#Indeed a wonderful specimen

[occamstfs]

Should've Worn Green

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Figured I couldn't miss the best Irish Tf day of the year eh? Best! -Occam

Charles didn’t account for the drunks storming the streets today when he was getting ready this morning. Why should he have to step out of his way to avoid getting beer spilled on him. Nevertheless perhaps the accountant should have checked the calendar before wandering into the streets without wearing a hint of green.

Such a blunder would not long go unpunished however. Compact as he is, he nimbly ducks out of the way of glasses clinking in brutish hands raised high. He scoffs at their total disregard for sanitation as they spill beer all over each other in the cheers. Barely avoiding getting drenched himself Charles bumps into a figure who drunkenly laughs before reaching out towards him.

“Aye! Shoulda worn green lad! ‘S St. Paddys!” He shouts as he pinches the already frustrated clerk who yelps and slaps at the hand. Not even pausing to dignify the man with a verbal response, he pushes forward to not be late for work.

He stumbles onward, reaching the edge of the crowd and finally takes a break. In the scarcely fresher air, his stomach lurches and he leans onto a building to avoid falling over. His shoulder itches as he almost feels what can only be described as vertigo? He looks over the crowd angrily, sure that they are to blame for whatever this episode is, contemplating going back toward whoever assaulted him but every face in the crowd is impossibly similar. Jesus, he’s never seen so many redheads in one place?

Wondering if he’s somehow woken up in Ireland proper he feels a breeze on his midriff. Not only has his shirt been untucked but the skin exposed suggests it never could have been tucked in the first place. It’s as if he’s grown half a foot. Charles starts hyperventilating, trying to convince himself his shirt must have shrunk in the wash, though surely he would have seen his exposed belly button when he put it on no? 

He again looks towards the crowd seeking anything to blame for his state. This makes it evident that he has grown indeed, now  able to directly make eye contact with men in the crowd. There is a draft on his ankles as his increasing height only becomes more difficult to deny. Charles clenches his jaw as his eyes find the man who simply must be the culprit.

In the middle of the mass of Paddy’s day parishioners, he sees a man staring directly at him, a smirk edging out from under his thick beard. He raises a large glass of Guinness in cheers and Charles can’t help but stare at the man in turn, his anger quickly being replaced by confusion. He winks, the glass still raised, as Charles stumbles backwards trying to avert his eyes. They forcibly return to this man each time taking in a new facet of his impossibly masculine body. The jungle of hair in his pits draws him in as if there’s a fire in his still-raised arm. His powerful chest is covered in a similar forest of beyond dense red hair.

Charles, unbeknownst to himself, continues to hungrily stare at the statuesque man as the pitch-black coif on his own head begins to bleach as a red tint starts to force its way up from his roots. He scratches at his face wondering how he forgot to shave before work. Oh, work? He needs to get to work right? His eyes retreat from the specimen to check his watch. He raises his arm to check his watch creating a tear in his suit as his bicep involuntarily flexes. His face reddens just as his hair continues to do, his anger towards the crowd returns as they have clearly forced him to not only be late to work, but to arrive wearing less than his prestigious work demands of him.

Before enacting whatever meager retribution his increasingly muddy mind decides he looks up to see the mysterious man approaching him through the crowd. His body involuntary clenches in fear, each instinctual flex creating new tears in his workday attire. His chest bursts into existence shooting his shirt’s buttons far into the dancing crowd. Tears appear down the length of his dress pants revealing tight briefs barely hanging together underneath. He rips off the rest of his suit jacket lest it impede him as he prepares to bolt from the rapidly approaching giant, though with each surge of growth coursing through Charles the man seems less menacing and massive, and more familiar.

He again scratches at his shoulder as he begins to notice that someone in the crowd desperately needs a shower. At least he thinks it's the crowd, he looks towards his own pits questioning his cleanliness and sees pits with thin dark hairs. But that can’t be right? Surely they should be red like all his other hair. He flexes his pecs and watches the ginger hair on his torso dance in the morning sun. Laughing before he returns his attention to his pits that are rapidly agreeing with his assessment and growing thick and red, they also make it clear that the sudden stink in the air could be no one but him.

It’s chill though Charles thinks, he’s been partying all morning with the guys, he’s sure they’ll get it. Smirking to himself not even noticing how swiftly he has assimilated to being one of the parishioners that have taken over the block. As he stands there, his red pubes increasingly showing above his crotch as his briefs are weighed down with each growing pulse in his crotch. 

Finally the smirking Irishman who started it all makes his way over shouting,  “Ay Charlie! Yer gunna have to cover up ya! Shame we’re not Scots or I’d toss ye a kilt, Ha! And ‘Ere lad don’t be standing around without a drink in hand.” He tosses a large cup at Charlie who catches it, though losing the head as it splashes all over him, matting his ginger curls to his chest and revealing the most intricate details of his still-growing bulge.

Charlie cheers at the man who must be a friend, or at least a countryman, before quickly starting to down the tankard. As he swallows the swill he swiftly loses whatever smidge of himself that remained in this northern paragon of a body. His chest fills out with a bit of weight as beer trickles down the beard expanding further down his face. As he swallows his voice develops into an impossible to mistake accent. It’s just, didn’t he have something to do today? His brown eyes sparkle as they brighten to a green bright enough to be in the tricolor as he laughs. What could he have to do today more important than celebrating his home country! America is fine and all that but fwoh, could certainly stand to be more like his homeland. Charlie, tired of thinking so much on a day like this, gives into a primal urge of celebration and joins the bacchanal. Charles Morris would not arrive to push whatever buttons and keys he was supposed to at work that day. But Charlie Mulligan was having the greatest time of his life, as he would continue to do evermore.

[welcometomypersonalhell098]

Don’t Imagine with Jade Leech…

Warning: None! As far as I’m aware. Some weird mushroom? It does “bleed” but not much detail

author’s note: this is my first ficpost!! planning on a floyd ver for suresies >:) (god no one is gonna see this this is so self indulgent)

1.3k words, fluff, pre-relationship

DON’T Imagine…that for once you didn’t have to worry about overblots or whatever latest shenanigans your friends had gotten up to. Everyone was in their own little bubbles, even Grim who had pounced on the chance to attend a Heartslabyul tea party. For once, there was only peace and you couldn’t be more relieved. You decide to take a leisurely stroll through the halls of NRC. Why not? You could stand to learn more about the place that you call home now. (You wonder if it will be that way indefinitely.)

Don’t think about peering into the science classroom while being sucked into the vortex that was your own thoughts and finding Jade shouldering on hiking gear. The equipment was bulky yet swung across his back effortlessly as he took stock of his stuff. You spot a lantern peeking from the side of his overcoat and a compass on a backpack strap. You blink and realize this must be the “Mountain Lovers” Club that Jade himself had told you about in passing. You recall that conversation with a weird fondness. Jade Leech was most certainly a man to be wary of—that was a fact without question. But, in the moment you showed interest in his little club: you saw his eyes shine with a wholesome joy. That is not a passion a person could fake, you were sure of it.

“Prefect? Can I help you?”

Oh, certainly do not think about how you were caught staring. Jade’s eyebrow crooks upward with the beginnings of a crooked smirk creeping up his face. You clear your throat and ask where he was going. Try not to think about how you feel like you walked in on something intimate. Don’t, because your face is warm. You don’t miss the way his face brightens ever so slightly under the usual mask of cunning.

“Ah. I am heading to the mountains. It is a little ways from the school gate, and yet I have yet to scale it. I wish to correct that today.” You hum in response. It wasn’t like you had much else to do today, and Jade wasn’t bad company—to you at least. It was hard to tell with him; like any day now could be the day the other shoe drops. You know that. And yet, you ask to join him.

“You…Want to?” He says, the shock written all over his face. It shifts back just as quickly as it came into the Jade’s usual polite expression. “Fuhuhu…I would not want to turn you away after you asked so nicely after all. “

In a few hours, you and Jade were well on your way up the mountain. The journey was mostly quiet as the two of you walk side by side absorbing the peacefulness into your very bones. Sunlight streams through leaves above you and warm your skin, the chittering of woodland birds becomes the soundtrack, and the crunching of sticks accent your footfalls. Interspersed among beats of comfortable silence was Jade’s stops to examine mushroom specimens for his terrariums.

He halts you with a hand on your wrist for one of these stops(don’t think about how it stops your heart singlehandedly) and crouches to a mushroom though it looks to you much more like an open pomegranate. “A ‘Bleeding Tooth’,” Jade says with a hushed awe in his voice, “It secretes a thick red liquid—hence the name. Despite that, it is completely nonpoisonous. What a most fascinating specimen.” The name was indeed scary sounding. You crouch down next to Jade for a better look, and you can’t help but agree with wonder.

There is a pause. As you look at this most strange looking growth, Jade peers at you. “Creepy. Is it not?” He says nonchalantly. You blink up at him. He looks back with a glint in his eye that you feel as familiar. You just can’t quite recall from where. But it makes you feel wrong inside. “Mushrooms are a particularly extraordinary part of land ecosystems,” He continues, “They do not hunt or hide. But they will be the ones to dispose of all life eventually and make it anew. And if something, or someone, were to stop them…well there’s been enough proof of its power.”

Ah. You remember now. His yellow eye draws you in like an angler fish draws in prey. You cannot help but liken this scene to when you first met Jade in the Coral Sea—when he was swimming circles around you and merely toying with his food.

“It is a little scary, is it not?” Jade Leech says again. You stare. And Jade stares back. Something in the back of your mind supplies the nature of Jade’s unique magic to you. It does nothing to stifle the tension in the air that threatens to suffocate you. You wonder, if there was any part of Jade that wanted to make you bleed like the mushroom he so admired.

“Not really.” You reply as you turn back to the fungi. Jade makes a tilt of his head. “Really, now?” You nod. “I mean, that’s how they survive, right? They grow in bright colors and weird shapes to make sure they can live. It’s not like we can fault them for that,” You point to the oozing mass in front of you both, “Isn’t that what every living thing wants? And it’s pretty important that they decompose stuff, since it recycles nutrients. If anything, doesn’t it make them pretty essential?”

You look over at Jade again: “They don’t tend to hurt the living unless somebody decides to mess with it. And some don’t have any effects at all. It’d be weird to lump them all together like that.”

Jade stares. And you stare back. Something imperceivable happens within his mind and you find yourself wishing you could peer inside. He smiles. “I knew bringing you along would be most fruitful.” And he stoops down to take the Bleeding Tooth with him.

You’ve been walking for a few hours at this point. The two of you chat more freely now after that little pitstop. You find yourself slowing as you hike higher and higher up the mountain: apparently you severely misjudged the fitness and experience required for such a journey. Your hiking partner’s mirth in his eyes cannot be overstated and you shoot him a look. He plays it off masterfully with a faux offended look that you would even say such a thing. You nudge his side. He laughs. Despite his ribbing, he lends you his hand to pass the rougher terrain. Do not think about how your fingers lace perfectly against each other. Do not think about how when you make it across the felled tree in the way; Jade takes a few seconds longer than necessary to pull away.

At last, the you two make it to the top and the view was worth your pain and more. It was gorgeous: the sun casting hues of orange, yellow, and pink as it sets across the vastness of the mountain below you. Every tree and bush looked like strokes of a paintbrush on the ethereal work of art. You turn excitedly to Jade at your side to point out the way the clouds frame the scene—and are met with his expression examining your own. You dared not put a name to it, but it made your heart race in a way you didn’t know it could. Do not even think about classifying Jade’s expression as “fond” or god forbid “admiring.”

Because then, it would mean your heart would be as good as his.

[easternmind]

The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part I

The Kowloon Walled City was one of the most emblematic locations in Hong Kong due to its irregular, fast-paced and largely ungoverned growth within a minute parcel of land. During the occupation of Hong Kong Island by the British in the mid 18th century, the Qing authorities surrounded the area with walls, turning it into a strategic position from where to closely inspect the foreign nation's covert activities. Almost a century later, during World War II, the area was seized by the Japanese, who tore down the walls and repurposed the stone for the construction of a nearby airport.

After the war, China would eventually regain possession of the city, though the disinterest of local authorities in addressing its increasing social disturbances placed it in a downward path to a state of utter degradation. By the 1970s, Kowloon had become the epicentre of Hong Kong's criminal underworld, dominated by a handful of its most vicious Triads.

Towards the last years of its existence, the ancient settlement was as a precarious heap of concrete, sheltering nearly half a million people within less than seven acres of land. Cultural and political changes in China made it increasingly difficult for this urban anomaly to remain unaddressed. In the late 1980s, an action plan was put together aiming to relocate its inhabitants and reconvert the real estate into an inner-city park. Stories about residents refusing to leave their unsafe and unsanitary homes were featured prominently in newspapers, baffling readers all over the world. Once the single most densely populated area in the world, this enclave was an architectural aberration whose disconcerting aesthetic influenced numerous works of art in different fields of creation; including a small yet consequential number of video games that briefly reference or prominently feature this abominably transfixing space.

九龍島 (Kyu-Ryu-Tou) - Starcraft - 1986

The year is 2025. An arms dealer escalates the tensions between East and West by developing a genetic weapon in a secret base at Kowloon Island. The United Nations react by sending in their best man, Jamie Starr. Unrelated to the Walled City itself, the first game to be located in the Kowloon peninsula - and indeed include the name as a part of its title - is this obscure turn-based RPG, Kyu-Ryu-Tou for the NEC PC88 and FM-77 machines. The game is a sequel to Shangai, released the year before, featuring the same protagonist. Starcraft would also go on to produce a third instalment in 1987 named TO.KY.O. Clearly there wasn't much regard here from the developers part for geographic accuracy, as Kowloon is depicted here as being an island. While Hong Kong's southern territory is composed of an actual island, all the different areas named Kowloon are located in the mainland.

Riot City - Westone - 1991

One of the most shameless specimens among a relatively long list of Final Fight clones, Riot City contains subtle references to Kowloon, though never referring to it by name. Two narcotics detectives are assigned with the mission of dismantling a cartel running a crime-ridden located in fictional Riot Island. This recurring yet geographically nonsensical notion of Kowloon as an island comes up here, yet again. The final moment of the introduction sequence for this minor Sega arcade success shows both protagonists approaching a tight cluster of buildings whose source inspiration is quite unmistakable. Because Westone maintained ownership of most of this production's intellectual property, a later port to the PC Engine entitled Riot Zone was made possible with the help of Hudson soft. Kowloon's Gate - Zeque - 1997

Reviving the Walled City through the lens of cybermystic surrealism, Kowloon's Gate is a dense, daunting adventure masterfully capturing the slum's dark and narrow recesses. This 1997 Japanese Playstation exclusive spans across four discs of unparalleled full motion 3D CGI spectacle, alternating with real-time 3D dungeons brimming with outlandish characters and concepts deeply inspired by Chinese history, geography and cultural traditions.

Ironically, Zeque managed to embed the theme of Feng-Shui, the ancient geomantic art seeking harmony between the individual and their surrounding space, into a story set in the world's most historically untidy district.

SaGa Frontier - Square - 1997

SaGa Frontier takes place in a solar system named The Regions, composed of multiple inhabited worlds for the player to explore, each with its different degree of civilizational development and culture. One of these planets goes by the suggestive name Kūron. Its pervasive neon light signs, food stalls, makeshift cabins and rooftop scaffolding instantly evoke the memory of China’s so-called city of darkness.

Shadow Hearts - Sacnoth - 2001

Shortly after the release of Koudelka, Sacnoth's initiated the development of Shadow Hearts, the first episode from a cult RPG trilogy exclusively designed for the Playstation 2. In good Japanese fashion, the game proposes an anachronistic yet visually suggestive depiction of Kowloon, portraying its architectural style and degree of decay as it existed in the late twentieth century, despite the fact that the game's events take place during the nineteen twenties.

Just as noteworthy is the almost complete absence of any inhabitants, which inadvertently make this portrayal of the quarter eerily reminiscent of the state in which it was found circa 1993 or 1994, as local authorities brought the long, arduous eviction project to a close.

Shenmue II - SEGA AM2 - 2001

Shenmue II exhibits the most complete and period-accurate video game representation of Kowloon to date. While more recent games featuring this area may represent a number of its aspects with the aid of improved visual fidelity, none features it with such depth as this masterpiece of masterpieces. More than mere background decoration, Kowloon exists in the Shenmue series as a crucial, climacteric element of its modern epic narrative.

It is a well known fact that Yu Suzuki and his team conducted extensive research of the region so as to achieve a result that impresses even to this day. It must be noted, however, that they have similarly taken a fair share of creative liberty when converting the area to best align with the themes they wished to explore. Further reading is required for a more complete context in this regard, namely how this area ties with an early Dreamcast tech demo design which fans lovingly named Tower of Babel. Ostensively, technical limitations did curtail the degree of precision in which the surrounding area could be replicated. The aerial view from the cutscene in which Ryo Hazuki arrives on location places Kowloon at an imaginary degree of elevation over surrounding vegetation. In the year of 1987, during which the game is set, the actual enclave stood perfectly levelled with a myriad of other modern buildings, undoubtedly more than could be reproduced under the circumstances. These trifling considerations aside, Shenmue II entirely succeeds in capturing the vibrant life and mesmerizing beauty of the destitute and decayed urban agglomeration, in a way that it was deemed entirely impossible at the time of its release.

For reasons entirely related to per post content limitations imposed by Tumblr, this article will be continued in PART II.

[pen-and-umbra]

(The last one on Sephiroth's breakdown reimagining in the Remake trilogy. Notes I and Notes II

Herein lurk spoilers.)

In contrast to FFVII OG, where Sephiroth's breakdown was introduced as a sudden event, with his life-long search for origins mostly implied rather than spoken aloud, Crisis Core revealed Sephiroth had been digging through ShinRA's science archives for years before embarking on a fateful mission. Indeed, the compilation of FFVII has seen a shift in the character’s portrayal, with Sephiroth becoming less of a silent and aloof enigma and more of a layered personage. As a result, his breakdown ceased to exist in its isolated form. We are aware of the chain of events that preceded it.

Thanks to CC, we know that Sephiroth was obsessed with discovering facts about his own history, especially his heritage, to the point where he would shut himself up in the archives to read documents. We also know that Genesis used this fixation as a means of pressuring Sephiroth into cooperation.

To Genesis, the existence of such a pressure point was a known quantity, which suggests that Sephiroth's attempts to uncover his past had been a well-known or recurring endeavor. And one thing is clear from Sephiroth's reaction: Genesis' comments struck a chord with him, primarily because they targeted his fear.

FFVII Ever Crisis takes things a step further, emphasizing Sephiroth's determination to learn more about his mother, to the point that he would carry a photo of her to investigate. Furthermore, Sephiroth is troubled by an offhand remark that he might be a cyborg—a non-human entity—and appears to take the remark to heart, holding on to it long after making acquaintances with Glenn's team. And thus, there's plenty to infer from these instances. 

For starters, it confirms that Sephiroth's desire to discover his origins dates back to his adolescence. The way he talks in regard to inquiring about his mother suggests that his attempts are recurring. He “knows it's not cool to ask about his mother,” which presumably means that someone *systematically* brought this up to him before he was dispatched. To someone, Sephiroth's asking around appeared childish, immature, or uncool, or else came across as a nuisance that needed to be nipped in the bud.

One can wonder if the objective of these snubbing attempts was to dissuade him from looking into the topic further. This raises the question whether the “uncool” comment first came from the people behind the Science Department, in particular those who took part in Jenova Project.

Secondly, it confirms the presence of a fear—or suspicion—of not being human. Sephiroth got so fixated on the “cyborg” comment because it stirred something that had already been there. That which had preoccupied him. This detail shows that the thought was neither caused by seeing Hollander's experiments nor was it planted by Genesis, as it precedes those events. Indeed, Ever Crisis suggests that this anxiety, this nagging feeling of “never being one of them”, has been present in Sephiroth's mind for much of his life. In fact, one could argue it was the driving factor behind his search for family. Not so much a need to belong as a search for evidence of normalcy to dispel any lingering uncertainty. "Proving" misconceptions about himself wrong too, as he is keen to point out to Glenn in Ever Crisis.

This provides a broader perspective on his infamous “ever since I was a child, I knew I was different <…> special”. While OG may have alluded to Sephiroth's admitting to being aware of his superiority (“special” and “different” bearing a haughty connotation), the extended compilation plays with the idea of “different” bearing a negative quality to it, with Ever Crisis, Crisis Core and FFVII Rebirth all proposing an aversion to the idea of being a lab-grown, subhuman specimen. After all, as Sephiroth himself puts it after meeting Glenn, all he wished was normalcy—to lead a normal life. 

With that in mind, we can only speculate as to what factors made young Sephiroth question his origins. Was it merely the performance and treatment difference compared to others in ShinRA's SOLDIER project? The silence/ridicule policy and withholding of information he apparently faced when trying to ask the wrong sort of questions? Or witnessing first-hand how inhumanely the likes of Hojo treated lab specimens as well as the prospect of never being able to fit in to be treated as an equal, ergo lacking the same rights/agency as test subjects? One can only guess. Ultimately, it is the presence of this insecurity that leads to his downfall, whether one interprets Nibelheim events as falling under Jenova’s spell or an onset of insanity. 

Whether or not it was Jenova who forced Sephiroth to read “like a man possessed” or his own stubbornness, Gast's notes left him with only two options. Either he admits to being a laboratory-created being, “born” from a 2000-year-old monster, as declared by Genesis, or he embraces the idea of being an Ancient. Either he is “not a human,” as he had feared all his life, or he is above humanity. A mind is a delicate thing that will do anything to survive. Sephiroth had been in a pretty dark place by the end of Crisis Core. Should one choose to interpret Nibelheim events as a result of Jenova's interference (as discussed here), it would not be hard to see why a little nudge to the basement library was needed to push Sephiroth into embracing alien ideas and influence. Fear is an excellent manipulation tool, and Sephiroth's fear played well against him. For him, the alternative—admitting to being no better than pod-grown “abominations”, in Sephiroth's own words—was unthinkable.

If one construes the Nibelheim sequence as a result of a mental breakdown, as evidenced by Sephiroth's anger outburst, unstable commentary in the basement, and what could be interpreted as shame, it likewise becomes clear why he clung onto the idea of being an Ancient. In order for his mind to keep its sense of self, it needed to escape facing the terrible; the legend of the Ancients thus offered an easy escape route. He would no longer be a subhuman with no coherent reason to fight (per Elfe from Before Crisis), someone used as a tool by ShinRA or Hojo and having his humanity denied or questioned, but he would be an entity superior to humans with clear reasons for fighting and even a clearer sense of purpose.

Regardless of how one interprets the picture, one thing is certain: succumbing to fear or trying all possible to avoid confronting it are understandably human traits. It's ironic that Sephiroth's dread of not being human and not belonging with humans drove him to become non-human, both physically and metaphorically. After all, it was his lifelong uncertainties and fixation with discovering the truth that served as a catalyst for the chain of events that led to his metamorphosis in the Northern Crater and, subsequently, the decision to abandon his human memories in Lifestream Black.

Written by @pen-and-umbra

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 1: Language of Lust (Voice Kink)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: The first thing art of my third Kinktober challenge, let’s go besties!

Tags: voice kink, language kink, oral, scratching, gratuitous German, aftercare

Word Count: 4.3k

The Masterlist

You tried to understand Medic, you truly did. He talked about his experiments at length, and anyone could see how passionate he was about them. Still, he often forgot that not everyone understood the medical jargon that he did, and you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt him. The last thing you were able to understand was something about the superiority of the mega baboon heart when compared to the average human’s. It was all downhill from there, but as long as he kept talking, you would keep listening, nodding along. The truth was you loved to hear Medic talk, and the reasons weren’t entirely innocent.

“Now this part gets a bit complicated, are you paying attention?” Medic asked, gesturing towards a rough diagram he had scribbled on the back of some paperwork. As far as you could tell, it seemed to be detailing how one would successfully prevent the human body from rejecting animal organs, specifically the uterus, for some reason. Usually you wouldn’t question it, but you felt it would be wrong to let him keep going on if you truly didn’t understand. Plus, it might mean you get to hear him talk for longer.

“Oh yes! Of course I am,” you said. “But just in case, could you run it by me one more time?”

Medic sighed, smiling fondly at you in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “I am starting to think you just enjoy hearing me ramble, mein schatz.”

You hoped he wouldn’t notice the soft blush that colored your cheeks. He had no idea how well he had just read you. “Maybe I do,” you said, trying to keep your tone as casual as possible.

“Well, I appreciate that. Not many are willing to listen to me go on like this. However, you don’t have to pretend to understand for my sake.” You noticed a hint of sadness in that statement. You knew how it felt to enjoy something, especially something weird, and have no one to share your interests with.

“I don’t have to understand to see how passionate you are about it, and I like it when you get worked up.” You paused for a moment before realizing how that sounded. “When you’re excited, I mean. Excited about your work.”

Medic chuckled. “Is that so? I have always wondered what you enjoyed out of these conversations we share.” He got a bit closer to you, looking you up and down like an intriguing specimen. “And while I do believe you like seeing me happy, I don’t think that’s the only reason.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, perhaps a bit too quickly. You kicked your legs nervously, hearing the metal operation table you were sitting on creak slightly as you did.

“Let’s see,” Medic said, leaning in, studying you. Suddenly, he started touching you. It was entirely innocent, nothing that wouldn’t be done during a normal physical, even if it did leave goosebumps all over your skin. You started giggling uncontrollably when his fingers lingered on areas that he knew were ticklish. All the while he made mock ‘observations’ about you. “A slight flush, perspiration on the brow… excellent bone structure!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, growing more confused by the second. “What the hell does my bone structure have to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” Medic said. “But based on how much redder your face just became, I would say you like it when I compliment your appearance.”

You stared at Medic, finding yourself at a loss for words. He held your gaze, and you looked away first with an awkward laugh, feeling like he was staring right into your soul. Was this really happening? Was this Medic’s way of flirting?

Placing a hand on your cheek, you found that it was indeed warm. You also probably should have been unnerved by Medic’s comment, given his track record with skeletons. In fact, he had once detailed how he planned to one-up that particular achievement with something he lovingly referred to as ‘the circulatory system heist.’ Honestly, he probably wouldn’t be satisfied until he managed to steal every major organ system in the human body at least once, preferably leaving his victim alive in the process.

Finally, you responded. “It’s not just the compliments. Truthfully, I just like hearing you talk. You have a hot voice.” A moment of silence was all it took for you to realize what you had just admitted. Shit. You had gotten too comfortable. You had said too much, and of course, your immediate response was to stammer your way through a desperate, panicked stream of consciousness. “I mean nice! You have a nice voice, in a normal way. It’s, uh- unique, with the accent, you know? Yeah, that’s it. You would make a good narrator.”

Real smooth. Perfectly executed. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.

He had, in fact, suspected many things. An expression flashed across Medic’s face. First came realization, and then surprise. You weren’t sure whether you should be proud of the fact that you actually managed to surprise Medic, of all people.

“You like my accent?” He spoke with a certainty that implied he already knew the answer. You wished you could blame it on Medic being observant, but the fact was you had basically outed your massive crush on the team doctor in a moment of weakness. The only thing to do now was own up.

“Maybe,” you said, just above a whisper. You’re face was so red, and you felt hot from the blood rushing to your face. “I do have a bit of a thing for it.”

It was definitely more than just ‘a bit of a thing.’

“I am surprised. Usually when it comes to accents people go for the French, or the other romance languages,” Medic said, looking you over like you were a subject to be psychoanalyzed. It made you feel so small, even though you had the freedom to leave whenever you wanted. Not that you would. You liked where this conversation seemed to be going, even if you were embarrassed by how it was initiated.

“I guess I just have unique tastes.” There wasn’t much more of an explanation for you to give. You weren’t quite sure when you developed a thing for accents, let alone Medic’s in particular, but the human brain worked in mysterious ways. While you satiated yourself with the occasional foreign nickname he had given you, there was a part of you that occupied lonely nights with thoughts of how it might sound if he were to moan against your ear, whispering sweet nothings in a language you barely understood.

“I hope that this isn’t the only reason you come to visit me,” Medic said. “I actually thought you enjoyed hearing me ramble about exotic animal parts and Medigun technology, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking, ja?”

“Of course not,” you quickly reassured him. “I guess you could say I came for the accent and stayed for the sordid tales of grand theft skeleton.”

That at least got a laugh out of him. “Well then, I suppose I can’t be too hurt, liebchen.”

Damn it. Your blush had just begun to calm down, too. “That’s not fair!”

“Why not? You didn’t seem to have a problem with my little pet names before. In fact, I think you liked them very much.” His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on you in a way that reminded you of a wolf tracking its kill.

“It’s different now that you know,” you stammered, struggling to keep your composure as you held his gaze.

“How so, schatz?”

You huffed. Now he was just doing it on purpose. You weren’t going to humor him with an answer if he was just going to keep teasing you- until you felt a breath against your ear. “I asked you a question, mein engelchen. I expect an answer.”

“Oh fuck,” you whispered. You hadn’t even realized how close Medic was getting. Now his arms were on either side of you, gripping the edges of the operation table. He probably noticed the way your body stiffened and the way you squeezed your thighs together. Even so, a part of you worried you were being too presumptuous. Was this really going where you thought it was going? “Medic, what are you doing?”

“I thought that would have been obvious,” he said, chuckling softly. “I’m giving you what you want, if you’ll let me.”

“Seriously?” you asked, trying not to be too embarrassed at how the word came out as more of a shocked squeal.

“Only if you want to.” Medic backed away to look you up and down. He still wore a knowing smirk, but there was a hint of sincerity behind it that let you know that if you wanted this to stop, it would stop. You didn’t want that though. You had dreamt of a moment like this, and here it was, being offered on a silver platter, or rather, a silver operating table.

Before you could think, almost as if on instinct, you leaned forward and kissed him. You felt him startle, jolting against you slightly before he melted into the sinfully short kiss. You looked up at him with glassy eyes when you parted. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Looking up at him like that, you were irresistible. Medic leaned down, kissing you hard. He was much rougher, biting at your lower lip until he could slip his tongue into your mouth. Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him against you. He moaned into your mouth as you grounded against him, cursing the layers of fabric that remained between the two of you.

“Medic, please,” you gasped when you parted for a breath.

“How about you beg for me in my native tongue?” Medic said. “After all, I know how much you love it.”

“I don’t know how,” you whined, not even caring that you sounded utterly pathetic. Your voice was already quivering and besides a heated makeout, nothing had really happened yet.

Medic’s gaze softened. You were adorable when you were frustrated. “I’ll teach you, liebe. You know how to say please, don’t you?”

“Bitte.” You responded with some confidence, having heard Medic say it before, usually when asking for assistance on the battlefield.

“Very good. Now, repeat after me, ‘Bitte, lass mich deinen Schwanz lutschen.’” He spoke slowly, and you repeated the words at the same pace, occasionally struggling around the pronunciation that felt foreign on your tongue.

Medic smiled, and you took that as a sign that you did well. “What does it mean?”

That smile twisted into a smirk. “It means, ‘please, let me suck your cock.’”

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you knew you had just turned a much deeper shade of red. Perhaps it was a bit naive of you to think that what you had just said would be anything other than lewd. “Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Can I?”

“Certainly!” Medic’s swirk widened, his teeth glinting in the harsh light of the infirmary. His eyes tracked your every move as you dismounted the table, pacing around him until he was leaning back on the steel surface and you were knelt down in front of him. His ever present gaze made you shiver. Reaching for his belt, you paused at the buckle, glancing up at him nervously. “Go on, liebling.”

You nodded, wasting little time unfastening the belt and unzipping his fly. With some finessing, you eventually freed his cock, working him up with your hand. The way he groaned at your touch made you squirm, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to quell your arousal. You were quite proud to find that he was already half hard.

It wasn’t long before you could get to work with your mouth. You licked your lips until they were reddened and wet. The noise he made when you simply dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock was maddening. You had fantasized about what it might be like to hear him moan, to watch him come undone with your touch, but nothing could compare to the real thing. You needed to hear more.

Little did you know, Medic had thought about this before as well. He had wondered how you would look on your knees, lips parted and ready to take anything he gave you. You took it so well, too. Your mouth was tight around his shaft, and you did such delightful things with your tongue that made him grip the edge of the table and pulled shaky groans from his lips. “That’s it, keep going, liebchen. Du machst das so gut, you’re so good!”

You shuddered, a low moan escaping you. Although it was muffled, Medic immediately took notice. Your muscles were taut, and you seemed to double your efforts, bobbing your head faster and working your tongue against him. Something he said had certainly motivated you. ‘A praise kink,’ Medic thought to himself. ‘This will be fun.’

“Do you like it when I call you good?” You would have nodded if you weren’t otherwise occupied. In fact, you were so wrapped up in your current task that you barely heard him. He didn’t seem to need any further confirmation though. Medic weaved his fingers into your hair until he had a tight grip close to your scalp. “Let’s see just how good you can be for me then. I want to feel your throat tighten around me.”

He pushed you further down onto his cock. Every move was gentle and gradual. Medic paid attention to your reactions, pausing whenever he felt you gag, letting you adjust until eventually you managed to take him as deep as he hoped for. You were held there, breathing slowly through your nose as you felt his cock press into your throat. Your tongue continued to massage the underside of his cock.

“Sheiße,” Medic cursed softly. His grip on your hair loosened, and you took the opportunity to start bobbing your head again. Only now, you could take him to the hilt on your own accord. Instantly he was gripping the edge of the operating table in a white knuckled grasp. “Oh gott, liebling! That’s so good!” He was panting, and you loved it. Every sound that came out of him was breathy and high pitched, almost sounding more akin to whimpers than moans. “You’re doing so well, meine gutes mädchen, my good girl!”

Of course the praise wasn’t about to let up. You moaned around his cock, doubling your efforts. You were a good girl, you were his good girl, and you wanted to prove it with every fiber of your being. For a moment, you thought you could be content to simply bring him to completion right there, your own pleasure be damned, but it seemed like Medic had other plans. You felt a harsh tug on your hair, pulling you off of his cock. You gasped, the sound quickly turning into a whine.

“Sorry, liebchen, but with the way you were moaning…” He paused for a breath. Medic’s expression was pained, as if he didn’t want to make you stop, but forced himself to. “I was getting much too close, and I still want a chance to fuck you properly.”

You immediately jumped at that, almost literally, as you hoisted yourself back up onto the table with surprising speed. The metal had gone cold, cold enough that you felt it through your clothing, causing you to shiver. Speaking of clothing, you were still wearing far too much of it. At least that’s what Medic seemed to think. He quickly stripped you of your pants and underwear, only allowing your top to remain, to ward off the chill of the metal.

Medic took in the sight of you slowly, relishing every detail. Your legs were spread wide and inviting. Oh, you were positively soaked. He ran a finger over your sex and it came back wet and shining. The gesture left you shuddering. It seemed you were sensitive to even the smallest touch. This was going to be fun.

“Please, please fuck me!” you whined.

“You can’t withstand a little teasing, liebchen?” Medic laughed, letting his hands caress your inner thighs, so tantalizingly close to where you wanted to be touched, but just out of reach. “Don’t worry, you’ll have what you want, but first, beg for me properly.”

“Bitte!” you cried, recalling your earlier lessons. “Bitte, Medic!”

“You remembered! Very good.” He dragged you forward to the edge of the table, sliding his cock against you, past your entrance and up to your clit. So close, so agonizingly close. “Now let’s add some new vocabulary. Say, ‘bitte, fick mich.’”

“Bitte! Fick mich!” You didn’t hesitate like before. There was no need to speak slowly and sound out words. Desperation apparently did wonders for your pronunciation.

“Perfekt.”

Medic’s cock was coated in your arousal, twitching against you. He was just as needy as you were, he was just better at hiding it, but there was no need to resist anymore. In one quick thrust, Medic lets you feel every inch of him. The noise you made was animalistic. You clung onto his arm, pulling at the sleeves of the white coat that he still wore. You didn’t even mind- the uniform was starting to become part of the appeal.

He groaned, thrusting slowly, savoring the feeling of your warmth around him. You watched, enraptured by the way he buried himself within you. “So good,” he muttered. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “Is it good for you too, meine liebe?”

Medic stroked your cheek gently, his gaze softening. “It feels good. Fuck, Medic! Please fuck me harder!” you gasped, bucking your hips uselessly.

That moment of gentleness faded as soon as it arrived. Medic gripped the edge of the table for leverage as he fucked you against it. The metal creaked beneath the barrage, but it wouldn’t give away. This table was built to hold the likes of Heavy, there was no way it would buckle. Any other surface very well might have, though.

“I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time,” Medic groaned, his voice low and his breathing heavy. Even now, he tried to take in every feature, committing the image of you taking him so nicely to memory. Everything from the gentle bounce of your chest to the way you bit your lower lip in a vain attempt to smother your own moans would be a detail he could call upon during lonely nights. “If only I knew sooner that you were so smitten with something as simple as my voice.”

Suddenly, his grip shifted to your waist, pulling you forward to meet his thrusts. You keened, feeling him drive deeper into you. He rocked his hips against yours, letting you grind and adjust to the newfound depth.

“Medic,” you began, struggling to catch your breath enough to speak. “Medic, I want- oh fuck!”

“What is it, liebchen?” He paused, letting you regain enough composure to speak. “Go on, tell me what you need.”

“Just keep speaking to me, please, until I come,” you pleaded.

“What would you like to speak about?” He asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Anything,” you said, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “And could you maybe do it in German?”

“Natürlich, kleine Taube. Ich glaube, du willst es härter, ja?” Now unable to understand him, the ferocious pace you were subjected to came without warning. You held onto the edges of the table, feeling the metal dig into your fingers as your grip tightened. Medic’s fingers pressed into the softness of your waist. You gasped when his nails dug in as well, adding a delightfully painful edge to the pleasure. “Das gefällt dir, nicht wahr?”

The pain was gone almost as suddenly as it began. You whined, unable to hide how much you had enjoyed the rougher treatment. It wasn’t long before you got another taste. Medic’s hands moved down to your ass, his nails leaving little crescent shaped indents in the supple flesh there as well. You were starting to pant, mouth agape and gasping as he suddenly lifted your hips upward.

“Gott, du hast so einen schönen Arsch. Das nächste Mal sollte ich dich von hinten nehmen.” This new angle proved to be very effective. You were much louder like this, his cock hitting all the right spots. Medic knew that if he were to simply touch your clit right now, you would be coming for him in seconds. However he wasn’t ready for this to end just yet.

Your moans were music to his ears. Should any of his fellow mercenaries pass by the infirmary right now, it wouldn’t be hard to determine just what was happening. The thought managed to rouse some envy in Medic. Your sweet sounds were for him alone. Perhaps it would be better to quiet you down for now. Leaning down, he pressed his lips roughly to yours, muffling your noises. You still whimpered between kisses, but they were soft and subtle, just barely loud enough to reach his ears.

“Magst du es, wenn ich dich küsse? Soll ich weitermachen?” he murmured, stealing another soul reaping kiss. This was quite liberating, being able to say whatever he wanted to you, only to watch you melt at the sound of it every time. “Du musst nicht antworten. Es ist für mich offensichtlich.”

You rolled your hips to meet his. He felt the way your muscles flexed under his hands, and he knew you were close. You whimpered and gasped, haphazardly bucking against him, chasing the last bit of sensation that would tip you over the edge. Your expression was a beautiful mix of desperate frustration and overwhelming pleasure. It was a sight that brought Medic dangerously close to losing control. Realizing he was reaching his limit, he finally showed you some mercy, knowing that the look on your face when you came would far outweigh anything he had yet seen.

“Komm für mich,” he groaned. One hand splayed out on your lower stomach, his thumb reached down to rub quick circles over your clit. You may not have known German, but you could most certainly infer what that meant. You shuddered, back arching, letting out a harsh sounding moan as your orgasm overtook you. “Du fühlst dich so gut an. Ich komme- scheiße!”

Now that you had reached your peak, Medic’s inhibitions seemed to be gone. He chased his own climax, thrusting into you roughly and unevenly. When he finally went still, you had practically gone limp beneath him, overstimulated and teary eyed. When he came you could have sworn he was even louder than you were. You almost wondered if he was playing it up, given your affinity for his voice, but on the other hand, Medic was loud and proud in most situations. It would only make sense that he was a bit of a screamer himself.

When he finally came down from his high he noticed how you were trembling. It was clear that your body was overwhelmed. A few tears managed to spill down your cheeks, even as a blissed out smile remained on your face. You probably didn’t even realize you were crying. Medic withdrew carefully, making an apologetic sound when you whimpered at the sensation.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he said, stating the obvious. Medic observed you for a moment, making sure you were alright, before you suddenly found yourself being hoisted against his chest. You wrapped your legs around his waist for stability as he lifted you off the table and carried you towards an offshoot of the infirmary. Before you could ask where he was going, or how the hell he had the strength left to carry you like this, Medic opened the door to reveal a small, but cozy room. This was clearly his personal quarters. It made sense that it would be part of the infirmary.

“Why are we here?” you asked. Your words were soft, as if raising your voice above a whisper might shatter the pleasant afterglow that had began to settle over you.

“It is quite late. The least I could do is let you stay the night.” Medic laid you down on the surprisingly plush mattress. This was luxury compared to your barracks. You stretched out before burrowing into the blankets letting them engulf you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For all of this. That was so good.”

“I had fun as well, mein Täubchen.”

That pet name was new. He had used it a few times tonight, but only now did it pique your interest. “What does that mean?” you asked.

Medic smiled softly. “My dove.”

“Oh,” you said, too flustered to say much else. Being compared to one of his beloved pets felt nice. It made you feel delicate, like something to be cared for.

“You blush so easily!” Medic said with pure glee. You almost expected him to pinch your cheeks. “I will definitely enjoy this side of you, liebe, so easy to tease!

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, trying to brush it off, even though you knew your face was practically glowing with the flush that you were sporting. “Maybe we can do more tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”

“Of course. This was quite an eventful day.” Medic kissed your forehead, an oddly tender gesture after all the rough treatment. “Get some rest. I will join you once I’ve cleaned up in the infirmary.”

Medic left and you closed your eyes. When he returned just a few minutes later you were already asleep, snoring softly in your sanctuary of pillows and blankets. He had never seen you so relaxed before. You murmured something unintelligible when Medic slipped under the covers beside you, whispering for you to go back to sleep as he draped an arm over you, feeling your body press closely against his in the peaceful darkness.

[robo-milky]

[MORE INFO]

[Loosely references Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde]

Nicknames:

Crema/クッレマ (Cloche) | Big Henchman (Grim) | Vet/Medic (Ace) | Tiger Prawn (Floyd) | Monsieur Fumé (Rook)

Bio:

A proud and confident man, loves nothing more than himself. He’ll act diplomatic when needed, but that exterior will crack fit if something doesn’t go his way. Mors is bad at compromising, and can be very stubborn. May act passive aggressive in retaliation. Ever the megalomaniac, he will stop at nothing to reach the top. He is a man above pretensions, like morality and ethics. Though he can be boisterous, Mors is well spoken, hurling obscure insults at those who earn his ire. No matter what, he is always in the right.

Core Values -> Accomplishment + Knowledge

Elm is the opposite of Mors, a humble and kind man. He’ll do good for the sake of it, not asking for anything in return. Can be a bit of a pushover.

Core values -> Inspiring + Empathy

Background:

From the hit series, “Loyalty Lock”, Mors is an antagonist. Was an aspiring doctor of noble birth, that got drafted by mistake. His military career consisted of being a foot soldier, medic, to army officer (through bribery and corruption). Along with him being a controversial political figure in Vostege, Mors has many enemies. This resulted in him buying hiring a special vessel from “Goldbelle’s Facility of Maids”.

Mors had no one else but himself to blame, having taken the life of his one and only ally. If he was still under her protection, would he be a free man? Arms bound by rope, wood digging into his neck, he might as well think of his last words instead of what-ifs.

Elm stepped into the dark carriage and Mors came out the of coffin.

Notable Thoughts: Mors’

“I can’t possibly imagine being buttered up so easily, like the Headmaster of this school. Hm? Why are you staring at me like that for?”

“Eugh… Not only does Miss Jin have to resemble Cloche, but they share the same name. It leaves a foul taste in my mouth.”

“Grim is a curious specimen, indeed! I’m no veterinarian, by any means, but I would love to take a closer look at him when he is still.”

“Mr. Trappola? The boy’s clever, alright. He always knows just the right things to say.”

“I suppose Mr. Spade is quite cute, is he not? Always so eager to please.”

“Mr. Howl is alright for a beastman… He is at least well disciplined. ”

“Mr. Pergameno is surprisingly knowledgeable of protective eyewear. I may ask him for recommendations, sometime.”

“Lucius seems to hiss at me whenever I stop by and chat with Professor Trein. I wonder why, hohoh…”

“Professor Crewel would make a fine drill sergeant. The crack of his whip brings me back to my days of youth.”

“Coach Vargas’ physique is extraordinary. I’d like to someday study his veins, if given the opportunity to.”

“The Mystery Shop always somehow has everything I need. I wouldn’t ask Mr. Sam any questions he wouldn’t ask me.”

Notable Thoughts: Others’

“Mr. Clematis? Such a nice and helpful man! Taking on the task of monitoring the library by himself, on top of his studies.” - Crowley

“It could have been anyone else from ‘Loyalty Lock’ to get isekai’d here, but it just had to be him.” - Cloche

“Eek! Hide me! Do not make that freak come near me, please!” - Grim

“Can you patch me up instead? I don’t wanna get another scolding from the Vet!” - Ace

“Yeah, of course I respect Mors! He’s been taking the time to help me with studying and some reading.” - Deuce

“Mors’ insistence of live specimens, for dissections, stresses me out a little, but that’s how he did it back in his time… haha…” - Trey

“If I had to choose between dealing with Rook and dealing with Mors, I’m taking Mors all the way. At least he can leave me alone.” - Ruggie

“That geezer has some magic within him, but it’s unlike any I’ve seen before. It smells off.” - Leona

“I’ve got to return the handkerchief Mors gave me someday!” - Leikata

“Ah, Mors! Talking with him gives me nostalgia. It’s not bad looking back into the past.” - Lilia

Extras/Trivia:

- Harbours a strong dislike of all beastmen, and a preference for humans

- Pops in and out of any classes if it interests him

- His glasses are pinched on the bridge of his nose

- May go off on a tangent about all the “incompetent people” of his world when drunk

- Always faintly smells of smoke. Cigar? Gun powder? …Something else?

- Addresses most of the cast as adults, since they would have “reached maturity” where he is

- Oddly flattered that there is a “series based on his life events and greatness”

- Greys early because of stress in his youth

Gallery:

[ozzgin]

So I was wondering how Lisa Lisa, Caesar, and Joseph react to accidentally awakening Pillar woman reader( who is EXTRA Buff) . And while the three of them think Reader’s a threat, the reality she’s just a gentle giantess. And just pats Joseph head, and doesn’t seem to understand that they’re humans per say, but thinks their younger Pillar men?

Love the idea! After writing the Baki x JoJo crossover my mind has wandered to a Pillar Woman, too. A proper one. I also played around with Midjourney to see if I could get a glimpse at a potential Pillar Woman, and it’s not as muscular as I would’ve wished but it looks interesting nonetheless.

JJBA Headcanons: Pillar Woman! Reader

Featuring Lisa Lisa, Caesar, Joseph, and an awakened Pillar Woman that’s not as threatening as her male counterpart.

Joseph and Caesar are not only irritated by each other’s company, but by the sheer pointlessness of this task that has interrupted their training. Three Pillar Men have emerged from this site and fiddling around unturned stones only serves in delaying their fight. Their whines are quickly silenced by Lisa Lisa’s orders to continue their search. If they have time to moan, they have time to look for clues. The UV lights have long been discarded after the gory incident, so the narrow rays of flashlights only add to their frustration.

A faint sound catches their attention and they simultaneously turn towards a pillar at the end of the chamber. “Is that an unfinished sculpture or something?” Caesar ponders as he gazes as the bizarre block of stone with a vaguely chiseled arm protruding out of it. “I can’t believe this. I should be perfecting my deadly moves and here I am listening to your art commentary instead. Should we have a little séance session so you can ask them directly?” Joseph responds in a mocking tone. Their bickering continues under the scolding glares of the woman supervising them.

Her sigh of annoyance is abruptly drowned by the loud cracks of collapsing rubble. The bulky pillar seems to be disintegrating and they quickly cover their faces, scrambling to avoid the thick clouds of dust rapidly flooding the room. Once the smoke clears out, their faces twist in shock at the sight of yet another Pillar person that has somehow evaded the previous investigations. Although this one seems to be a woman.

The group is taken aback by the colossal size of this specimen. She’s significantly larger than all the Pillar Men they have encountered, with impressive muscular mass. Joseph and Caesar have already positioned themselves in strategic fighting stances and Lisa Lisa bites her lower lip, stressed by the unexpected encounter. They haven’t managed to lay a finger on the original Pillar Men. Would they stand a chance against this behemoth of a creature?

You stretch your limbs and lazily scan the area. How long has it been since you’ve gone to sleep? You don’t recognize a single thing. The humans before you are small are slender. Children? You’re not quite sure. You hear them mumble among themselves and you realize it’s a language foreign to you, although you quickly pick up the vocabulary. You approach Joseph and place your large hand on his head, trying to reassure the young boy of his safety. “Are your parents nearby? Perhaps they could explain my situation better.” You state in a soft voice. Caesar cannot help the laugh that erupts out of him, having to rest on his knees to manage the convulsions. Joseph barks at him, annoyed and embarrassed, and politely removes your hand, explaining he’s a grown man. You can only stare in shock.

Once it is confirmed that you are indeed no threat, Lisa Lisa describes the recent events to you. You listen intently, arms crossed. You don’t particularly care for humans, but you don’t like the cockiness displayed by the awakened Pillar Men, nor their supposed intentions. In your current state, you could use some entertainment. You might as well lend a hand to the amusing individuals that found you.

[rubberizer92]

How do you like our newest nude illusion suits?

They are ultra rare and given it only to the best specimen!

Well in fact, these suits are used to recruit new rubber drones in a more subtle yet highly effective way. The suits shall help to try out of becoming a drone, which requires indeed thorough and hence expensive training, or if nanobots can indeed alter a man to truly desire being an obedient rubber drone.

The wearer often forgets that he is wearing a nude illusion underwear and hence doesn't even question why his body feels so energized, why he is not in need to see a bathroom and why parts of his skin start to actually turn into red rubber.

Oh, the wonders of the Voice!

[asherloki]

Until I found you

Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 815

Fluff

"oh how wonderful indeed" I exclaimed as I touched each string of violin in order with my index finger, making it buzz. Sherlock was still stuck with his microscope, examining the specimen he's been given by Hopkins recently. This officer, Stella Hopkins, she's a huge fan of Sherlock and to our surprise Sherlock doesn't mind her, he says "this young officer has potential". I took his violin as no response came from the man with the microscope. Imitating how Sherlock holds his violin I took the bow in other hand. When I let it touch the strings, it made an awful sound. That's when I turned and found out the detective lifted his head from it.

"You didn't hold any chord did you?" he enquired getting up from his chair, leaving the kitchen table as it is, messy.

"I don't play violin detective, so I don't know the chords" I replied putting the violin down. As I turned back again I saw my man was walking towards me or was he walking towards the violin?

"perhaps you'd be interested in learning it?" he offered as he stood infront of me.

"how many times have I offered you to learn a bit of piano from me Mr Holmes?" I teased him and I was delighted at how he pouted at my teasing. Whenever we visit my mum's I always play my old piano, perhaps I've asked him to play it a thousand times and he didn't agree to do so for once. Even though I caught him once or twice admiring it, as he pressed a few keys with his index finger.

"I'm not a pianist, sorry Mrs Holmes" him referring me as Mrs Holmes has never failed to make me giggle, "guitar, Ukulele, all the instruments you own" he said walking past me and grabbing his violin, "I'm fascinated by you" he praised holding his violin over his shoulder, then spinning the knobs as he tuned it.

"you were?" I enquired, sitting on the arm of his chair as he faced the window.

"wrong" he replied taking the bow in hand, "I still am, very much fascinated".

I smiled, did he smile too? who knows. Even after being his wife I can't always tell what's going on in his head, the mystery that he is, the man that he is.

"I always wanted to learn violin next" I said for I've always been drawn to how wonderful this musical instrument sounds.

"why didn't you?" Sherlock asked staring at his dearest violin.

"here you are" I replied, the only musical instrument I knew not how to play, my husband does, and he does it wonderfully, "you can, maybe one day I'll have enough courage to ask you to teach me too".

He gave me a hum in response, as if he wondered 'when will you be genuinely willing?'

"what will you play Sherlock?" I enquired, wanting to know if he has prepared anything, he loves to compose sometimes, he did one for me, the day we were married, three years ago, twenty second November, he made a rather happy melody for me. It was so joyous that everyone asked about it, like what is the inspiration behind it. He replied "my sunshine", he named it so as well. For he says he's never truly been happy, until I came one day, while he was playing with Rosie, John's daughter. He says he felt as if the sunrise for which he waited for a long time, rose that day.

"something my wife would love" he replied turning a bit to me, his smile indicated he will play my favourite song. A song that sounds beautiful when he plays it for me. And then his bow touched the strings, and the buzz was perfect, for the man held the right chords, unlike me. With Swift movements of his fingers, as if they were dancing on the chords and the bow sliding over the strings he started the part that goes,

heaven, when I held you again....

I smiled widely as my guess was correct, the song he says is ours, for he never fell in love, true love, in his entire life until he found me. Seriously though, the cold, grumpy detective, melted for someone like me, immature they say, childish too, young, alot younger than him, but then, I love him, so does he.

"would you mind humming with me?" he asked turning to me, with a nod I agreed and started singing,

"I would never fall in love again until I found her" he hummed as I sung then the next line, he joined me,

"I said I will never fall unless it's you.."

"I'm falling to" I continued,

"I was lost within the darkness" we sung together, looking at eachother, for we dedicated these lines to one another, "but then I found her... I found you..."

[evolutionsvoid]

Bone-bile constructs were once seen as a breakthrough in these lands, an invention like no other seen before. A simple combination of Black Bile and bone, cobbled together into a living shape and given purpose. There had been other living creations born before their arrival, but these had always been resource heavy to build and required vast amounts of energeiai to activate. Comparatively, the bone-bile constructs are far easier to craft, as cheap bone is plentiful for those not worried about appearances. The hardest part is finding one who can weave Black Bile and inscribe it with the purpose that will drive it. When this method was discovered, folk wondered if this was the end of the hard times. A life of hard labor was no longer needed for any human, as these automatons would take these backbreaking roles and perform them with ease. Tales and fantasies dreamed of a time when the people could kick back and enjoy the pleasures of life while artificial men of bone and bile did all the work for them. A wondrous dream, but sadly one that never came to be.

Once the luster and wonder had time to fade, folks began to see the flaws within the constructs. They were not just simple in design, but in mind as well. They required incredibly precise orders and inscribings to do their job, and anything outside of that was impossible. Poor wording led to disasters, too strict of wording made them useless at the slightest hiccup. While experience eventually led to people better understanding these limitations and how to properly use them, the frustrations born from these issues ultimately spelled the end of this automation dream. Folks grew tired of having to hang around these constructs like vultures, making sure there weren't issues or misinterpreted orders. Their age faded to the classic "no don't do that! That's all wrong! Ugh! Let ME do it!"

And as the decades passed, research would birth new constructs and finer automatons. What the Academy produced and the Church raised made bone-bile constructs look like children's toys. Stronger, smarter and better in every way. Some would look at these achievements and wonder why these old school constructs were even around anymore. Their time had long passed, their strengths now overshadowed, and their reputation now of stupidity and cheapness. Surely they would not be long for this world.

Yet, the bone-bile constructs have stuck around, with some pointing out that their numbers are even greater than before. These automatons are indeed simple to their competitors, but simplicity is flexible and can be used in a myriad of ways. While the strengths of other constructs forced them into specific roles, the blank slate of these machines meant that imagination was the only limit. And one must remember their easy creation, especially compared to the others that may use divine corpse wax or guarded verdigris to build. One is always tempted to glorify the finest specimens and believe them to always be the best, but never forget that "basic" tends to become the norm for a reason and for a lot of folk "good enough" is, indeed, good enough. Bone-bile constructs became the automaton of the working man, an ally of the common people. Their variety and simple nature far more accessible to the lower classes than any other machine.

While the limits still remain, folk have been learning over the years on ways to augment these bland automatons. Easy tweaks and tricks that can make the cheap and crude shine like polished ivory. Better ways to inscribe the Black Bile that fuels them, sleeker designs and smarter bone forging to make them function better. Some people would claim that time and patience is key to unlocking their true potential, as they believe the Black Bile within them stores far more than one would think. Villages who have had their singular construct for decades swear that they are smarter and more capable than any freshly forged machine. An idea that they learn over time and begin to form their own tasks and actions, resulting in them acting more human than machine. Many outside of these small settlements scoff at the idea, blaming these thoughts on blind fondness for their free worker. Instead, they would say that another piece is needed to refine this crude machine, that Black Bile and bone need something more to truly make them sing. There is argument over what that is exactly, but one avenue that has shown up more and more over the years is Amber.

A liquid said to be a "false humor," though many would call that title over dramatic. Amber is born of plants, inherently making it inferior to the wondrous marvels of the flesh. Yet, its properties cannot be ignored. Amber is capable of being solidified in a way that can entomb the living and keep them in a strange stasis. For the people who believe in the cycle of life and regeneration, it is a terrifying thought. To be sealed in a everlasting Amber cocoon, forced to remain whole and untouched, unable to return to the great cycle. It is a fate worse than death, which makes it unsurprising that Amber is used to imprison vile criminals and traitors, robbing them of rebirth while also displaying them like morbid trophies. But the uses don't end there. While trapped within, their mind is not fully asleep, and it has been found that one can tap into this dormant psyche. It is here where Amber has come into play with these constructs, as folk figure if their minds are too barren than why not plug in a better one?

From this has come constructs with Amber heads and sleeping hearts, driven by the creature held within this orange shell. By driving needles of Black Bile into the Amber and into its prisoner, they can access the mind held inside and connect it to the bony frame. So while the being dreams in this frozen sleep, this artificial body shall serve as vessel to these slumbering fantasies. With the right prodding and inscription of Black Bile, they can be forced to accept a purpose, to follow a false thought. These are used to set them on tasks and augment them for the role that is needed. Make a sealed beast believe it is hungry, and its ivory shell shall live to track and hunt. Due to the ghastly nature of this fate, it is forbidden to use humans in this way, thus people turn to animals to serve as sacrifice. They may not be smart as man, but they certainly can be smarter than a construct, and better adapted to certain jobs.

Amber drones are one of these constructs, built of simple frame yet piloted by slumbering Amber. They can come in different sizes and forms, but the most common form is a ball of bladed tendrils that houses an Amber core. Inside this egg is usually a basic critter of predatory nature, the needles of bile driven in to trigger their need to hunt and fight. With the right inscription, these small creatures can be held in a dream that makes them excellent at stalking and guarding. Their instincts and tactics now infused with a body of greater strength and deadliness. These drones act as guard dogs and stealthy hunters, tasked with taking down foes and keeping the unwelcome from entering. Bony claws and amber blades are common weapons, as anything more complicated will confuse the dreamer. While larger frames and greater bulk would make for better fighters, folk prefer the smaller forms for their insidious and stealthy work. While these machines surpass the basic bone-biles in these departments, there is a weakness to them. Their Amber cores make obvious targets, and smashing them brings the automaton to a quick demise. Getting these cores is also more difficult and expensive than basic bile and bone, which is why they are found in the hands of richer folk. And, of course, one must remember that what pilot these machines is a creature that once lived, having its own wants and fears. Memories of their past or particular instincts may flare up in their duties, reacting to stimuli in unfavorable ways. A dreaming spider that once feared the birds above may create a guard dog who shrinks away from winged foes.

[bats-and-birds-24]

Chapter 9: (part 1)

Bruce squinted at the clip playing on the batcomputer. He knew that he should've thrown in the towel hours ago and left the video for tomorrow, but here he was anyway, replaying the same clip for the twentieth time trying to pick up on any minute yet crucial details he may have missed.

When he and Dick went to the League of Shadows base, they were expecting a fight followed by a lengthy interrogation. What they weren't expecting was for them to be prepared for their arrival. 

He remembered the exact words addressed to him and Dick when they landed on the roof of the building acting as their base.

“You’ve finally arrived.” The voice was heard behind them catching Dick off guard. He pulled out his escrima sticks and readied himself for a fight, only for the assassin to put her hand up, “I have no interest in fighting mistress Talia's guests.”

Bewildered, he could sense the look Dick sent him. If Talia wanted this matter to end peacefully, then she would have to give him his son back. However, at the moment, letting them think that they agree to the league's terms would be an easy way to enter the base.

Bruce grunted an affirmative and the trio entered the building. There was nothing particularly special inside, save for the odd league weapon laying around, otherwise it could completely pass for one of the many abandoned complexes that littered the poorer sections of Gotham.

The confusing treatment continued as Dick slipped away to check the rest of the building while Bruce remained to talk to the assassin that greeted them. 

Surely she must have noticed him sneak away, either he severely overestimated the abilities of the league of shadows, or Talia specifically instructed them to not interfere while he and Dick investigated. 

He can live with being overly cautious around an enemy, but the other probability truly worried him. Talia and the league have the ability to wipe places clean of clues, making cases drag indefinitely.

They needed to find Tim quickly.

Dick returned to his side and tapped him on the shoulder, their cue to leave. The Dark knight bid the league of shadows farewell and returned to the cave.

Which brings him back to staring at the footage Dick had managed to acquire while he was investigating.

He needed to start fresh, so he replayed the footage from the beginning, long before Talia and Tim entered the scene.

He could hear a few of the assassins discussing how similar Robin looked to a new son Talia had acquired, the one that went by the name of Jason.

Bruce paused the footage. “This can’t be real.” Jason was dead, it could just be some other kid who had black hair and blue eyes who also had the ability to somehow know Talia Al Ghul.

It could all just be a coincidence. But it was too perfect. The League of Assassins did also have the Lazarus pit. He had to make sure that he was wrong. Jason was still in his grave, right?

Bruce grabbed a shovel and went out into the night.

Ra’s Al Ghul looked at the specimen in front of him. A spleen perfectly preserved in the glass jar glinted green in the early morning sunlight. 

The new apprentice of the Detective certainly was interesting. First he managed to figure out Jason's whereabouts, when not even Bruce Wayne could. Then when he cut open his body, he finds that the child had not one, but two spleens! He could easily get away with taking one and not get caught!

He looked out at the sun rising over Nanda Parbat. He wondered how Batman's previous apprentice would react to coming into contact with the current one. In any case, exciting events were on the horizon.

Ra’s snapped his fingers and had a servant take the container of preserved spleen back to be stored. The future was going to be exciting indeed.

Tim was fidgeting with a batarang when he heard the door click open. He waited with bated breath as the esteemed right hand of the Demon’s head herself entered, along with a bulky figure clad in loose red garments fluidly stepped out from behind her.

It was Jason Todd himself, the second Robin, in the flesh. Tim could hardly believe his own eyes when he saw him.

This feeling was reciprocated by his predecessor, albeit with more bitterness.

Jason had some difficulty bringing himself to meet Tim’s eyes. It was clear that the kid had some hero worship going on about him and he really didn't know how to feel about that, and on the other hand, he was the guy that took away everything from him, his house, his family, even his identity. He wished Tim wore anything other than the Robin outfit. Those were the same colors he died in.

The two stared at each other in silence, not knowing how to begin. Talia, wondering if they were quiet because she was in the room, promptly stated that she had something to attend to and left.

The two Robins were left alone, as blue eyes met blue.

Jason couldn't help but think about how the two could pass for brothers even without Bruce having adopted them both.

[lexosaurus]

and then he woke up

Happy @phandomholidaytruce to @bleedingectoplasm! I loved your prompts, especially the part where you said, "idk just hurt me<3" so I hope I delivered!

Characters: Danny, GIW, Sam, Tucker Words: 5103 Warnings/tags: body horror, angst, recovery

[ao3 link]

***

It had been a joke once. Back in high school, his classmates had once bantered about the limits to his healing factor. They giggled, theorizing different scenarios, each more ridiculous than the last. Instances where his finger was cut off, his ghostly tail chopped in two, his torso sliced in half. If he was missing an organ, would his body make a new one? Would he regrow it like a starfish if his arm was cut off?

He had laughed, then. Because of course, those situations were crazy. No one was going to take his organs out. No one was going to cut his arm off. 

It was a joke.

It was supposed to be a joke.

His breath shuttered. Above him, white blended with white blended with green. Fire and nothingness cloaked his body, his nerves too fried to produce even a twitch. But still, ectoplasm bathed his skin, pooling on the table below him.

Voices murmured off to his side, and the sounds of machines beeped and whirred around him. But everything was muffled, the white was too oppressive, make it stop, make it stop…

“It’s fascinating.” The fuzzy operative hovered above him.

Danny couldn’t react as metal tools pressed against his skin.

“His body seems to be regrowing his missing kidney. Look, you can see it.”

Another face entered his view. “That’s incredible. Level seven indeed.”

Danny shut his eyes. He couldn’t stomach seeing their faces. He couldn’t know who was opening his skin, shuffling through his body, tearing it apart and putting it back together like a crude jigsaw. 

He wanted to cocoon in his ignorance and wake up in his bed.

He woke up in his cell. No bed. No blanket. He was a ghost, and ghosts didn’t deserve luxuries.

He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to assess the damage. He didn’t want to see how deep the nerve and muscle damage went, didn’t want to know if there was still a hole in his body, didn’t want to feel any dents where organs should be.

He didn’t want to know.

But deep down, some ugly part of him knew. And it admonished him, telling him to be grateful. He could have had it worse, he could have died. 

But then, wasn’t he already dead? No living person could have survived that.

No living person could have regrown a kidney.

His eyes burned, and his vision blurred over. After he passed out again, he would wonder what else they had removed from his body. What other things was he forced to regrow like some mutant lab experiment?

And to his horror, a few days later, he woke up.

Back on the metal table.

With another fuzzy operative floating above him, metal tools in hand.

The strap on his forehead stopped him from craning to see what was happening next to him, but instinct pooled in his gut anyway, and he knew.

He knew.

“It’s halfway regrown,” the operative said in a sterile tone.

“Time recorded. And what of his kidney?”

“It looks about a quarter of the way there.”

“Excellent.”

He wanted to ask, to beg, what was the first one? What were they talking about? Had they removed his kidney again? Didn’t they have enough fun the first time? Why were they doing this to him?

But even the mere thought of asking sent nausea down his throat and he couldn’t think about it, he couldn’t ask. His voice was frozen over anyway.

If he didn’t know the truth, then the realities didn’t exist.

When he woke up in his cell that evening, he tried to call out to Clockwork, to the Observants, to anyone who may see him. Who may know what he was going through. 

But no one responded. 

Of course.

Even though he didn’t expect an answer, it still punched him in the gut all the same. And those fears, those insecurities danced through his mind, twisting their imprints into every corner of his thoughts.

He wasn’t worthy of rescue. He wasn’t worth the trouble. He was just a thing, just a specimen to experiment on. He was…

Alone.

And then he woke up again on the table. And again. By now his nerves had been too torn apart to emit anything other than a numb tingling. The places he could still feel burned—they always burned—but he could ignore it. Shut it out.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think.

He stared at the ceiling. Unmoving. Unblinking. Passed the masked faces above him, only catching the glint of metal out of the corners of his eyes. He listened as the operatives spoke, slicing parts of him away, but their words went in one ear and out the other.

He didn’t want to know.

And time passed. He kept waking up on the table with more things missing. He kept waking up in his cell knowing they had regrown. He kept waking up feeling tingling, burning in previously numb parts of his body, knowing that it was only thanks to the weekend that his nerves had begun to feel again. But then Monday would come again, and he would wake up with his body numb once more.

How much time had passed? How much of his body was no longer his? How much had regrown like an ugly patchwork of an ectoplasmic contaminated doll?

Was he even himself anymore if so much had been replaced?

How long until he couldn’t call himself Danny? 

And then he woke up.

Again.

***

He woke up to dimly lit glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling.

Those had been courtesy of Sam’s insistence. Something about grounding him after he woke up from nightmares—after all, the GIW didn’t have decorations in their cells. It was too bad the stars didn’t exist behind his eyelids. It would be nice to be able to prevent the dreams from happening in the first place.

He wasn’t sure what time it was, and he was too afraid to look at his phone to check. He didn’t want to know how badly he’d messed up his sleep for the night—again—he’d realized. But the room was dark, so he could only imagine.

On TV, when people woke up from nightmares, they got out of bed. Maybe they got a glass of water, hopped in the shower, or started getting dressed.

Danny always thought that was a load of bullshit. Because here he was, his frantic heart beginning to slow, brain flickering images that made him want to gag, and yet he couldn’t even consider the possibility of leaving his bed.

And so he lay there.

Staring up at the ceiling.

He must have dozed off eventually because one moment his eyesight went blurry, and the next he was waking up to the plastic stars. Except, sunlight streamed through the windows, and the stars had lost their sci-fi glow.

He still didn’t know what time it was. Maybe he should check.

Maybe.

His skin was uncomfortably warm, and he could feel his pillow not quite right under his head. His neck was stiff, but still, he didn’t get up. He could have slept for a week. He didn’t have the willpower to get out of bed.

So…he didn’t. He stayed in bed. A sluggish arm pulled out his phone and his fingers lazily scrolled through various social media sites without stopping to read anything. He let the minutes hours pass by until the stale taste in his mouth and his parched throat forced him out of bed.

It was a good thing Sam and Tucker weren’t here. They would be so disappointed if they saw how he spent his days off.

He turned on the faucet, washing toothpaste down the drain. His sink was getting grimy again, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned his apartment. Sam would be so let down. Tucker would be too, though he wouldn’t say so many words as her.

So when his phone buzzed to life and familiar names appeared on his screen, he ignored them.

He couldn’t face them. Couldn’t do it.

Instead, he went back to bed. Not to sleep, just to…exist. Whatever that meant.

And when his phone finally rang, he turned it on Do Not Disturb.

(In his dreams, he woke up in his cell again.)

He woke up to the stars.

Again.

He stayed in bed, dozing until his alarm went off, signaling the start of the work week.

Had Sunday passed? Did his brain skip an entire day without him knowing?

So he had spent the entire weekend in bed. 

Fantastic.

He forced himself up, forced himself into the shower. He was careful not to touch his body anymore when he showered—that was what the loofah was for (another gift from Sam). His skin didn’t feel right anymore. It prickled at his touch in some places and burned in others. It had raises and bumps and lines that it didn’t use to. He couldn’t touch it, couldn’t admit to what happened, didn’t want to know.

Of course, it was impossible to forget.

He didn’t even notice he had transformed until he was already invisibly touching down at the subway stop. Danny Fenton took the subway to campus. At least, that was the story everyone else saw.

He detransformed—still invisibly, thank god he’d mastered that—and ducked out from behind the pillar. The invisibility dropped, and he slung his backpack over his shoulder as he made for the turnstile. 

Danny Fenton was a researcher getting his MS in aerospace engineering. Danny Fenton was looking for summer internships. Danny Fenton was a normal man, one who grew up with scientist parents, who never went into their portal, who was never kidnapped by the government, who never had his body cut open and was never forced to regrow his organs day and day again.

He was normal.

Very normal.

The sun hit his eyes and he tried to pretend that he wasn’t squinting at the sudden light. That he hadn’t just spent the entire weekend inside. That he wasn’t royally fucked for class today because he hadn’t even glanced at the prep work.

He followed a group of students inside his building and scanned his ID at the front desk. The security guard hardly looked up from his newspaper, and why would he? Danny Fenton was a normal, tired human student.

The elevator dinged at his floor, and he made the same trek to the office that he always made. Someone acknowledged him from the hall—probably Blake, he practically lived at the school—and Danny grunted in response.

He hoped he remembered to shave that morning. He couldn’t remember anything other than the relief and subsequent dread at waking up.

“Got some grading for you, Fenton,” the professor said as soon as Danny walked through the door. He tapped a stack of folders. “It’s a rough one, sorry.”

Danny’s voice crackled as he responded, “Sounds good.” He flushed, realizing it had been several days since he’d spoken last.

(He talked plenty in his dreams, though.)

His advisor quirked a bushy brow at him. “You sleep alright?”

“Fine.” Danny swiped the stack of folders. “I’ll be in the conference room till someone kicks me out.”

“‘Kay.”

He was glad it was just grading. Math had formulas, it had plans. It was either right or wrong. A rocket ship couldn’t fly if the numbers were wrong.

And grading undergraduates was mindless. They either knew the material or they didn’t. In the case of Professor Patel’s class, most of them didn’t.

Which was fine with Danny. If that meant he had to take longer to grade these exams, then that was good. Great, even. It meant he could spend less time thinking.

But eventually, he finished, and Patel ordered him to get food before class.

Danny tried to remember what he’d eaten since Friday. Maybe he had…pizza? At one point? A sandwich? Some ramen? He couldn’t remember. He must have eaten something because he wasn’t that hungry.

“You sure you’re alright?” Patel had asked again as Danny gathered his coat and bag to leave.

“Yeah.” He refused to make eye contact. “Just tired. You know, busy weekend.”

Busy weekend of staring at the wall, more like.

“I get it. Grad school is tough,” Patel said. “Listen, I have some meetings later, so I don’t need you for the rest of the day. After class, just go home. Get some rest. Swing by tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Make sure you actually sleep this time.”

Danny attempted a weak smile. “I’ll try.”

Still, shame and guilt clawed at his hollow insides. He knew that he was giving nothing but empty promises.

He managed to go to class where he managed to take notes and he managed to follow along. Somehow. Thankfully. 

And then Danny Fenton walked to a secluded spot, transformed, and flew home.

His apartment was dark under the drawn curtains, but he didn’t bother with a light switch. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t human anyway. 

He grabbed a container from the fridge—takeout, some days old—and ate it under the light of the microwave clock. It was lo mein, some part of him recognized midway through. It tasted blander than he remembered.

Some part of him thought back to when the operatives had cut out his tongue. Partially to punish him for mouthing off, and partially just for fun. Sometimes he wondered how different his new taste buds were. Was this because they had regrown? Or did he just have issues?

No, don’t think about that. 

So he didn’t.

He woke up to his alarm. 

He went to school. 

Helped his advisor around the office.

Assisted with a class for undergraduates.

Went to his own class.

Had coffee with a classmate after. (What was her name again?)

Flew home.

Ate dinner. Ramen this time.

Woke up.

Woke up.

Woke up.

He woke up to pounding on his door.

He slapped a hand to his forehead, blearily sliding it down his eyes. Ugh, what time was it?

Who the hell was here this early?

Muffled shouting sounded from the hallway, but Danny couldn’t even begin to decipher what they were saying. But a second later, he recognized who was speaking and groaned on instinct.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He braced himself for the unforgiving atmosphere that existed outside of his blankets.

“Danny, if you don’t get to the door right fucking now, I’m going to—”

“Yeah! I heard you!” He snapped, dragging his lifeless body from the bed.

“Sam, come on—”

“No, he can’t ignore us, Tuck.”

“I know, but—”

Danny opened the door, blinking as the light from the hall hit his retinas. He yawned. “What the hell?”

“Danny, have you been sleeping all day?” Sam’s tone hardly reigned in her frustration. She stood, tapping her black boots on the carpet and glaring at him through her purple makeup and dyed bangs.

“What?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, dude,” Tucker said, pushing past the door.

Danny didn’t fight him. He’d learned months ago that isolation wasn’t a battle he could win with these two.

Sam wrinkled her nose, picking at his shirt. “Have you been wearing this all week?”

Danny rolled his eyes, stepping back into the dusty apartment. He couldn’t remember when he’d last changed, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Will you relax? I was just asleep. Sorry, I’ll change.”

“Danny…”

“Make yourselves at home. I’ll be right back.” He shut the front door and padded to his bedroom, rifling through his laundry bin of clean clothes he’d never managed to put away.

Tucker, of course, took that as an invitation to perch himself on the bedroom doorframe. He stared into the messy bedroom, his arms crossed, and that annoyingly tense look on his face that Danny had begun to recognize was the “you’ve done fucked up” look.

But as usual, Tucker didn’t offer any of that information first. No, Danny had to be the one to grind out, “Okay, what now?”

“What do you mean, what now?” Tucker said. 

“I don’t know. You look like you have something to say.” Danny turned away and shrugged his shirt off, speed racing through putting the new one on.

He couldn’t risk anyone seeing his torso.

Even if his two best friends already knew what that looked like.

“Danny. You already know what I’m gonna say.”

“No, I don’t.”

Of course, he did.

But that was enough to snap Tucker out of his judgemental glare. For his crossed arms to fall down to his sides, and for that unmistakable sigh to escape his lips. 

“Dude, you’re getting worse.”

He knew Tucker was right. But that didn’t stop instinct from spouting out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Tucker snorted, glancing at the piles of dirty laundry on his floor. “If you want to keep lying to yourself.”

“Danny? All the vegetables I bought last week are still in your fridge,” Sam said, poking her head through the door. A clump of her purple and black hair caught on her lipstick, but she didn’t move to brush it away.

Danny didn’t even remember seeing vegetables in his fridge. “Sorry.”

“Have you been eating?”

“I eat a lot at school. You know, networking stuff.”

Tucker quirked a brow, and Sam’s expression looked even less impressed.

He looked at his two best friends, both dressed in unwrinkled clothes with skin that appeared as if it saw the sun for more than five minutes each day. They had their careers, friends, and lives that Danny could only dream of. 

“Come on, let’s go get food,” Sam said.

“Food?”

“It’s past lunch, and I know you need it.”

It was pointless to try to fight them. “Okay. Give me a few minutes to wash my face?”

“Sure.”

Winter was nice, Danny decided. Winter air meant it was cold, and he had an excuse to bundle up. He didn’t have to worry about short sleeves or people seeing his bare skin.

He could cover it up, not talk about it, not think about it.

“I think you should talk about it,” Sam said finally, placing a sub in front of him.

Danny couldn’t recall ordering anything. In fact, he hardly remembered the walk here. Which was bad. That meant Sam and Tucker had seen him when he was zoning out. He tried not to do that when they were around.

Oops.

“You know I can’t,” Danny said. He picked up the sub and took a bite. It was nice, and then he realized that meant he was probably hungry.

“I’m not saying you need to give details as Fenton. Maybe you can find someone willing to work with Phantom?” 

“That’s impossible.”

“Nah,” Tucker said through a mouthful of his own food. He chewed for a moment and then swallowed. “Phantom’s been around for a while. You have a lot of support. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to find a therapist who’s willing to work with you in ghost form.”

“Yeah, okay, let me just do that. I’ll just go ahead and risk finding a therapist on the off-chance they don’t call the government to come take me back there. Sure, no problem.” Danny glared at his food which suddenly didn’t look so appetizing. He huffed, putting it down on his plate, and dropped his head into his palms.

His hands were shaking. He hadn’t even realized they were doing that.

“Danny…” Sam’s voice was gentle this time. “Come on. There are other options.”

“Not really.”

“Sure there are. We can get you to a psychiatrist. You know, as a human.”

“They’d want to do bloodwork.”

Sam was silent at that. And then Danny could hear his breath, how shaky it was, and he hated that. He hated this conversation and feeling this way and he wanted to be home by himself staring at the stupid plastic stars on his ceiling again.

“You can’t keep living like this,” Tucker said. “I’m sorry, but you can’t. This is bad.”

“I know.” His voice was weak.

“So let’s think of something.”

“I’ve tried. There’s nothing else I can do.”

The three of them were silent once again. No one moved until finally, Tucker picked up his sandwich, and Sam followed. And Danny sat there with his head in his hands until the shakiness stopped and he could manage to eat another few bites. Sam wrapped up his leftovers and she and Tucker guided him home.

And that was that.

Until he woke up the next day to his phone ringing. It was Sam—of course, it was Sam—breathless on the other line.

“I’m here.” 

“What?”

“Tucker’s outside. Can you buzz us in?”

Danny groaned, dragging himself up again because these two idiots didn’t know how to leave him alone. He hit the buzzer and then waited at his door for the sound of murmurs, footsteps, and the polite knock that followed (it was Tucker’s knock this time). He opened the door to see his friends with their backpacks suspiciously full.

“Guys, stop,” Danny said, stepping aside to let them in.

“Stop what?” Tucker said innocently.

“Stop mothering me. You don’t need to bring me stuff. You already did that last week.”

Tucker hopped over to the kitchen. “Oh well, if you see Danny, tell him we’ll stop bringing him groceries when he admits he can’t survive on ramen forever.” Tucker set his backpack down on the counter and unloaded its contents into the fridge.

Danny mumbled incoherently, pulling out his phone to Venmo his two friends because he knew they wouldn’t accept repayment otherwise.

“Come on,” Sam said, pulling him away from Tucker. “Let’s watch TV.”

Danny allowed himself to be dragged to the couch, and he didn’t resist when Sam pushed him down and threw a blanket over him.

“There,” she said.

“I’m a halfa. I wasn’t cold.”

“But now you’re comfortable.”

“And you have groceries,” Tucker said, jumping onto the couch. He threw his hoodie-covered arm around Danny, patting his shoulder. “See? We got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said reflexively. He was sorry. He was so sorry that they had to deal with him, that he wasn’t just fine and back to normal. That, for some reason, he couldn’t handle what happened even after all this time had passed.

“It’s okay, dude.”

“No, it’s not.” He moved his mouth soundlessly, shoving his trembling fingers under his blanket. He could feel the other two still beside him, and he wanted to unload everything, but that wouldn’t be fair to them. He couldn’t keep using them like this, it wasn’t fair.

“Danny, come on, we’re your best friends.”

“Yeah, but this is crazy. I’m crazy—or, I feel like it. You know? Like…I don’t know, I just feel like the world keeps slipping and I don’t know what to do.” 

Admitting the truth was bitter, and he couldn’t look at the other two. He couldn’t see their reactions. He didn’t want to look at Sam’s concerned expression, her eyebrows tight and pulled in, and he didn’t want to see Tucker’s wide eyes and their underlying hard look. Because that would mean that what he said was real and that the dreams were real and he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to know.

“As we said before,” Sam said, her voice cautious. “You know, there are options.”

“Those are impossible for me.”

“Not necessarily.” Sam reached down into her backpack and pulled out a folder. “I hope you don’t mind, but last night Tucker and I went ahead and looked into some psychologists nearby. We compiled a list of all the ones who had liked or posted pro-Phantom posts on social media.”

Danny’s brain was slow to react, but when the implication hit him, he carefully reached out for the folder and opened it. Inside were stapled pages of various therapists. He leafed around to see printouts of their backgrounds, therapist pages, and their interactions with Phantom-themed social media.

“Wow…” He stared at the papers, hardly soaking in the words in front of him. His throat felt tight, and something prickled behind his eyes.

“Like I said, we got you,” Tucker said.

Danny quickly wiped away a tear that betrayed him. “I—I’m sorry.”

“You’d do the same for us, dude.”

“Wow. Well, still. This was…really nice.” He glanced at his friends and saw nothing but kindness behind their eyes. “Thanks, guys.”

“Will you let us help you find someone now?” 

Danny nodded. 

“Good.” Sam put her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Danny. I promise.”

And if he had to wipe away another tear from his cheek, his friends were kind enough to not point it out.

***

“You look better,” Tucker said through a mouthful of a pastrami sandwich. “She’s good?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Danny sipped on his coffee, glancing toward the window. Snow flurries had begun to fall, though too sparse to stick onto the pavement. The sun was undecided if it wanted to commit to hiding behind the clouds and letting the snow commence, or if it wanted to break up the incoming storm in favor of blue skies. 

But regardless of the weather, the world moved around him. People hurried along the sidewalks, their hands shoved in their pockets and their eyes trained low, blinking away the little white speckles that stuck to their eyelashes. Cars whizzed by with bikes trailing alongside them. Across the street, a man dressed in all blue stood on a box, preaching to the scurrying passerby.

“I’m glad she’s working out,” Tucker said.

Danny was glad as well. Though, he could never express just how relieved he’d been. Looking back, it was almost embarrassing how quickly he had broken down to Amy. He couldn’t even remember what question she had asked him, just that it apparently hit the exact nerve he had spent months pushing down further and further into the recess of his mind.

That had been the first night in a long time he didn’t have a nightmare.

“How’s your job going?” Danny asked. “Sorry, I haven’t really asked.”

“All good, dude! And it’s been going well. My team’s awesome. I can’t really talk about what we’re developing—NDAs and all—but it’s been fun to figure out how to build everything. You know? It’s like a jigsaw puzzle.”

Danny felt the corners of his lips twitch up. It had been too long since he’d seen this, the spark that hit Tucker’s eyes when he got on the topic of technology. For so long, his daily routine had been making sure he didn’t drown, that he’d forgotten how nice it was to be able to breathe air.

“You can’t tell me anything? Not even a little hint?”

Tucker groaned dramatically, pulling his beanie down over his eyes. “Don’t tempt me, dude! Staying quiet about this is already bad enough without having you guilting me into spilling.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.”

“And what about you? You’re working for your advisor, right?”

“Yeah. Patel’s cool. You know, it’s mostly just me doing his bitch work. But he’s been talking about introducing him to some of his contracting buddies. So that’d be cool.” Danny shrugged. “Whatever gets my foot in the door, really.”

“The first job’s the hardest. After that, it gets easier.”

“That’s what Sam said too. And Jazz. And my mom.”

“Well, they’re not wrong,” Tucker said, turning his attention back to his sandwich. “You remember me complaining about my first job. My boss was an idiot who thought more lines of code meant more productivity. No matter how many people explained that fewer lines are actually—a lot of the time—better and that debugging was a thing, this guy couldn’t grasp the concept. I couldn’t wait to finish out my year and get out of there.”

“Bad bosses are everywhere, I guess.”

“Yeah. But you know, now I’m working at this kickass place and it’s great!”

Tucker didn’t have to convince Danny of that. Just looking across the table, Danny could see all the ways Tucker had changed since they were kids. He was taller, more filled out, and he sat with his shoulders back, head held high. He still had that shit-eating grin, but it seemed more genuine now. Kinder.

Danny had a lot of catching up to do. But maybe…maybe one day, he’d get there too.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be complaining about my first boss too.”

“It’s a rite of passage.”

The laugh escaped his lips before he could stop himself. “Sure it is.”

“So what’s on your agenda for today?”

“Eh, nothing fun. I’m still catching up with all my schoolwork.” It hadn’t been fun facing the mountain of assignments and studying he had fallen behind on. But it hadn’t exactly been the first time he’d been in this academic predicament either. And as experience had taught him, once he’d started, he had found that his backlog of work wasn’t quite as bad as his anxiety had made it seem.

“We’ll be seeing you on Friday still, right?” Tucker asked. 

Danny took another sip of his coffee and nodded. “For sure. I’ll need the break by then.”

“Good.”

“And, you know, thanks.” Danny ducked his head. “I know I’ve been off. Thanks for sticking it out for me. I really appreciate you guys.”

“Dude, of course. You know, we moved here together, so we’re gonna stick together.”

“Yeah. Still, thanks.”

“We got you.”

When Danny woke up on Saturday, he wasn’t in his bed. He was on his couch with Sam and Tucker pressed up on either side of him. They must have fallen asleep watching terrible movies again. Empty cans of spiked seltzers and a family-sized bag of pretzels littered the coffee table, and the ‘Are You Still Watching?’ message splayed over the TV screen.

He heard the soft snores of Tucker and the consistent breaths of Sam, and something warm and fuzzy grew in his stomach. After months and months of feeling empty, the warmth was almost jarring at first, but that was quickly replaced by bliss.

Because even though it had been a while, even Danny couldn’t forget how nice this all felt. To have friends, family even. To be loved and cared for. To know that no matter what, he always had these two by his side.

Honestly, what would he do without them?

“Thanks,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

He could wait until they woke up too.

[pen-and-umbra]

Here’s a particular detail to wonder about. How does Sephiroth gain access to the Jenova chamber when he arrives at the Mako reactor after pillaging Nibelheim?

We don't see him using any keycards or entering any passwords. There are no mechanical locks or keys to speak of. We don't see him tampering with any remote terminals in the mansion or the reactor itself. There is no indication that he is using voice commands either. He simply says "Mother, I have come for you. Now, open the way for me", and it magically opens after he's dealt with Tifa.

Interestingly, there is an odd device attached in front of the Jenova tube that resembles the entity and appears to be linked to some type of circuitry. When Sephiroth plucks it away, we see tubes and cables rupturing and leaking liquid.

Based on the FFVII Remake, we know that Hojo had extensively experimented with Jenova cells, even imbuing machinery with them, as witnessed at the Drum. The evidence suggests that its organics can, in some cases, interact with various devices.

This raises the question whether Jenova's chamber was connected to the entire reactor complex, or at least the portion housing the test subject pods. If this is true, the phrase "Now, open the way for me" takes on a far more sinister meaning. Even more disturbingly, it raises yet another troubling possibility. Who's to say that if Jenova could tamper with the sealed door, it couldn't also tamper with the pod system? In other words, what if the creature was responsible for the entire alleged "reactor malfunction"?.. [some additional speculation on Jenova being “awake”]

Another potential conspiracy theory emerged immediately after the original game was released. What if Hojo orchestrated the Nibelheim mission? While there is no solid evidence that Hojo or his assistants recently visited the site (the townspeople would have likely noticed the visit or the helicopters heading towards reactor H-pad), Sephiroth goes out of his way to emphasize that the Nibelheim reactor is unique in that it is under Research & Development jurisdiction rather than Urban Development dept.

R&D most likely had a remote monitoring/control system for the chamber environment. Hojo, in particular, has expressed an interest in Palmer's testimony that Sephiroth was seen walking the halls of ShinRA headquarters, famously stating that he would like to see Sephiroth and Aerith produce an offspring.

Later in OG, Hojo was shown to be fascinated by his pet theory of Reunion being played out. As a result, it's not unreasonable to speculate that Hojo may have specifically arranged for Sephiroth to be dispatched to Nibelheim to observe Jenova specimens come into contact and its corollary. If there were security cameras in the Jenova chamber, Hojo might have been able to remotely unlock the door [upon seeing Sephiroth approach].

It is indeed a terrifying possibility that Hojo could be directly responsible for the Nibelheim tragedy. Before Crisis Core and Genesis, In OG, prior to Genesis stuff being introduced, it seemed suspicious to send two top SOLDIER members to a remote and dilapidated reactor to investigate reported monster sightings.

@pen-and-umbra

[northernolddragon]

About how Geralt and Regis were studying the bestiary with "red" flora and fauna (extinct creatures) and a dramatic observation in the background of a wonderful company of witchers and a vampire.

R. "There is such an extensive library in Kaer Morhen. The treasures of the witchers are not only in the history of the local walls, in weapons .." G. "So, Regis, we came to look for, that unknown "miracle", that crawled out to us last night, when we decided to clean up the territory. Considering that we had not wintered here for a long time, there were so many drowners and water hags, that we had to wash ourselves right in river." L. "I would have dipped you a couple more times, gray-haired .. You completely warmed your ass in Toussaint." E. "At least he didn't run from one eccentric sorceress on a routine sortie."

G. (not listening to them) "You study books like you know each one in its content." R. "I will not be modest .. I didn't deprive myself of the pleasure on my .. "vacation" to ask Dettlaff for everything he could find. Indeed, I can say, that I am familiar with the world not only of people and vampires, but also of your world and your art .. Well, acquaintance with you served as a desire to feed on knowledge in this direction .." G. "Wait a minute, so you were bluffing, when you sent me to fetch wight's saliva and you could have found it yourself without too much effort?" R. "No, my dear witcher, I would not, even if I could deal with the salivary glands of such a single specimen on my own. This is your vocation. Which you have done very reasonably and nobly." G. "Well, Marlene is a great woman. Barnabas-Basil is overjoyed with her. That he doesn't have to try his skills in cooking. R. "I would not want to offend our respected Barnabas, but his culinary skills will be used in scaring away certain monsters. " G. (nodding and smiling) "He admits it. As well as the fact that you charmed him, which is not surprising." R. "Thank you, my friend. But I think he was fascinated by my very pleasant tincture.." D. (muttering to himself) "This is a long time." E. (watching Regis and Geralt) "Shall we go downstairs and have a drink?"

L. (lamenting in the background) "I'd rather give a kiss to every water hag and nekkers, and tumble with drowners, than listen to all this." D. "We need a drink. We've got a case of mandrake tincture." E. "Sounds great." L. "When you find something, lovebirds, we'll be waiting for you downstairs..." D. "... not to say that in a sober state."

[muntadhir]

I wrote about some of the stuff on Geppetto’s blackboard months ago, and now that I have since learned how to actually look at the game’s files and manipulate the camera better, I figured I would take another look, starting with the “Daffodils and Narcissus” paper. There’s one on Geppetto’s blackboard, as well as on his desk and in various other parts of the game (perhaps notably, Lorenzini Arcade).

Initially I wasn’t super interested in this because I figured it was just a “lorem ipsum” sort of thing, and I still think it is, but conversely: the text comes (paraphrased, and otherwise mixed and added to) from an actual book published in 1923 that you can take a gander at online: Archive.org | some related images on Flickr from the Biodiversity Heritage Library

The full Lies of P text is below, but some notes: 1. I wasn’t sure if “forcing” and “flanged” were the right terms, but it’s used in the original so I assume it’s correct. 2. “We/our” from the original text has been changed to “I/my” in the game version. Maybe one of the devs just really likes flowers or they thought it was funny. Either way, valid. 3. There are undoubtedly errors, and I’ve intentionally kept some misspellings.

⬇️

Miss Ella V. Baines, The Woman Florist, Springfield Ohio. 11

Daffodils and Narcissus.

Sweet harbingers of Spring, that jump from old Winter’s lap, with cheeks of gold and silver and bedecking the earth with beauty, filling the air with delicious perfume. The wonderful creations in the way of new varieties have awakened an interest and enthusiasm among the lovers of flowers that has placed this, “The Flower of the Poets,” in the front rank of popularity and they merit all the praise that can be bestowed upon them. Appearing as they do, just after bleak Winter, they turn our gardens, lawns, and woodlawn walks into gorgeous masses of gold and silver, with a fragrance that is enchanting.

Note. — I wish to say my friends that the different varieties of Narcissus force into bloom in the house during Winter as readily as the Hyacinths. There is nothing finer in the flower line for this purpose. Indeed, they are my choice of all Winter flowering bulbs. They are so graceful and pretty. I can especially recommend for house culture the following charming varieties: Golden Spur, Porticus Ornatus, Orange Phoenix, Sulphur Pheonix, Von Sion, Horsfieldii, Giant Princess, Paper White, Chinese Sacred Lily and Golden Sacred Lily. Try these variations. They will not disappoint you.

Henry Irving. — Long, beautifully frilled trumpet nearly two inches wide at the mouth of rich golden yellow color. Petals of perianth very wide over lapping bright yellow. Received first class certificate. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

Hale’s Beaten Gold, or Maximus. — Large flower, rich yellow, elegantly twisted perianth, trumpet deep golden, large, well flanged. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

Obvallaris. — Tenby Daffodil. Elegantly formed, medium sized flower of rich yellow. Splendid for forcing. 8 cents each; four for 25 cents.

Large Trumpet Narcissus.

Two Colored Varieties — White and Yellow.

Grandis. — Flowers of the largest size, with broad, snow white petals and a magnificent yellow tube. Very beautiful. A flower of great substance and grand for cutting. 10 cents each; six for 50c.

Horsfieldii. — (Empress) The Queen of the Daffodils. This variety is considered the best of all Narcissus. Try it. Very large flowers, pure white with rich yellow trumpet. Very stately and beautiful and one of the most elegant for ladies’ corsage wear. This magnificent flower was raised by a Lancashire weaver — John Horsfield — and it has made him famous. 10 cents each; six for 50 cents.

Scoticus. — The Scotch Garland Flower or Large-Flowering Lent Lily. Large flowers of creamy white, bright yellow trumpet, elegantly flanged and serrated. 6 cents each; 50 cents per dozen.

Giant Princess. — (Ajax Princeps) A magnificent flower. One of the finest specimens of the Trumpet type. Cream perianth with golden yellow trumpet. 5 cents each; 50 cents per dozen.

Moschatus. — White perianth. Trumpet opens creamy white and turns to pure white. It is very large and showy and it never fails to please everybody. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

All White Trumpet Narcissus.

Pallidus Praecox. — The White Pyrenees Daffodils. One of the earliest and most beautiful varieties. Both trumpt and Perianth are clear, sulphur white. Was awarded a first-class certificate by the London Royal Horticultural Society. One of the best for forcing. 6 cents each; 60 cents per dozen.

Albicans. — The White Spanish Daffodil. Creamy white, with a silvery white trumpet, slightly flushed with primrose and elegantly recurved at the brim. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

The True Poet’s Daffodils.

Narcissus, with Miniature Saucer-shaped Cups.

Poeticus Ornatus. — Large, beautifully formed, pure white flowers with saffron cup, tinged with rosy scarlet. A magnificent cut flower. Very early. This is my special favorite of all Narcissus. Try it. 5 cents each; 50 cents per doz.

Poeticus. — The “Pheasant’s Eye or Poet’s Narcissus.’ Pure white flowers, with orange cup, edged with crimson. Splendid cut flower. 3 cents each; 25 cents per dozen.

Poeticus Poetarum. — The flowers of this splendid variety are much larger and the orange rim more distinct in the cup. This beautiful variety will be welcomed as a decided improvement over the old Poeticus. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Chalice Flowered or Semi-Trumpet Narcissus

Including the Incomparabilis Barril and Leedsil Types.

The trumpet in these varieties are only half the length or less of the other varieties of trumpets, hence called chalice flowered. They are very beautiful and desirable.

Barril Conspicus. — (Barrii) Perianth yellow. Short orange scarlet cup. Extra fine. 5 cents each; six for 25 cts.

Frigaro. (Incomparabilis) Perianth bright yellow, large orange scarlet cup. A very beautiful variety. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Amabilis. — (Leedsii) Perianth pure white, cup or half trumpet primrose yellow fading to pure white. Very desirable. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Duchess de Brabant. — (Leedsii) Periant white, cup or half trumpet a beautiful shade of canary yellow. Very fine. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Albus Stella. (Incomparabilis) Large white perianth with yellow cup. This is an old and fashionable standby. 4 cents each; 40 cents per doxen.

Sir Watkin. — (The Giant Incomparabilis) Perianth rich sulphur, cup yellow, tinged orange. The best of all. Very beautiful. Extra. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

(Left column)

Giant-Flowered Narcissus or Daffodils.

Note. — In describing Narcissus I have referred to the “perianth” and “trumpet;” the latter is the long center, funnel-like tube, and the “perianth” is the surrounding row of petals, or leaves. All Narcissus on this page are hardy for garden planting. Also excellent for Winter flowering indoors.

Large Trumpet Narcissus — All Yellow.

Ard-Righ, or Irish King. — (Trumpet Major) — Earliest and most vigorous “Giant Trumpet Daffodil” in cultivation. Fine, bold flowers of immense size. Perianth and trumpet full, rich yellow. Extra fine sort for port culture and forcing. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Emperor. — The Giant Narcissus. Largest of all. Flowers of richest yellow, trumpet immense, petals of perianth so large they overlap, and measure three and a half inches across. Petals a shade lighter than the trumpet. 10 cents each; six for 50 cents.

Golden Spur. — Extra large, bold, rich, yellow flowers. Foliage very broad and striking, unusually robust habit. Unsurpassed for gardens, pots, or forcing. 10 cents each; $1.00 per dozen.

[eyesandtentacles]

People only like Toji because he's attractive

I saw a comment on Tik Tok saying something along those lines and honestly it didn't sit right with me.

Of course, people are free to have their own opinion and you don't have to like Toji, but I believe that there is much more to his character.

So this is a post where I talk about the things that I personally appreciate about Toji Fushiguro. We'll start simple and get deeper as we go on. So strap yourselves in because this is going to be a long one.

Spoilers for the upcoming season 2 of Jujutsu Kaisen.

First let me start by saying that yes,

Toji is indeed very attractive

Look at this fine specimen of a man. No wonder the fandom goes crazy for him.

His design is certainly aesthetically pleasing. The worm curling around his body and the tight shirt and baggy pants he's wearing emphasize his muscles and tiny waist making your eyes run all over him. His black hair falls on his handsome face nicely and the scar on his lips draws attention to it and adds a little bit of spice, just enough to tie this whole meal together.

He is built like a snack and boy am I hungry!

But enough about his looks. Looks isn't the only thing he has to offer.

Toji has a superhuman body

Similarly to Maki, Toji is affected by Heavenly Restriction. His body is incredibly strong and fast and in exchange he possesses no cursed energy. But he doesn't even need cursed energy to see curses, because his senses are just that sharp and enhanced! He truly is an anomaly and if the jujutsu society recognised his potential instead of abusing him for being different, he would definitely be classified as a special grade sorcerer.

Dude's a beast so he makes any battle that he takes part in fun and exciting to watch. He also had some interesting matchups allowing him to show off how skilled he is as a fighter.

We got to see him battle with Gojo,Geto and a disaster curse, all of them considered special grade and he won all but one of his encounters with them. However, that one loss was from the second battle with Gojo AKA the strongest sorcerer alive, who he almost killed on their first one, so that shows how superior his combat skills can really be.

But Toji doesn't only depend on his body to do the work.

Toji is smart

When tasked with the mission to kill Riko Amanai, instead of charging in right away, he simply sits and waits while others try their hand on the assassination.

But why is Toji waiting?

It's because he knows that Gojo is protecting this girl and he knows what he is capable off, so he chose to take things slow. By putting the money reward for the job on the internet and offering it to anyone who was successful in killing the target, he ensured that the protection squad would be constantly on edge. He even put a time limit on the offer to deceive them into believing that they only needed to be careful for a certain amount of time. As a result, when the time limit had passed and the group let their guard down Toji striked by putting a sword through Gojo's chest, an attack that would be lethal if it weren't faced with such a strong opponent.

He also took advantage of the fact that his lack of cursed energy makes him invisible to the security system of Jujutsu High and to the sorcerers around him. He made sure that his first strike against Gojo was with a normal sword and switched to a cursed tool when the surprise attack didn't work.

But where did that tool come from? And if it has cursed energy wouldn't it be detected?

Well that's where the worm comes in....

So basically, in order to keep the advantage of being invisible due to the lack of cursed energy and to always have weapons available, Toji keeps this cursed spirit on his stomach and whenever he needs something he simply vomits it out and does his thing. Kinda gross but very effective.

Honestly it's terrifying how this man can use his body and anything else that is available to quickly come up with a strategy to kick your ass. Being his opponent must be a total nightmare since Toji is brutal and cares only about one thing and that is money.

Or maybe there is something more........

Toji cares about his family

Now I know what you're going to say and I agree.

Toji is a terrible father.

Not only did he abandon his son but he also sold him to the Zenins. That ain't exactly father of the year material. Despite this, there are moments that show that he loves his family.

One of those moments is when he recalls Megumi and that he was the one who named him. I refuse to believe that Toji woke up and chose a random name for his son, especially since Megumi means Blessing so he must have put some thought into it.

Additionally, in his dying moments he thought about his son and his wife and it was obvious that it's a memory that's dear to him. At first he chose to not say anything when asked about his last words, but changed his mind when he remembered Megumi, informing Gojo that he will be sold in the Zenin family and to do with that as he pleases. That ensured Gojo taking Megumi under his care and protection.

Another moment is when Toji is back as a mindless puppet in Shibuya, fighting purely on instinct the strongest person in the room and when that person happened to be Megumi he froze, his eyes literally softening at the sight of his boy and he regained control long enough to ask a question and then kill himself to ensure that he won't bring him any more harm.

But wait, you may ask, if he cares this much about Megumi why did he abandon and sell him?

Well the answer to that is a simple but sad one.

Toji is a broken man

Toji is a Zenin, a member of one of the most important clans in jujutsu society. But because he was born with no cursed energy he was abused by the family and left it completely unstable.

Look at this panel. His eyes look so empty and tired. This was before he left from the clan and started to work as an assassin.

However, even while he was away from this toxic environment, the damage had been done. Toji definitely had issues regarding his self-worth. He kept trying to prove that someone like him can be strong and defeat sorcerers. He referred to himself as a ''useless monkey who can't even use jujutsu''. He kept saying while selling his son that unlike him, his son had potential since he had a cursed technique.

And in the end, in the battle that led to his death, instead of fleeing, he chose to stay and fight because he was facing Gojo and being able to crush him, the strongest sorcerer alive, would discredit the society that deemed him worthless.

His trauma caused him to ignore his survival instincts and led to his demise.

This trauma was also the reason why he abandoned and sold Megumi. When he met his wife, Toji was able to calm down and become a bit more stable. He loved and really cared about this woman. But she died soon after Megumi was born, leaving Toji once again unstable but with a baby in his care.

At this point, his issues about his worth once again kicked in and he probably felt that he wouldn't be able to raise his son properly. So he sold him to the Zenin family, promising them that the kid would develop a good cursed technique and asking them to take care of him. In his mind, the place that he grew up would be better for Megumi since he had potential.

I'm guessing that before dying he realised that that environment would still be bad even for Megumi so he told Gojo about the deal maybe because he was hopeful that Gojo would help the kid. And of course that's exactly what happened.

So when Toji appears once again in Shibuya and comes face to face with Megumi he asks him a simple question.

What's your name?

And when Megumi replied with Fushiguro instead of Zenin I'm sure that that made Toji feel happy and relieved.

All of this of course doesn't excuse any of his actions but it certainly explains them.

And all of his actions had some effect on the story.

Toji is an important part of the plot

Before he even appears in the anime, Toji has already made his impact. He was considered an anomaly and his mere existence was bound to affect the story in some way.

There were so many moments where we see how he affected it.

By almost killing Gojo, he made him realise his full potential and become the strongest.

By killing Riko Amanai, he caused Geto's spiral and existential crisis leading him to leave Jujutsu High and become a villain, only to later die and have his body used by Kenjaku for his big plan.

By killing Riko Amanai, he also stopped the merging with Master Tengen, something that had massive consequences and would be taken advantage of by Kenjaku in the future.

By telling Gojo about Megumi, he caused Gojo to take him under his protection, training him and raising him with much more care that the Zenin family ever would.

All of these moments are vital.

All of them caused by him.

Toji was an important piece to the whole puzzle of this story and without him Jujutsu Kaisen would not be complete.

And just like that, we have reached the end.

Once again I'd like to say that you can believe whatever you want about Toji but simply reducing him to just an attractive character is a bit of a disservice to him, no?

Apologies for the chaotic writing I have way too many thoughts and can't articulate them properly.

Thank you to anyone who has read this far <3