#surface inspection systems

[intsofttech]

Machine vision inspection system of Intsoft Tech, medicine defect detection case study.

[cyberswift-story]

Road Condition Monitoring System(RCMS): Enhancing Efficiency with AI-Powered Solutions

The quality and sustainability of road infrastructure play a pivotal role in societal development, economic growth, and the safety of communities. To address the challenges of road construction and maintenance, advanced digital tools such as Road Condition Monitoring Systems (RCMS) are becoming indispensable. Leveraging technologies like AI-powered pothole detection, data analytics, and interactive visualization, RCMS ensures efficient planning, monitoring, and maintenance of road networks.

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to give your entity a warm blanket and a bed. Look under the cut to see what meeting your entity is like!

Undead: You can see them, below the pale starless lights from the skyscrapers above, and the shine of streetlamps and headlights. It's scary to see them wandering the street, they look human at first, wearing a long black trench coat, and a wide brimmed hat, but when you look into their eyes, they look so still and cold, unbreathing and unblinking, no matter how much makeup and wax repairs their flesh they're so obviously dead. Yet you walk closer, and realize they look alone, look as if they have nowhere to go, sympathetically you offer them some money and they begin telling you a story that begins a long long time ago...

Faerie: You seem them flying at your window, human shaped yet so clearly not human, looking at you as if they've never seen a person before. Their entire body is a sandy green, with hair the color of pussy willows, and eyes the color of jade, you think they're wearing plate armor, but you realize they have an exoskeleton like that of a mantis or a grasshopper, with four transparent wings shining in the sunlight. They inspect you as if they've never seen something like you before, they seem to need help but when you move towards them they seem afraid. You open the window for them to come in, and they rush into your bed, warm as if they haven't been warm in a very long time.

Vampire: You seem them first waiting for the local train, sitting there, a slender completely genderless humanoid, with bluish white skin and eyes a piercing blue. They slowly play guitar as you wait, and you take a moment to listen. After they get on the train with you, you strike up conversation, and young as they look, they speak as if they have seen all of humanity's history, as if they've lived more lifetimes then you could ever know. They eventually life up their facemask for you, and you can see that their mouth isn't humanlike at all, it's massive with many moving parts and blade like fangs, like the mouth of a viper. And their skin so cold, you can even feel batlike wings below their coat as you put an arm around them. You let them drink some of your blood from your hand, and it feels so good, so intimate, and you pet their head as you let yourself fill them.

Dragon: You thought you could see them changing their form out of the corner of your eye, a massive, scaled creature with many heads landing on the city streets, and slowly shrinking down to the form of a human, fixing some minor details, and changing the color of their eyes from orange-red to something more human-passing before they talk to you. They study you strangely, asking about how certain technology works, taking interest in your kind's society, your religion, your mating habits. They seem so smart yet so naive to this world that they've walked into. Awkwardly they ask if they can stay with you for a while, to learn more about how such strange creatures live.

Cyborg: You can see them, sitting at a cafe, looking out as if trying to think of a long-forgotten memory, long since eaten by the sands of time. Layers of clothing covers their body, as if they're hiding something. Worried they're lonely you strike up conversation with them, and though they seem shy at first, they eventually seem happy to have had a chance to talk to you. Their scarf slips for a moment, and they become afraid you saw something, but you hold them and say that it's ok, and their body feels so hard, as if they barely have any skin below their head, and warm like a computer being desperately cooled down by fans, like a churning machine. They open their coat to show you what they were hiding, and you can see a chest made entirely out of steel and wires, all their flesh long since cut away, you can see that even their eyes are screens. You assure them that it's ok... it's ok...

Nature spirit: Slowly they walk to your door, as if they know nowhere else to go. They don't look human at all, they're made out of rock, and sand, and animal bones, two large antlers sticking out of a skull head. There's something broken and distorted and wrong about whatever they are. They rush to a cactus you've kept on your desk and gain the last of their sustenance from them. You can see visions when you look into their eyes, visions of a desert paved over by lawns and by highways, drowning it in chlorinated water. You turn up the heat, and let a blanket lay on top of them, as you let the tears of a dead world pour out through their hollow eyes.

Face stealer: It rushes towards you, crawling through the alleyways where nobody will hear your cries for help. The massive black creature, with mortal faces hanging off the side of its segmented body. It stops an inch from your face, it could rip you to shreds with its fangs, but it doesn't It can tell there's something different with you, and you reach out your hand, slowly trying to pet it, and then it rushes back, not letting you feel the cold of its body. But it can see you, and it knows you now as an ally to its undying cause...

Angel: You see them in a cold studio, abandoned for the night, the unfinished paintings looking down on both you and them. Their body is doll like, segmented, and textured as if it looks like white and blue porcelain, but with cracks filled with gold. As you approach them, they let their wings spread. They seem to assume you're afraid of them, assume you'll hurt them, assume that they deserve it. But you don't, and they're shocked that you don't hate them at all. You let them step closer, and you can see their eyes, a radiant golden light replaced with something pale and cool. You tell them that they have nothing to apologize for, as they try to apologize just for existing as they do.

Game entity: It's strange that the system is even working in this condition. And this game doesn't seem to exist at all outside of this one copy. Messages keep coming to you, and it's like the characters inside, as primitive and pixilated as they are, as talking to you directly. And you can see the message beyond the screen, beyond the music and the flashing lights, and the message says help, and the message begs to be freed, and the message is for you.

Werewolf: They come up to you from out of the twisted woods of the park, human and fleshy as their form is, they don't act human, it's as if they want to be pet or fed. And when you approach them, they back away as an animal would too. Their muscular body is contrasted by clothing they seem to have forgotten how to wear, you can see a human mind in there, but one that's been lost for a very long time. You give them a piece of food, they are about to rip it apart like a beast but something about you reminds them of something, and they eat it as if they were human.

Goblin: Small, and skinny, and pale, you think they're a human at first, but the pointed ears and sharp teeth reveal otherwise. They inspect you, slowly trying to figure out what you are, trying to square your modern clothing with their iron armor and flowing cape. For a moment it looks as if they'll kill you, but for some reason they choose not to. They ended up in a subway station, but it seems they came from lower down, you wonder if they've seen the sun at all. Maybe you can show them, you try to ask them, but they don't understand your language, but they want to, they certainly want to...

Demon: you can see them looking out at the sea, a human head and chest, but nothing else fitting in with this world, tentacles in place of their arms, and feet like a crab's wing's like a seagull's and teeth like a shark's, and a lamprey's neck and head where their genitals should be. They look at you with their eyes, confused and disturbed by this world, by the moon and the sun and the towers in the distance. They tilt their head, as if you share a face with the creature who bound them to this realm. Most people would be afraid of such a creature, but you understand, understand that they didn't choose to be here, and wonder why such a horror exists in this world, and if they would rather not be within the place they call home. You apologize if you scared them, and they reply with a similar statement...

[ryuryuryuyurboat]

music to my ears

synopsis: wriothesley loves listening to your voice. that's it that's the whole thing

genre: fluff

characters: wriothesley x gn! reader

warnings: established r/s

a/n: I'M ALIVE this was a really quick one because i needed to get the image out of my system teehee <3 likes, reblogs and comments highly appreciated!!

©2024 ryuryuryuyurboat. do not repost, translate, plagiarise, or modify in any way, shape or form.

masterlist

wriothesley was not what one would consider a chatterbox, and neither was he a man of few words. so why was it that he was so quietly drinking his tea, when he was right beside the one he loved the most?

easy. the duke was simply enamoured by your voice.

“so in the end, morhange graduated from the conservatory and became an acclaimed conductor– hey, you listening?”

his eyes darted up from your lips to meet your gaze. “yeah, go on.”

“that was the end,” you sighed, before your eyes lit up. “oh! wait, yeah, the film was inspired by the story behind the origin of the little singers of fontaine! y’know, the choir?”

“never heard of them.”

“that’s ‘cause you don’t come up to the surface often enough!”

a loud tick pierced through the cosy atmosphere. five in the evening. time for fortress inspection.

“oh,” you shrank into your seat, “i’m sorry, that was a really long ramble, wasn’t it?”

“not at all,” he hummed. “i like hearing your voice.”

“I’M SORRY!!” you cried, clearly having not yet registered “i took up all your time and you didn’t get to say what you wanted to and i–” you’re cut off by the all too familiar sensation of wriothesley’s chapped lips on yours.

“archons, sweetheart, how many times do i have to tell you? i love it when you ramble,” he mutters into the kiss, “i love when you get excited about things you like and tell me about them.”

wriothesley probably couldn’t care less if it were anyone else talking about their favourite film, but for you, he’d make an exception any day.

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if you liked this, do consider dropping me a follow for more :>

[ask-the-pioneer]

"I sure do! Watch this..."

"I can make explosive spears and throwables, just like my mom did. I can also propel myself in the air by whipping my tail very fast, which sets off the same flammable compound in my tail surface for an explosive boost. Very handy for movement, but also very loud… not great if you're trying to be stealthy. And yeah, my sibling could do that too, but he was always more interested in doing other things. An energetic but very scatterbrained kid that he was."

[She takes aim and throws the spear somewhere far away. It ignites and explodes with a loud dull bang that shakes the ground slightly]

"I can't do that too often, though. Maybe a handful of times in quick succession before my muscles tense up and burn as if scorched by flames. One time it got so bad that I lost consciousness and couldn't move for a couple of minutes after waking up. That was scary, and hurt like hell... since then I've been more careful. That said, I wonder if there are more slugcats with similar abilities to mine out there? I have not met that many scugs in my life to begin with, if I'm honest..."

"Of course I remember my family, how could I not! My sibling's name is… hmmm, right, let me explain this first. Slugcats have very good sense of smell. Usually, we know one another by our unique scents. They are incredibly complex, but can be written down as series of letters, if you map those symbols to the corresponding scent proteins and other chemical compounds. For example, my scent name would be:"

"Addmitely, this notation method is very over-engineered – a slugcat just knows you are you if they smell you. From what I learned, scugs don't really use a coherent writing system.. of any kind. I think the colonies may use pictograms? I uh, I've never been a part of a colony, so I'm missing a lot of info here. Still, what I wrote on the wall – I have used an Ancient script, which I roughly mapped to key compounds that make a scent. As you can see, it's incredibly long, it can also change over time, parts of it can be masked with non-organic aromas to hide your identity, so on and so forth. To simplify even further, these long strings of letters can be shortened to just the last three or two characters, and this is what scugs may choose to use to refer to one another. Here, my scent name is MGV."

"Then, there are names that resemble the form that the Ancients would use. It's considered more refined, and more common in big colonies where people adopt their preferable roles. Those names are viewed as a kind of «gift», because you receive it from your community. It's a symbol of how they see you, what you mean to them. Of course, my closest family was never a part of a colony… but my mom would still give me and my sibling those special names. I was named «Blue», which is the color of the sky above when it's not raining, and the color of clear water. My brother's name is «Bryn» after a very fragrant medicinal plant that relaxes your muscles when consumed. I always found it funny, as my brother was often the one getting in trouble and giving our mom heartaches."

[She pauses for a moment, thinking intensively]

"Hmm, I never thought of asking my mother about her name. I wonder if she had one? To me and it was always just «mom»…"

"My other parent? I never knew him. Must have left just before or right after my mom had me, because there is literally nothing I remember of him… or them… whoever they were."

[She takes some pearls out from her bag, and inspects them one by one just to keep her hands busy]

"Mom would never talk about him, as if he never existed. And I never questioned her, I was too young to understand and simply accepted everything at face value. It was just the way things were. Would I want to meet my other parent? Maybe, but I doubt it'd make a difference. What would I even say to them? «Thanks for abandoning mom and leaving her to fend for herself»? "

"I don't know. Maybe I'm too harsh. Maybe he was a hero who sacrificed themself to save my mother. That could explain why he was never seen or heard of again. But… I have no way of knowing for sure. It's the life I won't be getting back anyway."

// In the second drawing, I've used logographs from @ikayblythe's Standard Hegemonic Dialect

[diejager]

could you maybe do more of the Phoenix series or is that discontinued? But if you're still working on it can you maybe do something like monster TF 141 use hunter as a heater? Ik if it doesn't make any sense but like monster TF 141 are on a mission and its horribly cold and they're actually cold so hunter just walks up and turns into a phoenix? and just starts heating up the room 141 is in. idk I just have had this idea in my head for a while

Cw: human heating, tell me if I missed any. Note: Nope! It’s still on going, well, at least the original Au of the Phoenix hybrid!reader spinoff.

“I’ll have a bloody word with the tosser who sent us here,” Soap hissed, body wracked with tremors as he breathed into his mittened hands, hoping that the small bit of heat would warm him just a bit more than the failing heating system of their Siberian  safehouse.

They had planed to rest and warm up their temporary residence while Price took Ghost and you to survey the area, all warmly covered but mostly immune to such cold temperature. A dragon rarely needed anything other than the beating fire in their heart, kindled and powerful; a wraith, long since dead, had no worry about feeling cold or warm, only hunger and anger; and a phoenix, whose body was stuck in a perpetual cycle of life and death, had no fear of being cold when they were an embodiment of life’s fire. 

It was only natural that Price took the only people who could withstand the harshness of Siberia for a long and careful inspection when the others would freeze and shake in their thick boots and warm coats. They safehouse looked old, surfaces covered in a thin layer of dust, shelves filled with canned food - both expired and unexpired- and walls and floors as frozen as the loud winds blowing against the thick windows. It wasn’t much of a surprise that something would malfunction, the soviet era building left to appear rotten and forgotten to fit it’s intended use, and it seemed to lack any sort of upkeep. 

“We’re freezing our arses off in here!” Soap growled out, leaning closer to Gaz’s side to steal more warmth from under his wing, the soft feathers all ruffled, “Can’t even-”

Crunch

The two perked up, hands immediately reaching for their weapons, bodies tense and ready for a fire fight until your head popped in, huffing about the melted snow soaking your clothes. They jumped to their feet, running to your side for a lick of warmth that oozed off your skin. You froze at the grabbing hands, pulling you to the cold sofa and pushed under a mass of groaning and moaning bodies, happily soaking in your fire.

“Let me- ” you squirmed between them, shuffling out from under them to stretch your arms and back.

The four watched your neck crack with a wince, flames erupting from your feet, wild and bright embers licking at your skin until it engulfed you in a fiery blaze. It was both too hot to touch and too strong to approach, a fire that would threaten to burn if they touched you. It worked to protect you from an early death while you shifted into the majestic bird you were, a gentle flame in the form of orange and yellow feathers, softer than any silk and warmer than any suns. 

In your place stood a phoenix, lashes fluttering while your flapped your wings, stretched backwards to scratch the itch from the lack of use. You cooed, preening under their awed expressions before you flew back in your prior position, body heat growing hotter and hotter, strong enough to warm up the entire room. 

“Thank you, Hunter,” Gaz smiled at you, a sweet and grateful grin that made your feathers shyly ruffle up.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[beepboopappreciation]

I always see people talk about how cool becoming a cyborg would be, replacing parts of our flesh with metal and pistons and cool gadgets.

Why don't we talk more about the horror that is the opposite of that?

A computer who grafts lab-grown skin in patches onto their own form to feel. To experience a gentle and cool breeze passing by, or the oppressive sweat-inducing heat that their systems produce.

A robot with an organic eye to help them see as their creators once did. Imperfect, sure. But it seems to have quite an uneasy effect on organics, and doesn't that make it more than worth it?

A machine with blood coursing through its systems, flowing through the central chambers, in and out of its beating heart. Perhaps if the heart holds up, it could add lungs to help circulation.

A being that resembles a man at a distance, but upon closer inspection it is clear that he is instead a cacophony of skin, mismatched body parts and features, with just a few robotic limbs and mechanical parts visible. It smiles at you, the wide grin revealing that none of its teeth match.

He lurches toward you, hair from at least three different scalps falling carefree in front of its shoulders. You take a step back.

Where is the line drawn between cyborg and robot with human parts? Do you know? Does it know? Does anyone know?

It gets closer. You continue to retreat. Your back brushes against a wall.

You don't know where that line is, you've decided, but you're positive this individual has crossed it.

Having cornered you, it reaches its mechanical hand out, fingernails grafted on the metal tips. You blink, locked completely still from fear for just a few moments. It angles his hand in invitation. He wants you to take it. You hesitantly accept.

Under the metal you can feel . . . something, flowing, pulsing just beneath the surface wanting to escape. It's warm.

"Wh.. what do you want?" You manage to sputter out.

The being shakes your hand, his smile returning. "A friend," it replies.

[realtalkswithfinn]

Christmas at the Compound

Avengers x reader

Summary: Avengers x reader Christmas head cannons because I am a sucker for the found family trope.

a/n: I tried to get this up before christmas but totally spaced it, so… tale it as a christmas morning gift! I tried to make it as age neutral as possible, so it could totally be teen!reader or not.

The holidays are a tough time for the Avengers.

Most of them have lost family members or friends, and the idea of celebrating anything is extremely difficult.

Tony especially - he always gets gloomy around the Holidays.

He always says something along the lines of, "I don't actually care about this, but its social convention."

But secretly he cares a lot.

He overcompensates for his lack of affection throughout the year by buying everyone the expensive gifts he knows they want but could never justify spending on themselves.

At surface level, it just seems like “oh rich guy is spending rich guy money”

But they’re actually really thoughtful gifts

Like last year, he got Peter a new laptop for school.

He bought Bucky new and thick clothes since all of his were old and worn.

He upgraded Clints cellular data so he could talk to his family anywhere.

Things like that.

Sam and Rhodey take one for the team and string the christmas lights on the tower

“It’s too cold for this.” Sam would complain, the sharp wind nipping at his cheeks as he flew from one end of the building to the other, lights in tow.

“Come one man, where’s your christmas spirit?” Rhodey would laugh

“I’m just doing this so stark’s power bill goes up.”

it really was worth it seeing the tower lit up top to bottom though

Wanda LIVES for commercialized American Christmas

"We have to make gingerbread houses and go to Rockefeller to see the Christmas tree and we have to go out to the snow and go sledding-"

She demands family Christmas photos be taken, even though you don't really have anyone to send them to.

This years theme was christmas pjs

Which lead to a few very interesting viral videos of the avengers in an Old Navy

“Tony come on the reindeer ones are cute!”

“Bruce. A man can not hold onto his masculinity while wearing pjs with dancing reindeer.”

Natasha gets tired of the bellyaching and bickering and makes the final decision

She grabs everyone’s size in the Reindeer pjs and marches to the front of the store

After snagging Tony’s credit card, of course.

Actually taking the picture is a whole other ball game, but that’s a story for another day

Thor has a hard time with the idea of Santa

You try to explain it to him, but it doesn’t seem to help

“So a fat man breaks into the safety of your home late into the night… and you let it happen because he comes baring gifts?”

“Well… yeah.”

“But only to nice children. That he stalks throughout the year.”

“He doesn’t stalk the children he just…”

“Hm.” He squints. “what about the naughty children?”

“They don’t get any presents.”

“OR,” Wanda interjects, “Krampus comes to get them.”

“Is that another fat man in a red disguise?”

“No. He’s a demon sent from hell to eat them.”

Thor nods in approval. “Ah. That’s much more asgardian. A fair reward system for the youth!”

You stare at him. “So… you’re okay with Krampus but not Santa?”

“Well I think they work together well, like a team. Like us!”

“I… I guess…”

Decorating the tree was an all night event

You would help happy bring up what felt like hundreds of boxes of christmas decorations

The tree itself was about 15 feet tall, because it wouldn’t be a holiday at the compound if you guys weren’t extra

It was placed in the living space, right next to a huge wall of windows so all of New York could see your festivity

it had to be decorated to the nines to pass Wanda’s inspection

Not a bare branch

Theres tinsel, ribbons, colorful lights, and hundreds of ornaments

But of course, ladders were a no go

You guys liked a challenge

To reach the higher branches, you and Natasha would stand on Steve and Buckys shoulders

And I mean stand

Not sit

It was a thrilling balancing game

You trusted them to catch you if you fell, but you still had to try to avoid it at all costs to save the tree from certain destruction

Peter would dangle from the ceiling, crawling around to hang ornaments toward the very top

Both of these acts nearly gave Bruce and Vision a heart attack

“CAP, you’re moving to fast shes gunna lose balance-“

“Bruce, please take a breath.”

Meanwhile Thor is getting distracted by all the ornaments and forgetting to actually hang them up

“This one’s a little man of snow! How silly!”

Speaking of ornaments

You all have an ornament of yourself on the tree

Or, your super hero alias at least

There’s a tiny black widow, a little iron man, a bity baby hulk, so on and so forth

Tony always demands his be the highest up on the tree to fuel his god complex

Drawing names out of a hat to see who got to put the star on top of the tree

(except you guys would always rig it behind Wanda’s back, only putting her name in the hat)

She would always protest, insisting to let someone else do it this year, but you guys never relented

So with a big cheesy grin on her face, she would use her magic to delicately place the star on the tippy top

You would think Natasha wouldn’t want to see the Nutcracker Ballet after her time in the red room

But it makes her so happy to see dancing as an art form instead of a way to brainwash young girls

She drags you, Clint, Wanda, and whoever else wants to tag along every year

She even splurges on front row seats

You look over and see her eyes glittering while she watches every turn, leap, and stunt intently

Leaving the theater, she’ll walk on her toes and do a few turns, encouraging you to try as well.

She ends up cackling watching you trip and stumble

“We’ll work on it.”

Can you IMAGINE the ginger bread making contest???

You’re all huddled around the long dining room table with christmas music playing

Theres Clint and Natasha, who just make the classic gingerbread house, no fancy bells or whistles.

Then there’s Bruce,Tony, and Peter who are going absolutely wild building gingerbread sky scrapers and gingerbread hotels.

“Mr. Stark look, I made a working elevator!”

Bruce puts an electric system (fairy lights) through his

Steve and Bucky rebuild their childhood homes

Wanda is going all out, delicately hand placing every candy and covering the whole thing in edible glitter

Visions is pretty similar, but more sleek and modern than Wanda’s

And then there’s Thor, who’s totally missing the point and just DUMPING everything on top

“Hey Peter, I think yours is missing something.”

You string a long thread of white rope candy from his structure to yours.

“Webs!”

“You know… we can probably make a web-like consistency with some starch and frosting…”

That becomes a whole sticky project, but you eventually get it to work, connecting everyone’s gingerbread houses with icing webs

Steve and Bucky are TOTALLY participating in the classic christmas traditions they grew up on.

They sit quietly together in the living room, making paper chains and stringing popcorn

“Do you mind if I join you guys?”

they smile gently. “Of course not.”

You sit crisscross in front of the couch while they teach you

They tell you stories of christmases long, long ago, which feels kinda silly considering they’re talking like grandpas while not appearing much older than you

On Christmas eve, you’re all there except for Clint, who went home to his family

Youre all dressed in your pajamas from the christmas card

You make hot coco and cider

Wanda pops in some old vhs tapes and you watch the classics late into the night

“Alright you nutcrackers,” tony would say around midnight. “I know you want to stay up and catch Santa, but he’s not coming if you all stay awake.”

he really just wanted to go to bed

He sauntered off, calling for lights out.

Most of the boys wandered away to their rooms, leaving you, Wanda, Nat and Thor not quite ready for sleep.

“So,” you ask, taking a sip of coco, “Do you guys think we’re on the naughty list?”

Natasha Chuckled. “I’m not sure. Does beating people up count as naughty if you’re taking down the bad guys?”

Thor set his mug down on the coffee table, the bells on his sweater jingling. “Do not fear ladies, I will catch that nasty Krampus if he comes in to devour your soul. I believe you were doing the right thing.”

You all laughed, thinking he was joking. But he just stared at you.

“Thor… you realize Krampus and Santa aren’t… real?” Wanda asked.

He had a hard time swallowing that.

He ended up sleeping on the couch “just in case”

you woke up at 3 am to a loud clattering coming from the living room

You decided to check it out against your better judgement

There was Thor. Hammer in one hand, cookie in another.

Down the hall toward the elevator was a completely destroyed life-size nutcracker.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I thought I heard something by the elevator.”

“Congratulations. You murdered the Nutcracker.”

“I feared he was an accomplice of the holiday demon.”

“He’s been there for weeks!”

“He could have been a spy. Or possessed.”

“Goodnight Thor.”

Christmas Morning finally arrived

Everyone was sleeping soundly in their beds

Until Sam decided to be a little shit and wake everyone up at 7 am

He pounded on every. single. bedroom door.

“Y/NNNN. SANTA CAME TO TOWNNNNN.” he sing-songed

“No he didn’t.” You grumbled. “Thor killed him.”

“… I don’t know what that means.”

You all stumble out into the living room

Natasha took the time to actually run a brush through her hair and do her morning skincare

You and wanda were far too excited and skipped over that completely, barely remembering to brush your teeth

Tony looked the roughest - he had a silk robe draped over his pjs and looked like he was just awakened from a coma

Essentially, everyone was a little disheveled

Vision made everyone coffee before you started the gift exchange

You all sat around the coffee table in a circle so everyone could see each other

Bruce and Steve passed out the gifts from under the tree

it took a solid few minutes, there was a MOUNTAIN of presents

You went one at a time opening gifts

Some people think this is awkward, but you felt it was more genuine

this way, everyone can see the gift and the joy on the receivers face

as well as a million “thank you”s

It also gave time for the giver to explain why they chose the gift they did, whether it be something they remembered you said you wanted, something they knew you needed, or even just a simple “this made me think of you”

In the end, you loved all your gifts

And everyone loved what you got for them

But mostly, you were just happy to spend the holiday with your family

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything IV (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: WHY WAS THIS SO HARD TO WRITE???

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

You were exhausted. 

Sleeping was a luxury that you couldn't afford, not that you hadn't been trying. You weren't fond of the night terrors that came to visit whenever you closed your eyes. They were the worst part of it all, you thought. 

It was early, too early for training but, nonetheless, you slowly crawled from your bed. It didn't take long to get ready but it did take time to pull yourself from the mirror. 

You couldn't stop staring at the reflection. Saying that it was you staring back seemed far-fetched in all honesty- the creature you observed was unrecognizable. You considered some makeup to cover the bruising, but there was nowhere to hide the ragged divots in your face, dragged through by your own nails. 

You couldn't hide a swollen nose, puffy eyes and a busted mouth. Your jaw was ballooned, and although the stitches were finally out from your face- the scars remained. You decided that no amount of money could hide your ugliness. Everyone knew what you looked like, everyone knew how fucking disgusting you were. It was almost more embarrassing to try and hide it, than to embrace it and pretend that you didn't care. 

But you did. You cared too much. 

You threw on some sweatpants and a hoodie, your training gear hidden beneath. You needed coffee- you needed something. Anything to get your blood moving in your body and force some adrenaline through your system.

You were so early.

You didn't want to go. 

You'd been attempting to train with König for a couple of weeks now, never engaging in conversation and never looking him in the eye. Ghost had volunteered himself to chaperone your sessions and since then you'd been able to work more comfortably, though you knew it was selfish. 

It was nobody's job to have to babysit you. This was an elite fucking task force, the best of the best and you had to be nursed back into health by one of the most renowned soldiers in the British Special Forces. It was embarrassing for everyone, to say the least. You felt disgusting, you felt pathetic- though, you supposed that's exactly what you were. 

Fucking pathetic. 

You'd expected the gym to be dark, the lights off and abandoned at this early hour. Especially on a Saturday, there was no one at work. Those who lived on base  would usually leave the night before to go drinking or camping, crawling back in shame on the Sunday afternoon. Ghost would be around but this early in the morning you knew he'd be out on his motorcycle, waiting for the sunrise to light up the highway. 

Upon further inspection, you realized that the door was open. The blinds were still down but the light was on, illuminating the hallway you stood in. There was a low hum from inside, melodic and seamless. You raised a brow as you approached, peering into the doorway. 

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of König. 

The beast was leaned over, singing a wordless tune that you didn't recognise, voice as smooth as silk. He was laying out the foam mats, running his fingers over the raised surface until it was completely flat. Finally, the sniper stood straight to observe his handiwork with a nod. 

He was larger than life when he stretched his arms over his head, groaning at the movement. Some part of you, deep down, was in awe of his sheer size. The other, more dominant, part of you reminded you that he'd been too big for you to stop. 

You were frozen in place, unable to move and unable to take a breath in fear that he'd hear you. König's senses were sharp and the slightest noise would tip him off to your gawking. 

When he sat down on the bench with a solemn sigh, your blood began to simmer beneath your skin. 

"Did you want to come in, Birdy?" König's voice was gentle but you still jumped at the sound of it. A gasp slipped from your lips at the exposure and he tilted his head at the noise, leaning his elbows against his knees. 

Your mouth dried. How did he know that you were there? You hadn't made a sound. 

"Not particularly," you cleared your throat, as he pulled the balaclava from over his head. Dark hair spilled from beneath the fabric, messy and thick. He never kept a mask on when you were around, regardless of whether it was a balaclava or that damned hood. 

"I thought we were past this," he sighed, putting the mask down by his side. He never turned to face you, giving you the option to leave without the pressure of his gaze. 

I thought we were past this. 

Heat flushed through your system like a volcanic eruption, originating in your chest and shooting across your nerves. 

"Past you ruining my life?" You offered as calmly as you could manage. "No. No, I'm actually not past it."

"I meant," König corrected firmly, turning around to face you with narrowed eyes, "are we not past this." 

While he didn't say anything different, the meaningful stare told you enough. 

Are we not past you coming inside every time, even though you say that you won't? 

You stared at him for a long moment, that emerald gaze unwavering. It was nothing like what you'd seen that night, he was a completely different person. You wondered when he would snap, you wondered when you would snap. 

You saw hints of the man you'd encountered sometimes during sparring, never with you but occasionally with Simon. He targeted König, always making a point to put him on his ass but a part of you wonders if the soldier was letting him do it. It was almost too easy sometimes, as though the man had just given up halfway through. 

You stepped through the doorway tentatively, eyes never leaving König's. He held his body so still that you wondered if he was breathing, reminding you of the way a snake freezes before it strikes. 

You moved to the other side of the mats, sitting down on the bench opposite your partner. 

"I figured you'd be up," König rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders relaxing the second you took a seat. "I got you a coffee." 

You blinked at him. 

"What?" 

"I got you a coffee?" The words were uncertain now as he leaned back slightly. He gestured towards the cup tray beside him, two drinks in foam cups steaming at his side. 

You couldn't force a response from your lips- you couldn't do anything, really, other than gawk at him. Why he'd gone out of his way to get you a coffee was beyond you, obviously he was guilty but you'd made it clear you wanted none of his pity. 

"Don't overthink it, Birdy," König raised a brow. "It's a coffee. Just take it." 

"Yeah," you rasped. "Yeah."

But you didn't move. 

Your limbs felt like they'd been filled with lead, your heart beating against your ribs violently. Grabbing the coffee shouldn't have been an issue, getting up is not difficult, so why were you not responding to mental commands? You felt helpless, the realization that your mind and body were no longer yours to control- rather you were ruled by fear that you couldn't grasp. 

You clenched your jaw tightly.

Move, Birdy. 

The Austrian tightened his lips awkwardly, fingers running through his hair like an anxiety tic. The both of you sat in uncomfortable silence before finally he reached for the cup, standing to his feet. 

You remained deathly still as he approached, stopping a safe distance away before he stretched his hand out. The semblance to extending an olive branch was too obvious not to take note, although you'd be the first to snap any branches this man offered. 

But this wasn't some stupid peace twig. This was coffee. König had bought you a drink. You just needed to take it, you needed to move. 

Move, Birdy. 

"It's just a coffee," the man offered you a weak smile but you could see the apprehension in his gaze. He was wondering if you were going to break, every fiber of his being preparing to restrain you if you had another episode. 

If you had another psychotic break over a fucking cup of coffee, you'd be out of the 141 for good. 

Move, Birdy. 

It's just coffee. 

"It's just a coffee," you whispered. 

Your fingers wrapped around the cup, the heat jarring from your thoughts. König let loose a shaky sigh that you knew you weren't meant to hear. You'd become so unstable that even the man who had destroyed you was afraid. 

Your skin brushed against his as you forced yourself to tighten your grip, the brief touch electrifying and jarring. 

He snatched his hand away as though you'd burnt him with the contact. It wasn't like you'd never touched beyond the incident, you sparred with him nearly every day. But that was sparring, this was not. 

König took a seat, his gaze averted and his nails digging into the bench. You took the first sip, eyes never leaving his form. 

Just a coffee, Birdy. 

You took another swig,  reminding yourself to taste the drink. You thought of the texture, the temperature, the flavor- anything to ground you from your thoughts and drag you back to reality. When your mind began to settle and you could finally register the taste, your eyes widened. 

It was exactly your order. 

You almost choked.  

Before you could ask anything of it, the soldier returned his attention to rest on you, briefly taking in your visage. He was still concerned, the twist of his mouth clearly apprehensive. 

"We've never really spoken about what happened," König rasped, the vulnerable tremor in his voice ringing clear. 

Your spine straightened and the cup creaked beneath your grip. 

"Because I don't want to talk about what happened."

"You can't avoid it forever, Birdy," the man bit, sharp and surprising. You leaned away from him, taken aback by the frustration woven through his tone. He always made an effort to be calm and speak in dulcet tones, going against his nature to appear disarming  wherever he could help it. 

The smouldering coals in his gaze reminded you that König was neither soft nor gentle.

"No," you snapped, "but I can avoid talking about it with you."

König grit his teeth. 

"Who else was there, Birdy?" He hissed, leaning his elbows onto his knees. The question was rhetorical but you almost felt compelled to answer him.  Those jade  eyes flashed with a bitterness that you couldn't understand, intense and pleading. "It was me and you and no one else."

"What do you want me to say, König?" You spat, standing to your feet. Rage blistered through your being, buzzing beneath your skin and electrifying your nerves. You wanted to throttle him, you wanted to grab him and shake him until it finally shut him up. 

"I want you to just listen to me," the soldier implored, moving to stand but thinking better of it. You saw his hesitation, the understanding that once he stood up it wouldn't be a conversation it would be intimidation. 

Shut up. 

"I don't want to hear a word from your fucking mouth," you growled, pointing an accusatory finger at his frozen silhouette. "Unless it's to get me back on the job that you stole, I don't want to hear a thing from you."

Just shut up. 

"I'm trying to fucking apologise, Birdy!" 

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. 

"Just shut up!"  Your voice had escalated into a barely legible scream, storming towards the seated beast. You pushed through the barriers of his personal space, but König stayed solid, his eyes hard and his mouth set. 

You were toe to toe, nose to nose and eye to eye. 

Your mouth twisted into a sneer. 

"You think you can buy me coffee and that's it, we're friends?" Your voice was low, and your fingers dug into the thighs that you stood between. His cheek twinged at your grip but other than that, the mountain of a man made no move to budge. He observed you from beneath his lashes, his eyes as hard as stone and you wondered if he was breathing. 

"No," König replied simply, his words tracing your lips. "What I do think is that we need to get past this, one way or another." 

You glared at him, your fingers trembling against his legs. 

"I'll get past this, the day I can look in the mirror and get past the mutilated thing staring back at me." 

"I'm sorry-" he began but you grit your teeth, leaping to interrupt those goddamned words from leaving his stupid mouth. 

"I don't want-"

König's hands suddenly landed above your own, holding them tightly as a growl tore from his throat.

"Listen to me." 

You fell silent immediately. 

Emerald eyes searched your own, imploring you to just hear him, even if it was for a moment. If you were going to ignore everything he said, he wouldn't care because at least he got them out. At least he knows that you've heard them. 

"I'm so, so sorry for what I did to you, Birdy." König murmurs, swaying forward and taking up precious inches in the space between you both. His eyes were soft, vulnerable as he bared himself. "As far as I knew, you were an enemy sniper and I was trying to protect my family. I know that you understand that, Birdy, because the 141  is your family." 

You stared at him, furious with the tears burning your eyes, embarrassed by your emotionally fragile state. 

"I know that you don't want to forgive me, I don't expect you to. It's okay to be angry but you have to help me fix this. For both of our sakes, Bird, let me fix this." The words were whispered by the end of it, searching your features with hopeful eyes. 

"I don't trust you," you wanted to shout at him but the sentence was venomless on your tongue. König's lip quirked upward, his shoulders pulling into a small shrug. 

"You trust me enough."

"I don't trust you at all." 

There was venom in that and the soldier's features became solemn once more. You were not his friend, you did not forgive him and you would not be tricked into believing that this was something worth just getting over. 

"You trust me enough." König repeated himself, raking over your silhouette from head to toe meaningfully.

Suddenly, you realized where you stood. 

Wedged between his thighs, your fingers gripping his legs and his hands covering yours. You flinched backward, eyes flickering at your proximity. You could taste his sentences on your tongue, so close you noses would brush if you had moved an inch. 

You had allowed yourself to be in a room alone with König and willingly put yourself in his grasp. 

A cough from the doorway had you leaping apart from the man as if you'd been burnt.

Your chest heaved as your heart smashed against your ribs, begging to be let loose from its constraints. A low exhale fell from the man beside you, as though reminding himself to breathe. 

"Well," Price whistled, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. "That's sure a sight at 6am." 

You cleared your throat, rubbing the back of your neck. A lot had happened in the time that you and König had confronted each other, none of it was easy to explain. In fact, none of it was easy to even understand yourself. 

"We were just waiting on Ghost," you rasped, shrugging nonchalantly. 

Price raised a disbelieving brow but up didn't press, only shooting König a look dripping with warning. He didn't like that you were alone in here with him, but the man had no right. He was the one that assigned König to you, he was the one that took him in as your replacement. 

John Price was just as guilty as König, except his charge was betrayal. 

A sneer settled on your lips at the reminder.

"Well, guess you can meet our newest member a bit early then." 

Newest member?

König sucked in a breath from beside you when a figure moved around behind Price's frame. They stood straight, appearing taller than they were with confident posture. 

Immediately, you knew that they would be trouble. 

Not by the smirk gracing their lips and not even by the distinct look of distaste that was smeared across their expression- but, the way that they stared at you as though you were a challenge waiting to be conquered. 

Like you were easy game. 

"As the 141 grows," Price began, gesturing to the small part of the team in the room, "we need more members to join roles that were previously left to one person." 

Your stomach churned. 

"Obviously, Birdy, you've been our main sniper but now we need more than one." The Captain was careful with his wording, watching you as though you were a ticking time bomb set to detonate any second now.

You fucking felt like one. 

As you observed the newest addition, they stared right back, raking in your visage from head to toe. Their crooked smile had you on edge, had you unnerved- but it also thrilled you. This person saw you as a threat. 

They didn't see a broken bird, someone helpless. Behind the arrogant smirk and the cocky body language, there was a hardness to their gaze. They weren't underestimating you, they still saw something across your face that indicated that you weren't done. 

But they were ready to meet you head on. 

Your expression turned stony. 

"And who is my newest replacement?" You ground out, eyes never leaving theirs. A feral grin pulled at their lips, amusement flooding their expression. It fucking made you seethe. Price opened his mouth to either introduce them or reprimand your clear rejection, but the sniper stepped forward with a snort.

"They should have called you 'Sunshine.'"

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 4 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: All hail severely traumatized Reader, Part 2 (or is it 3? 4??)

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

On quiet evenings, after closing the shop, you’d sit in the dim light with your butterflies swirling around you, thinking of him. Jinwoo had grown older in these passing years, but he was still in the shadow of what was yet to come, the trials he’d face, the burdens he’d bear. You’d send a butterfly to always be with him, only occasionally checking in on him, respecting his boundaries even if he didn’t know it.

Just for a moment—a quick glance into his world was enough.

When Jinwoo first registered as a hunter, you had already braced yourself for this moment. The person you had watched in glimpses through the pages, from, the safety of your domain, and later from the shadows of Seoul, was finally stepping into a life that would soon be fraught with peril. You were determined to help him, even if only in ways that were subtle, hidden beneath the surface of his everyday struggles.

As long as the system did not forbid you, you would help him however you could. And perhaps, every small act was your rebellion.

---

It started with the hospital bills. You remembered the pitiful amount of money Jinwoo would scrape together after risking his life in dungeons, just to keep his mother’s medical care afloat. You couldn’t bear to watch it unfold like it did in the story, not when you had the means to help.

You watched him in the hallway of the hospital one day, standing before the reception desk with his head bowed, his fingers trembling as he pulled out a thin stack of cash.

“I-I’m sorry, Miss. This is all the money I can scrape by…” His voice was low, filled with both hope and shame.

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, was holding back a sigh when suddenly, her computer pinged with a notification. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Good news, Hunter Sung!” she exclaimed, her tone brightening. “With this amount, plus some unexpected anonymous donations, yours and your mother’s hospital bills are covered for the time being.”

“What?” Jinwoo blinked, visibly stunned. “But I didn’t—”

“Oh! And I’m glad to inform you that your mother’s complexion has improved slightly in the last few weeks.” She smiled warmly. “The specialists believe it’s a good sign.”

Jinwoo’s mouth opened and closed, clearly bewildered. “Huh? No, wait, that’s… that’s great, but—”

In your hidden corner outside the hospital, you giggled softly to yourself, covering your mouth with a hand as you watched through your butterfly’s eyes. The tiny creature perched delicately on the windowsill, relaying every flicker of emotion on Jinwoo’s face back to you.

Perched on your shoulder was another small butterfly, its tiny wings beating quietly, the faint residual glow of it, the one you’d tasked with easing his mother’s pain whenever it could, flickered beside your ear.

“I hope you can feel a bit more at ease, Jinwoo,” you whispered to yourself. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

---

Later that week, you left another package at his door. It had become a small ritual of sorts—every now and then, you’d make a meal for him and his sister. The recipes were simple, but you took care with each one, carefully wrapping each dish to keep it warm.

“Brother, did you order takeout again?” Jinah’s voice carried through the door as she opened it, her face lighting up at the sight of the package. “Huh? No, I didn’t.”

“Whoa! This smells more delicious than the last one.” Jinah’s eyes sparkled as she inspected the food, excitement clear in her voice.

You smiled, pleased. This time, you’d made a little extra, something from your own world—a dish that you remembered from home, a comfort food you’d grown up with. For some reason, it felt right to share it with them, hoping it would bring a small sense of peace to Jinwoo’s chaotic life.

Jinwoo stepped closer, frowning slightly as he eyed the package. “Jinah, don’t open it! What if this is someone else’s—”

“Hmm? Jinwoo! Look at this!” Jinah held up the small card you’d tucked inside, her grin widening as she noticed the handwriting: For strength and courage. Keep going.

Jinwoo blinked, his eyes lingering on the card, and you felt your heart tighten. You’d also left something else this time—a pair of twin daggers, crafted with care, designed to suit his grip and his unique fighting style. You’d poured a bit of your magic into the blades, imbuing them with a subtle strength you hoped would last him longer in dungeons.

Carefully crafted, the daggers gleamed in the dim light, their handles a smooth black etched with faint traces of silver. It was subtle, but you’d placed a small sigil of protection on each blade—a silent promise to keep him safe, even from afar.

Jinah’s gaze darted between the food and the daggers, her expression one of confusion and awe. “Who keeps sending this stuff, Jinwoo? Are they some kind of guardian angel?”

Jinwoo shook his head, still staring at the daggers. “I… don’t know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at the card again, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that had no answer.

From where you watched, you pressed your fingers to your lips, hoping they’d never figure it out. The anonymity felt like a shield, keeping you from the vulnerability of facing him directly. It allowed you to be there for him without the risk of him ever seeing the scars that haunted you—the scars of the battles you hadn’t been able to fight for him.

---

But there were moments when you could not simply leave gifts behind. Moments where the stakes were far too high, and you found yourself breaking the rules you had set for yourself. One of those times was during a particularly dangerous raid where Jinwoo had been injured, caught off-guard by a sudden ambush.

You found him bleeding out in an abandoned corner of the dungeon, unconscious and pale, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Panic surged through you as you cloaked the area with your butterflies’ illusion magic, hiding you both from the other hunters scrambling to escape.

“Hey… Jinwoo…” Your voice trembled as you knelt beside him, your hands hovering uncertainly over his torn shirt, slick with blood. You could barely see through the tears blurring your vision. “Stay with me.”

You pressed your hands to his wound, feeling the warmth of his blood soak into your fingers. Healing him was a delicate balance; you had to hold back most of your power, keeping it just within the boundaries that the system would tolerate The warmth of your power seeped into his skin, mending the torn muscle and stitching the wounds closed.

“You’re going to be okay…” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He grimaced slightly, even in his unconscious state, as though still fighting an invisible battle. His brows were furrowed, and you could see the remnants of pain etched into his expression.

Unable to stop yourself, you began to hum softly—a lullaby from your original world, a song you’d heard countless times. The sound filled the silence around you, mingling with the gentle flutter of your butterflies as they circled, their wings casting soft shadows over the two of you. You weren’t even sure if he could hear it, but you hoped it would bring some comfort. His pained expression gradually softened, his breathing steadying, his body growing still as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

“You will be okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the fluttering wings of your butterflies. Leaning forward, you pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his forehead, ignoring the taste of sweat and blood on your lips. “I promise.”

You stayed there for as long as you dared, your butterflies encircling you both in a protective sphere. But eventually, the system's warnings began to flash, and you were forced to retreat. The moment you pulled back, you could feel the invisible barrier forcing you away, like a cruel reminder of your place. You were not meant to interfere directly, not in the way you so desperately wished.

As you vanished into the shadows, Jinwoo stirred, his eyelids fluttering open sleepily. A faint scent of flowers lingering in the air.

The soft glow of a single butterfly disappearing into the darkness.

---

You knew it was only a matter of time before Jinwoo’s sharp instincts would catch on. He had always been sharp, even before his strength grew. He had a way of noticing things, piecing together the small details others missed. Sometimes you wondered if he already suspected there was someone watching over him—a nameless guardian who left behind no trace.

For his sake, you hoped he wouldn’t. There was too much you couldn’t tell him, too many secrets that weighed heavy on your heart. You couldn’t let him find you. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. The scars left behind from your previous failures were still too fresh, too deep. You couldn't face him—not with the knowledge of everything you failed to prevent.

A red butterfly fluttered back to your shoulder, nestling close as if sensing your inner turmoil. You reached up, brushing a gentle finger over its wings, a silent promise.

For now, it was enough to watch him from afar, to slip into his life like a fleeting shadow, offering what little comfort and aid you could. For Sung Jinwoo, the lonely hero you once admired on the pages of a story, being beside him—even unseen, even in secret—was more than enough.

Because loving him like this, in silence and secrecy, was the only way you knew how.

-----

The dungeon gate loomed ominously in front of you, shrouded in an aura of terror. Every hunter that passed by gave it a wary glance, a sense of unease clinging to their skin. But for you, standing alone on the empty, desolate street outside the gate, it was more than just unease.

You knew what was happening on the other side of that barrier.

You knew exactly why Sung Jinwoo had gone in there, why he was fighting against forces he had no chance against, and, worse, you knew how the story was supposed to go.

Even if you wanted to save him, you couldn’t.

As you paced in the shadows, a biting frustration gnawed at you, tugging on your every nerve. The system had raised another invisible barrier around the gate, one specifically designed to keep you out. This was a repeat, you knew, yet you had tried pushing against it just like the first time, pounding your fists in desperation, hoping that it would somehow let you through if only you pleaded enough.

But like every single time, the system never relented. The message that flashed in front of your eyes had been clear, cold, and unyielding:

[Warning: You cannot interfere with the designated player’s progression.]

So all you could do was wait. Hours passed, the world seeming to stretch unbearably as you lingered on the edge, senses on high alert. Finally, when the gate shimmered and disappeared, you bolted forward, cloaking yourself with an illusory skill the moment you felt the barrier lift.

Without hesitation, you sprinted into the dungeon.

The first sight of the bloodstained stone walls, the broken weapons and armor littered across the ground, nearly brought bile to your throat. And at the center of it all, lying on the cold stone altar, was Jinwoo, blood pooling beneath him. His once gentle features were twisted with pain, his usually alert eyes closed, his breathing almost nonexistent.

Your heart pounded in your chest, raw terror surging through you as you stumbled forward, nearly dropping to your knees beside him. Your hands trembled as you summoned your healing power, a soft glow flickering to life in your palms as you placed them gently over his wounds.

“Jinwoo…” The name slipped from your lips, an agonized whisper.

It took every ounce of willpower not to let your emotions take control. You wanted nothing more than to pour every bit of your strength into him, to erase the pain and blood, to make him whole again. But something held you back—a quiet, persistent instinct that reminded you of your own limitations here. This was a pivotal moment in his story, the beginning of everything that was to come. If you pushed too far, you knew you’d be punished for it in ways you couldn’t predict.

Instead, you focused on his face, gently wiping away the blood from his brow as you healed the worst of his injuries. The faintest hint of warmth returned to his skin, his breathing evening out, and you felt a trickle of relief flow through you.

“You’ll be okay… Just a bit longer,” you murmured, hoping your words would somehow reach him, even in the unconsciousness of his slumber.

---

Hours later, you watched silently from afar as Jinwoo was admitted to the hospital. Nurses and doctors bustled around him, wheeling him through corridors and hooking him up to machines to monitor his vitals. You should have felt some sense of peace, of reassurance, knowing he was in good hands, but instead, a strange emptiness gnawed at you.

As soon as the doctors left his side, you sent one of your butterflies to hover just above him, invisible to any onlookers. Through its eyes, you watched him sleep, his face pale yet calm. If only he could see the world through your eyes, how much you wanted to protect him from every shadow and danger.

For days, you visited Jinwoo in the hospital, bringing supplies when the nurses weren’t looking, leaving small offerings—potions, enchanted items, all hidden from sight. You spent countless hours just sitting nearby, willing his pain away.

But after those days of endless vigil, your system did something you hadn’t expected: it simply… vanished. No messages, no reminders, no missions or updates. It was as if it had been swept away, a silent farewell. But somehow, you couldn’t believe that was all there was to it. The system you knew—the one that felt almost…alive—would have left something, some kind of parting message. But there was nothing.

Yet even as the ache in your heart grew sharper, you took comfort in the fact that your powers, and the tiny butterfly summons, your children, remained at your side. The system’s absence didn’t change the duty you felt in your heart.

---

Of course, the only thing the system left behind was the now near-permanent barrier.

You felt your own helplessness all over again when Jinwoo entered the penalty zone, struggling to survive against waves of merciless monsters. All you could do was watch, silently cheering him on as he fought his way through it, determination blazing in his eyes. You knew this was the beginning, the spark that would ignite his growth. But still, it was agonizing to stand by, unable to intervene, unable to help.

Days later, when he took on his first solo hunt in an instant dungeon, you lingered nearby. Observing every movement, every struggle, every victory. You smiled with pride as each time he struck down a monster.

And then there came the time he met Yoo Jinho. The memory of that dungeon still sent a chill down your spine. Jinwoo and Jinho, left for dead by Hwang Dongsok and his squad, and then watching the two of them nearly get slaughtered had you gripping the edges of your seat. You could feel admiration as much as your heart shatter as Jinwoo stood over the bodies, his gaze cold and unyielding. The spark of his innocence was dimming, replaced by a hardened resolve.

“Jinwoo…” You whispered his name as you watched him, clutching your chest as a wave of sadness washed over you. He was changing, evolving, becoming stronger, but at what cost? Each time Jinwoo took a life or fought in the dungeons, you felt your heart ache for him. He was growing stronger, yes, but he was also losing pieces of himself along the way.

You mourned for the innocence he left behind. Yet, you knew this was necessary. You reminded yourself of this, over and over.

---

Every time he stepped into danger, every time he took a blow, you felt the echo of his pain in your own chest. You watched him fight Kerberos, your hands clenched into fists as he took hit after hit, barely surviving. And yet, through it all, he pushed forward, as relentless as ever, Each injury he sustained sent you pacing around the Gardens, your butterflies fluttering around you, trying in vain to calm your worry.

Even when Jinwoo joined Jinho to clear various C-rank gates, you remained his unseen guardian, watching from afar with a bittersweet smile. He was getting stronger. He was closer to becoming the hero you admired—no, loved—from the pages of your old world.

---

And then, the job change quest arrived.

You watched with anticipation as he ventured into the ancient halls, his eyes sharp, his movements cautious. The moment he met Igris, you had been waiting for this moment for what felt like lifetimes. You watched him take on Igris with every ounce of power he possessed, watching with bated breath as Jinwoo faced the trials set before him.

And finally, the words you had been waiting for echoed through the temple, sending shivers down your spine.

“Arise.”

The power resonated in his voice, a command filled with strength and authority. You nearly squealed, couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across your face as you watched the first shadow rise at his command.

Watching him gain his Shadow Extraction skill felt like watching a dream come to life. This was the moment you had waited for, the turning point that would set Jinwoo on the path to becoming the Shadow Monarch. He had come so far, and you had seen every step of his journey unfold before your eyes.

As you gazed at him from afar, smile still tugging at your lips. This, you thought, is enough.

Being able to watch him grow, to see him become the hero you admired, was enough. Just knowing that he was okay—that he was stronger than ever—was all you needed.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [010/10/2024] - Goodbye

[analysisiinternet]

Yandere Headcanons for Thaddeus from “Killer Peter”

(note: why do they always make the villain hot i saw no headcanons or fanfics of him or "x reader" so I decided to do a headcanons yes red is my favorite color)

1. Obsessive Affection With his complex personality, Thaddeus exhibits an intense and obsessive form of affection towards those he cares about. His love is not a gentle fondness; it borders on an all-consuming passion that can quickly spiral into possessiveness. He meticulously keeps track of every detail about the object of his affection, whether it’s their daily routines, favorite foods, or even their friends and acquaintances. This obsession drives him to protect them at all costs, leading to a darker side where he might resort to extreme measures if he feels threatened by anyone who comes too close.

2. Jealousy and Paranoia Thaddeus’s yandere nature manifests prominently through his jealousy. He cannot stand the thought of anyone else getting too close to you the one he loves. This jealousy often leads him down a path of paranoia, where he imagines scenarios in which his beloved(you) is unfaithful or is in danger due to others’ intentions. He may confront perceived rivals with a chilling calmness that belies the storm brewing within him. His jealousy can escalate quickly, transforming him from a caring partner into someone who will go to great lengths—potentially violent—to eliminate any threats.

3. Duality of Personality One of the most intriguing aspects of Thaddeus’s character is his duality. On one hand, he can be charming and charismatic, drawing people in with his wit and intelligence. On the other hand, there lies a darker side that emerges when he feels betrayed or threatened. This duality makes him unpredictable; readers are left guessing whether they will encounter the sweet Thaddeus or the cold-hearted protector at any given moment. This unpredictability adds layers to his character and keeps readers engaged as they explore how far he might go for love.

4. Manipulative Tendencies Thaddeus possesses a keen intellect that allows him to manipulate situations to his advantage seamlessly. He knows how to play mind games with both friends and foes alike, often using charm and persuasion to bend others to his will without them realizing it until it’s too late. His manipulative nature extends even to his beloved(you) he may create scenarios that make you dependent on him or isolate them from their support systems under the guise of protection.

5. Dark Romantic Gestures In true Yandere fashion, Thaddeus expresses his love through darkly romantic gestures that may seem sweet on the surface but carry sinister undertones upon closer inspection. For instance, he might surprise his beloved with gifts that have unsettling origins—like items taken from those who have wronged them—or orchestrate elaborate dates in secluded locations where they are completely alone and away from prying eyes. These gestures serve as both declarations of love and warnings: no one else can have them.

6. Unwavering Loyalty Despite his darker tendencies, Thaddeus embodies unwavering loyalty once someone has earned his trust and affection. He would go above and beyond for those he loves, often placing their needs above his own desires—even if it means making morally questionable choices along the way. This loyalty can be both comforting and terrifying; while it provides a sense of security for those close to him, it also raises questions about what boundaries he might cross in the name of love.

7. A Tragic Backstory To fully understand Thaddeus’s yandere tendencies, one must consider a potential tragic backstory that shapes who he is today—a past filled with betrayal or loss could explain why he clings so tightly to those he loves now. Perhaps early experiences taught him that love is fleeting or conditional; thus, when he finds someone worth loving again, he becomes desperate to keep them safe and never let them slip away.

 Clingy Yet Charismatic:

Once Thaddeus develops an attachment to someone, he becomes incredibly clingy. He thrives on their attention and affection, often showering you with compliments and small gifts that seem innocent at first glance—like handmade trinkets or baked goods. However, this clinginess quickly escalates into possessiveness. He believes that anyone who gets too close to his beloved must be eliminated or kept at bay, leading him to orchestrate elaborate schemes to isolate you from potential threats—friends, family members, or even romantic interests He will go out of his way to be near you often inserting himself into your daily routines under the guise of wanting to help or spend time together. 

warning: a lil NSFW(if your comfortable with NSFW you may read if not don't read this)

how would he be in bed-

he would definitely be dom or switch he would do it rough such as if you told him to go slow he would go faster thrusting inside you I don't even know why yall create a safeword he would be the type to call you "good girl your taking me so well~ "while he is fucking you from behind and whispers in your ear "your fucking mine" I feel like he would make jokes while yall are doing it (it is a canon at this point) he would purposely gag you on his dick while your giving a blowjob and laugh about it, I just know if he is good at martial figthtin he is good with fingers

Aftercare-

he would be the big spoon putting you to his chest as she cuddles you and he would act all innocent and shits and he would say how would a good job you did pleasing him as he kisses you smiling at you pullin' closer to him his hand is on your waist, he would make you a bath for him and you can wash off(there might be a round 2) but after all he is clingy don't get me started on him kissing all over your face telling you how much he loves you (he might be a villain but he would hug me if I was sad)

Thaddeus’ hugs become more frequent and enveloping as the relationship develops, offering a sense of security. Kisses exchanged in these early days are tender and sweet, leaving a lingering warmth that hints at deeper feelings. You might notice small tokens of his affection—a favorite snack he brings you or a shared playlist that reflects your growing bond.

His kisses transform into fervent expressions of desire—more passionate and demanding than before. Thaddeus seems insatiable, always wanting more closeness and connection. Love bites become a playful yet possessive mark of his affection, signifying that you belong to him in this chaotic world.

Cuddling Dynamics At home or during quiet moments together, Thaddeus often plays the big spoon role during cuddling sessions. He wraps around you protectively, creating a cocoon where you both can escape from reality for a while. This nurturing side reveals his softer nature beneath the tough exterior he often presents to the world.

(note: comment who yall want me to do headcanons for the next post you can either text me or ask in the box but I would prefer if you text me instead if you read all of this thank you so much and reblogged this)

[intsofttech]

Intsoft Tech machine vision inspection equipment, vial appearance information detection

[grandisknight]

sweet macaron | dawnbreaker

summary: On a particular Thursday, Zayne decides to make something he once saw in a dream.

tags: angst, dawnbreaker!zayne, fem!MC mention, she/her pronouns used, hurt/no comfort, dreams, dreams vs. reality + wc: 1.0k | ao3 version here!

notes: vaguely inspired by his anecdote “still in dark” and “eternal attachment” birthday trailer - i needed to get this mild angst out my system in time for zayne’s bday ;; dawnbreaker my poor, poor beloved…

dividers from cafekitsune

Macarons are sweet.

Between carefully crafted pieces of meringue, a thin layer of confectionery fruit, jam or cream completed the dainty desert. Soft yet firm, a well-balanced chew and decadent sugar made for an ideal sweet bite.

Zayne peels off one of the biscuits from an aged baking tray, inspecting with mild interest. It was a delicate thing, with the slightest push of his pinched fingers cracking the already ruined surface between them. Crumbs speckled the air and dusted the countertop, soon tossed aside to be discarded.

Again, he’ll try again.

Tired eyes bored themselves into the tray of dull, gray rounds that were supposed to be tinted a daytime blue. This was his third batch, and he still couldn’t perfect a shade that was just barely out of his reach.

Halfway through the first batch, he wondered what was the point. He hadn’t done anything like this in who knows how long.

And through the second, he nearly scrapped it altogether when the peaks of egg white seemed to harden by his hands.

Cold, cold hands. They harbored his fingers, calloused to the touch and adorned by the sins of his undoings—of killing. Life taken by his hands, frozen by the shards crystallized within them. Piercing into the Abominations that ran amok, that were no longer human. Blackened blades of ice that consumed him and the aimed target, crafted with empty sentiment.

But it was only when a feeling that struck his heart at the precipice of cleaning his stainless bowl that made him reconsider his thrown away efforts thus far. He remembered he had dreamt of it again last night, more vivid that the ones in recent time.

Something very warm. A sound of a laugh filled with wholehearted affection for its recipient. The same one from his dreams, the one who frequently visits especially around this time of year. She had offered him a biscuit, decorated a white blob and details of black forming into a lopsided seal. He felt himself chew thoughtfully and watch her eyes glimmer in anticipation.

How cute, he quietly thought. Or so it seemed to be spoken aloud, seeing how her ears burned a bright red and a shy expression repainted her face. Zayne reassured her that it was a good treat, he liked it as it was.

The callings of his name that fell from the girl's lips were familiar and distant all at once, as if he wasn’t supposed to know.

Wasn’t supposed to hear how the birds sang and sun rose from the warmth of her voice, wasn’t supposed to see the way those eyes crinkled in crescents with a tender adoration.

But he heard it all the same, and it was a sound he's come to cherish, even if it wasn't for him. With such a sweet expression, she chastised him, lighthearted all throughout, about how she gifted him an important blessing. The ghost of frosting kissed the square of his cheek then, and he found himself shaking his head in playful disbelief. His mouth spilled a response then, though speaking from a body that wasn't his own at the same time.

"What an important blessing."

He still remembers the way their hands brushed, fluttering ginko leaves swirled around them with every sway of the breeze. He intimately could trace the pulse of what were his hands calmly clasping over hers, sharing in a heat and gentle caress especially so once their foreheads touched.

In the present, Zayne felt his own hands itch then, empty and tapping against the cold marble of his kitchen counter instead. The solemn reality dissolved the sweet melody that lingered in his mind.

Right. He was alone here.

Turning around, he decided to quietly return a plethora of ingredients to his countertop and robotically whisked together the ingredients.

Maybe for once, he’ll cling onto the things he shouldn’t know and entertain what was otherwise a dull existence. With a fleeting dream at the tips of his fingers, it would push him through what would be his third and final attempted batch.

So here he stood, some time later, harvesting the fruits of his labor. A sweet scent wafted through the kitchen once more. The back of a spoon dipped into a portion of creamy filling and smeared onto the bottom half of a biscuit. No cracks adorned the surface this time when the other half stuck on top, remaining in one, homogenous piece.

His first macaron. The biscuit was on the thinner side, having lost some of its puffed height from a shorter resting period. Not a perfect bakery display piece, but not exactly a failure either. It was fine, he would be the only one eating them after all.

It melted in his mouth with a bite, hints of bitter earl grey and honeyed vanilla seeping into his tastebuds. He stared into the remaining bite, discerning every ridge of the crust and textured chew of the interior.

The macaron was sweet after all. He wondered if the one she made was anything like it.

“Happy birthday,” the man whispered to no one but himself, placing the last piece into his mouth with a soundless bite.

Just for today, he would allow such a warm dream to sugarcoat his cold reality.

He saunters away from the kitchen then, tracing familiar steps of his daily routine. Along the way he carefully handles a potted jasmine, the only other semblance of life he has, and returns it to the window sill once more. The petals were just as wordless as he was, continuing to bloom underneath the return of the sun’s radiant waves.

Maybe one day, the jasmine would be able to experience the warmth of another person. And then he, too, could share in her very warmth that plagues his imagination for days without end. Wouldn't that be a lovely thought?

What was the semblance of a smile thinned out onto his lips, grimacing at the idea of chasing an impossible dream. Zayne turned away from the window, past the kitchen and trailing behind a faint mist of ice. Stepping towards the door, his casted shadows embraced a world without her and left into the abysmal halls.

His birthday was over.

[faksyan]

Huey Emmerich, mgs v cast & hypocrisy, a character analysis

Prefacing this with the fact that this is the morally gray franchise with the morally gray characters and I love how it portrays Huey Emmerich precisely for him being Like That. I think he is one of the most nuanced and well-written mgs characters and I'm pretty sure like half of it wasn't on purpose. He is the guy everyone hates for killing his wife (understandabe reason), trying to make one of his kid pilot a giant robot and almost drowning another in a pool (also understandable reason), and, most of all, for being a traitor. And with such a list, feels a bit weird that the accent often falls on that last part, doesn't it. Which is exactly how the narrative wants you to feel about his betrayal, on a surface level.

Every character essential to the Phantom Pain plot gets their "please feel bad for them, sympathize with them" moment, no matter how horrible a person they are. We get multiple monologs from Kaz, we get the 'I was the same way once' interrogation room and the ending of the Truth with Ocelot, we get Paz tapes and 'you're all diamonds' with Venom, we get Code Talker, Quiet, Eli (if they actually finished mission 51), even Skull Face, somewhat (don't even make me start on that guy. how is he less hated than Huey). The point is, the game is trying to make you feel bad for people who murder, torture, and whatever else, and parts of it are working, because it's fiction, and humans and morality are complicated and layered things! But what does Huey get? Torture sessions and tantrums that are framed as pathetic and ridiculous, even when what he is saying makes sense. Because yeah, there's some of that there. It's just that everyone else in the room deliberately doesn't acknowledge it.

When Venom just finds him, the first thing Huey says is that what happened to MSF was Snake's fault. The same during his exile - that there wouldn't have been an inspection, if there weren't a nuke to begin with. and it's like. he's not wrong. Having their own nukes as an independent military organization was a risk Snake and Kaz didn't just take blindly, they knew what could have happened. It was a gamble, and it didn't work out. If it did, it would've been their achievement. It didn't, so it's all Huey's fault, even though literally anyone could've been in his place. XOF weren't even the first to attempt to attack them, Zero was, Paz just didn't succeed. And if Skull Face hadn't either, someone else would have, the attention of the entire world was on them. It wasn't about betrayal, it was Snake and Kaz being drunk on success and biting off more than they could chew. Yes, Huey is a bastard and a traitor, but are we really going to blame all of this on him?

The answer is yes. And the reason is that they need someone to blame that's not them. The whole big theme of Phantom Pain is that Ocelot, Venom and Kaz have to do their best to keep up appearances, for the sake of Big Boss and his reputation. He is a legend, he is above everyone else, and he can do no wrong. Except after the fall of MSF everyone thinks that he can, Ocelot says as much in the briefing tapes. And they can't have that. So they blame it all on Huey. (<- all of this is a dictatorship allegory and critique of governments and military systems btw. 1984 or whatever I haven't read it. yay symbolism.) And blaming Huey is easy.

Huey is not a fighter. His father was a scientist who worked on the Manhattan Project. He was born on the same day as the Hiroshima bombing, his disability was (presumably) caused by his father's exposure to radiation. It's not that there was no choice involved in what he was going to do in life, but it was kind of inevitable that he would get involved with building nuclear weapons. And even when he says he is thinking about quitting upon being found by Snake in Peace Walker, it's Snake who convinces him not to, offering him to join MSF instead. In the PW tapes he also expresses that if it weren't for his disability, he would've been anywhere else, doing something different and living a "normal life".

He talks about the concept of nuclear terrorism there too, about nukes falling into hands of people without state who would be able to use them however they want, and I wonder if that was part of the reason for his betrayal. He didn't make the decision to bring nukes to base, he doesn't actually know these people. If maybe he thought it prevented a hypothetical nuclear catastrophe. Huey does say that he trusts Snake not to use them, that he values how honest Snake is, and is honest with him in return, even telling him things he's never told anyone before, like about his plagiarism of Granin's work. So what changed between then and the inspection, what was his motivation for betraying MSF, why was he approached about it of all people? Did he lie in the tapes, did he change his mind, did Skull Face offer him something that seemed more compelling, just threaten him? We never get to find out anything about it aside from every other character screaming that he's just a coward. No villain monolog, nothing.

Maybe it was about feeling important, like he is in charge, something that the hostility he has faced throughout his life didn't allow him. Huey is a sheep among wolves (wolf in sheep's clothing more like, but still). He does not fit in with the buff cool masculine soldiers, and even while working with Strangelove at NASA, he was regarded as obnoxious and spineless. It's not surprising he agreed to work for Coldman, since he, apparently, was the first person to actually recognize his skills. And even that later turns out to be a lie told to use him. Huey rarely if at all has been treated seriously, he is an outcast, even among people who share his ideas.

All he has is his brain and his knowledge, but it's never framed as much of an achievement (despite people exploiting it left and right), nor is him essentially being the nerd in a military setting ever really viewed as something dorky or endearing by the narrative like with Otacon, because the characters around him don't see him as such (as a result, so don't the players). On top of that, every other person uses his mobility aids to further degrade/harm/threaten him, even though he is already harmless when it comes to physical confrontation. In short, people he is surrounded with just enjoy the powerplay.

Right up until the point he actually does something that hurts them. And this is where my favorite part kicks in.

All three Diamond Dogs' higher-ups blame Huey for slightly different reasons, some maybe even believing that they are in the right and entitled to it (looking at you Kazuhira), but I am more than sure they know what it is that they're doing. And it's not like Kaz lacks self-awareness either, I don't think. Maybe it's denial that some of his actions led to the death of his friends, maybe blind belief in his own martyrdom and self-righteousness (sounds an awful lot like another character we know, huh), it still doesn't change much. How they all frame the story is the same. Huey's powerless and pathetic, but has ruined everything at the same time. And it doesn't really make sense, but everyone on the base agrees. It's the moment where individuals turn into a crowd that demands blood, but at least it's not their commanders it's directed at!

The Questioning Huey (6) tape is a good example of that. I especially like the bit where he starts talking about how DD is not actually a dog, because on a smaller scale, it shows how people on Mother Base just roll with things that are objectively false and turn on anyone who says otherwise. No, DD is our beloved mascot, and we are called dogs, he is just like us. And it's not like DD is just a wolf either, so neither of them are right here. But each of them thinks that they are.

That's why the amount of genuine Huey hate is a bit amusing to see, I guess. Because it's precisely the thing the game is trying to commentate on. None of these people are good. None of them have it figured out. The point is that it's just narrative bias that makes you belive that some are, if not good, at least better than others. In reality, it's never about morals or being correct, just perspective.

Huey himself, on the other hand, falls into another extreme - in his eyes, he's done nothing wrong. Because he can do no wrong, he's powerless, like everyone's alway told him, remember? He sees himself as the victim, because in a lot of cases, he is.

You can say that he is a lying traitor and that the truth serum didn't work on him because of some failsafe Skull Face thought of, but really, would he bother? He didn't even view Huey as anything but a traitor he despised. you know, the guy who was in charge of organizing the betraying part. the guy who put bombs in people and wanted to commit mass-murder on a scale no one has seen before. So the obvious and the most simple answer here is that Huey whole-heartedly, truly believes he hasn't done anything wrong. He thinks he doesn't possess the power to, that he isn't important enough. And it's drilled so deep into him he never acknowledges it's not really true. Even when he kills Strangelove, he still doesn't accept that it is his fault and his actions matter.

That's my favorite part about him, I think. How deep in denial he is about having an impact on the people around him, while also having a sort of god complex when it comes to his machines. How everyone around despises him for it, while being the ones who caused it and doing the exact same thing, refusing to get off the high horse. Metal gear is a messy franchise about messy people, but it's good exactly because it shows what has messed these people up so much. And more often than not, it's the system they're surrounded by, or that they created themselves in an attempt to escape the previous one. It's easy to point at Huey as just a bad person and only that, but I find the context of his whole life and the ways he's coping with it really compelling. There is a lot of complexity to it, and in the end of the day, they are all hypocrites.

[valentinedaughtler]

Haven’t I Given Enough?

Kaz Brekker x GN!Inventor!Reader

TW: use of Y/N, mild, mild angst, slight ooc Kaz(?) (I think that’s it, let me know if I missed anything please.)

Synopsis: You’ve known Kaz for years, inventing gadgets to assist in heists and being his right hand ‘man’. One night you ask him if you can join a heist, but it doesn’t go as planned….

REQUESTS: OPEN✅

____________________________________________

My eyes flitted between the arriving guests in the bar. The Crow Club was packed tonight, and pigeons strolled in with restless naivety. I sat in the corner of the bustling room, sighing with exhaustion. I had just spent seventeen hours imitating mechanical watches in order to create a ‘fake’ for Kaz do swap with a real one. ‘Just something I need for a heist,’ was all he had said.

It would be worth it to know Kaz was proud of me in the end. Though, it was a long shot to think he would even do much as acknowledge anything I did.

I pondered whether I should slip through the crowd to find Jesper, but I couldn’t spot him. Instead, I pushed my way out of the suffocating bar out into the damp streets of Ketterdam. The cool air calmed my mind as I crossed toward the Slat. The cold made my cheeks rosy.

With the flick of a wrist, I flipped a switch blended into the old building’s exterior wall. It was hidden to an unsuspecting pedestrian yet, but it set off a system of pullies I had integrated into the inner walls a long time ago. A soft shlink was followed by the outward jutting of brick.

The side of the building became a rock-wall of sorts, since I could not climb up every surface like Inej. I began to grip the bricks, digging my nails into the gritty platforms.

Kaz was not always a fan of my inventions. A few had blown up in his face- literally- but it seemed he kept me around due to my many successes. I could fix any machine made by man. I didn’t have to know what it was, I could just take it apart in my mind, then do so in reality.

This was one of my inventions, a brick wall that was easy to climb, but could be hidden. Inej loved it- Kaz felt it was a waste of time.

He said there were stairs for a reason.

I shimmied the window of Kaz’s office open, the latch flipping and the glass sliding. I hopped off of the ledge and into the office, making sure to reset my brick contraption. I turned around and cleared my throat, but Kaz did not glance up at me. I rolled my eyes as he squinted at the blueprints that lay on his makeshift desk.

“Good evening, Brekker,” I greeted with a jokingly enticing tone. His eye twitched and he proceeded to turn his attention to me.

“Hello, Y/N,” his gravely voiced rasped in response. I smiled slightly, regretting so, and dig into my left pants pocket. I pulled out a shiny, gold watch with engraved initials. Whose they were was unknown to me, but if I asked, Kaz would most likely just shut me down. I had to respect his odd secrecy after all he had done for me. Out of all the years I’d known him, it has always been as if he kept me at an arm’s length. He was careful to never be vulnerable, as if that was the same as his skin touching mine.

I gestured for him to catch the watch when I tossed it, but he glared. I let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” I teased while handing the fake to him.

“You’re… difficult,” he retorted, but there was no malice behind his words- surprisingly. I huffed and plopped onto the blanket sprawled out on the windowsill. My eyes followed Kaz’s movements as he tentaviety inspected the watch. After a few minutes he placed it onto his desk and resumed his work. I waited patiently for any sign of recognition, but it never came.

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled while stretching out my legs. I opened up my leather sketchbook to doodle a new invention design. That or I’d just draw Kaz. But I was too annoyed with him to do so.

The dark haired boy sighed as he looked over at me. “You did good. It looks identical.”

I didn’t say anything in response, but I smiled slightly, my face heating up. It was embarrassing how easily I was flattered by Kaz, who could barely do the bare minimum.

“What ere you using it for— the watch, I mean,” I asked with growing curiosity. Kaz halted his work for a moment, most likely deciding if he felt like sharing or not.

“A local banker,-“

“The more-of-a-wanker-than-a-banker one?” I cut off his response, immediately feeling embarrassed. Kaz looked at me with mild confusion. “Inside joke with Jesper,” I elaborated.

He hummed in response, then continued, “He’s more of a swanker. For the past few months he has been flaunting his wealth a little too much. Especially his watch. It’s his most prized possession. I plan to take it from his vault; a simple swap.”

“What would you do without me?” I asked with a sly smirk. Kaz huffed, perhaps laughed.

“I’d have less of your inventions explode on me.”

“It was one time, Kaz,” I said with exasperation. My eye glittered as I met his gaze. I open my mouth to speak, but immediately close it again, pressing my lips together firmly.

“Kaz?”

“Y/N,”

“I want to go on a mission with you and the crows,” I blurted out. Kaz froze, only for a fraction of a moment, but Kaz Brekker froze. He nodded towards my left arm, where a tattoo of a crow craning over a guatlet was etched into my skin.

“You are a crow,” he finally rasped, dodging my question until I glared daggers into his skin. “And I have everyone we need for the mission-“

“Wylan is sick. You need someone who can easily disable complex machinery- the alarms, the traps-“

“I said no,” Kaz’s voice raised, sounding threatening.

“Why not?”

“Y/N,” his voice sounded as if he meant, don’t push it. But I did. I always did, and Kaz always kept me by his side anyways.

“I don’t understand- ever since I got hurt on that one heist you haven’t let me participate-“

“Exactly! You got hurt,” he said. His jaw clenched and his eyes avoided mine. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped.

“Dregs get hurt all the time- saints, some of the crows do too-“

“This is different,”

“How?”

“You’re an investment,” he stated blankly, “and I protect my investments.” I felt heat flush my face, my fists balling up and my shoulders tensing.

“That’s rich, Kaz, real rich,” I spat. Embarrassment pooled in my stomach and my eyes. “But that’s all you want, right? Kruge? Money? Power?” He didn’t say anything as I slitted my eyes and scrunched my nose. “Saints forbid the people who help you get to that point.”

Before Kaz could respond, if he even chose to, I got up and walked across his office, my shoes clacking against the hard, wooden floors. The old floorboards moaned and groaned at the pressure I subjected them to.

“Y/N-,” Kaz tried to get up, but his bad leg involuntarily spasmed at his abrupt movement.

The door slammed behind me. I knew it wasn’t a big deal, it felt like the last thing to topple a delicate card tower. Each card was a jab or a deny Kaz made regarding our… relationship, if you could call it that. He and I had been friends long before the other crows came along, yet I felt I’d come to know him the least. I sighed.

I turned back around on my heel, opening the splintered office door. On the other side was Kaz, reaching for the handling on the opposing side.

“You’re not an investment,”

I kept any snarky comments bottled up inside, along with my tears. I could tell what he was convey was eating away at him, so I let him speak.

“If I lost you, I’d have to burn Ketterdam down, and then I’d have no kingdom to rule,” his words soared through the air between us and to my heart.

“I just keep feeling like I’ve given enough, Kaz. I know I deserve to go on heists. If you see my as an equal, you have to treat me like one.” I met his deep, coffee-brown eyes.

He nodded. One of his gloved hands hesitantly, begrudgingly, came up to touch my face. He cupped my cheek and I leaned into the cold, leather touch. I knew this was the best answer he could give me at the moment. It was a more meaningful gesture than anything he could’ve said. He’d let me help on the heist, and for once in a very long time, it felt like he had let his high walls crumble a bit.

I knew I’d given enough.

____________________________________________

Word Count: 1460

____________________________________________

Part 2????

-Valentine

[currentfandomkick]

Skulker, unwilling witness to a halfa custody battle

Masterlist Here

Hi. It took forever to get back to this as work upped my hours and i was exhausted. Enjoy the crazy building for my personal blend of how the Ghost Zone works with the DC afterlives (minor spoiler: if afterlife divinities don’t want anything to do with you, they just. Make you the Ghost Zone’s problem)

—

Skulker couldn’t help but wonder when the issues regarding the Unshed Whelp would end.

Sampson grew more nervous as the doctors and nurses prodded him.

“And are you sure this isn’t further down his reincarnation line, just a second life not a fifth or one in the hundreds?” Amira repeated.

childHurt?Sampson inquired, still holding her ghostling.

“Now, its just to know how bad the hurt is—further back a soul goes, worse the cause of regression and higher on the priorities list we get for IRFP.”

At Sampson’s ? Skulker clarified.

“Infinite Realms Fright Protections, they specialize in younger ghosts, disabled ghosts, and liminals like you and specialty cases like the whelp.”

Sampson frowned.

“Think a lot of healers, protectors and parents working together to help uh,” he switched gears as Sampson moved to her full height. “think your zookeepers but they listen to you.”

That settled her down at least. For the moment.

“Well, it looks like maybe a second life, which may be why he’s been difficult to skin on top of his halfa status. Liminals tend to flee too—honestly they need a good scrub now and then to take out the dirty layers—Speaking of which, Sampson, are you still using the scrubs to help with the excess aggression?”

Sampson nodded, offering her arm for inspection if needed.

“Great, we may need something like that or a bit stronger to help your son lessen his reversions.”

“But not stop,” Skulker noted.

“Until we got the stressor down and managed? Not a way to do that even if he’s skinned properly. And liminals tend to take to attempts poorly—Carbon side has Opinions on it and the Ecto is all for it. Best not to confuse the poor dear more than he is.”

Sampson shuffled in place.

The whelp kept hiding in her fur, tail flailing or flaring out with his other fins on occasion.

“Now, is he still in contact with any relatives from any other lifetimes of his?” The doctor asked while checking the whelps’s scales, grabbing a sample from what flaked off.

“Not that myself or Sampson have identified,” he translated.

“Well, give us a bit and we can have this,” the doctor gestured to the plastic container with the scale samples. “Run for a any familial matches in our systems and see if any of the other lives can give some insight into his actions.”

“He did die young both times,” Skulker admitted, examining the merform more now. There are countless subspecies and variations for adult merfolk, but the whelp had an infant’s face, build and lack of a sternum and proper elbows.

He… he had a feeling that if the whelp’s death was not accidental, and the perpetrator was alive… it would not be impossible to let the more wrathful, rage riddled protector spirits have a go at them. Especially if he just. Pointed them in the right direction.

The nurse shrugged. “Could have been an auto-reincarnation.”

Sampson grumbled something at that.

The whelp stayed quiet and rested as they waited for the results.

With any luck, he’d have relatives in the Realms rather than the End Points… The rulers there were vexing on a good day without stakes.

With stakes they made it a point to be as insufferable as possible.

“Okay, there’s only one direct match in the Realms, a former king of something or other named Deildi of Atlantis… I think? He’s using his grave name, rather than his death name.”

Skulker looked to the ceiling, as Sampson continued to soothe the fussy whelp.

He would demand pelting rights for this—Sampson would hardly oppose the treatment once the whelp’s stress lowered. Just in sections on his primary ghost form, nothing deeper than the surface layer… probably a good idea to see if he has ecto-preferences outside of the Far Frozen’s for his recovery…

A royal. Likely assassinated young enough to qualify for automatic reincarnation, sans cultural attachments.

…he’d offer the whelp a shark-like blob ghost as a support. If his… semi-stray dog got along with them…

Or make the pain that is Cujo choose the small shark-blob for the whelp.

Sampson would accept it easily enough as additional protection from the overeager ectopus.

babyOldfamilyHelp?

“Not his old parents, relatives to them, a ‘leader’ it seems.”

Sampson’s scrunched face told them all her opinion loud and clear.

“Its not uncommon for them to watch over the living, hopefully he can be helpful,” one of the newer nurses suggested while trying (and failing) to convince Sampson to The whelp in a tank.

—

Deildi threw open the door to examine his descendant. One not brought to him upon death like the others.

Silvers and blacks made up the bulk of the tail and fins, while the babe’s human flesh handled the rest of his coloring. Craftsmanship and strength made sense for one of his kin. Artistic leaning probably, and if the boy had time to grow into it, he didnt doubt a knack for magic with shifting states of matter would have been on the table. Death draping its colors on him made equal sense. Perhaps it was because his descendants’ strength lay in his spirit rather than body that even death didnt truly beat this one the second time around?

“And he chose Danny Phantom?” Deildi repeated, eyeing the merchild warily. Why the guppy would choose to emphasize his death as a spirit, he couldn’t fathom.

Even moreso, how the child destined to be such a successful sorcerer king died as an infant was beyond him. Were his abilities sealed before? Had that blasted portal unlocked them?

“Yes,” the sentient automaton answered. “The whelp enjoys word play.”

Why the merchild chose a liminal gorilla as his ghost parent further perplexed him—however he was growing to understand the babe as a living paradox.

ChildmineSafewithME and helpExplainillnessInquiryslewed off the gorilla to an alarming degree.

“I tend to watch them after their first sparks of magic emerge,” he began absently. “He’s still got a strong soul for sorcery when he’s ready.”

“That doesn’t explain the soul regression, sir,” the medic interrupted.

Deildi slowly exhaled at the interruption. “And this is merely his second life. All reversions will end with him in this form. He is likely seeking safety and comfort given the uphill battle this life has proven.”

He waved a finger before the guppy, and smiled as the child chased the shimmers in his wake.

“Uphill battle?” The medic prompted uncertainly.

Deildi pressed his lips together as his jaw tightened recalling how often his young descendant nearly became another automatic reincarnation.

“He has almost died around saturnalia every year. Often during harvest festivals as well. This red coated figure? Causes far too many and too involved arguments. He almost died last year when the noodles he tried to make from scratch hit ecto-infused water and spouted their own sentience and desire to end him. I presume his parents haven’t dismantled their fortress’ traps and they’ve begun to spring on him, correct?”

The automaton nodded mutely, eyeing his descendant more than he’d prefer.

The gorilla grumped UpsetAngry and ChildRefusesToStayHere/Home wafting off her cloyingly.

Deildi wrinkled his nose at sensation.

“If permitted, I can see to it he is given a proper childhood as a Neverborn or act as a foster parent for his times in the Realms. Naturally his door will be moved to my palace and accommodations made for his chosen parent.”

The medics shared a look with the automaton and the gorilla.

“He’s a halfa,” one medic began.

Deildi hated how only the slur survived in texts outside his kingdom. So many of his subjects began as Veilborn and only the Purger’s propaganda and slander remained of their origin.

“the situation is…” the other medic trailed off, staring at the automaton.

“Delicate,” the metal man stated. “He refuses a proper pelting.”

Deildi hummed, gently offering his fingers for the boy to nip at while running a more clawed hand gently against a spotty patch long since ready for peeling.

The babe giggled while he did.

“Scale sheddings are more effective for ecto-carbons,” Deildi murmured, grntly scrapping the excess, old and illness-inducing ecto off the babe where the child allowed.

The automaton scowled at him.

“I predate Pariah��s Purge. Veilborn and their care was as common as greens and blues back then.”

The medics looked at him with newfound interest.

“The records were kept at the Far Frozen. I believe they still have untouched copies if you need more information… has he been given a proper memorial yet? I haven’t seen anything in the times I checked in.”

The silence was damning.

“… do inform the mortals aware of his condition that a memorial will help anchor him to his current death form, not leave him listless to his prior form.”

The automaton nodded along.

The gorilla was lost for a proper response.

—

Okay was in drafts for forever (Deildi was not having it until I worked out the ilness or let him take over treatments so #*%@) but done. Also not nearly as many former atlantian kings as i figured there would be, so congrats you get an OC.

Let me know if you want me to pick this series back up, and if you want videos of mer danny to be leaked (possibly with Deildi hovering on the night cameras and playing with him as a more semi-transparent DC ghost (man is not here for an obsession he’s here to Step Up on parenting this apparent descendant that continues to get the short end of the stick. possibly co-mentor with Frostbite as Magic kicks in)

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