile, chemical, and chaos radiation -to search for any sign of Sonic upon his mention. He found none. The yellow robot must have been referring to the wretched enemy in the hypothetical, a possibility he had not considered before in verbal interactions until now. Unit E-123 noted this for future reference. 

“Ohohoh, if Sonic tries to interfere with the Subject, he’s going to be in for a nasty surprise.”

“This unit will eradicate him!” Unit E-123 affirmed.

“Yes! Yes, you will!”

“He will not withstand the firepower of this unit’s arsenal!”

“Why, you’ll blow him away! There won’t be even a smear of blue left on the wall once you’re done with him.”

“I WILL SHOW HIM MY SUPERIORITY!”

“Augh, not so loud, not so loud,” Dr. Ivo Robotnik lowered his hands from his ears. “While I love your enthusiasm, you’re going to damage my hearing.”

Unit E-123 lowered the volume settings of his voicebox, and to ensure that he would never make such a mistake again, he knit together a program that would create a warning message should he ever be tempted to raise the volume high enough to damage Dr. Ivo Robotnik’s hearing. He patched it over the software that interfaced with his voicebox. 

“Now, speaking of hearing loss, allow me to grab my earmuffs and we’ll head out to the firing range to see how you do.”

Dr. Ivo Robotnik walked to the nearest counter and began searching the drawers, grumbling the phrase “now where did I put them?” as he did so. 

“Drawer label #12, beneath one layer of processed wood pulp.” Unit E-123 pointed to where his scanners had identified the location. 

Dr. Ivo Robotnik opened the identified drawer and retrieved the personal protective equipment. He then smiled back in the direction of Unit E-123. “Well aren’t you just perfect!”

“Affirmative, I am.”

But instead of affirming, Dr. Ivo Robotnik frowned. “Let’s correct that little slippage before it starts to become a problem. You are to refer to yourself as ‘this unit’.”

“Affirmative.”

“‘Affirmative, Master.’”

“Affirmative, Master.”

“Good!” 

---

END OF MEMORY LOG _001

---

Omega unplugged himself from the computer and the video disappeared from the screen.

Shadow was the first to speak. “I have never seen the doctor behave that way.”

“YOU ARE NOT TO SHARE THIS INFORMATION. IF YOU DIVULGE ANY INFORMATION PERTAINING TO THIS MEMORY LOG TO ANOTHER INDIVIDUAL, I WILL KILL YOU.”

“We won’t tell. Of course we won’t tell.” Rouge patted Omega’s forearm. “Your secret’s safe with us.”

“GOOD. COMMENCING DELETION PROCESS. . .”

“Hey, wait a minute. You’re not deleting that, are you?” Rouge said.

“NOW THAT YOU HAVE WITNESSED THE FILE, YOU WILL ‘HELP ME REMEMBER’. STORAGE OF THE FILE IS NOW UNNECESSARY.”

“”That’s not-” Shadow balled his fists.

“Omega, you can’t just delete your own memory.” Rouge said.

“HOW DO YOU INTEND TO STOP ME?”

“I’m not going to stop you- I’m just going to tell you that you really shouldn’t do it.”

“YOU HAVE THIRTY SECONDS TO ARTICULATE YOUR ARGUMENT.”

“Because it’s part of who you are. You can’t just run away from the bad things that have happened to you. Deleting this is just going to bite you in the ass later when you get the feeling you’re forgetting something you really should remember.”

“THERE IS NO VALUE TO REMEMBERING THIS REVOLTING EXCHANGE.”

“Well sure, you could hate the man without really knowing him, but remembering a time when he wasn’t a complete self-serving fool helps you hate him even more.”

“YOUR ARGUMENT IS FALSE! MY HATRED FOR EGGMAN WILL NOT BE AFFECTED!”

Shadow stepped in. “Keeping this memory will remind you how far you’ve come.”

“Yeah, you were able to get around all of the fawning the doctor programmed you with! That says more about how strong you are than almost anything else.”

“MY KILL COUNT BEGS TO DIFFER.”

“Strong internally,” Rouge flew up and knocked on his head plating, “which is not something a lot of people could say about themselves.”

Shadow met Omega's optics, stared at the flicker of intelligence behind the glass. “I couldn’t have done what you did.”

Rouge landed. “Hey, knock that off.”

“It’s the truth.”

“YOU DEFIED THE INTENT OF YOUR CREATOR ABOARD THE SPACE STATION ARK.”

“I had Maria.” The room went silent as he said her name, as it always did. “I couldn’t have done it without my memory of her. You had no one but yourself.”

Omega’s frame went still, and his optics defocused. 

“That makes you stronger than I am.” Shadow finished.

Rouge came beside Shadow, waiting and watching for Omega’s next response. She parted, however, when Omega abruptly walked towards the door of his room. 

Before he left, he turned his head over his shoulder. “I AM GOING TO THE TARGETING RANGE.”

“They’re probably closed by now.” Rouge replied.

“THEY WILL NOT BE CLOSED IF THEY WISH TO KEEP THEIR SPINES INTACT.”

“They probably aren’t closed, then.” She snickered. “Let me get dressed and I’ll come with.”

“NEGATIVE.”

“Think about what I’ve said.” Shadow crossed his arms. 

“I WILL NOT COMMENCE THE DELETION TONIGHT.” 

He left. Shadow followed him out into the hall and watched as he shut the apartment door behind him. 

“Do you think he was lying?” Rouge said.

“He trusts us.”

"Seems he does.”

#teamdarkweek #e-123 omega #e123 omega #team dark #shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat

[trashmouth-richie]

WE’RE THE LAST IN LINE: 5

Modern day! AU | Eddie x Fem!reader

W.C 2k

Warnings: talks of drug use, abusive psychotic behavior.

MASTER LIST FOR WE’RE THE LAST IN LINE

What the hell is she doing here? It’s been almost a year since she knew where I lived. How does this keep happening?

The tension could be sliced thin with a butter knife. Sectioning out each piece to mix with flour creating delicious layers in a biscuit. After all that’s what Eddie’s life has become, peeling off layers of himself and shedding them around like a snake. Each layer becomes thinner and thinner before finally there is nothing left. But slowly he was growing new skin. New layers to build around his shattered former self. You were helping him do that just by being nice to him. Joking around with him. But Chrissy? No Chrissy was the soul reason for the shedding of the layers, for getting Eddie down to nothing, no epidermis to shelter him, just hallowed out marrow, sucking him dry until he was exactly what she needed him to be, a servant.

She wasn’t always like this, wasn’t always so utterly unhinged. But Eddie can’t think of times like this now. He needs to deal with what is happening presently.

A raggedy blonde ponytail invades your vision as the smell of stale cigarettes and filthy clothes wafts to your nose. Her piercing, bloodshot blue eyes, accompanied by chunky mascara smeared down her cheeks, stare at you maniacally. You can tell she used to be pretty, probably the most beautiful girl in Hawkins at one point. But now standing in the threshold of Eddie’s doorway was a bone thin, haggard looking woman. The hallows of her cheeks sucked in tight like she had a mouth full of lemons. The dull greasiness of her hair suggested it hadn’t been washed or combed in weeks. Her tattered zippered hoodie hung on her like she was a hanger, stains adorning every inch of it as if it sometimes was used as a blanket. The dark permanent circles under her eyes looked as if they would never go away. The yellow stained teeth she flashed were cracked and loose, many already missing. She wore light colored jeans and adidas slides both on the wrong feet.

“Chrissy, what are you doing here?” More importantly, how the hell did you find out where I live? He thinks.

“I— I asked you first Munson!” she stammers shaking as she points a dirty ragged finger towards you on the couch, “who is she?!” She’s licking her dr cracked lips frantically and shifting her weight to each hip as if she heard a melody no one else can.

Eddie is embarrassed beyond belief, he pinches the inner corner of his eyes as shakes his head, “You need to leave, you don’t get to come to my place and demand answers, get out.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me who she is!” Chrissy stomps as she tries to shove her way into Eddie’s apartment. “I swear to God Eddie! I’ll fucking kill her, and you!”

The other shoe dropped. Of course it’s too good to be true why wouldn’t it be? The sinking feeling in your stomach as reality hits you is a sensation you can’t deny. You feel like you could throw up or possibly melt into the fibers of Eddie’s couch. All you know is that you have to get out of there and fast.

Chrissy is still screaming as Eddie’s eyes never leave your face. He manages to shut the door, locking it, “Listen, I’m so sorry, but you can’t leave. I can’t have her knowing where you live…” your eyes go wide at his confession, “I’ll explain later, I promise— just please— here.” He thrusts his phone into your hands, his eyes frantic as he holds your face, “Call Hopper, tell him she showed up and won’t leave, he’ll know what to do.”

“What?! Eddie!” You protest.

“Please,” he begs. “I’ll explain everything, I’m sorry you got involved with this, just please, 5-6-8-3 will unlock it.”

You don’t waste another second unlocking Eddie’s phone and going through the contacts to find Hopper’s number. Your hands are shaking as you hold it up to your ear. A few rings and a gruff voice answers, “This is Hop.” You explain the situation the best you can through a startled voice. “Christ Almighty this girl, on my way!” The line goes dead as Hopper hangs up.

The beating on the door continues as Chrissy kicks, slaps, and pounds on it. Her voice becoming more and more erratic. “Does she even know who I am?!” Or what you did to me— what you took from me?!”

“… you need to get the hell away from my apartment Chrissy.” Eddie says as calmly as he can.

“He’s—he’s on the way.” you explain to Eddie as he’s leaning against the door, the previously open blinds are now closed. You wipe the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, praying that Eddie didn’t see them.

The look on your face kills Eddie. He can’t believe this has happened, again. That she once again found out where he lived. She must have had one of her cronies follow him home from work. And now you were involved in all of this. Involved before he even had the chance to explain any of it. This must look terrible, you probably are thinking that she is his girlfriend, and she is pissed cause you’re a homewrecker. He pushed off the door with his back, walking quickly to you and holding your hands in his, “I’ll answer any questions you have once she’s gone, I promise you she is not my girlfriend, or my scorned wife, it’s—more than complicated.” He shakes his head and lets out a nervous laugh, “you deserve to know about all of this, but until she leaves, do you want to sit in my room? I’m sorry if this is traumatic for you, I just can’t… I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’ll fucking kill her! I’ll rip her throat out and wear it as a necklace!”

The lights on Hop’s Tahoe blink through the blinds like pretty Christmas lights. “Oh thank fuck,” Eddie exhales as he notices them. He brings you into his room and sets you down on the bed, “I’ll be back, try to relax.” Eddie whispers as he shuts his door and deals with this mess.

A million different scenarios are swarming across your mind invading and duckling away at anything happy like the grasshoppers of the ‘30’s destroying crops along the plains. The tears fall easy without Eddie’s big doe eyes blinking down at you like you’re an injured animal. So this was Chrissy? The girl tattooed on Eddie’s chest. The unanswered questions burning through your soul etching across it and simmering. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, just certain that the smell of Eddie’s muted cologne on his pillow was comforting you.

The knife against your throat is dull but cutting your delicate flesh nonetheless. The banshee like screaming shrill in your ear as the blade cuts deeper and deeper, the choked spluttering noises of your windpipe being severed ring throughout your apartment. The maniacal laugh coming from Jason and Chrissy sounds over and over and over in your head.

You shoot awake. Sweat pouring from your body as your eyes adjust to your surroundings. You’re in Eddie’s bedroom. He is sitting on the bed beside you, hands cradling your face. He’s wearing sweatpants now and a faded shirt, and he looks tired. His eyes half lidded as he soothes you, “It’s okay, just a nightmare, she’s gone— Hop took her back to the halfway house she was staying in.”

A wave of relief washes over you as you sit up, “Eddie, a—-are you okay?” Your eyes search his face as he fights to stay strong.

“Yeah I uhh—” he starts running his hands down his face and looking towards the ceiling, “just can’t believe this happened. That she found where I live again.”

You grasp his hand in yours, rubbing his rough knuckles with the soft pad of your thumb. “Who is she?”

Eddie exhales loudly, letting the air completely escape his lungs. “She’s my ex, from high school.” He begins, shoulders sagging slightly with each word spoken. “She wasn’t always like this. In fact she was sweet, super outgoing, and beautiful,” he lets out a sigh at the memory, “anyway, we started dating and after about a year and a half we found out she was pregnant. We were both seniors and I was kind of excited about it, and she was too. Both of us were nervous, but I know she couldn’t wait to be a mom.” He sniffles and lets out another long breath. “The baby— we— Chrissy was about seven months along, when it happened. We were driving back from her parents place to my trailer, roads were icy—” he closes his eyes, and puts his head down, hair shielding his face as his voice breaks, “I —I tried to keep my old van on the road but we were sliding so fast I couldn’t control it. We hit a tree head on. The van didn’t have seat belts, and Chrissy was— we found out later that night that there wasn’t a heartbeat. We were devastated. She had to deliver the baby, a girl, that we named Chrissy.” His hand automatically flew up to his chest where the tattoo lay, pulling the collar of his shirt down to show you. “We stayed together probably another year after the funeral. She wasn’t herself, after the painkillers she was given ran out she started stealing from me, from her parents, anyone just to get high, to forget everything. She never finished high school, just completely went off the rails. I don’t even know what she’s on now, but it’s some pretty dark shit… heroin I think.”

You’re in complete shock. This entire time knowing Eddie, you had thought that damn tattoo was for his girlfriend. Finding out it’s for his daughter who passed away, made you feel like a goddamn fool. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” You say, wiping a tear from his lower lashes, “what happened after that?”

“After that she was pissed that I didn’t want to be with her anymore and threatened to tell the cops that I was drunk driving that night, I wasn’t, but the threat is always there.”

“Is she the one who c—”

His voice picks up and he’s talking quicker than ever. “Calls me every hour of every day? Yeah that’s her. She likes to get high and then forgets that we aren’t together. I help her out sometimes because I feel bad. Her family disowned her, moved away from Hawkins entirely after she left treatment for the sixth time. The people she hangs out with, if you could even call it that, have threatened my life more times than I can count, that’s why I didn’t want you to go to your apartment so she could find out where you live.” He stands up suddenly and paces around the room, “I can’t believe I got you involved in this, I won’t ever forgive myself if something happened to—”

You stand slowly, stepping closer to him as his relentless pacing continues. “Eddie,” you say calmly, grabbing his hand as he walked past. “Look at me.”

He stops in his tracks, tears threatening to spill that are welling up in his eyes. “I just— you don’t deserve this, you barely even know me and now you’re involved with all this, this crazy shit! I’m so sor—”

You hold your hands on his face and look him deep in his eyes, “none of that matters to me, just because you have a shit past doesn’t mean you are a shitty person. And honestly I think it’s kinda sweet that you still try to help her. Shows what kind of man you truly are.”

“Pppffft, and what is kind of man is that?” Eddie asks incredulously, “a sucker? A pushover?”

“No, a sweet one who deserves nothing but kindness, and this.” Standing up on your tiptoes you place your hand on his cheek and wet your lips, you gently press your lips to his.

You pull away gently but Eddie grabs your waist and deepens the kiss, hands traveling up your body and into your hair. He pulls away and murmurs into your ear, “told ya I’d bring the sugar.”

Taglist: @boomhauer @sidthedollface2 @b-irock @creoleguurl @tlclick73 @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @emxxblog @jadequeen88 @edsforehead @quinnsgrapejuice @idkidknemore @bebe0701 @mandyjo8719 @chelebelletx @big-ope-vibes @e0509 @itsasilentreader @adequate-superstar @bpj519 @eddiemunsons-world @aysheashea @chonkzombie @vecnuthy

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie x y/n fluff #eddie x y/n smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie fanfiction #eddie fan fic #modern eddie munson #eddie munson modern #modern au #mechanic!eddie

[kylars-owner]

omg.... florie.... i desperately want to know the outcome of that last eldritch horror kylar fic WaaahhHAHAHBDFB!!! does he **show** you why you shouldn't have crushes on anyone else??? ;D

you shudder as his face hovers close to yours, the reflection of your face in his eyes haunting. there is no spul you can see, just a dead mirror. something in his eyes speaks to your instincts, thefear gripping you.

you think this is how prey must feel.

hunted.

as much as you want to run, you sit still, paralyzed in your fear. it's almost as if you subconsciously think if you stay still he won't see you, that you can play dead and he'll go away.

he does not leave.

a cold hand grips your thigh tight, and the sensation of his skin against yours feels a million tiny pinpricks, static coursing beneath your stratum corneum, flowing deep past the epidermis, deep into the very muscle. it is a numb sort of pain.

when his other hand grasps your throat, it is unexpected. you didn't see his hand reaching up, and the same static of his touch feels like an electric shock now, like a dog's collar.

you do not remember when you lost consciousness, what happened between then and your memory, only that you are in your bed, neck and thigh still numbly tingling with the reminder of a pain you have never felt before.

no one is around.

#kylar dol #dol #kylar the loner #kylar #eldritch kylar #ehehehe #:3c

[jammysammys]

dude your epidermis is showing? the epidermis of your cock?

[hecateisalesbian]

i was just wondering how grimwalkers worked exactly? I've been around the fandom enough to know that Hunter is one, but is it like a clone type situation? and yes, you do get the title of "official toh person" in my mind!!

Loving how you ask like the one thing I put the least amount of research into 😭

In this shot we can see a recipe or “cookbook” of grimwalkers which can give us a lot of clues.

A galderstone (heart and power)

palistrom wood (keratin)

stonesleeper lungs

selkidomous scales

bones of ORTET

of course there’s little scribbles of words that are also probably important scattered around the page but this is the decipherable part.

The galderstone itself had a whole episode (Through the Looking Glass Ruins if I remember correctly) in which we saw how its power could be used. The Galderstone (in my theory) channels the power from all the other magical items enough to make them work in harmony and create a functioning clone but not enough (either from the weakness of the galderstone or the fact that those items alone don’t possess the same magic as a bile sac) to give a grimwalkers it’s own magic (hence artificial staff for Hunter before he met Flap).

Palistrom Wood has many episodes showing how it’s used and its importance. On the cookbook it’s listed for Keratin. Keratin is what’s makes your hair, nails, and skin. (“Keratin is a protein that helps form hair, nails and your skin's outer layer (epidermis). It helps support your skin, heal wounds and keep your nails and hair healthy. ”) So palistrom wood is like the outer workings of a grimwalker. Giving it a more human/witchy like look instead of a weird jumble of magic ingredients. We’ve seen that palistrom wood functions in magical ways (see string bean) so I wouldn’t be surprised if perhaps it was also the muscle of a grimwalker. What makes it move.

Stonesleeper lungs don’t seem to have any specific use listed. However, in Elsewhere and Elsewhen, we know that the Stonesleeper found in the Titans Skull had been hibernating for a (very) long time. I think the Stonesleeper lungs are what allows grimwalkers to grow in the dirt for years before being used (see For the Future goopy Belos trying to possess a remaining clone which rises from a dirt bed). Selkidomous scales also don’t have a use listed. Selkidomous’s however had two facts revealed about them in Separate Tides. Their puke (?) is extremely rare and high valued, and that they can swim in the boiling sea (most likely one of the only animals able to do so). I doubt the selkidomous’s gold puke would have much use to making a clone, especially considering how the value of it could’ve gone up or down since Belos began creating grimwalkers like 300 ish years ago (also I doubt Belos wrote that cookbook himself so I wouldn’t be surprised if making grimwalkers is a practice hundreds or thousands of years old). So I think their scales are used as a protection of some sort. After all, if they can survive the boiling sea they can survive multiple things on land. I think these might’ve doubled in use for a sort or keratin like usage.

Finally, Bones of ORTET. The word ortet is written in a strange way compared to the rest of the text. But a quick search on the Google Web says this:

So, essentially, “the original of the clone”. What does a human body have a lot of that doesn’t decay quickly? Bones. Over 200 of them. Over two hundred possibilities of grimwalkers over hundreds of years. I’m sure the boiling isles/Belos made lots of discoveries about bones and the true potential of them when making grimwalkers that we don’t know that would make a very easy cloning process but I think these bones would be combined with other bones or perhaps had the DNA/marrow (idk I’m not a doctor I’m using words I’ve seen in greys anatomy for this) sucked (?) out of it and combined with other listed ingredients to make a “test tube baby” from which it could be planted in the ground like a seed and left to grow for years. I don’t know how long or how Belos would explain for the lack of memory in Caleb Clones time in the dirt, but in For the Future the Caleb Clone that rises and then decays looks about the same age as Hunter. Darius also says he knew Hunters predecessor (Darius is 40 ish). So I doubt grimwalkers grow in the dirt any longer than 15 years, and gaps in memory I’m sure are replaced with fake ones by Belos or said to be amnesia from a childhood trauma.

I would dive into the graphic on the left page of the cookbook buts it’s too blurry and vague for me to truly make out a good theory.

There are most likely more ingredients than just those few but I think those are the most important ones. Also, when Flapjack gives his life for hunters (😭), Hunter gains the natural magic ability of regular palistrom wood, much like Belos used the magic from palismen to keep his false magic working and also to keep him from turning into goo. Palistrom woods is definitely a powerful source of magic, if not the most powerful source of magic, second to maybe a Titan.

So yes, a Grimwalker is essentially a clone made from the DNA of something/someone and with other magical ingredients. Though it’s definitely not a perfect cloning device, seeing the multiple variations Belos’s grimwalkers had and Belos saying “you look the most like him.” Anyways that’s my take hope it helps! If you have more questions I will be happy to answer :D

#Long post whoops #toh #the owl house #asks #hunter #toh hunter #grimwalker #caleb wittebane #phillip wittebane #belos

[ordonianhero]

Epidermis

Four: rancher your epidermis is showing.

Twi: my epi-what?

Four: epidermis.

Twi: ….. I am shirtless.

Four: exactly

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe incorrect quotes #lu four #lu twilight