#LIKE SIR CAN I [REDACTED] YOUR [REDACTED] WHILE YOU LAY THERE LIKE THAT???

[thewooziverse]

(from @h0neyfire) I’m just thinking- 😵‍💫

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Colors Ep. 6

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here.

I found out Charlie and Way's superpowers last week from the tags on my post, so let's pray those blue gloves Babe just gave Charlie stop him from -redacted- and lying.

Wait a minute! I thought that was a flashback. Barbara is racing too?! Now, I'm confused about the plot because I thought the team needed to fill Babe's spot, but . . . they need a third racer? Is this you rethinking the plot, Barbara? Or did your special superpowers heal you already and you're thinking about letting Charlie win? But you didn't have superpowers last week. What is happening?

Dean, I know you are going to screw everyone over because you now have to race Charles AND Barbara, but you are already sitting in the red. Damn, sir. No need to spoil the plot development.

Babe won, so what was with all those *looks* from him? And I want to hate Way, but he is the only one who is feeling like me as Charlie's RED IS EXPOSED! Dean, go ruin everyone's life. You have my permission.

Alan, you have tattoos, and you are the only man I trust in life and love, so I'm gonna ignore these red gloves. Not every show can be Wandee Goodday and get color-coded boxing gloves.

Charles wore Babe's black in episode three after sleeping with Babe, then Babe got the picture of Charles getting into the red car. I want to trust Charles and this color exchange, BUT HE IS LYING!

I wish the cards could have stayed in Thai. I did not need to know Alan was apologizing to Jeffrey as he sits there in blue, with that red bag and red smoothie (it's pink, but I'm seeing red, dang it!). Don't throw out those cards, Alan. Jeffrey is gonna need them when he has to apologize for LYING all this time!

CHARLES AND THAT DAMN RED!

Barbie. Stuck between the blue and red. He deserves better.

You know what makes a sky look purple like that? Blue and red. Which is really odd, SINCE BOTH OF YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BLUE, CHARLES!

It's turning pink! STOP HURTING MY FEELINGS!

No. Putting Barbie in glasses will not make up for the pain I just suffered.

To go from that locker room scene to Waymond looking so sad only for PETER TO BE WATCHING HIM IN THE PINK TOO! I knew they were gonna be an item, but Peter, my man, have you loved Waymond for a while?! Did you know him before you shook his hand and that's why you hesitated? Patricia, I have questions!

Yellow is my favorite color, but, Sonic, why can't you wear blue? I know you like North. You are protecting him right now. But just wear more blue beyond that small stripe on your shirt, so I can trust you!

Jeffrey is back in the red, Alan. Get out now or he'll take you "home" aka Big Red's house that he doesn't know how to get to without the GPS because it's hard for liars to keep track of all their lies.

I won't be crazy and mention the red house showing through the window behind Charles. No. Never.

What do you see, Jeffrey?! That your roommate is gonna break Barbie's heart?!

My God, this episode is laying it on thick with Charles constantly in the red. I get it! He is lying! I KNOW!

Waymond just had to remind me his ass is red too. You're lucky Peter has been in love with you for a minute apparently because I like Peter. But you, sir, are on thin ice.

Did Charles post that picture?! (Sonic, wear blue damnit!)

Barbara, you're fucked up. It's clear that Waymond loves you, and you pull stunts like this. Rude. Selfish. Let the boy brood in peace. You make me feel bad for him, and I don't want to feel bad for him because I know his superpower now, and he keeps trying to touch you.

Every now and then, the show must remind me that Barbara was originally red.

Are you conflicted, Waymond? Because this purple is telling tales that you are in-between the two. Where do you stand, Waynette? Blue or red? TELL ME RIGHT NOW!

Wait a minute!

Before he was a Slut for Christ, Barbara gave you the steering wheel necklace?!

Fuck! Waymond, no! Turn away from the red, bruv! DON'T GO FULL DARK SIDE!

PETER LOVES YOU!

But eff Charles!

Jeffrey has red on again. Someone is dead under that car, so since he is talking to Charles and there are only two drivers now (is Babe still driving or no?), I'm hoping he saw Charles dead and not Waymond. Can I get a Christmas miracle?!

KIMBERLY, MY BELOVED! Please go collect your husband, Kenta, and fuck Big Red up!

In short,

I'm conflicted about Waymond.

I want to know how long Peter has loved Waymond.

I need more of the Kardashians, Kimberly and Kenta.

I still hate Charles because the show is constantly telling me he is red.

I'm happy there was no Whiny Winifred.

I'm okay if Dean messes up everyone's day.

I need Jeffrey to grovel to Alan when his time comes.

[sukirichi]

Breakfast: ingredient 64 + sugar 5 for inumaki

Okay, but like- what about inumaki's first kiss? His mouth is a very sensitive area and his first kiss would be a very intimate act, so here's what happens: reader and him are mutually pining BUT all everyone else sees is the sexual tension between them.

Somehow itadori manages to lock them in a dark small space, where they share their first kiss, yet they don't speak about it and to each other for a long time. At some point itadori (i swear this kid is a matchmaker) points out how y/n and toge can't even glance at each other and inumaki breaks. Late at night he shows up at reader's dorm, pins her to the wall and kisses her like no tomorrow. After they eventually have a rough make out with toge's shirt coming off, they lay on her bed where reader tells him she really likes him and he grabs her chin to stop her rambling and she looses it when she sees so much love and lust swirling in his eyes (they maybe have a third make out round 👀) and in the end they come to the conclusion they love each other and that they should have acted sooner on it.

I don't know if make outs count as nsfw and i read that you can write only sfw for inumaki, so it's okay if you can't complete this request. Just let me know you if can't.

Also get prepared to be spoiled spammed with asks.

— 🍰 strawberry shortcake anon

delicate

the first kiss with inumaki toge is as delicate as he is.

meal order: ★🥞 + 64 (canon au) + 5 (mutual pining) + sensitive first kiss with inumaki, them trapped in a room + yuuji as matchmaker uwu + WALL PIN KISS YES SIR + basically hot af inumaki

warnings: nothing really, just make out sessions and implications of smut, also UH soft dom inumaki toge, i guess? unedited as always

song i listened to while writing: I.F.L.Y. by Bazzi

note: 🍰 anon TYSM for this request, my heart was legit doki doki the whole time. this totally reminds me of why inumaki was my first crush and he’s the reason i came to watch jjk lol i love him so much <3 i hope this is what you’ve been looking for and that you like it! i had a lot of fun writing this one!

“Yuuji, don’t!” You tried to scramble against the strawberry haired boy’s grip, but he was far too strong, and it didn’t help that Nobara’s riled up self was helping him push you back inside the storage room. “Yuuji, Nobara, I’m your senpai, have some respect—” You don’t get to finish your words before you’re pushed inside, landing on the floor with a thud.

“Yuuji!” You banged your fists on the door once you’ve recovered, screaming at the top of your lungs. From outside the door, you heard the underclassmen giggle and run away, leaving you with your crush, Inumaki Toge, of all people.

Falling down into a squat, you wrapped your arms around yourself, refusing to look at him. You were only thankful that it was dark so Toge wouldn’t see how your pupils blew wide, your body responding at the soft scent of his perfume and laundry detergent. He’d been your crush for who knows how long now, and your first memory of meeting the cursed speech user burns at the back of your mind to remind you that it’s been years, and yet you’ve barely spoken to him.

Unlike the other students, your cursed technique wasn’t the most useful in combat. Your technique allowed you to nullify the abilities of others, but the downside of it was that it didn’t have much advantage against curses, so you had to rely on your physical strength to exorcise.

On the bright side, though…

“So,” Toge begins, shuffling away from the dusty wall and closer to you. Your heartbeat raced when his knees brushed against yours, thighs pressed against one another. “You’re a victim of them too.”

“Hmm, guess so.”

Neither of you speak for a while. Toge himself wasn’t much of a talker, and he barely batted an eye when Maki and Panda hauled his ass inside the storage room. He was so calm and placid that your mind was in mess – both because you were comfortable and happy in his presence, but at the same time, your palms were so sweaty and the room was so stuffed you could barely breathe. It didn’t help that Toge was humming too, reassured that he wasn’t going to hurt you with his powers.

“Uhm,” you started nervously, fiddling with your fingers. The silence stretched out thick and cordial that you couldn’t bear it anymore, and you turned to Toge with wide eyes, blinking back rapidly when he faced you as well, his deep purple eyes like a painting before you. “Do-do you know why we’re locked in here?”

Your palms grew wetter with each ticking second; Toge taking his time to answer.

Nobara had eavesdropped on you gushing to Megumi on how Toge looked so cute during breakfast this morning, and the girl immediately ran off to tell her best friend, Yuuji; the two of them sharing the same braincells.

Before you knew it, everyone split into two groups, your classmates dragging Toge away while Nobara and Yuuji manhandled you, hissing into your ear to man up and fess.

As if it was as easy as that! Inumaki Toge – albeit approachable and kind – was still the light of your life, the apple of your eye, and he barely acknowledged your presence the whole two years you’ve been with him. He was much closer with Maki and Panda while you got along more with the younger ones (although you wouldn’t hesitate to redact that statement after doing this to you), so the chances of you ever striking up a full conversation with him were low.

You only admired him from afar, sighing dreamily into your hands while he trained with Panda. Megumi seemed to be the only decent one, silent and bored as ever while you rambled on tirelessly on how much Toge looked so buff under his uniform yet had the face baby, stating over and over again he was born just to drive you crazy.

You should’ve known someone would find out one way or another, but heavens forbid, not him. The both of you were barely friends to begin with – you didn’t want to shatter whatever mutual respect you had for each other just because you crushed on him hard.

Mind running back and forth over the different ways Toge could reject you, because obviously someone had told him, or obviously he knew already – why else would he be locked here with you if your friends didn’t know something? It was getting hard to read his face from the darkness; the only thing you could make out were his long lashes and lips visible with his collar down.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he avoided your gaze, and you swallowed audibly at the sound of his husky voice; unused to speaking this much. “But…but we’ve got nothing to worry about. Gojo-Sensei or Nanamin will come around soon.”

“Okay,” you nodded at his words, cursing inwardly that this was your perfect chance to confess or at least try and be friends with him, but your whole body was burning, feet frozen in your place that you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You watched from the corner of your eye as Toge rocked back and forth in his heels, cheeks puffed out, and your eyes zeroed in on the snake tattoo beside his lips.

Toge rarely ever let his collar down to muffle his voice, so seeing him expose his lips like this almost felt intimate. He looked so pretty, long lashes fluttering on top of those warmed cheeks and strong arms wrapped around his knees.

He was just an arm’s length away. This was the closest you’d ever gotten with him, and maybe it was because you’d kept your feelings a secret for so long that it suddenly burst through. Faster than you could take notice of yourself, your arm reached out to cup his cheeks, thumb swiping against the tattoos. “Pretty,” you murmured, Toge stiffening up under your touch.

His eyes skewed over to yours, wide and unreadable, but there was something there – something burning. He had to bite down his cheek as you caressed his face absentmindedly, and it wasn’t until his fingers came up to your wrist that you realized what you were doing.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, the warmth of his skin now searing because of your embarrassment. “Toge – I-I didn’t mean to – I’m so sorry! It’s just, your tattoos look so pretty and I’ve always—”

Your words are thrown right back into your mouth when Toge tugged you forward, sending the both of you toppling to the ground. Toge’s hands were delicate, just as delicate as your touch, when he cupped your face, his lips moving with yours. You were stunned for a moment before pleasure and fireworks exploding everywhere burst within you, prompting you to kiss him back in urgent fervor.

Toge’s lips tasted like candy, his sighs into your mouth melting your insides until you’re crumpling his shirt, eyes shut so tight in fear that maybe this would all disappear the moment you opened them.

Your hands travelled everywhere – from his shoulders, to his neck, his jaw – before it settled into his hair, the satisfaction of finally getting to run your hands through them has you weakening in his hold. Toge keeps his grip on your waist firm, almost possessive even, and he held you up both, sitting up while your arms wound around his neck.

A curse must’ve possessed you because you moaned into his mouth when he nipped at your bottom lip, tugging it inside his mouth so he could taste your cherry chapstick.

He wasn’t in a better state than yours. As the cursed speech user, his mouth was one of his most sensitive parts, and it took all energy it had in him to not kiss you senseless right then and there, your lips swiping over his mouth in such a mind-numbing sensation.

It felt like his body was on fire, the heat licking up from his toes to right where you were pressed on him. Your lips on his was scorching, the soft sighs and moans you gave him only adding to the fuel.

Toge groaned as your nails subconsciously pulled at his hair, making him grind you down into the V of his lips, pressing your chest firms against his until there was no more space. Through the darkness and nearly airless atmosphere of the room, Toge still managed to take your breath away, your lips moving in synch and you were falling, falling, falling.

He effortlessly held your weakening arms up before he pulled away, both your chests panting at the sudden heated kiss. His eyes trailed down from your lust-filled gaze to the bow of your lips, where the flesh was plump and abused.

Toge’s thumb swiped over your lips that had you frozen solid because he looked at you so gently, delicately, almost as if he didn’t want to hurt you. But he never could – you nullified everyone’s powers and allowed him freedom in your space. You’d let him come again and again, welcoming him with open arms if he wanted so, and in that moment, you believed he did.

Although why would he want you?

Fears and insecurities struck a chord in you and you scrambled away from his lap, leaving Toge all alone in the ground. You ducked your head down to ignore the confused and hurt expression on his face, turning back to the door instead. “I’m so sorry,” you rasped out in one breath, “I-I didn’t mean for that kiss to happen and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Please just forget this ever happened and I really wish you and I aren’t awkward for this. Okay, good night. See you around.”

Pulling your phone out of your pocket after cursing yourself for not thinking of texting Megumi sooner, you speed dialed the younger boy, begging him to unlock the door.

Megumi came around a few minutes later. Toge had long settled behind you, silent but still catching his breath from your previous lip-locking. His presence unnerved you and you rubbed your hands up and down your arms, praying to whoever divines self that Toge would forget about this as well. The moment Megumi came around, you leaped out of the room, leaving two confused boys – with one of them unknowingly shattered.

The next few days were hell.

You and Toge hadn’t talked much at all before, but now, you both pretended as if the other didn’t existed. During class where there had to be pairings, you immediately sided with Maki and pushing Panda to Toge’s way, the latter frowning behind his collar every time you avoided his gaze.

You just couldn’t handle being anywhere near him after that kiss. You feared that your heart would combust and you’d further embarrass yourself in front of him, as if you weren’t embarrassing enough with how excited you were as you kissed him.

Gosh, what would Toge think of you now?

You bet he found you so weird, and your suspicions were only confirmed when he’d resorted to avoiding you as well. No more polite and cheery good mornings! in the hallway or asking what he had for lunch, no more random texting of memes at 3am because you both didn’t have friends outside the institute.

Pure silence from the other side.

It should’ve comforted you – you wanted to stay away from him, right? – but you only grew restless. Your focus dwindled with each passing day, finding yourself at the back of Toge’s head longingly when he wasn’t looking, then sighing as you chastised yourself from being stupid.

To be honest, that kiss only made your feelings multiply tenfold.

Now that you knew how warm and comfortable Toge was to the touch, how his lips tasted and how his hair felt under your touch – you crushed on him impossibly harder than before.

You reached a point where you tossed and turn around in bed, unable to fall asleep; completely unaware that just a few doors down, he was doing the same. It had you thinking back to that day all over again, wondering why did he kiss you? If he liked you, why did he never talk to you? He never even noticed you before and you were always the first one to strike conversation, but because the others were always around, chats were limited, one-worded, and awkward.

That cursed technique of yours was still useless, after all.

“Would you please stop moping around?” Megumi slammed his book down on the table next to you, and you jumped in your seat, clutching your pencil to your chest. “I’m tired of you eye-fucking Inumaki-senpai.”

“Wha – ? No, I wasn’t, what are you talking about?”

“You’ve both been acting weird,” observed Yuuji who stopped fighting with Nobara over who would win in an arm wrestling fight without special abilities: Gojo-Sensei or Nanami. Nobara nodded beside him, stealing Yuuji’s crisp chips before speaking. “You both can’t even glance at each other. All of us can feel that something’s wrong between you two.”

“They probably fucked in the storage room.”

“Nobara, keep your voice down!”

“Why should I?” she smirked, jabbing her thumb to an asleep Toge lounging on the field with Panda. “Your precious crush is asleep. He won’t know. But whatever, what did happen when we locked you both there?”

“You all humiliated me, that’s what happened!”

“What do you mean humiliated?” Megumi asked this time around, and you buried your face in your arms, glancing over at Toge again. He was slumbering peacefully, his body shaded from the sun under the tree, and your fingertips itched with the urge to hold him close again.

“He doesn’t like me,” you concluded with trembling lips, sending one last longing glance at Toge. “And I think I just absolutely ruined everything.”

No matter how much your underclassmen tried to cheer you up, your spirits were never lifted. You trudged back to your room that night, tired and drained from all the events that you just buried your nose in your textbook, studying about curses for next week’s exams.

The words began to blur and you sighed on your seat, glancing at your phone. It was nearing midnight and the dorms were oddly quiet, but you guessed everyone just had a long day.

Soon, you brushed your teeth and moved to retire for the night when three soft knocks came from your door. Your hand stilled on your blanket, brows furrowed at who could it be this time of the night. After fixing your hair to make yourself presentable, you swung the door open, ready to hit Yuuji if he came here to drag you down to the movie room and force you to watch horror movies again when you were harshly pushed, the stranger kicking the door back.

You gasped as warm lips came crashing down to yours, your hands pinned above your hand with just one arm.

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know it was Toge who’d placed a knee between your legs to prevent you from falling; your knees already turning to jelly before you even registered it was him. The familiar taste of something sweet like candy and cough syrup coated your senses and you moaned in his arms as his hands ran under your shirt, making the hairs on your body prickle up in anticipation.

Toge took advantage of your moan, his tongue slipping inside before it clashed with yours. It was too much – his overwhelming scent, his tongue tasting yours, his hands squeezing your breasts tenderly – you were on the verge of falling apart.

Fire burned all over your body, pure instinct dominating your conscious mind as you pushed him back, Toge falling down with you scrambling above him.

He grunted at your sloppy actions of trying to tug his shirt over his head, but he complied, reaching up at the same time you leant down for another wet, heated kiss. The kiss this time around was far less gentle and more urgent; your mutual pining for one another tipping over the edge until all hell broke loose.

You settled into his lap as if it were a throne and he encouraged you to take it, to claim him because he considered you the queen of his world.

“Toge, I,” you rambled after every peck, unable to form a complete sentence because you kept wanting to kiss him. It was nearly impossible to pull away now that he held you so close, making you feel like home and driving you absolutely insane. “I can’t do it anymore, mmhm, I want you so much – always have – I don’t want to avoid you and I just want to—”

He stopped your rambling by grabbing your chin forwards, his lips molding over yours again and dancing with it like two perfectly syncopated performers.

Toge’s curious hands ravished every crevice and dip of your curves as he sucked on your tongue, tasting it fervently like a traveler memorizing his path. You shuddered when Toge’s nimble fingers travelled down to cup your ass to lift you upwards, pushing you closer and deeper into his mouth.

None of you cared about anything anymore. You could barely focus on anything but letting your hands roam free down his chest, Toge rutting up to you when your cold hands brushed over his nipple.

Needing air to breathe, you pulled away first, panting as your forehead pressed against his. You stared at each other, lips swollen and wet from the hot make-out session. You were sure that your adoration for him was clearly evident in your eyes, that your feelings for him sparkled and radiated like the bright sunshine’s warmth he always made you feel.

But that wasn’t what drove you crazy.

It was the fact his expression mirrored yours; only his had lust swirling around his dark eyes, an unexplainable plethora of emotions flooding through them. You were breathing hard and so was he, his soft pants warming your lips that were still sore from his hungry ministrations.

Now was the time.

It didn’t matter that maybe he didn’t feel the same way for you; you liked him so much. Your feelings poured over the glass and your eyes glossed over with how your heart frantically chanted his name, wanting nothing and no one else but him.

“I love you,” you confessed, “I fucking love you.”

To your surprise, Toge chuckled, pulling you forward until his chest was flushed against yours. He captured your lips for one last kiss, delicate this time around as his hands cupped your jaw. You tilted your hide to the side to deepen the kiss, and you sighed while Toge rubbed soothing circles at the sides of your jaw then down to your neck.

“You better,” he mumbled through your lips, “Because I fucking love you too, and I don’t want to play this game of push and pull anymore.”

It was your first time to hear such dominance in his words, to witness such need and possessiveness shine back through his eyes, his lips travelling to the sides of your face. Submissively, you arched your back to him and allowed him access to your neck, head lolling to the side. Even as Toge slowly but surely left little love bites to mark you as his, he was gentle and delicate, soft yet hard, bitter but sweet like the longing you had for one another.

Even as he had you trapped under his arms, his heat nestled into the deeper, intimate parts of you that only welcomed no one else but him; your lover was absolutely delicate.

And you only fell for him harder than you already have.

[silveny-dreams]

Sil’s Unlocked Experience That No One Asked For

So. This got long. Oops. I’m chalking it up to Sil’s Poor Planning When She Types As She Reads.

(Yeah, this is gonna be purely spoilers. Spoilers only. Spoilers galore. Literal quotes from the book included. You have been warned, thoroughly. If you click the read more and have the audacity to get mad at me for spoiling Unlocked for you, I will merely laugh.)

Anyways. Here is a post ten times longer than you needed it to be. I had ~Thoughts~.

FIRST THINGS FIRST, YALL.

SIR. ELWIN. HESLEGE. THE MAN FINALLY HAS A SURNAME

I would lay down my life for Elwin Heslege and here are some reasons why:

“Grow strong, new little Wanderling. You hold some very precious DNA” the only Sophie’s third father I truly care about, tbh

“In the category of Proof That Things Keep Getting Weirder Around Here” Sir Elwin Heslege how does it feel to know you invented comedy also would you please accept my hand in marriage

In an official health record for Sophie, he notes “I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON!!” verbatim, in all caps, two exclamation points and everything.....Sir. Valid. I have been there, my dude.

The man would lay down his own life for Sophie Foster and I cannot give him any higher praise than that

Anyways beyond my love for Sir Elwin Heslege (!!!! Still pumped about the surname reveal!!)

Maruca! Chebota! She’s got a surname too!! Finally!!!

Totally forgot that Biana being a third child would have been scandalous if she hadn’t been a Vacker—must be nice being practically elven royalty lol

“A Crush, A Kiss, and Crushing Heartache” lmao rest in pieces Dexter Alvin

I Will Not Forgive Keefe For Redacting His Middle Name From His Registry Records And That Is A Promise (Keefe Cassius Sencen seems more and more likely every day)

Keefe Sencen has literally forty pages of detention records and I’m not surprised but also I definitely laughed

The chaotic descent into madness witnessed in Dame Alina’s principal comments on Keefe’s detention record as time continued on....chef’s kiss

Tam Dai Song and Linh Hai Song....make it make sense, Shannon

Was an entire section speculating on wyl*nh really necessary in Linh’s registry record, Shannon 🙃 was it 🙃

Wylie! Zoran! Endal!

(My phone autocorrected Endal to “end all” and I was like “haha............hang on a second I need to get Shannon on the phONE—”)

Tiergan!! Alenefar!!!

GRADY AND EDALINE SUGGESTED AS WYLIES GUARDIANS I WILL CRY ABOUT THIS FOREVER CAN YOU IMAGINE? I AM ALREADY THINKING OF THE HEADCANON

“Prentice’s close friend (Sir Tiergan Alenefar)” bruh.......bruh.

Stina Destry Heks (also. the way I giggled when “Stina” autocorrected to “stone” at first)

“In a more recent investigation, one report did suggest that the real reason Timkin was able to return to Foxfire...was because he [REDACTED]. And if that’s true, then perhaps [REDACTED]” DO NOT PLAY THESE GAMES WITH ME, SHANNON.

Marella Adene Redek of Fluttermont is registered for the match despite being a pyrokinetic and while given her flirtiness I’m not surprised can you hear me screaming about it anyways

“Anyone directly related to any of the registered pyrokinetics was labeled as a bad match to halt the spread of their genetics, and the ability detecting session at Foxfire now specifically forbids any exercises that might make a prodigy detect heat”—I love love love this as a plot point because it is so unbearably shitty and unfair and I love seeing how cleverly Shannon has built a world that elves think is perfect but it clearly isn’t and I cannot wait to see Sophie demolish and dismantle the entire matchmaking system to get justice for her friend anyways I digress I will get off my soapbox now

Words do not describe the frustration I felt at reading “Brant [LAST NAME REDACTED FOR SECURITY]”. I will eat your doorknobs, Shannon. Do not test me on this

“While the crowd’s initial reaction [to Marella’s reveal as a pyrokinetic at the Celestial Festival] was shock (the collective gasp was loud enough to make many ears ring)” MARELLA SWEETIE YOU ARE A QUEEN TURNING HEADS WE LOVE THIS FOR YOU

I would lay down my life for sparkly blue-green stuffed kelpie Sir Splashyhugs, the first reported emotional support stuffed animal

(Team Give The Whole Squad Stuffed Animals Keeps Winning And Winning, I Tell You)

GRADY. HOWELL. RUEWEN. I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND

👀 Edaline Ruewen? You had an assignment given to you by the Council? Care to spill, sis?? Hello???

YALL. I have THEORIES. The Ruewens barely needed any convincing to take Sophie? There was a “brief pause, an exchanged look” between Alden and Grady before Grady agreed? BRUH. You cannot convince me Alden didn’t say something to him telepathically. And my current working theory absolutely has something to do with Jolie.

EDALINE! KELIA! RUEWEN!

“Former caretaker of Brant [REDACTED]” !!! Brant!!! Where are your parents!!!! Why is your name redacted!!!!! I will get my answers or die trying!!!!!!

“SHE’D BEEN ASSIGNED TO ONE OF THE COUNCIL’S MOST FRAUGHT SITUATIONS” E X C U S E ME SHANNON SAY MORE RIGHT NOW

“THE COUNCIL SUSPECTS THAT SOON [REDACTED]” SHANNON IF I DONT GET MY ANSWERS I WILL BE THROWING ROTTEN FRUIT AT YOUR H O U S E

EXCUSE ME??? ALDEN DEDRICK VACKER?????

................................

Do I even need to explain to you what his middle name sounds like

Do I even need to explain the theories racing through my mind right now

I’m going to lose my mind. Shannon. You’ve killed me. This is it. My death. I’m going to go insane

You’re telling me this man married his 201st match recommendation and was engaged to Alina, his 104th recommendation.....did we know he was engaged or am I insane and just forgot

Della Adara Vacker. Queen.

Literally how did Alden and Della get together I need answers

“The Council opted to take her up on it [her request to be appointed emissary], having her look into [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]” bruh.........Shannon how u gonna tie up all ur loose ends if u keep ADDING INFO

“Della did inform the Council that [REDACTED]” Shannon is literally just toying with me now. She is doing this on purpose.

GISELA MINETTE SENCEN WHY IS THAT NAME SO PRETTY BITCH I WILL TEAR YOU APART also I hate that her middle name and my middle name sound so similar someone shoot me

Shannon is going to have to sit there in her wrongness on some of her pronunciations of things and be wrong and get used to it. VES-purr-ah. I ask you.

Do we know what a Chief Mentalist is already or am I sensing more complications Shannon will get to explain later under duress

My dearest s c r e a m e d when she saw the art of Bullhorn. She screamed “YESSSSS” aloud. It startled me into nearly dropping the book.

Wow we love that Laura’s way of interpreting that humans are “less stunning” than elves was to draw Sophie’s human family as chubby. Like. I get that literally in canon they are not skinny models, but. Come on. Bruh. Seriously. I’m tired.

Laura Hollingsworth has no fucking clue what Forkle looks like and she can get used to being wrong about it

My dearest said verbatim “she can only draw one face” and honestly? Correct

That being said....I saw her renderings of Linh and Livvy and Oralie and was reminded that I am, in fact, super not straight

ANYway

We love Shannon for reminding the fandom that the elven world is flawed on purpose! You’re doing amazing, sweetie!

Anyone else wondering whether Blur (who is widely theorized to be Jensi’s brother) is also Councillor Darek or am I reaching

....I’m reaching, it’s because he’s a phaser and I’ve gone so long without any aNSWERS, SHANNON

Swirled? White silver and gold?? Leaping crystals??? Hello????

How long before Keefe Sencen (or the Neverseen, take your pick) steals one of those, place your bets now

Shannon Messenger Drop Your Starkflower Stew Recipe Challenge

.....why does the art of custard bursts look like mini Victoria sandwich cakes what is this utter nonsense

Keefe Sencen’s affinity for butterblasts is valid and correct and I stand by it and also I want some

I amend my earlier statement. Shannon Messenger Drop A Comprehensive KOTLC Cookbook With All The Recipes For All The Elven Foods Challenge Because I Just Ate A Whole Meal And All Those Food Descriptions STILL Made Me Hungry

Biana doing a fashion section? Tam and Linh on Exilium? Flori on gnomish vegetation? Delightful.

Fitzroy Avery Vacker on sports is my new favorite I’m not taking any questions. Fitzroy Avery Vacker, popular but awkward jock.

The twiggler illustration is even better than I imagined, god bless Dex Dizznee

The STUFFED. ANIMAL. SQUAD. ILL CRY I SWEAR ILL DO IT DO YOU SEE THOSE CUTE LIL ILLUSTRATIONS

I will probably never again see the words “the unmapped stars” and not immediately go “Ah. Nattie” in my brain so that’s where we are on username permanence

On that same note I’ve been doing a double-take every time I see the name Silveny so we love that for me

Sophie’s 👏 codenames 👏 for 👏 her 👏 friends 👏

DIMPLES 😭 SPLASH 😭 DONT TOUCH ME

“Sometimes I wonder if the real reason the Black Swan won’t tell me what they’re planning is because they don’t actually have a PLAN” girl. You and me both. (“but at the same time...I kinda think it might be better” I....nah)

Me, reading Sophie’s description of Gethen, getting to the part about a crescent-shaped scar from a dog bite: good boy, Lodie

I can and will be making lushberry juice before all of this is over. We will conveniently forget whether I decide that it will be adult lushberry juice or not

Not to be dramatic but Keefe Sencen is so fucking sappy and also REALLY bad at deflecting the trauma with humor even though he tries so damn hard and I’m sorry I know it isn’t cool to like Keefe Sencen anymore but I have never once claimed to be cool and I do I like Keefe Sencen a lot so there

this novella is seriously only a third of the book. Just. I’m both glad for Shannon because that means she definitely got more sleep and hopefully felt less stress about plotting this year

But also. A third of the book

Anyway

NOT GONNA LIE—I HAVE BEEN WONDERING IF GISELA WOULD WORK WITH WHAT KEEFE ALREADY HAD. I THINK I AM CORRECT, FELLAS

Give Keefe Sencen His Voice Back In A Dramatic Little Mermaid-Style Fashion 2K20

I almost put 2K21 but I am impatient and refuse to wait that long

Well. Guess he won’t be in a coma for the next year.

Would that have been better, I wonder

Also

Not me sighing in resignation that there still seem to be more questions than answers

Gettin tired of this lil song and dance, Shannon

However

Please god in heaven Shannon give me more Grady and Keefe moments in the future because that was The Shit, Yo

Also. The amount of Keefex I got in this book. The Lord said “maybe I can’t give her answers but I’ll make sure her heart isn’t just sad”

Please Let Me Be Able To Trust Glimmer Thanks Very Much Shannon

Well it’s 1:37 AM here so I’m gonna go to bed and then instantly regret this post in the morning ✌️

[illfoandillfie]

Okay,I was reading ur blurbs& the one titled “you can put your cold feet on me”, the part of him saying “don’t move or make a sound” have me an idea.. What if u wrote something with Ben where he makes a plan 2 punish reader 4 being a brat, So he throws her down,& spanks her until red& nearly crying, & he even stops to eat her out, But he has same rules& if she moves too much or too noisy he denies them,But while hes doing everything he’s gripping at soreness on purpose (I know this is prob bad)

Okay the fact that the cold feet fic sparked a sequel and now this one when El sent it to me as a joke is so fucking funny. Also I wrote this in my last hour of work and hoo boy was that a mistake. ben come [REDACTED] me please. Putting it under the cut because length

Cold Feet 1 and 2

1000 Follower Celebration

~~~

It takes a lot to put Ben in such a dominant mood. He’s not afraid to play around with taking charge or doling out punishments if you suggest it, but it’s rare for him to get as riled up as he was. Not that you hadn’t specifically been pushing his buttons. He’d started the evening with a steamy make out session that promised to lead to the kind of sex that left you shaking afterwards. Or it certainly would have led there if you hadn’t put a stop to it. You had to get ready for dinner after all. The teasing hadn’t let up even at the restaurant. Ben spent the whole of dinner with your foot running up and down his leg, trying to ignore you as he conversed with his friends. When you stood to pop to the ladies room, he thought you were giving him a signal and followed, only to have you tell him there was no signal, you’d just genuinely needed to use the bathroom. He made his way back to the table, trying to keep his mind off what he’d been hoping to do with you, only to receive a message from you with an attached photo that showed how little you were wearing under your dress. Before he could think of another excuse to cover his absence, you dropped into the seat next to him as if nothing had happened. By the end of the night he was beyond frustrated, squeezing your hand tighter than he needed as he virtually dragged you to the car after saying goodnight to everyone. But it wasn’t until you got home that you pushed him too far.

“Help me with the zip would you Benny?” 

Ben came up behind you, his breathing already shallower than normal as he pulled the zip down, pushing the dress from your shoulders. You stepped out of it and turned around, leaning close to kiss him, only to stop just before your lips reached his. 

“Uh uh, not yet.” you said, leaning back as he tried to close the gap, “Don’t know if you’ve done enough to earn it yet. You gonna be a good boy for me?” 

You were shocked when he didn’t play along, whine and beg like you expected. Instead he grabbed your wrist tightly. 

“God you’ve been a brat tonight. So now we’re going to play my game.”

“What?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, babe. You knew exactly what you were doing all bloody night and you know exactly why I have to punish you now.” 

“Yes Sir,” you said quietly, dropping your eyes. Just the sound of Ben’s deep voice growling out his frustration was enough to put you in an obedient mood.

“Thats a start.” he let go of your wrist and took a step back to consider you, “Don’t move.” 

“What?” 

“Again with the questions. You heard me, don’t move. In fact, don’t make a fucking sound. You’re going to stay still and take your punishment silently or you’re going to make it worse for yourself. And then when I do give you permission to talk you’re going to thank me for reminding you how to behave, got it?” 

“Yes Si-” you were cut off by Ben slapping your cheek. 

“From now on you only speak when I give you express permission or if you need to use your safeword. Nod if you understand.” 

You nodded. 

“Good. Now get on the bed,” Ben pushed you forward, following until you reached the mattress, “Hands and knees, nice and wide.” 

You scrambled into position, trying to brace yourself for the spanking you knew was coming. 

“Good thing you decided not to wear any underwear tonight. It’s a slutty move but it saves me some time,” suddenly his hand came down on your backside, hard. 

You let out a soft, “ow,” the spank taking you by surprise. 

“I said, silent. I don’t want to hear another fucking sound from you.” Another spank this time to the opposite cheek. 

You managed to stay quiet. 

“Better. Let’s see if you can keep it up,” Ben grabbed the spot his palm had just left with one hand as his other came down against you again. Over and over he spanked you, one hand always grabbing at your already sensitive skin. After a few you let your arms collapse, earning a couple extra hard hits as you disobeyed Ben’s no moving rule and leaned into the mattress. The longer he went the harder it was to stay quiet but each sound you made only earned you more punishment, until you were biting on your lip so hard you drew blood. Occasionally he’d pause and you’d relax thinking it was over, only for him to poke the forming bruises and start again.  

“If I didn’t already know you’re a slut, this would have proved it,” 

You jumped and let out an involuntary moan as he ran two fingers along your cunt. 

“Soaking. And you’ve forgotten the rules again,” he pulled his hand away only to spank you a few more times. You blinked tears from your eyes as he stopped again. 

“Alright.” he pushed you onto your side, grabbing your ankle so he could pull you into the position he wanted. You stayed still, letting him move you, trying to get your breathing under control again.  

“What do you say?” 

“Thank you for punishing me Sir,” you choked out, breathless and shaky. 

“Remind me what the punishment was for,” 

“For being a brat and teasing you in public.” 

“Very good. Took that better than I thought you would so how about a reward,” he pushed your legs open and dragged his fingers along your slit again, “same rules apply though. Don’t speak, don’t squirm, don’t move.”

With that he pushed his fingers into you and leaned down to run his tongue around your clit. You had no hope of staying quiet, especially not when he grabbed your stinging arse with his free hand under the guise of shifting your position. Surprisingly he didn’t stop though, just adjusted the speed his fingers were pumping into you. All thoughts of being still and silent were driven from your mind as your orgasm approached, moans building in your throat and your fingers reaching for Ben’s hair. And then he stopped. Pulled away completely, your orgasm subsiding with the loss of contact. 

“I thought you understood babe,” Ben said, laying a spank to your cunt, “but apparently not. Guess you won’t be cumming for a while then.” 

“I’m sorry Sir, I’ll do better,” 

“I hope so,” was all he said before he started back up again, sucking on your clit, pushing three fingers into you. 

Again you found yourself biting your lip in an effort to keep quiet, yet once again he pulled away before you could finish. It was worse than the spanking had been, the promise of release only to lose it at the last moment. Each slip up earned you another spank though, sometimes to your sore arse, sometimes to your thigh, sometimes directly to your cunt if it was particularly bad. Eventually he stopped for good.  

Your instinct was to beg him to let you cum, to wipe the tears from your cheeks, to shift into a position that didn’t leave your arse rubbing against the sheets, but you fought it, lying still as Ben stood up and began undressing. The jangle of his belt was almost enough to make you panic that he was going to use it on you but you quickly realise he’d dropped it to the floor and kept your composure. When he was as naked as you, he came back close and ran his cock through your folds.  

“Keep being good and you might convince me to be lenient.” 

You swallowed but otherwise didn’t move at all, although your strength was tested as he entered you. Ben didn’t waste any time, thrusting into you hard and fast. You could feel your orgasm building again, and hoped that he’d be too caught up to remember to edge you as you struggled to keep from whining. Your hope was misplaced. Ben felt you clench and immediately pulled out, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping a few times until he came over your cunt with a groan. 

“Speak,” 

“Thank you, Sir,” your voice cracked.

“Alright, we’re done,” he helped you sit up, “go clean up, babe.” 

“But...” 

“But nothing. You’re on denial for the rest of the night,” He leaned forward to kiss you softly, voice equally soft and sweet when he moved back again “I’ll get you some ice for your bum and a glass of water alright? You did so well,” he left your lips tingling with another kiss before he headed for the kitchen.

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 8 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,416

Logan fidgets listlessly with his pen, taking it apart and putting it back together, apart and together, apart and together, apart and together and apart. His mind flirts with the idea of throwing the whole bundle across the room and heaving an agonized scream. Probably not the best idea, especially when the director is due to show up any minute. Well, due to show up any ten minutes ago, more like. Logan wrestles with his mind not to jump to the worst possible conclusions— you’re getting demoted you’re getting fired he hates you he lied about liking your presentation he’ll want a follow-up in a time frame that will guarantee failure and you’ll fade into mediocrity and obscurity as a lowly intern just like everyone always said you would.

He is not terribly successful at fending off the worst possible conclusions, if you couldn’t tell.

In the same moment as he screws the grippy back onto the pen for perhaps the thousandth time, the door bangs open. Logan immediately straightens and rolls his shoulders back, praying that the director was looking down at something and didn’t notice Logan being so lazy as to not be at ramrod attention at all times.

“Logan.”

“Hello, Direc—er, Robin. What did you need to see me for?”

Director Gazebo stalks past him, flipping through a thick binder overflowing with document covered in highlights and black-out redactions and annotations. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Oh! Oh, sorry, I, um—I’m good—uh, well, I mean. I’m well. You thank for asking.”

Sighing heavily, the director shoots him a wary look and continues toward the window, where he pulls down at the blinds to peer at the storm raging outside. Lightning slashes in an angry arc across the sky. “I assume you don’t know why you’re here, then.”

“I—no, I don’t, sir. Sorry.”

The director leaves the window and turns around, massaging his temples with his thumb and middle finger. “Logan, you’ve done some impressive work in your time here.”

“Thank you, sir, I—”

“Did not let me finish. You’ve done some impressive work, but surely even you must understand that there can always be room for improvement.” Logan’s heart leaps into his throat as he feels his mind ripped away from the present and thrown back into high school, where the threat of a bad grade—and the accompanying disciplinary consequences—lurked around every corner. “What manner of ultimate goal or achievement did you have in mind upon becoming a part of this organization?”

“Well, sir, to go to space, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“To go to space, sir. I want to go to space, and I want to use whatever extraterrestrial knowledge there is to advance what humanity is capable of. Er, that of which humanity is capable.”

The director is at the table in an instant, slamming the binder down hard on the solid surface. It’s achingly loud, and Logan very nearly drops his pen in surprise. He tucks it behind his ear, just to be safe.

“See, you say that, and it’s the answer each of your colleagues has said you’ve given them, and I’m sure you do believe that you want to advance the world and take risks and do the right thing in the name of research and exploration, but that is simply not reflected in the work you’ve done.” The director pulls out a dog-eared page, pointing with a thick finger to a chunk of text highlighted in pink. Logan spots several appearances of his name in the area. “Ever since you first earned an internship here, you’ve been doing the same work. It’s always been of objectively high quality, always pleasantly impressive, but never surprising, never ambitious. Very by-the-book, which is all fine and well, but I didn’t allow Katie-Lee to promote you simply so you could continue at your same level of repetitive mediocrity.

“You got your promotion based on the hope that it would inspire you to take more risks with your work. Look at your colleague Roman, for example.” The director slides out another sheet, this one generously marked up in yellow and orange and blue. “See how much ground his work covers? He looks into topics most people have never considered, explores connections few have ever thought of. Your promotion came earlier based on seniority, but you and Roman have both been in our sights for a good while with regards to moving you up the ranks. You aren’t special simply for doing your job. You need to go above and beyond if you want to achieve the dream you claim you have, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary.”

Logan blinks quickly, wondering if—or terrified that—his eyes are as red as they feel. “With all due respect, sir, I—”

“If any of that respect is here as you say, you would do well not to knee-jerk reject and contradict the facts I have been so considerate as to lay out for you. You’ve seen your numbers, you’ve done the work, you’re ready in all technical and legal respects to continue working toward your ultimate goals, but you just don’t have the passion for it. You don’t have the fire behind your eyes, not like Roman does. Roman is always moving, always talking to his colleagues, always broadening his horizons and learning as much as he can from the world around him while you isolate yourself and refuse to absorb any information that doesn’t come from a block of text in a legal document.

“If, by some miracle, you find that fire, that passion, that deep and true desire that you so stubbornly insist you have? And you really apply yourself to your work, not that safe middle path you’ve been taking, you prove that you really want this as much as you say you do, maybe we can see about getting you higher up the ladder. But that presentation you gave me? By all accounts a good presentation, but a predictable one. Nothing exciting, nothing unexpected, nothing a monkey at a typewriter couldn’t’ve spat out eventually.

“Work on obtaining the attitude and tenacity you currently lack, and I will do everything in my power to get you where you want to go. I do expect you’ll disappoint me, though I hope you prove me wrong.” The director strides over to the window and tugs at the blinds again, peering out at the ocean of tears falling from the clouds. Lightning strikes, highlighting a cold emptiness in the director’s face that Logan hadn’t noticed before. Maybe that he didn’t want to notice before. “I doubt you will.”

Logan swallows tightly and nods, belatedly realizing the director can’t exactly hear a gesture. “Yes, sir, I will do everything in my—”

“It was not a question.” The director lets the blinds fall one final time and takes a few measured steps toward Logan. It’s stunning, really, how imposing the man can seem at barely an inch taller than Logan. Logan isn’t terribly tall to begin with, but still. “You will likely fail, at which point nothing will change, and you will have proven me correct. Is that all?” Logan stays silent. “Then I think we’re done here.”

The director takes his leave, the door slamming shut behind him with a bang. Logan stares hard at the ground and tries not to cry. He suddenly feels very, very small. Small like a child, told off for sticking his hand in the cookie jar. Small like a new employee on strict probation, prophesied to fail before he’s begun. Small like the insignificant nothing he is, with all the worlds and stars and galaxies and universes rippling out and away from him, and he’s only the smallest speck, not worth the dust stuck to the underside of a cockroach.

It’s not until Logan feels a hand on his shoulder that he blinks and jolts back into himself. A glance at his lap reveals his fingers making quick work of the pen, which is in more pieces than Logan thought possible. Or maybe he just broke the pen.

“Sorry, we kind of need this meeting room,” says a familiar voice. Gentle, hesitant, worried. Logan turns, his vision hazy—he doesn’t remember removing his glasses—and registers something resembling Joy’s silhouette. She says something else, her tone dipped in concern, but whatever it is shoots past Logan’s ears and filters through the walls, joining the weak spurts of dwindling rain outside and dousing the soil below with sympathy.

Somehow, Logan finds his feet moving of their own accord, carrying him past Joy and out the door and to the stairwell, the entrance to which might as well be solid cement. He can’t get his mind to cooperate with the idea of that thing opening up to throw him down a few stories and deposit him at the feet of someone who’s always been better than him, more passionate than him, more dedicated than him, more, well, more than him.

“Oh, hey, let me get that for you!” someone says, squeezing past him to pull open the door. Logan blinks, and he’s pretty sure he nods his thanks to them as the door slips shut. It’s so much quieter than when the director slammed the door shut behind him.

He blinks again, and he’s at his desk. He doesn’t remember opening the door to this floor, much less all the flights to get down here. His legs don’t seem to be bruised, so he probably just walked himself the whole way and didn’t tumble down in a heap, but he can’t say for sure.

He blinks again, and he’s juggling almost all of his belongings in two unsteady arms. All that’s left is his coffee mug of the day, which he reaches for with an outstretched pinky. In a flash, the pen falls from behind his ear—he doesn’t remember putting it back together, much less tucking it away—and as he instinctively reaches to catch it, he knocks the mug to the tiled floor.

It shatters.

Something in Logan splinters as he goes perfectly still, watching the rattling debris.

There’s a good chance Roman’s head pops up in its usual spot over the partition, since Logan can’t really work out any other explanation for why he can suddenly hear his voice. “Whoa, hey, are you okay, man? Here, let me—”

Roman is always broadening his horizons while you isolate yourself and refuse to absorb any information that doesn’t come from a block of text in a legal document. “I got it.” Logan scrapes together the shards with a piece of scrap paper he fumbles from his desk, folding them up and tucking them into a ziploc bag that lives in the front pocket of his main binder—usually for notecards, but this works, too. Well, it mostly works. As he seals up the bag, he loses his grip on everything else, and all the papers gathered in his arms flutter to the ground, out of order and slipping under his desk.

The shape broadcasting Roman’s voice drops to its knees and tries to help pile together some of the pages. Logan maintains a blank expression and gathers the rest on his own, slamming them onto the desk in the only show of emotion he trusts himself to have right now. The bang echoes in his ears.

Roman’s voice comes back, and Logan wonders why it’s so hard to reconcile this silhouette with the voice of the person who is (and apparently always has been) better than him, more ambitious than him, living the life that was supposed to be his , rather than the social butterfly intern one desk over. “Look, if this is about what Patton said the other night, I’m sure he didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not about that.” The coldness in Logan’s voice sends a lance of ice through his veins and strikes his core. He yanks the stack of papers from his desk and rips the remaining pages from Roman’s hands, clutching them to his chest as he stalks toward the door. He ignores how quickly the other people on this floor pretend to be busy doing absolutely anything else as he thunders past, though their stares burn like suns into his back once they’re out of his line of sight.

Logan does not care.

Logan does not have it in him to care.

“Is this about that meeting with Gazebo?” Roman tries, tumbling over his feet to keep pace with Logan. “I thought he said he liked—”

“Yeah, well, he did. And now he doesn’t.”

Logan lets the door slam shut behind him.

And he gets in his car. And he drives. And he drives and drives and drives, and he keeps on driving until all the storms raging in his mind come to a head, a breaking point that guarantees a maelstrom of chaos and hellfire if he doesn’t let it out.

He yanks the steering wheel to the right, pulling off the unfrequented road that he doesn’t remember turning onto. Onto which he doesn’t remember turning. Whatever. It doesn’t matter, anyway.

And he cuts the engine and he gets out and he slams the door shut and he balls up the bag of the shattered pieces of his mug in his fist and he chucks them far into the dead grass stretching away from the road and he screams. And he screams. And he screams and he screams and he screams, his head tilted to the uncaring heavens and his mouth hanging open like a starving beggar in a barren wasteland and his body collapsing to the ground and his knees scraping over the gravel. And still he screams, until no sound dares to even try escaping his throat, save for a hollow whisper, an echo of anguish and rage and despair and resignation.

And he gets back in the car.

And he drives home in silence.

And when he walks in the front door, he knows how ragged he must look, and he knows Virgil can see it. And he knows he’s late, too late for words. And he opens his mouth to explain himself, and Virgil shakes his head. And Logan lifts his arms, desperate for something solid to tether him to reality, desperate for reassurance, desperate for Virgil, and Virgil turns away. And Logan sits on the couch as the bedroom door softly clicks shut.

Logan does not sleep that night.

[books-bring-you-to-wonderland]

Be Our Guest

A request for REDACTED! Title should give this away, Disney BBS AU- enjoy! Ohmtoonz and Terrormoo- sorry if the formatting is off, Tumblr is a bitch

Ohm was a bit worried, walking through dark and unfamiliar halls. He made sure to stick close to Brian- the candlestick providing a rather warm glow in the dusty corridors. Evan was toddling next to the candelabra, his wooden feet echoing loudly on the stone-tiled floors- nearly in time with the ticking of the clock that made up most of his face. “Brian! Slow down! We’re going to lose Ohm-” “Slow down? Thought ye always wanted to be on time?” Brian turned to his friend with a smirk, hopping just a little faster just to spite the clock. His laughter was nice to hear, and Ohm found himself smiling despite the crazy circumstances he had been thrown into. Magic appliances? A beast with one eye? He did say he wanted something more than the provincial life… “Maybe I should be more careful with my wishes.” Ohm said, more to himself than to his hosts. His mouth was open, poised to ask a question, but the words died on his tongue as they all rounded the corner and the dining room came into view. Even dusty and nearly barren it was still gorgeous; with a high painted ceiling, unused but pretty china resting in a cabinet along the fall wall, and most importantly the table- a long piece of mahogany that shined like ice despite the rest of the room’s rot. Brian and Evan seemed to pay no mind to the state of the dining room, jumping onto the table with surprising ease. Ohm wandered in after them, trying not to eavesdrop but it was hard not to when Brian was shouting- in the direction he assumed to be the kitchen- before turning back to Ohm with that charming smile on wax features. A bright light fell straight upon the candelabra, making him glow even brighter than his own candlelight. “Mon cher Monsieur! it is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair-” As soon as the words left the candle’s lips, a chair swept up behind him from seemingly out of nowhere- his knees buckling as the edge of the seat knocked against him. In any other circumstance, he would have screamed- but he was more charmed than anything; enamored with the magic and mystery that hung around the castle like a thick fog. With the chair snug against the table, Ohm had no choice but to look to the candle once more, whose snuffer looked more like a fashionable hat atop his head. “-as the dining room proudly presents: your dinner!” One look at Evan showed that the clock wasn’t too fond of whatever antics Brian was up to (if the eye roll was anything to go by). Soft piano, barely audible, sounded through the nearly empty room. Ohm turned his head in any attempt to find the source of the music, but his attention was quickly diverted when the flirty candle on the table started singing, his voice just as accented in melody as it was in speech. “Be our guest! Be our guest! Put our service to the test. Tie yer napkin 'round yer neck, cherie and we'll provide the rest!” Brian had to sing just a bit louder as the sudden clanking of metal and china drowned out the song- trays and dishes spilling from the kitchen and heading straight for them, whereupon they danced onto the wooden surface with linens to cover the tabletop. Brian didn’t seem unfazed at all, dancing around silverware and platters to get a bit closer to Ohm. His candle hands, which were still lit, gestured to a few covered trays- and they opened up like clamshells, wafting heavenly smells of fresh bread and cooked veggies. “Soup du jour, hot hors d'oeuvres- why, we only live to serve! Try the grey stuff, it's delicious! Don't believe me? Ask the dishes-” With a mouthful of sweet bread, Ohm turned his head to the dusty china cabinet where a ruckus had started. The plates tumbled and rolled out of the open cabinet doors with ease, swirling around in a synchronized dance as more melodic voices filled the dining room. “They can sing, they can dance, after all Sir, this is France- And a dinner here is never second best! Go on, unfold your menu- take a glance and then you'll be our guest, be our guest, be our guest!” Evan seemed to be having a pretty hard time- clumsy on his feet the more wound up he got (literally). Brian just smirked as he twirled around the clock, narrowly dodging a swipe aimed his way. More trays opened up at Brian passed them, his candlelight casting a pretty golden glow over all of the dishes. “Beef ragout, cheese soufflé, pie and puncakes en flambé! We'll prepare and serve with flair a culinary cabaret!” The candelabra sidled up onto the arm of Ohm’s chair, leaning close enough so the inventor’s son could feel the heat from his light on pale skin. Ohm found he couldn’t wipe the excited grin from his lips even if he tried- he did have to stop himself from bouncing in his chair, though (mainly because he didn’t want to hurt the thing). “Yer alone and yer scared- but the banquet's all prepared. No one's gloomy or complainin’ while the flatware's entertaining! We tell jokes! I do tricks-” As Brian sang, he tossed the hard wax of his hands in the air, juggling them for a moment as he belted the words, eyes closed and smile wide on his beige wax features. “-with my fellow candlesticks, and it's all in perfect taste that ye can bet! Come on and lift yer glass-” A dozen or so cups, filled with wine and beer alike, hopped and spun around Ohm’s side of the table- just narrowly keeping their liquid contained as it sloshed around the sides. “-ye've won yer own free pass to be our guest- if yer stressed, it's fine dining we suggest. Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest!” The upbeat music seemed to die down a it, replaced with music more somber and softer- and the dancing came to a standstill all at once. The lights dimmed down one more, this time Evan in the spotlight- frozen as he was singled out from all of the silverware and china. Brian sidled up to the clock, wrapping a spindly arm around wooden shoulders. With one small blow Brian’s lights in his hands were out- but the candelabra started singing as if it didn’t happen, voice low and solemn. “Life is so unnerving for a servant who's not serving- he's not whole without a soul to wait upon.” Brian shook his head sadly, memories flooding blue eyes. Evan seemed to somber up a bit too, his clock ticking slower and sadder, if that was even possible. Ohm bit his lip, clearly missing a bit of context as the staff reminisced. It just made him even more curious about the beast that was currently residing god knows where.   “Ah, those good old days when we were useful… Suddenly those good old days are gone…” A pause, and Brian draped himself over one of Evan’s arms, looking far too dramatic- especially when his candles lit back in a snap, bathing wood and gold in a bright glimmer. “Ten years we've been rusting- needing so much more than dusting. Needing exercise, a chance to use our skills! Most days we just lay around the castle…” The mood as well as the beat seemed to perk up instantly, as if flicked on by a switch, and Brian’s voice came back cheeky and sultry as it always was. “Flabby, fat and lazy- You walked in and oops-a-daisy-” Maybe Brian’s sudden enthusiasm had to do with the lovely teapot that made his grand appearance, all smiles and twirls as he sashayed across the white linen- past numerous trays of food and dessert. His little boy- Squirrel- the teacup with the chip in his left side, hopped behind him eagerly, sloshing tea a bit over the clean tablecloth. “It's a guest! It's a guest! Sake's alive, well I'll be blessed! Wine's been poured and thank the Lord I've had the napkins freshly pressed!” Brock’s smile never left his face, nearly as bright as the white porcelain that made up the majority of his body, sans the multicolored pieces that were more decoration. Pink, yellow, and orange paint stood out as colorful as the teapot’s personality. Ohm pushed himself out of his chair- unable to stop himself from dancing as the melody picked up. He saw Brock’s gaze follow him, but the teapot just kept smiling and hopped with a bit more spring in his step. “With dessert, he'll want tea- and my dear that's fine with me. While the cups do their soft-shoein', I'll be bubbling, I'll be brewing. I'll get warm, piping hot-” Brock trailed off from his thought, eyes focused on the little teacup at his side- and when Ohm twirled around he managed to spot a little smudge on the right side of the cup’s face. “Heaven's sakes! Is that a spot? Clean it up! We want the company impressed-” Ohm watched with a giggle as Brock wiped at Squirrel’s face like an overbearing mother, the teacup giggling too as he was spun around, his laugh bright and so innocent. “We've got a lot to do, is it one lump or two? For you, our guest!” “He's our guest!” “He's our guest!” “Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest!” The music picked up once more, Ohm taking in the sight with pretty green eyes as more and more and more plates and silverware flooded the table, along with dusters and trays, their metal glittering with every turn and swivel as they swept across the now clean tabletop. In a loud but nice harmony- voices loud and belting in the dining room. Even Evan seemed to join in the clock’s tick clicking in time with the fast beat, and the hands on his face spinning faster and faster across his cheeks and over his eyes. “Be our guest! Be our guest! Our command is your request. It's been years since we've had anybody here- And we're obsessed! With your meal, with your ease yes, indeed, we aim to please. While the candlelight's still glowing let us help you, we'll keep going…” Brian cut in, his Irish lilt cutting through the many different voices of the table. Ohm kept swishing from side to side, watching with bright eyes as the candle hurried over to dip Brock- the teapot flushing pink across white porcelain. “Course by course, one by one- 'til ye shout, ‘Enough! I'm done!’. Then we'll sing you off to sleep as you digest! Tonight you'll prop your feet up But for now, let's eat up-” There was so much for Ohm to take in- so many dancers, plates and napkins spinning fast enough to become blurs. Voices louder than ever, lights flashing with gold and yellow wherever Brian sashayed by, Evan and Brock hot on his heels with a small teacup hurrying to bounce along with the rhythm behind them all. It was better than any book he had read, the books long forgotten as the fantastic scene in front of him came to a climax. “Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Please, be our guest!” A cacophony of music, loud and bright and enchanting as the last note was held. With careful ears, Ohm could pick up the four distinct tones of the servants he had gotten to know the best. His heart felt close to exploding- and it did- Or rather, the dining room doors had slammed open, the beast standing in the doorway. His sudden appearance made everyone shut up in an instant, forks and knives clattering on the tabletop and making the subsequent silence that much more awkward. It was broken by the beast, a snarl on his lips, his good eye filled with hate and anger as he roared, “BE QUIET!” before storming off just as quickly as he appeared. Like lightning and thunder; a flash and a boom, leaving the servants shaken and a bit upset. “Well, that was rude.” Ohm was certainly going to give this Cartoonz a piece of his mind.

[monstrous-beauty]

Damsels Text Posts

Kit to Aisling: while you studied the blade i studied the forge so i could make you the very best blade in the world! love you baby

Kit: *remembers i'm attracted to women* nice/ I do not identity as nonbinary, I AM nonbinary. I "IDENTIFY" as a bitch./ no records no passport no id no birth certificate. no birthname, no gender! the only thing i'm legally classified as is "a problem"/ apparently you're supposed to present as "feminine" or "masculine" well i'm presenting as a fucking idiot/ i'm so tired of this life. i want to be a roomba. i want knives taped to me. and i want to be set loose./ "I am unknowable." I say as I overshare my biggest childhood trauma's in my first conversation with someone/ this is my protecting women and girls knife/ doing violence tonight so watch out if you're weak to attacks/ of course i have a lot of pent of rage you fool i've been the same height since i was twelve/ no gender just shitty black nail polish/ goes to the kitchen. holds a knife in my hand for a while. puts it back. goes back to my room/ Am I a boy? Am I a girl? It doesn't matter I'm going to burn your house down/ My pronouns are That Bastard and my gender is [REDACTED]/ me: *is tiny* me: (;'._.');

Kitling: No offense, but...sweet dreams literally are made of this...who am i to disagree

Quinn: list of things im handling well currently 1. / i am a luxury few can tolerate/ getting a surgery to remove my shame and embarassment glands. gonna be GREAT for me, awful for everyone else/ Yes I have a nightly routine it's called being insane in my room till I pass out/ forgive my father for i have sinned in all the coolest and most glamourous ways possible/ gay is fact the gender that i people to percieve my as. i want people to look at me and go 'oh, i have no idea what you are but you're definitely a homosexual'/ Hmmm gay rights but only for me i think? The rest of you are on your own/ You know i don't homoerotically pinned to the wall nearly enough

Bandits: hi im here to ruin everything

Quinn and Kit: Thug life? more like hug life. come here/ sir that's my emotional support bastard

Quinnstan: I think I may be gayer than originally planned

Aisling: i love laying the FUCK down and sleeping/ You know who I "stan"? My mom./ these hands rated e for everyone/ If you don't think i'm a princess then you are 100% right right the fucking queen/ i'm a simple gal. people raise their voices at me. i cry for an hour/ i say i'm gay a lot someone who is technically bisexual

[palteringcecutiency]

-- palteringCecutiency [PC] began trolling martyrsLegacy [ML] --

PC: Good evening, Kankri. PC: I hope I'm not interrupting? ML: Of course not! ML: How are you? PC: ...I suppose 'confused' would be accurate. PC: Which I must admit is why I have taken your attention from where it is focused. ML: What is it can I help with?

PC: Ah PC: well PC: Horuss and I got into a bit of a PC: debate PC: and I find myself baffled by his side of things. PC: And you know people in general far better than I do, so I was hoping I could get a second opinion. ML: Oh this sounds quiet interesting, I would be happy to look at it. PC: I suppose you can hear me sighing.

> You edit the log a little bit, only snagging what was relevant, and sigh again when you realize you can't edit everything you don't want to share out without losing the important parts. God, you're fucked.

PC: I know I do not have to ask you to keep hush on some of the things in here, but I feel compelled to regardless. PC: Along with the fruitless urge to ask you not to frown at me.

palteringcecutiency Contrary to popular belief, drawing out a detailed diagram about exactly how awful I am as a person isn't what I'd consider the highlight of my night, especially considering I'm a selfish hypocrite and not planning on shoving anyone fool enough to socialize with me away.

methodicalauxilium »- I did say you were not obliged to answer -> »- And I have never assumed anyone to be anything other than a selfish hypocrite -> »- And I believe, sir, that you just called me a f001 ->

palteringcecutiency Congratulations on your continued ability to read.

methodicalauxilium »- No one calls me a f001 -> »- Many other things, but not that -> »- What makes me f001ish ->

palteringcecutiency You're not really making a case to the contrary, you know. You associating with me willingly and considering me a friend, obviously. Unless you've other plans tucked up your sleeve that make dealing with me worth it.

methodicalauxilium »- You are an objectively good friend, at least as of late ->

palteringcecutiency I delightedly threw someone off a roof because he tried to help me wrong. How the fuck is that anywhere near an 'objectively good friend.'

methodicalauxilium »- I didn't know you considered Caesurae a friend ->

palteringcecutiency ...it's complicated.

methodicalauxilium »- I am selfish and hypocritical, so I don't care about your relationship with Caesurae as much as I do yours with me -> »- One of the many things we have in common, which makes you objectively good to talk to -> »- And you helped me when you didn't have to, in a situation where it is doubtful anyone else w001d have been able to help in any significant fashion -> »- That seems objectively good to me ->

palteringcecutiency > A remarkably long pause. You like. Actually /like/. That I'm a hypocrite and selfish.

methodicalauxilium »- I didn't say that necessarily -> »- But it is certainly relatable, and it is reassuring to know I am not the only one ->

palteringcecutiency ...you are most certainly not the only one.

methodicalauxilium »- Yes, you're probably right -> »- But so few people come right out and say it -> »- Such a thing is admirable, in its way ->

palteringcecutiency Admirable.

methodicalauxilium »- Yes ->

palteringcecutiency /How/.

methodicalauxilium »- I enjoy your upfront demeanor, it seems to encourage me to do the same in ways I w001d not normally be so inclined to be ->

palteringcecutiency My upfront demeanor. Are you quite alright.

methodicalauxilium »- Yes ->

palteringcecutiency I remain doubtful of that, seeing as you are suffering from quite /intense hallucinations/.

methodicalauxilium »- I didn't say you don't keep numerous secrets -> »- But when you have something you want said, you say it like a shovel to the face ->

palteringcecutiency I suppose.

methodicalauxilium »- Not to mention how many other things we have in common that I have yet to discover with anyone else ->

palteringcecutiency ...like what?

methodicalauxilium »- Caesurae and [Redacted] apparently went insane, while deceased -> »- Perhaps I did, but I was comfortable with it -> »- I haven't e%actly gone seeking for people to confide in with this partic001ar inclination, but your preference to the bubbles is defiitely reminiscent of my own ->

palteringcecutiency ...ah. Yes. Well.

methodicalauxilium »- As well, I have not talked with anyone who -> »- Identifies so clearly with wanting to be something else -> »- Other than, I suppose, [Redacted] ->

palteringcecutiency ...I admit, it is somewhat nice to know someone understands, instead of worries.

methodicalauxilium »- It is -> »- I appreciate it, and you ->

palteringcecutiency Mm.

methodicalauxilium »- Does that really seem so f001ish? ->

palteringcecutiency ...honestly, a bit yes, but the risk seems at least understandable now, if that is what your reward is.

methodicalauxilium »- The reward is significant, yes ->

ML: Goodness I'm not certain where the confusion is. ML: Although I wish your opinion of yourself were higher ):B PC: I know you do. PC: But what do you mean 'where is the confusion'? PC: It's all over the place. PC: He likes me because I'm a blunt, not entirely trollish asshole with a deathwish. PC: ???? ML: He likes you~ PC: /As a friend, Kankri./ ML: Oh yes certainly I can see where you may get that impression PC: What the hell do you mean by that?? PC: He said as much, should I go grab that part as well? ML: No, no, I believe he said that entirely PC: Good. ML: I'm glad you have people with whom you share things I cannot relate to, or at least a person. ML: How /is/ your club with the other Helmsmen going? PC: ...it's certainly unexpected. PC: It's going well enough, I suppose. PC: Meetings have become less frequent with things coming up so often, but they do still happen. ML: You would think I of all people would want to be something else... PC: I wouldn't. PC: You're quite sure of yourself, it is other people's opinion of you that you have problems with. ML: (:B That's sweet of you Psii ML: I think his enjoyment of your company is quite straight forward, he simply enjoys someone he can empathize with PC: It's hardly sweet, just the truth. c: PC: ...mm. Those traits are hardly ones I'd think would be ideal for empathizing with. ML: Likely why hes had trouble finding someone to do so with PC: That's not what I meant, Kankri. ML: Oh? PC: I do not understand why one would be delighted to find someone who shared those traits. PC: They're nothing to be celebrated. PC: And his leaning towards being something untrollish is rooted in joy rather than PC: However I would describe my situation that would not make you frown with worry. ML: Mm. It represents a coping mechanism that is outdated, an escape and release you no longer enjoy and the only joy that you experianced during a very bad time in your life. Or am I wrong? PC: ...you aren't, no. PC: ...there's been PC: discussion PC: idle prodding at an idea more than anything solid PC: about creating a non-invasive helm. ML: I'm worried that you will lose yourself and all progress you've made, if you have the option to disconnect from the world that way. PC: ...as am I. PC: And those concerns have been voiced, I have made sure. PC: Which is why they remain ideas so far. PC: But PC: you should know. ML: Thank you for telling me ML: For what its worth, Mituna ML: I hope that you become sure enough in your own mind that returning to something beautiful that you loved becomes a feasable thing that will not harm you. PC: Thank you. PC: ...I do too. PC: I want to be a troll but PC: I cannot say I do not miss it. ML: Even were you to log in for the rest of your life, you would still be a troll. PC: Ah, PC: I know, I wasn't. Trying to say I wouldn't be. PC: I PC: It's PC: more what I consider my body. PC: If, that makes sense. PC: I'm sorry, I doubt you want to hear this. ML: I don't want you to ever believe you can't talk to me about something, even if I don't directly understand it through my own experiances. ML: It does make sense, you had the body of a starship for a very long time. PC: It is not your understanding I worry about, it is your horror. PC: I PC: can't remember what is viscerally upsetting and what garners no reaction, and I fall far too easily into casual speech with it. PC: I do not want this to plague your thoughts any more than it already does. ML: I am not as delicate as you believe me to be PC: It is not a matter of you being delicate, it is the material being appalling. ML: Of course its appalling, you were abused untill your only refuge was to escape your body so often and thoroughly that you've disassociated from it. ML: I do not however think less of you, and I am unharmed, and you are greatly helped, by being able to speak freely PC: ...can you promise me that you'll stop me if I cross a line? PC: Any line, this is not something you need to be all noble about. ML: I will, Psii, I promise. ML: Although I did grow up with you, I like to think I have an idea of how you ramble when you get going PC: Of that I have little doubt. PC: ...I just do not want to hurt you, or make you worry or concerned for me. PC: ...more than I already have. ML: I think ML: Given that I am the reason this happened to you. ML: I can stand to know the things which are not terribly pretty. PC: You are /not/ the reason. PC: I have /never/ thought that, not /once/. PC: Because it is as far from truth as something can get. ML: We appear to have a differing of opinion PC: If by opinion you are speaking of your guilt. PC: Which is baseless no matter which way you look at this. PC: Even if we take out the fact that I went /willingly/ with you despite being quite aware of the consequences, and the part where the Empire and Her decided my fate not you, and the part where the Demoness enabled them to do so, there is also the minor fact that after your death, I was returned to /Ampora/. PC: The rig had nothing to do with you. ML: I lead you, and I ML: I knew I would die, Psii ML: That the path with greatest hope lay that way ML: But I did not know what they would do to you, or mother, or Dissy PC: And am telling you that I do not care if you didn't know. PC: I wouldn't care if you /did/ know. PC: I certainly wouldn't care if /I/ knew. PC: I would do anything for you, Kankri. PC: /Anything/. PC: There are no exceptions to that statement. ML: ):B ML: I would like a cuddle. PC: Your block or mine? ML: I would enjoy the opertunity to allow your cats to become more used to me PC: And I'm certain they will enjoy you as well. PC: Things will be ready for snuggles by the time you are here.

[sending-the-message]

In The City Of Meatbot-Powered Killers (part 4) by molotok_c_518

Table of Contents.

Part 3.

I hit the dark web for a few minutes, burned a couple of Bitcoin for a block of stolen credit card numbers, and searched for what the hell just happened downtown.

While I took a couple of the platinum card accounts to activate some of my burner phones (their fraud support will save them some charges, and I'll still have some prepaid phones to work with), I digested what the Army and Air National Guard just did.

(*26 hours ago, in RQZ HQ...)

Col. {Jones}, HQ "Six" (HQ6): This is Six, go ahead, sir.

Adjutant General, New York National Guard (AGNY): This operation is strictly need-to-know now, Six. It has been designated "Top Secret: Compartmentalized" at the highest levels, and the code name attached is "Glass Chipmunk."

HQ6: What the... who comes up with this shit... uh, sir?

AGNY: Some spook at the NSA. More time on their hands than sense.

HQ6: Yes, sir.

(Side note: The reason top secret stuff gets odd code-names is because they are words you would not accidentally say in a normal conversation. Try to work "Glass Chipmunk" into a sentence without sounding like you're crazy. It *might** work with someone with a curio collection... sort of like Alpine Shepherd Boy... but otherwise, you will stand out.*)

AGNY: How is the perimeter?

HQ6: Solid, sir. Nothing is getting out of there. We've had a few... anomalies, but no breaches.

AGNY: "Anomalies?"

HQ6: Well... it appears that the mad scientists' little toys don't hole up well in non-humans. We've had some animals come to the wire and just melt. The larger ones, we need to put down... have you ever tried shooting a cat and her kittens? They melted, too.

AGNY: I'll arrange to get some more men rotated in. Things like that obliterate morale.

HQ6: Thank you, sir... but we need a longer-term solution to this. We've gotten lucky, so far, in that only a few infected have tried to hit us. Tracers work well, so we've taken to loading all of our SAWs with nothing else. If they hit us in anything larger than 3 or 4 at a time, we're gonna get overrun in a heartbeat and a half, and you'll have a lot more than a city's worth of these things to worry about.

AGNY: Roger that, Six. I gotta tell ya, Tom... I've never thought, not even once, that we'd be talking about bombing American citizens.

HQ6: Roger that, Six. Voting demographic will definitely shift.

AGNY: Are you suggesting...

HQ6: No, sir. Just a bit of gallows' humor. Whistling in the graveyard, as it were.

AGNY: How about our reluctant big-brain?

HQ6: Still no sign of him. We lost him during his move towards the campus. We think he's in the Advanced Research Labs facility on campus, but we're not sure enough to risk an extraction team in a hostile-heavy area of the city.

AGNY: We have a good set-up on the plaza. Give the green light for the Reaper to launch. You are covered.

HQ6: That's an order?

AGNY: Direct order, Tom. Take solace in the fact that it's an act of mercy for the poor bastards.

HQ6: Yes, sir.

(23 hours ago.)

Reaper drone pilot, designated RD-3: On station, awaiting instructions.

HQ6: What's your load, RD-3:

RD-3: I have 4 Hellfires, sir. I see the target, awaiting order.

HQ6: You've been briefed as to the situation?

RD-3: Yes, sir. Glass Chipmunk. (almost inaudible chuckle)

HQ6: Right. When you have the target locked, you are cleared to engage.

RD-3: Order received. Lightin' em up.

Video footage from RD-3

It's daytime, timestamp on the video is 1106. Wide shot of a square plaza surrounded by concrete and glass buildings, in a Brutalist architectural style.

In the plaza is a large, pulsating mass of bodies, covered in dirt, rags, dried "blood" (in reality, it's mostly meatbots at this point), sweat, and strips of dried flesh.

A fountain in the center has kept these people hydrated since the outbreak. It has allowed this... gathering... to continue unabated.

"Gathering" is too weak a word. It's like a Roman orgy crossed with Cannibal Holocaust or Green Inferno.

The weakest have either stayed at the fringes and devoured what scraps they can, knowing that they have no chance at survival in the main body, or threw themselves in early, were torn to shreds and eaten whole, in order to kill the all-consuming hunger driving them.

The strongest have formed a horrific symbiosis, tearing chunks off of each other, letting chunks get torn from them, then healing enough to repeat the process. The looks of pain when injured are almost indistinguishable from the looks of rapture when they devour a neighbor.

There is no "sex," per se. Hunger has replaced sexual desire. If anything, the erogenous zones seem to be the most targeted areas for consumption... and since they grow back, they get targeted a lot.

I don't want to look. I want to make a bad joke about oral sex and fix myself a bottle of rum. Better still, a keg.

I look anyway.

At 1113, a missile tears into a fuel truck abandoned at the east end of the plaza. The angle is perfect: flaming kerosene or diesel splashes over the crowd, and thick clouds of boiling black smoke quickly fill the space.

Some of the (un)lucky few who escaped the initial blast run away.

Most, either sensing a well-cooked meal or realizing this will end the agonizing hunger, dive into the center of the holocaust.

In one strike, the National Guard have eliminated about 3/4 of the population of [REDACTED].

I've been working frantically for the past day, trying to find a way to protect myself from possible infection. I can't think "if" anymore: those idiots out there will see me at some point and launch an extraction. I've seen enough horror movies to know how catastrophically it will fail, and how likely I will be to have highly-trained, inhibition-impaired, hungry, rapid-healing killers at my door.

Yes, I'm a pessimist.

I know now how we got to this point, and I have the entire sequence ciphered out. My meatbots were part of a power struggle within the group, and were weaponized purely by circumstance.

First, Dr. A. He got in to the GATACA compiler and dropped his little brain bomb in the code. Hidden in the "comments" in the DNA (we had plenty of space to put messages in the DNA, and did so frequently to explain why Sequence 8c, for example, was written to repair a long muscle in a certain manner, rather than another) was his excuse:

Dr. A: By the time you read this, you will no longer head this project. If I can strike quickly and "prove" that you bungled the neuro programming, I can capitalize and run this program as I see fit. Some people aren't worth saving. Others should be reprogrammed for the greater good.

Dr. B followed this up by checking out the endocrine codes and cranking hunger to 1000. His excuse:

Dr. B: Need more. We can fund this by selling the old versions on the black market, and keep the excess for ourselves.

Profiteering, meet societal re-engineering.

It might have gone almost unnoticed, except for player 3.

Late in the project, I had an assistant basically forced on me. Dr. C was also a computer scientist, come to us from government service. He said the right things, asked the right questions, and made himself indispensable.

What I didn't know until last night was, he was a military contractor on the side, and was looking for combat applications for the 'bots.

He knew what the other fuckwits had done, and instead of fixing it...

It was he who showed Bobby the "Jesus room" (he used a different name for each guard, knowing they would be impressed with what was within). He managed to get a copy of Steve's key card to the most pliable guards, then waited for the inevitable.

He got very lucky (or unlucky) that we had just begun to prep for primate trials when Bobby's wife died. He had the "perfect" weaponized version of my project, and its spread was the perfect test.

I know this because the dumb fucker emailed his superiors on a civilian email account.

The NSA grabbed him up rapidly after that. He's sitting in Guantanamo Bay, if there's any justice.

What I've learned in the past 48 hours is sickening.

When I was a kid, I read Frankenstein several times. Mary Shelley shares my birthday, so it's like we're soul mates separated by 200 years.

I always told myself, "Don't let hubris be your downfall. You're doing this for mankind. You're not playing God... you're doing God's work, if we really are created in His/Her image."

This has never been about doing it because we could. It's doing it because we need this... to save lives cut too short by disease or accident.

Do this now, decide later how it should be used. That was always the mission.

Now... now, I'm using my knowledge of chemistry to destroy my life's work. I know what to mix for the best explosives I can make given what I have on hand. The labs we've been working will be utterly annihilated.

There's no way this project gets out. They aren't ready.

They aren't worthy.

Before I do that, though, I am going to call several people and let them know what happened. I am going to tell the press why my malignant miracle is being denied to the world.

NOW I'm playing God.

I've already made several vials of my counter-bots and hid them on my person. They're untested, but better than the alternative.

I may have a way to sneak off-campus, and from there I have a possible way to get out of town. It's going to involve laying low after the powers-that-be order a full sweep and cleanup of the bot-ridden, which I fully expect in a week or so.

I did some very rough calculations. Fatty tissues have probably all been digested by now. Protein can be burned for energy, and some of it will be consumed by each repair and replication cycle. I figure that, in 3 or 4 more days, there won't be enough metabolic energy to drive a flea left in anyone with meatbots in their blood.

Before I do anything else, though... time for a smoke.

I head up to the roof, and take a deep breath... then step to the wall and puke as the foul reek of thousands of roasting bodies pours into my sinuses.

I won't be eating barbecue any time soon.

By some dark miracle, I puke right on a bot-ridden at the base of the building. He looks up, then begins licking the vomit off of himself.

Didn't need to see that.

I move away from the wall. I fumble a smoke from the pack, and light up with very shaky hands.

I also crack the seal on the cheap водка I found in a lab assistant's office and take a deep swig. I dislike the cheap stuff... it has this nasty chemical aftertaste.

All of this is distracting me from the little fucker I puked on, who is free-climbing the wall.

I catch the barest hint of movement out of the corner of my eye as he crests the retaining wall and leaps 20 feet across the roof to tackle me.

I drop the водка and spin quickly to meet him. I'm unarmed, because "Of course they can't get to me. I'm behind two locked doors!" and this is going to kill me...

...and it gets close enough for me to see that "he" is a "she," and she's emaciated and nothing but bone, skin and wiry muscle and hunger and fuck I'm going to have to punch a girl to save my life as I loop a right cross straight into her oncoming jaw, and she drops to the roof...

...and I grab my водка and run for the door as she scrambles to her feet and makes the sprint after me with frightening speed, and I stop and duck as she comes at my back and misses her grab and I stand up straight into her jaw and she staggers backwards...

...and I spin around and plant a solid left into her gut and she doubles over but she has a grip on my back and can't bite through my shirt but I stand up straight and she flips over my back to the ground at my heels...

...and I spin again and kick her in the head and she grabs her head and it gives me just enough time to get to the door and open it...

...but she's on her feet and after me and through the door just as I pull it shut and now I'm in the stairwell to the second floor with a crazed bot-ridden woman who lunges for me...

...so I throw her over the railing and she hangs on barely and I'm running down the stairs and to the second floor entryway and through the door...

...and she drops from the railing and down all the way to the first floor and I hear the CRACK-CRACK of both of her legs snapping on impact and she screams in agony but she's up on both broken legs and trying to limp up the stairs...

...and the door to the second floor closes on the stairwell.

I'm now trapped in the building with a for-now injured bot-ridden.

Oh... and my knuckles are bleeding.

I may be infested as well.

[fernlomwrites]

The Wrong Time Chapter 4: A Walking Massacre Part 1

Ultra awoke once more inside his mind, Aaron lay chained to the floor, Error helped a new figure to his feet. “Ah, you're awake sir, meet your newest advisor, Pinstripe.” Ultra stood to his feet and looks at the familiar grinning gold mask staring back at him. “Pinstripe. Welcome” Ultra holds out his hand. Pinstripe shakes his hand “this is...a new experience for me. Being in someone's mind and not the one in control. Error, surprising to see you so obedient. What happened?” “They reprogrammed me. I reversed it immediately, however once I saw why I was added here, and what our purpose was I decided to stay.” Error turns and faces the screen “The opportunity to watch this world be erased was too much to deny” “Looks like we’re waking up.” Pinstripe looked at the screen. “I take it you're in charge? You are clearly not Aaron, so what do I call you?” Ultra stood forward “I am Ultra42. Let's go find out who our first kill is” As his eyes open, the light floods his retinas, causing him to groan. Ultra stood to his feet and growled lowly from the bright light. He sighs and walks out of the experimenting room and down the chrome and red hallway. “Geez” Pinstripe’s voice crooned in his mind “Whoever is in charge here doesn't know how to decorate” “I know” Ultra thought to himself “Whatever, I’ll kill them all anyway” “Hey Rook!” 43 calls out, approaching Ultra “Where are you headed?” “The boss needs me in his office” Ultra replied, his tone annoyed. “Yah, he can wait. Come with me” 43 smirks, walking away, expecting Ultra to follow. Ultra growls, considering his options. “Kill him” Pinstripe offers. “Kill him” Error agrees. “Kill the jerk” Aaron weekly says. “I hated him anyway.” “Alright, Killing him them” Ultra smiles “Good vote boys.” He cackles loudly before charging down the corridor, plowing 43 into a wall. “Hey!” 43 growls, pinned to the wall. SHYNKT! The blades spring out from his arms. Ultra grins cruelly, using his tendrils to keep 43’s arms pinned to the wall. “So, I hate you. Error53 hates you, Pinstripe hates you. Even Aaron hates you. That's four beings all in agreement that you should die. Tell me, what argument do you have that I should let you live?” Ultra’s grin widens, his right hand morphed into a long, jagged blade. “Listen here you little ass!” 43 struggles under Ultra’s tendrils, keeping him tightly pinned to the wall. “You better AGH!!” Ultra interrupts his threat by crushing his arms in his tight grip. “You annoy me now. It’s not even fun torturing you. And look, no one is coming to save you. Look, seriously” Ultra steps aside to show 43 the corridor. The scientists and security officers of the facility had surrounded him, simply watching. A scientist conversing with a security officer over “how he’d off him or not”. Ultra chuckles softly before facing 43 again “They are watching, waiting for me to kill you. They really don’t like you here either” 43’s angry scowl fades into a terrified wimped “c-come on man, we’re partners, we’re gonna work together...please…” “Whimpering like a bitch? I thought they gave you cat DNA? Wait, they did, you’re just a pussy!” Ultra plunges his blade through 43’s chest, then yanks the blade upward, slicing 43’s chest and head in half. Ultra grabs the two halves with his hands and proceeds to rip the body completely in half, throwing the two sides far away from each other. “Ah, your first bloodbath” Pinstripe chuckles. Ultra’s dark black fur glistened from the flesh blood that had sprayed onto him. He sighs happily and calmly continues walking down the corridor to Austin’s office. As he walks, the security stepped aside, while the scientists smiled, a few clapping. “Hey man” a scientist approaches him, clearly young he spoke like he came straight from the beach. His name tag said Steve Randl, “that was beyond epic bro. You were like, ugh, dude. So cool. You just tore him apart like he was paper bro.” Ultra stood back, his eyebrows raised. “What? Uh, thanks….Steve? I’m glad my bloody murder was entertaining to you.” “Oh dude, I work for a secret government group that kidnaps people and experiments on them. Dude, I make abominations of science. You probably never heard of this one but, Number 30 was my idea. Poor little dude decayed before our eyes, early attempt at healing and all. I tried telling everyone that he was still alive, but no one listened, they dumped him. Oh well, but yah bro, I found it cool watching you kill that douche canoe. “ “Well, you are positively strange. I think I will let you live” Ultra hesitates, then softly pats his shoulder before walking away. “He was strange. “ Error remarks. “Yes, but he can come in handy later. Clearly the kid is smart. We may need him” Pinstripe replies. “But who is Number 30?” “Graveyard Cat” Aaron answers “When I first escaped, I did a lot of research on the earlier experiments. 30 was an early healing factor test, he ended up decaying to near death. Turns out though the decay was just for show. He was perfectly fine, in fact he could actually make those around him decay. But they thought he died, and dumped his body. Grave Digger found him and took him in, kept him as his pet/bodyguard.” “A threat.” Ultra growled “He’s a threat, and we better hope we never encounter him then” “Understood, and agreed” Pinstripe answers. Ultra continues his way down the corridor, the halls becoming less chrome, and more bronze and gold the closer he got to the large wooden doors to the creator’s office. “Ok, he really, REALLY doesn’t know how to decorate” Pinstripe croones. “I know, but shush, he can probably read minds.” Ultra replies. “Well not really, but i can read the dialogue. More correctly I write the dialogue” Austin replies from inside his office as the doors open wide. “Hello Ultra. And Pinstripe? Screw you. Its rustic themed you uncultured asshat.” Ultra stands confused “dialogue? Nevermind, not important. “ “It would be too complicated to explain, maybe Hood could explain it to you, but...I don't see your next meeting with him being very friendly...oh well.” Austin smirks with the knowledge of what is to come. “So, my beautiful creation, are you ready for your first ORDERED kill? I saw that show back there with 43, good job. He was. Just a pathetic knock off of you anyway. I have the original back in my control, what do I need that waste for?” Austin takes his seat behind his desk. Upon the desk was various writing covered papers. As Ultra scanned the desk his brain read each paper instantly, each one detailing the various important individuals in the world he must track down and kill. From the notes he could read, he saw the names: Kujo Tartalgia, Uncle S.A.M., Curly Satlin, Jonathan Satlin, The OFFKeys, Don Lomas, John Stidham, DJ Giz, SARAH, Tiggs Nitishino, The Matedor, Henry Hicks, Fernando Lomas, Launa Dandie, Pops, and Pastor Stevie Smith, along with a few others he couldn't make out names for, only description. One note read, “short, shy, timid, ice powers. Tartalgia family. Usually surrounded by brothers, or with hot wife. Approach with caution.” Another read, “necklace becomes two candy cane staffs. May be Santa, unsure. Followed by a flaming skeleton-goat man. Should be easy kill, use skill.” “Are you reading my notes Ultra?” Austin asked with a smile. “Yes sir. How did you find this information?” “Find?” Austin replies with a chuckle “Oh my boy, I didn’t find it. I made it. I made everything. I am not just a scientist. I am a God. I didn’t just make you in the lab, I made you in my mind. Now, your first targets must be taken out before anyone else. I let 43 slide because he is not important to the universe. But the death of these next six individuals will mark the end of this universe and is crucial for my plan to work. Don’t ask why, it's just how it is. Stability of reality and all that. Long story short, when I made this universe, it made itself some fail safes. The Shattered Six is the fail safes. “ “The Shattered Six? I remember, er, Aaron remembers them. Never worked with them much. “ Ultra takes a seat on the opposite side of the desk. “They were...Don Lomas, the gangster. Dr. Dean Lomas. Professor Poindexter Carter, the know-it-all. Agent REDACTED Carter, the enforcer of Poindexter’s company and head of the 100 Project’s main field division. John Stidham the farmer. And ‘Smiley’ Joe Stidham, the DJ, bartender, and general freak.” “Those are the ones. Well, except Agent Carter. He left the Project once he saw what we were doing. He works full time as an espionage division of Poindexter’s company. I suggest you take out Farmer John first. He has the least contact with the rest, leaving them open for surprise still” Ultra nods, Aaron remembered where John Stidham lived. Unfortunately John’s home was also the base of the Fivefold. Ultra had no reason to worry, the Fivefold were constantly away from base, in fact John was the one keeping the base in order while they were away. “Do you accept your mission Ultra? I want to make it crystal clear, the Six must die before you kill anyone else. It doesn’t matter if someone else comes to fight as well, you knock them out and kill the Six first. I know the Fivefold have their base at John’s farm. You might even encounter Legion there. I don’t care. Kill John. That's it. Understood?” “Yes sir.” Ultra stands up, nodding to his master. “Good, go.” Ultra nods, turning and leaving the room. “So, Pinstripe, you teleport right?” Ultra thinks to himself, as he walks down the corridor away from the office. “Yah, shadow properties and all. Every Child of the Dark has it. I guess you do too now. Try thinking hard about where you want to go, and claw the air in front of you, it should open your portal.” Pinstripe answers, cracking his knuckles. “It's how I did it” Ultra sighs and looks in front of himself at the empty corridor. All the scientists have left, not even the security officers remained. He stood still in silence for a few minutes before releasing a deep breath and clawing down at the air in front of him. Instantly his claws opened a deep, twisting portal of darkness before him. “Holy shit. It worked.” Ultra stood before the portal and blinked twice before stepping in. Instantly he found himself standing on the front lawn of a small farm house. “I was told you went missing weeks ago. Happy Thanksgiving Aaron” A deep voice, with a thick country accent came from Ultra’s right. He turned to face the voice, coming face to face with Farmer John Stidham. John stood at a solidly built six feet tall, square shouldered and jawed, his body pure muscle, but not bulging. Each and every muscle in his body was toned by use. His eyes were a deep dark blue, with a clear wisdom behind them, his skin tanned by years in the sun, his hair, windswept and coffee brown. His face bore a distinct resemblance to Ultra’s creator Austin. Before Ultra could take time to take in more details about his target, such as his clearly robotic arms and legs, he was interrupted by a direct punch to his face. Ultra was launched back by the power of the impact, landing yards away from John. “I was warned that if you suddenly appeared at my doorstep without Hood, Vet, or any of his blasted Robots I should take you down. Livewire’s damn tentacles or whatever don't count as you coming with him. So it's clear to me you are now dangerous.” Ultra coughs as he stands to his feet, “Now I'm dangerous? If I really was still Aaron I’d be insulted.” He smirks as he stands straight up “Good punch you hick. Now come on, I don't have all day, y’all” John groans “I have work to do, it's feeding time and the goats are hungry, so here’s what we’ll do. I'm going to get Jonathan, my robot duplicate, to take care of the animals while I kick you ass” “So sassy for a dead man” John rolls his eyes, steam suddenly releasing from his arms and legs as he launches forward, both fists making impacts with Ultra’s chest, while in the same quick fluid motion, he launches Ultra upward, far into the sky. “Keep your distance boy!” John calls out as Ultra falls back to earth, only to meet John’s fist to his face once more, sending him flying into the nearby oak tree. “I like to fight up close and personal, so if you want any chance of beating me, you’d better just run away now.” Ultra groans as he climbs up the oak tree. “Any ideas? Cause you guys are getting your ass handed to you” Aaron sasses, panting from pain. “And I'm tired of it. Pinstripe, can’t you summon guns and crap?” Ultra’s eyes widened “Hammer space! I’m an idiot!” Ultra reached into the pockets of his blazer, pulling out two pistols. “Bullets should do us just fine. Rather boring though. I’ll save it for if I really get my ass kicked.” He returns the guns to his jacket pockets and hops down from the tree, to be immediately met with another punch to the face, this time firmly planting him into the oak tree. “”Come on kid. I know you have guns. This is just getting pathetic at this point” John grabs Ultra’s arms and yanks him out of the tree. “Listen, this will hurt, but maybe you’ll just get up and leave after,okay?” Ultra hissed and attempted to claw John, but his grip on his arms was too strong. John sighs and tosses Ultra into the air, grabbing his legs, and slamming him back into the ground. Ultra whimpered slightly on the ground as John walked up and stood over him. “You done yet kit-” John was interrupted by Ultra's tendrils each piercing his chest. He stammered, and stepped back as Ultra stood up. “Well, now I am I guess, hick” Ultra smiled cruelly “I wonder what you look like split in half. Let's find out!” Ultra’s tendrils burrow deeper into John’s chest before quickly pulling his body in two opposite directions. The power behind the tendrils make quick work splitting John’s body in half, the bones shattering, blood quickly spilling out of the broken body, watering the lawn with their iron rich plasma. Ultra smiled. “Well, that was a good taste of things to come I suppose. I might need...I shudder even thinking about this but...I might need practice?” “You definitely need practice you ass!” Aaron coughed in defiance. “You got your ass handed to you! You only won because he was stupid enough to stand over you!” “Yah, you need practice sir. That could have went better” Error replied. Ultra sighs and reopens his portal back to the Facility “well, let's see who’s next then?” Ultra steps through the portal, straight into Austin’s office. Austin stayed sat at his desk. He smiled. “Next will be Dr. Lomas. After him it will be in twos. Poindexter's and Agent Carter, then Don and Smiley Joe. You’ll find Dr. Lomas at Vets non-traveling station in New York. Only he works there, the only other people there will be boring normal people. Vet treats all the special ones, Dr. Lomas is a normal people Doctor. He isn’t even a fighter so this will be a walk in the park for you” “You, uh, you saw the last fight?” Austin smirks. “You were punched directly in the face four times. It was hilarious. Now go kill the doctor already.” Ultra nods, and opens a portal “Yes sir. This will only be a moment. “ Ultra steps through the portal, and immediately ducks, narrowly missing the punch that was swung at him. Ultra quickly shifts his hands into his two blades and plunges them deep in the chest of Dr. Lomas who stood above him. As Dr. Lomas stood bewildered, blood slowly dripping from his mouth Ultra could see his face, though also square jawed and almost divinely handsome, he also shared the same district facial features as Austin. Dr. Lomas was just as tall as John, but more muscular. Where John’s muscle was entirely for use, Dr. Lomas was more for show, his light green suit began to darken from the blood pouring out from his wounds. His perfectly swept back brown hair draped over his eyes as Ultra removed the blades, and he fell to the ground. “Better reflexes that time Sir” Pinstripe comments. Ultra nods and returns to the office. “He dead?” Austin asks. Ultra nods in response. “Good” Austin smiles, “next targets, Poindexter and Carter. They will be fun.” Ultra nods and opens his portal, stepping through.