#chemical waste removal

[shmreduplication]

As someone who likes to cook and eat and think about how we are all connected: i really like dungeon meshi

As a biologist: there's not enough discussion about shit and piss in dungeon meshi

[ausetkmt]

[clarancevalley]

Vacuum Excavation Services

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[reidrum]

i cannot stop thinking about reader giving jesus hair spencer a blowjob, and him using the hair tie he keeps on his wrist to put her hair up

hair tie | s.r

a/n: hey so this made me insane. also i wrote this really fast if it seems rushed that’s why. may we all be manhandled by jesus reid in the near future amen

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, blowjob, softdom!spence lowkey, reader has hair long enough to be tied up, can be read as gn!reader but lmk if i missed something!

wc: 888

——————————————————————————

spencer’s long hair was definitely a choice. he grew it out to his shoulders purely because he couldn’t make it to a barber, and simply because he didn’t really care. it did become a hassle when he’d be hunched over his desk finishing reports and strands of hair would fall forward and obstruct his eyesight.

he found that he would waste so much time when he paused to push his hair behind his ears (two minutes and thirty seconds slower, he counted). he’d come home to you and complain wondering how all women dealt with the long hair if it just always flew in front of them. how did you get anything done?

then one day when spencer came home from work, you had a small surprise for him. a pack of 100 black hairties.

“so you can just put your hair up in a little pony or man bun and keep working!” you’d exclaimed.

he was so endeared by the gesture, he rarely ever tied his hair up but he never left the house without a hair tie on his wrist. he liked having the option if he needed it, plus it always reminded him of you when he saw it.

the few times he’s used it are during intense heat waves in dc, when he’s dealing with toxic chemicals and such, and when he’s with you.

when he goes down on you, his hair would never stay in place. and it irked him to have to remove his fingers from you in order to fix it. you found it so hot though. he was deathly hot, but he really didn’t understand what it did to you when he was on his knees tying his hair up for you.

until it happened to him, of course.

he had come home from work, tired from the day at the office. you led him to the couch and told him to sit and relax while you took care of him. he spreads his legs open and leans back onto the couch, his arms fanning outwards to rest on the ledge, “you’re too good to me, baby.”

you were down on him, moving your head and back and forth on his length. you traced the underside vein with your tongue, getting as much as you could down your throat. the sight of you dribbling spit all over his cock sent him into another orbit. it was messy, lewd, and outright fucking hot.

but that hair of yours kept falling down your cheeks and blocked the beautiful view of him fucking your mouth. he rakes his hands through your hair, but as much as he could hold it on his own, your ministrations were too good for him to keep a good grip on it.

in a haste move, he removes his hands and you look up at him in confusion at the loss of contact. you watch intently as he rolls the hair tie off his sleeve, the one that you got him, and watch him tie your hair up in a haphazard ponytail.

jesus fucking christ.

you whimper at the gesture, overwhelmed by the feeling of him tying your hair up. he feels you falter for a second, before you raise both hands to the remaining of his cock that didn’t fit in your mouth and hollow your cheeks out.

“fuck, angel, that’s so good—oh my god,” he mewls, “you like it when i tie your hair up? like when i—shit— use my own hair tie on you?”

you moan around his cock, sending vibrations throughout his body which he responded with a long groan, “bet you didn’t think this is what i’d use the hair ties for huh?”

he stares down at your face, tears streaming down both sides as you keep him in your mouth, as he twirls the ponytail in his big hand and tugs.

“baby, oh my god, fuck i’m gonna come.” he lets out, and soon he releases himself into your mouth as you swallow every last drop. you pull your mouth off his cock, leaning your cheek on his inner thigh as you stare up at him trying to catch your breath.

“holy shit.” you breathe out.

he laughs, “holy shit is right,” he strokes your hair gently, “was it actually hot when i tied your hair up?”

you look at him incredulously, “are you joking? the fact that i bought it for you to use, that you keep it on your wrist all the time, and that you used it on me when i was sucking you off, i could outcompete the sun right now.”

he pulls you off your knees to sit on his lap on the couch, “i’ll make note of that, my love,” he softly kisses you. cuddling further into his chest, you both end up falling asleep on the couch tangled all up in each other.

later down the line, spencer realizes that those cheap black hair ties aren’t all that great. they break easily and he finds it pulled out his hair, and probably your hair, a lot.

to solve this, spencer buys a pack of baby pink scrunchies that he keeps on his wrist at all times. he read somewhere they’re easier on the scalp. morgan makes fun of him for it, and while spencer rarely uses the scrunchies for himself, looking at the pink on his wrist always made his cock twitch a little no matter where he was.

[dandelionsresilience]

Good News - July 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. Four new cheetah cubs born in Saudi Arabia after 40 years of extinction

“[T]he discovery of mummified cheetahs in caves […] which ranged in age from 4,000 to as recent as 120 years, proved that the animals […] once called [Saudi Arabia] home. The realisation kick-started the country’s Cheetah Conservation Program to bring back the cats to their historic Arabian range. […] Dr Mohammed Qurban, CEO of the NCW, said: […] “This motivates us to continue our efforts to restore and reintroduce cheetahs, guided by an integrated strategy designed in accordance with best international practices.””

2. In sub-Saharan Africa, ‘forgotten’ foods could boost climate resilience, nutrition

“[A study published in PNAS] examined “forgotten” crops that may help make sub-Saharan food systems more resilient, and more nutritious, as climate change makes it harder to grow [current staple crops.] [… The study identified 138 indigenous] food crops that were “relatively underresearched, underutilized, or underpromoted in an African context,” but which have the nutrient content and growing stability to support healthy diets and local economies in the region. […] In Eswatini, van Zonneveld and the World Vegetable Center are working with schools to introduce hardy, underutilized vegetables to their gardens, which have typically only grown beans and maize.”

3. Here's how $4 billion in government money is being spent to reduce climate pollution

“[New Orleans was awarded] nearly $50 million to help pay for installing solar on low to middle income homes [… and] plans to green up underserved areas with trees and build out its lackluster bike lane system to provide an alternative to cars. […] In Utah, $75 million will fund several measures from expanding electric vehicles to reducing methane emissions from oil and gas production. [… A] coalition of states led by North Carolina will look to store carbon in lands used for agriculture as well as natural places like wetlands, with more than $400 million. [… This funding is] “providing investments in communities, new jobs, cost savings for everyday Americans, improved air quality, … better health outcomes.””

4. From doom scrolling to hope scrolling: this week’s big Democratic vibe shift

“[Democrats] have been on an emotional rollercoaster for the past few weeks: from grim determination as Biden fought to hang on to his push for a second term, to outright exuberance after he stepped aside and Harris launched her campaign. […] In less than a week, the Harris campaign raised record-breaking sums and signed up more than 100,000 new volunteers[….] This honeymoon phase will end, said Democratic strategist Guy Cecil, warning the election will be a close race, despite this newfound exuberance in his party. [… But v]oters are saying they are excited to vote for Harris and not just against Trump. That’s new.”

5. Biodegradable luminescent polymers show promise for reducing electronic waste

“[A team of scientists discovered that a certain] chemical enables the recycling of [luminescent polymers] while maintaining high light-emitting functions. […] At the end of life, this new polymer can be degraded under either mild acidic conditions (near the pH of stomach acid) or relatively low heat treatment (> 410 F). The resulting materials can be isolated and remade into new materials for future applications. […] The researchers predict this new polymer can be applied to existing technologies, such as displays and medical imaging, and enable new applications […] such as cell phones and computer screens with continued testing.”

6. World’s Biggest Dam Removal Project to Open 420 Miles of Salmon Habitat this Fall

“Reconnecting the river will help salmon and steelhead populations survive a warming climate and [natural disasters….] In the long term, dam removal will significantly improve water quality in the Klamath. “Algae problems in the reservoirs behind the dams were so bad that the water was dangerous for contact […] and not drinkable,” says Fluvial Geomorphologist Brian Cluer. [… The project] will begin to reverse decades of habitat degradation, allow threatened salmon species to be resilient in the face of climate change, and restore tribal connections to their traditional food source.”

7. Biden-Harris Administration Awards $45.1 Million to Expand Mental Health and Substance Use Services Across the Lifespan

““Be it fostering wellness in young people, caring for the unhoused, facilitating treatment and more, this funding directly supports the needs of our neighbors,” said HHS Secretary Xavier Becerra. [The funding also supports] recovery and reentry services to adults in the criminal justice system who have a substance use disorder[… and clinics which] serve anyone who asks for help for mental health or substance use, regardless of their ability to pay.”

8. The World’s Rarest Crow Will Soon Fly Free on Maui

“[… In] the latest attempt to establish a wild crow population, biologists will investigate if this species can thrive on Maui, an island where it may have never lived before. Translocations outside of a species’ known historical range are rare in conservation work, but for a bird on the brink of extinction, it’s a necessary experiment: Scientists believe the crows will be safer from predators in a new locale—a main reason that past reintroduction attempts failed. […] As the release date approaches, the crows have already undergone extensive preparation for life in the wild. […] “We try to give them the respect that you would give if you were caring for someone’s elder.””

9. An optimist’s guide to the EV battery mining challenge

““Battery minerals have a tremendous benefit over oil, and that’s that you can reuse them.” [… T]he report’s authors found there’s evidence to suggest that [improvements in technology] and recycling have already helped limit demand for battery minerals in spite of this rapid growth — and that further improvements can reduce it even more. [… They] envision a scenario in which new mining for battery materials can basically stop by 2050, as battery recycling meets demand. In this fully realized circular battery economy, the world must extract a total of 125 million tons of battery minerals — a sum that, while hefty, is actually 17 times smaller than the oil currently harvested every year to fuel road transport.”

10. Peekaboo! A baby tree kangaroo debuts at the Bronx Zoo

“The tiny Matschie’s tree kangaroo […] was the third of its kind born at the Bronx Zoo since 2008. [… A] Bronx Zoo spokesperson said that the kangaroo's birth was significant for the network of zoos that aims to preserve genetic diversity among endangered animals. "It's a small population and because of that births are not very common," said Jessica Moody, curator of primates and small mammals at the Bronx Zoo[, …] adding that baby tree kangaroos are “possibly one of the cutest animals to have ever lived. They look like stuffed animals, it's amazing.””

July 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[clarencevalleyseptics]

Waste Disposal: Understanding The Importance

Aside from helping to keep the environment clean, effective waste disposal also helps to keep our homes and workplaces neat and tidy. Chemical or hazardous waste has the potential to harm us and must be disposed of carefully. Rather than littering, certain Chemical Waste Disposal methods can eliminate the risks that come with coming into contact with a toxic chemical.

[reasonsforhope]

"Namibia is the driest country in Sub-Saharan Africa, and home to two of the world’s most ancient deserts, the Kalahari and the Namib. The capital, Windhoek, is sandwiched between them, 400 miles away from the nearest perennial river and more than 300 miles away from the coast. Water is in short supply.

It’s hard to imagine life thriving in Windhoek, yet 477,000 people call it home, and 99 per cent of them have access to drinking water thanks to technology pioneered 55 years ago on the outskirts of the city. Now, some of the world’s biggest cities are embracing this technology as they adapt to the harshest impacts of climate change. But Namibia leads the way.

How did this come about? In the 1950s, Windhoek’s natural resources struggled to cope with a rapidly growing population, and severe water shortages gripped the city. But disaster forced innovation, and in 1968 the Goreangab Water Reclamation Plant in Windhoek became the first place in the world to produce drinking water directly from sewage, a process known as direct potable reuse (DPR). 

That may sound revolting, but it’s completely safe. Dr Lucas van Vuuren, who was among those who pioneered Windhoek’s reclamation system, once said that “water should not be judged by its history, but by its quality”. And DPR ensures quality. 

This is done using a continuous multi-barrier treatment devised in Windhoek during eight years of pilot studies in the 1960s. This process – which has been upgraded four times since 1968 – eliminates pollutants and safeguards against pathogens by harnessing bacteria to digest the human waste and remove it from the water. This partly mimics what happens when water is recycled in nature, but Windhoek does it all in under 24 hours...

Pictured: These ultrafiltration membranes help to remove bacteria, viruses and pathogens. Image: Margaret Courtney-Clarke

“We know that we have antibiotics in the water, preservatives from cosmetics, anti-corrosion prevention chemicals from the dishwasher,” Honer explains. “We find them and we remove them.”

Honer adds that online instruments monitor the water continuously, and staff ensure that only drinking water that meets World Health Organisation (WHO) guidelines is sent to homes. If any inconsistencies are detected, the plant goes into recycle mode and distribution is halted until correct values are restored. 

“The most important rule is, and was, and always will be ‘safety first’,” says Honer.  The facility has never been linked to an outbreak of waterborne disease, and now produces up to 5.5m gallons of drinking water every day – up to 35 per cent of the city’s consumption.

Namibians couldn’t survive without it, and as water shortages grip the planet, Windhoek’s insights and experience are more important than ever.

Interest from superpowers across the globe

In recent years, delegations from the US, France, Germany, India, Australia, Singapore, and the United Arab Emirates have visited Windhoek seeking solutions to water shortages in their own countries. 

Megadrought conditions have gripped the US since 2001, and the Colorado River – which provides 40 million people with drinking water – has been running at just 50 per cent of its traditional flow. As a result, several states including Texas, California, Arizona and Colorado are beginning to embrace DPR.

Troy Walker is a water reuse practice leader at Hazen and Sawyer, an environmental engineering firm helping Arizona to develop its DPR regulations. He visited Windhoek last year. “It was about being able to see the success of their system, and then looking at some of the technical details and how that might look in a US facility or an Australian facility,” he said. “[Windhoek] has helped drive a lot of discussion in industry. [Innovation] doesn’t all have to come out of California or Texas.”

Pictured: The internal pipes and workings of Namibia's DPR plant. As water becomes scarcer in some parts, countries are looking to DPR for solutions. Image: Margaret Courtney-Clarke

Namibia has also helped overcome the biggest obstacle to DPR – public acceptance. Disgust is a powerful emotion, and sensationalist ‘toilet to tap’ headlines have dismantled support for water reuse projects in the past. Unfortunately, DPR’s biggest strength is also its biggest weakness, as the speed at which water can re-enter the system makes it especially vulnerable to prejudice, causing regulators to hesitate. “Technology has never been the reason why these projects don’t get built – it’s always public or political opposition,” says Patsy Tennyson, vice president of Katz and Associates, an American firm that specialises in public outreach and communications.

That’s why just a handful of facilities worldwide are currently doing DPR, with Windhoek standing alongside smaller schemes in the Philippines, South Africa and a hybrid facility in Big Spring, Texas. But that’s all changing. Drought and increased water scarcity worldwide are forcing us to change the way we think about water. 

Now, the US is ready to take the plunge, and in 2025, El Paso Water will begin operating the first ‘direct to distribution’ DPR facility in North America, turning up to 10m gallons of wasterwater per day into purified drinking water – twice as much as Windhoek. San Diego, Los Angeles, California, as well as Phoenix, Arizona are also exploring the technology."

Of course, DPR is not a silver bullet in the fight against climate change. It cannot create water out of thin air, and it will not facilitate endless growth. But it does help cities become more climate resilient by reducing their reliance on natural sources, such as the Colorado River. 

As other nations follow in Namibia’s footsteps, Windhoek may no longer take the lead after almost six decades in front.

“But Windhoek was the first,” Honer reminds me. “No one can take that away.”"

-via Positive.News, August 30, 2023

[saintkevorkian]

milli the mouse is proud to be a chemist.

[queenuchiha89]

*** NSFW ***

*** 18+ MINORS DNI! ***

*** TW. DARK CONTENT ***

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

This story contains dark content including but not limited to forced impreg, incest, voyeurism, dubcon, and other themes that may not be suitable for all audiences! Reader discretion is STRONGLY advised!

As time went on there was only so much she could do to hide her delicate condition, and their parents were starting to speculate. While Y/N was busy trying to hide her growing bump, there was something else she was trying desperately to hide ... Her libido. The farther she got into her pregnancy, the hornier she got. All those chemical changes were making her crazy, and she couldn't help but to feel some level of desire for Itachi. It was her brother's baby after all.

Y/N couldn't help herself as she snuck into her big brother's room well after everyone in the house was already long asleep, and slid underneath the covers with him. She wrapped her arm around him, sliding her hand down his chest, abdomen, and then down into his pajama pants. Itachi woke up abruptly, grabbing her hand. "little sister, what are you doing??" He questioned with a smirk. "I-I... Itachi I need it! I'm so horny all the time! Fuck me big brother! Please?!" She begged cheeks red with shame. "I knew you were enjoying it the whole time..." He replies with a smirk, grabbing a fist full of her hair and turns her over, pinning her to the bed. Itachi quickly frees his cock from his pants and wastes no time, thrusting balls deep inside of his fertile little sister. Itachi cups a hand tightly around her mouth "shhh little sis, you don't want everyone to know what a dirty little cock whore you are for your big brother do you??" He teased as he fucked into her.

Sasuke woke to the muffled sounds of what he thought was a struggle. He quickly realized as he left his room, that there was no struggle... Just his big sister getting viciously fucked by their big brother once again. Sasuke peeks into the crack in Itachi's door, watching as his sister's face contorts in pleasure, and his cock goes instantly hard. He felt disgusted, but he couldn't help himself. His big sister's cries of ecstasy were absolutely heavenly, and part of him wished it were him fucking her. He reaches into his pants, removing his cock and strokes it in desperation for his own release.

"your pregnant pussy loves taking my cock doesn't it little sis?" Itachi teased as he felt Y/N's walls gripping around him as she neared orgasm. She gasped, her eyes rolling back as she came all over her big brother's perfect cock, his own orgasm not far behind. From the hallway, Sasuke was also about to explode as he watched his big sister cum for Itachi, like she had so many times before. "Take it little sister! Take every drop of my potent Uchiha seed!" Itachi growled as he flooded his pregnant sister's walls with rope after rope of hot cum. At the same time Sasuke was shaking as he came all over the floor in front of itachi's bedroom door. He quickly, and shamefully leaves back to his room before they find out he's been watching.

Sex drunk and filled with her afterglow Y/N pulls Itachi into a deep passionate kiss, surprising them both for a moment. "Itachi, that... That was amazing." She says as she catches her breath. "Don't worry little sis, you're mine now. And even if you didn't like it.... I'll never stop fucking you. That pussy belongs to me Y/N. Got it?" Itachi growls in your ear. Like a lust drink bimbo, you nod agreeing with him. "Good girl. Now go to bed, don't need us getting caught." Itachi says to her as her sends her back off to bed with a slap on that ass.

A.N: not my best, but I'm still kinda out of it from everything. Hope you enjoy! Also... Should I keep this going?? If so, would love some suggestions on where to take this!!

[shinobicyrus]

One thing my brain keeps going back to about Pacific Rim (besides the rad giant robots) is the whole existence of kaiju organ harvesters and their implications.

Like, you have Hannibal Chau, a bizarre and interesting character, but we’re presented with a black market operation that seems mostly interested in the “alternative medicine” uses of kaiju parts.

But my brain demands to know: what does the corporate kaiju harvesting industry look like? Sure kaiju blood is toxic, but there are plenty of toxic materials that have useful applications. Are there chemical companies studying kaiju organs? Big-Pharma jumping on the kaiju bone-powder bandwagon? Are bio-tech firms studying kaiju hide to make tougher materials? Agribusinesses clamoring to acquire kaiju crap for fertilizer?

I’m picturing something like the age of whaling, when humans hunted giant animals and carved them up to feed insatiable industries. Whale-oil lighting lanterns for entire cities, whale-bone being used in everything from knick-knacks, tools, umbrellas, and corsets. Ambergris alone was used in perfumes, medicines, cooking. It was even added to wine as an aphrodisiac.

We glimpsed how kaiju affected pop-culture. Now picture a kaiju smashing a city, but the stock market going up for construction companies (rebuilding the cities), vulture real estate (buying the destroyed land cheap), and all the other corporations that profit from the systematic dismantling of a kaiju corpse and making money off of its parts. Sure, a city was roughed up and who knows how many thousands are dead, but it’s a better windfall when a kaiju makes landfall. It’s always less profitable when jaegers kill them too quickly; sea-based extractions are so much more expensive.

Imagine entire industries, entire economies that don’t just make money from the devastation of kaiju attacks, but grow dependent on them. And then the laws, the squabbles over those valuable, resource-rich kaiju corpses. If a kaiju attacks one country but keeps rampaging and is killed in the country next door, who has claim over the body? The party who was damaged more by it or the country where the corpse physically is? Bidding wars over “cleanup” contracts that cut corners and are only interested in collecting those sweet, sweet, kaiju parts as fast as possible, even if their official mandate is supposed to be the safe removal and cleanup of a toxic substance.

Once jaegers started getting efficient at killing kaiju, the people with all the money became less interested in solving the problem of kaiju attacks and switched to merely managing the industries that kaiju-killing feeds.

What? You want to put more resources into R&D to try and close the Breach? Whatever for? The kaiju comes out, jaegers kill it, and the “host country” gets the proceeds from the kaiju’s body. It’s a win-win for everyone. Why waste time, money, and effort solving a problem that isn’t a problem anymore?

Everything is under control.

[your-nanas-house]

had this thought awhile back but a rivals to lovers type one shot with jonathan crane and the reader but the reader is poison ivy if that makes sense? both doctors, both using chemicals/pheromones for their own reasons…..make it smutty! i trust you!

Pungent as a rose

◇ Pairing: Jonathan Crane X poison ivy!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, eating out, drugs, dub-con, hate

◇ Summary: When chemistry meets chemistry between people.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Not proof read and shitty endind.

Her heels kept clicking on the floor of the asylum... fast and confident, as she reached the labs in the dark.

The only light present was the one of the moon, bright but soft, decorating with shadows the bare intern walls of the building.

Noises kept coming from the background, screams, laughter and soft snores and... then his voice which wasn't part of them anymore.

"Colleague.. what are you doing here in the dark?" The smooth but low voice of Dr. Crane echoed in the small room, she really had been hoping to not meet him again. Since their last encounter he started to randomly appear more often in her path, casually trying to get her alone to bring up the past passion she had decided to share with him after a couple of extra chupito.

The young woman sure thought back at her colleague whimpering form under her, whining and moaning like a slut while still grab and manhandle her as he pleased.

As Jonathan couldn't stop thinking about her nails digging in his skin as his cock bullied her cervix, her teeth sinking as her wild eyes stare deeply in his. Since that damn night he couldn't remove the idea of spraying her with his toxin to look at fear in her eyes as he buried himself in her.

He already knew she was wild... but he was sure that he could make her snap.

He felt just weird, his body starting to get warmer as she inhaled her scent now that his chest was pressed against her back; he started to feel like an impulse that made him want to breath her in more even though his mind was getting dizzy almost as if he was getting wasted.

In fear of loosing his rational side, he moved his wrist casually in front of her face, a little bottle in his hand his thumb pressing down as she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, grimacing when the liquid wet her face.

Couple of seconds and she felt a rush of fear wash over her, her body started to shake and she turned pale, her vision was blurry at first but different things started to display in front of her. Jonathan was getting too hard under the effect of her chemical perfume to actually get hard by the mere look of her wide eyes, opting rather to follow his need and start grinding like an animal in heath against the curves of her ass.

"What did you do, you asshole?!" Y/n accused, holding unto the table as the feeling got stronger, making her sweat as her breath quickened. She rolled her eyes back, chills running down her spine as the familiar sensation of lust hit her hard, the feeling of fear just increasing her wetness.

Jonathan didn't replied, letting her move him around easily by the hair down to a kneeled position, before burying his face in her thighs, waiting shakily to be able to taste her.

It took her longer than expected since her hands were shaking but as soon as she managed to remove her panties she sat on the lab table, spreading her legs so that he could please her properly

"Stupid bitch" she hissed, grinding her wet pussy against his face, removing his glasses only when they nearly fall onto the floor

"Bet you used that thing you were working on since months" she realized, arching her back at the feeling of the warm tongue of her colleague which kept lapping at her folds before thrusting in her needy hole, allowing his nose to press deliciously against her clit.

The figures kept showing up, making her moan in pleasure as the fear increased, tears started to run down her cheeks as her hips ground faster against Crane's face, her wetness dripping down his chin.

"It's impressive, I must say" the young woman breathed out, clenching her jaw as cold sweat runned down her forehead before nesting itself between her breasts "I did not expect you to be able to create something this s-strong" the mid praise left her mouth, echoing in Jonathan's empty head.

Damn... if only he would have been in the right set of mind and not pussy drunk or drugged by her. He sure would have cummed in his pants at the mere view of the pure fear in her.

"Fucking hell... you little—" her usual sensual voice came out rougher and exhausted before the annoying footstep of who they discovered was another colleague interrupted abruptly their passionate moment.

[ckret2]

This chapter is a whole lot of Bill and Ford talking and I couldn't think of a good illustration for it, so have a funny comic instead.

Here's chapter 9 of The Pines Have Captured Human Bill Cipher And Nobody Is Happy About It (otherwise known as Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone). Sept 13 2024 - now updated for TBOB compatibility!

####

Ford knocked on the bathroom door. "Time's up. You've had your two hours, Cipher."

There was no reply.

Ford glanced at Stan.

Stan grumbled under his breath and cracked his knuckles. "BILL!" He pounded on the door. "Either you come out of the bathroom, or we're dragging you out by your ankles!"

No reply.

"That's it," Stan snapped. Ford nodded in agreement and took a step back to cover Stan as he opened the door.

The bathroom reeked of chemically-enhanced rotten eggs. From knee-height down, every single surface in the room was plastered with curly blond hair. Behind the bath tub—naked, curled up in a ball, and hiding beneath a towel like a child—was Bill.

Stan and Ford gaped at the scene. And then they cracked up.

"Most—" Stan wheezed, "Most people just use shampoo! But hey, whatever floats your boat!"

Trying to sound stern and failing, Ford said, "I hope you plan to help clean this up."

Bill didn't reply. 

Stan coughed and pounded on his chest. "Gah. Almost choked on my dentures."

"How did you do this? I know we removed the blades from the room." Ford was glad he'd put on his boots. He picked up a bottle of hair removal cream from the bath tub and tested the weight. Almost empty. "You didn't use this on your scalp, did you? It's far too caustic to use around the face."

Stan asked, "How do you know?"

"I've experimented with many shaving techniques, Stanley."

Bill didn't reply.

"Bill?" Ford's smile faded. "Did you burn yourself?" If he was burned badly enough, that was an infection risk—the last thing they needed was to haul their prisoner to a doctor...

He took another step toward Bill. Bill tightened his arms around his knees and retreated further into the corner. And still he said nothing.

####

Stan and Ford agreed that dragging Bill's naked butt out of the bathroom wouldn't do anything to help protect Gravity Falls from the horrible alien triangle menace, and also wouldn't make them feel particularly noble; so they left the door open, told Bill to get dressed and get out, Stan went back to bed, and Ford sat in the attic window seat to wait.

It took almost thirty minutes before Ford heard Bill trudging upstairs. He had dressed, thank goodness, but still had the towel draped over his head, like a Victorian widow in a mourning veil. Ford wondered if it was bad to find the sight of his obvious distress so funny, or if the fact that it was Bill made it okay.

Bill got close enough to his window seat nest to spy Ford's boots from beneath his towel, veered off to the side, and curled up in a corner of the attic.

"Well," Ford said, to say something; and then drew a blank. Finally, he said, "The next time you claim you're out of practice at a basic human task, I'll believe you."

Ford could have sworn he heard the towel-covered lump hiss like a leaky tire. Had he gotten a laugh?

The ice broken, Ford went on: "Are you injured? That stuff can burn even when used correctly. And—you did not use it correctly."

No response.

"Just—why did you—why?"

No response.

"Say something so I know I don't have to call an ambulance and tell them you're in shock." Ford did not relish the idea of explaining a mysterious woman with no ID to a hospital.

Apparently, neither did Bill, because he muttered, "I don't need medical assistance." And then, "So I didn't want hair. Baldness isn't a sin. Get off my back."

"That's a heck of a way to get rid of it."

"Yeah, wow, I guess so. I wonder why I didn't just use a razor."

"You could have... You could have asked for a shave."

Bill let out another tire-wheeze laugh. At the thought of asking for help, or at the thought that he'd have received it?

"Bill—"

"Go away."

Ford frowned; but he got up, headed downstairs, and shut the bathroom door as he passed so Bill couldn't go back in.

And a few minutes later, came back with a sandwich made out of the first odds and ends he could find in the fridge, and a six pack of hard apple cider. "Here." He set the plate and six pack on the floor near Bill. "Mrs. Ramirez hasn't touched it, I promise."

Bill didn't move, not even to see what food Ford had brought.

Ford shifted his footing nervously, his common sense insisting that he'd demonstrated all the decency he was obliged to and that it was time to go; and then he sat down again on the window seat. "Listen," he said. "Bill." (He shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't be talking to Bill Demon-Triangle Dimension-Destroyer Cipher, eternal nemesis, ruiner of Ford's life, threatener of his family; but right now, it was hard to see Bill Cipher beneath the hurting human.) "I've—been here before. I know what it's like to—to be trapped in an alien dimension, surrounded by hostile locals, with no way home." He tried not to think about the fact that Bill was the main reason Ford had been trapped, or that Ford was now one of the hostile locals, or that the locals (and Ford especially) had a damn good reason to be hostile to Bill, or that they all didn't want Bill to get home. He was kind of curious find out where the heck he was going with this conversation. "I know what that... grief is like."

Ford thought it might be an insult to suggest Bill was capable of grief; but Bill didn't twitch. Ford went on. "I know how tempting it is to—to ignore everything but the fight ahead. Never mind hot food, shelter, showers, fresh clothes, a comfortable bed. Luxuries you can tend to when your work is done. But—a fire can't keep burning without fuel and fresh air. Depriving yourself those 'luxuries' doesn't turn you into some ascetic warrior-monk. It simply... burns you out. It makes it that much harder to achieve anything." Ford shrugged. "I—learned that the hard way."

He tried not to think about the fact that Bill had been the fight Ford had burned himself out for. Or the fact that Bill no doubt saw Ford as his fight. Or the fact that Ford didn't want Bill to achieve anything. He immediately regretted the decision to find out where he was going with this conversation. What was he doing?

Voice muffled, Bill said, "You think you're the only person who's ever had to get used to an alien dimension before?"

And Ford remembered—a moment too late—that Bill had destroyed his home. It was so easy to take that information, the horrific enormity of it, and stop there; but follow the implications one step further, and that meant Ford had never once seen Bill in his own dimension. As long as Ford had known him and billions of times longer, Bill had been a stranger in a strange land. Ford should write off this conversation as a loss and leave.

"This isn't my first rodeo," Bill said. "But hey, thanks for coming back up just to patronize me. It's really what I needed tonight."

To hell with leaving. Ford wasn't letting Bill get the last word in after he'd tried to do something nice. "This is your first time being a human in an alien dimension," Ford pointed out. "You said it yourself earlier—I've bathed hundreds of times since you last did. As an energy being, you've never had to make time for regular showers, or sleep, or exercise, or..." He almost said food but paused. He'd seen Bill eat as a triangle. Was that fun or necessity? Never mind. "You probably think those chores are beneath you—but your body needs them whether you like it or not."

Bill laughed harshly. "Wow, this is rich coming from Dr. Food Pills who bathes monthly."

"Hey! I've improved since my postdoc days and if you were half the stalker I know you are you'd know that!"

Bill didn't argue; he just changed his angle of attack and muttered, "'Eat better and bathe more,' says the guy who locked me out of the fridge and bathroom."

"I—" Well. Ford couldn't really argue with that. And he didn't regret it. "I know it's... not an ideal situation." The opportunity hung in the air for an and I'm sorry, and Ford self-consciously hurried past it. It was the thing one said in these situations, but it wasn't true. He wasn't sorry, he shouldn't be sorry, Bill was here on death row. "But I'm just trying to..." The sentence died. Why, exactly, was he trying to help Bill?

"Why would I want any help from you?" Bill's voice was venomous; and under the circumstances, Ford couldn't fault him for that. "Even if you didn't kill me and capture me! For all your talk of needing shelter and comfort when you're stuck in another dimension—you never accepted any help from me. But you think I can't take care of myself?"

Ford stared at Bill. (Not that there was much to stare at, except the top of a towel.) "I never accep—? You never offeredany help!" Not that he would have accepted it if Bill had, but just the outrageous suggestion that Bill had been—what?—charitably offering interdimensional refugee services that Ford had stubbornly turned down—?

"I never got the chance! You dove into the first wormhole you could find—you didn't even bother to say 'hi'!"

"Why would I say 'hi' after everything you—! Plus, you placed a bounty on my head! Within thirty seconds of my arrival!"

"So I got excited!" Bill uncurled just enough to shrug. "Anyway, the bounty was to bring you to me alive! C'mon, Stanford, I know you steered away from the frats in college, but you know what a little friendly hazing is, right?"

Flabbergasted, Ford echoed, "'Hazing'?" And then, even more disbelieving, "'Friendly'?"

"Sure!" One eye, almost luminescent in the shadows beneath the towel, peered over Bill's knees. As if Bill was as baffled as Ford and needed to see him for himself. "You built us a portal, you got cast out of your dimension into ours—you were gonna get a hero's welcome! You'd joined the gang! You were one of us!"

"I'd—spent weeks trying to stop you!"

"So?"

Ford gaped. Bill was a liar, he reminded himself—a liar, a manipulator, and a conman. He'd say anything to portray himself however he thought most useful. Ford remembered arriving in the Nightmare Realm. He'd relived it over and over—in hundreds, if not thousands of nightmares. "That was no welcome party. You were surrounded by an army of monsters."

"Hey, those are my pals you're talking about!" Bill laughed—a sincere, easy sound. It was unnerving, how real that laugh sounded. "Hate to point out the obvious, Sixer, but you've got a handshake that '30s Hollywood woulda designed a whole movie monster around. Who are you to judge appearances!"

Ford's thoughts flashed briefly to the Glass Shard Beach freak show he'd met as a child—the humans who'd called themselves "monsters" and who'd called Ford their "abnormal ally," the frightening friendly freaks who'd welcomed him warmly. He pushed the thought away. Bill wasn't running some kind of weirdo sanctuary; he thought making Ford think he was would win him some sympathy. "You were sitting on a throne. Made out of optical illusions. Like a self-appointed tyrant."

"Oh! You noticed my throne!" Bill's head lifted a little more. "Hey, I got that custom made! It's upholstered with the torn fabric of reality! Say, did it look three-dimensional to you? I'm told it looks 3D if you cross your eyes just right, but, well, you need two eyes to cross 'em."

"Wh—" Ford blinked, trying to remember what the throne had looked like. "Was it... not 3D?"

"No way! Do you have any idea what it'd cost to upholster a whole extra dimension in the fabric of reality? I'm not about to drop that kind of gold on a feature I wouldn't even use!" Bill grinned up at Ford. All Ford could see was the one eye and his teeth. "But hey, if you couldn't even tell the difference—I guess the autostereogram detailing was worth it!"

And Ford thought, he means it. Bill, mad thing he was, never thought that being Ford's friend and destroying Ford's universe were mutually incompatible. When he'd arrived in the Nightmare Realm, Bill hadn't been hunting him, he'd been welcoming him. Lounging on his stupid tacky throne, hanging out with his terrible friends, feigning a punch at the new guy to make him flinch before laughing and inviting him to the party. And Ford—sleep-deprived, terrified, paranoid—hadn't seen it.

And then Ford thought, he's lying. It was over thirty years ago—thirty-one, technically (time ticks ever on)—and Bill could say anything he wanted about what he would have done if he'd caught Ford, because he hadn't caught him. Today, Bill probably thought his comfort, if not his very survival, was dependent upon convincing his captors that he was so much less a threat than they thought he was. It's all a harmless misunderstanding! It was no misunderstanding and Bill wasn't harmless.

Ford got to his feet. "We remember that day very differently."

Bill's smile faded into the dark. "Yeah. Guess so." And then his eye disappeared as well as he curled in on himself and vanished under the towel. That wasn't like him. Ford had expected at least a little gaslighting.

Strange body in a strange land. And a recent death (metaphorical or literal, Ford still wasn't sure). Of course Bill was more subdued than usual.

Ford told himself not to worry about Bill. (He was unnerved that he had to tell himself.)

"Well." He gestured vaguely at the sandwich, decided against doing something nice like reminding Bill he needed to eat, and said, "Don't waste food."

He mentally chided himself as he walked downstairs. He'd been careless; he'd almost let his guard down in front of a friend who'd betrayed him. He'd been nice to Bill. He'd tried to encourage Bill to take better care of himself—when Ford was plotting to kill him, for crying out loud! Why? Because the human body made him forget this was Bill? No. Because Bill had tricked Ford into seeing him as a friend again, for just a moment, talking about parties and pals and—of all things—his stupid upholstery? Also no; that had come after Ford had offered compassion. It would have been nice if Ford could have blamed Bill. He'd like to think that he was being manipulated; it would free him from any personal culpability. But Bill hadn't done anything—except look miserable.

And that didn't line up with how Ford remembered Bill. Maybe that was what had thrown him off? But—he wasn't sure. Ford had spent thirty years with his thoughts spiraling around Bill, and now it was hard to think about Bill at all without second-guessing every thought that passed through his head. He was a recovering Cipherholic—and the fastest way to fall off the wagon was getting exposed to your addiction. He'd have to ask Stan for a reality check.

Another question gnawed at him as he kicked off his boots and climbed back into bed. When he'd been cast from his dimension, the portal was still functional, just uncharged. There was nothing Ford could do from within the Nightmare Realm to either reactivate or destroy the portal. Bill had seemed in too good a humor to have had punishment on his mind; and since Ford had been both useless and unthreatening, Bill probably hadn't wanted to recruit him for his help or eliminate him for Bill's safety.

So what had Bill wanted him for?

What had Bill wanted him for?

He'd probably just wanted to kill him. For no particular reason. For fun. Bill didn't need any other reason, Bill was insane.

Ford tried to convince himself that was true.

####

Bill had gotten careless. He almost let his guard down around a friend who'd betrayed him.

He couldn't really blame himself. He was a consummate extrovert with nobody to talk to. Captivity in and of itself was bad enough; but without his friends, he was... bored. That was the word. Bored.

But he was fine.

Bill's stomach ached. He peered at the food Ford had brought.

After a moment, he dragged over the six pack and popped out a can of cider. Nothing better to prove he was fine than some good old I'm Fine Juice.

That bathroom could be useful. He'd never be trusted in there for two hours unsupervised again, but if he mastered the art of the ten-minute shower and claimed he still needed an hour, that would give him some uninterrupted privacy. He could work a little magic in that time, even if he was limited to human capabilities. Most local female humans wore makeup, Melody probably kept hers in the bathroom; and in a pinch, there was toothpaste and shampoo; he could write with those. You could get a lot done with two mirrors, running water, a writing tool, and a human body full of blood.

Maybe he could call for help. Acquiring the supplies to get a call through to Hectorgon or Amorphous Shape would be difficult, much less calling any of his outerplanar pals; but Kryptos kept a psychic line open in dimension 46'\, if Bill got his hands on some candles he could reach him. At least, assuming Kryptos bothered to pick up the call. Bill hated the thought that his fate rested on whether or not the most annoying person in the multiverse felt like taking a call from an unknown number, but what could he do about it? If he could just reach the mindscape, this would be so much easier—

No, that wasn't quite accurate. He could reach the mindscape. He dreamed. He just... couldn't control it.

This body clamped onto his soul like an iron maiden. He couldn't just shed it like an old coat, the way he'd always effortlessly moved in and out of physical bodies before. He'd tried, curled up in the window for hours at a time, meditating silently, reaching for that point where he quietly detached from his borrowed form—but never grasping it. A couple of times the effort had exhausted him into falling asleep.

He knew his way in and out of human bodies—along with plenty of other earthling bodies and the bodies of aliens from countless dimensions. Leaving it should have been easy. There was no good reason for him to still be stuck.

But there were plenty of bad ones.

Three possibilities: thanks to the unconventional way he'd left the Theraprism, his power was still sealed away (if not removed entirely), and he was simply too weak to disentangle himself from this body's neurons; the reincarnation process had fully turned his soul from a triangle into a human; or, something about the Theraprism's machine locked souls into their new bodies. Maybe to keep the newly-rehabilitated from immediately shedding their body and returning to their old ways.

A lock that simply needed to be picked would be the best option—but with his limited powers, it was also the hardest to identify except via process of elimination. He could start by figuring out humans' own techniques for controlling their dreams and shedding their bodies and see if that helped him. (Part of him hoped it wouldn't. If it did, it would be all the more likely that he really was just a human—the worst possible option.) He was sure Ford had done some reading on astral projection at Bill's suggestion, maybe he still had those books somewhere. Bill couldn't just ask for them. Ford wouldn't trust Bill with them.

Not yet, anyway. But with time...?

Ford's little visit had been unexpectedly encouraging. He'd been a fool to ever offer Ford freedom and power instead of leaning on humans' soft spot for vulnerability. The whole woe-is-me routine was clearly working. Even if Ford had probably only pitied him because...

Under the towel, Bill's scalp burned. He could feel the alien contours of his head.

Never mind, never mind, never mind. This was all part of his strategy. This was his plan.

The point was—he thought, for just a moment, he'd gotten a glimpse again of the Ford that was his friend.

Bill could use that.

He'd keep working on Ford, softening him up. Ford had already brought food. Rookie mistake. So few humans realized that once they'd done one favor for someone, they'd set themselves up to make every favor after that a little bit easier. Bill would have Stanford Pines wrapped around his finger again in no time.

And until he'd worked his way back up to big favors, it might be nice to have someone to play chess with again. He was bored. He missed his friends.

He missed home.

He missed himself.

A lump formed in his throat. 

To drown it, he popped open the first can of cider, chugged it in several large gulps, and reached for the second.

####

(This is sort of the first chapter we've had to slow down since this fic started, so let me know what y'all think!)

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[lets-try-some-writing]

i love it when people apply the whole “humans are space orcs” idea to transformer humans.

jack, miko and raf just doing regular, average day things that make the bots both extremely worried and unsettled gives me so much brainrot.

I got you here. I love this kind of lore/reaction ask.

Each of the children have a particular habit that bothers the team more than anything else. Can it be explained? Not really. All humans do the things they do. But for the bots, it is strange and out of sorts all the same.

Miko always carries around a bottle of sparkling water. She adores the stuff. The team, despite knowing it is not what the name implies, are still horrified with her drinking habits. Not to mention, they can't help but wonder where all the liquid goes. She drinks up to three whole bottles of water a day. In her own words "Hydrate or die." That in it of itself is concerning since the team, while well aware that humans need water, do not know how much they need exactly. The team are down right terrified of her ability to down water like a dry sponge. How can such a small fleshy even consume that much? They aren't entirely sure. Not only that, but if she drinks that much, then are Jack and Rafael getting enough? They can't be.

Not only does Miko down water like a bone dry houseplant, she also drinks just about anything else too. The team have seen her chug sodas which contain Primus knows how many strange chemicals and compounds. They've observed her willingly drink things that no other would on bets, including food that has been blended and watered down just because Jack wanted to see if it was possible for her to down hotdog cafeteria milk cheeto apple slurry.

Yes the team are terrified of humans and their ability to put anything inside themselves and walk it off. But more than any other, they fear Miko. Who knows what she's consumed.

All the kids do it, but Jack is the most notable since when he needs to go to the restroom, he makes it loud and clear mainly so that someone knows to keep an eye on Miko. The team are aware that organics have a need to manually handle removing waste since their systems are rather inefficient, however there is a certain level of mysteriousness surrounding the restrooms. The bots don't want to watch or even know HOW the humans get rid of waste, but they do know that THINGS happen in the restroom that seem to either be painful, emotional, refreshing, or aggravating. No one can really be sure what reaction will follow those who enter the space. Sometimes Jack or one of the other kids will go in there seemingly to just be alone.

It is a strange and almost sacred location where strange happenings occur. Miko went in once with bloody clothes and emerged with a fresh set before Ratchet could figure out what was wrong in the first place. Jack went in once and came out an hour later looking like he'd gone to war after he convinced Arcee to let him stop and get takeout the night before. Rafael took his charger and computer in there and hogged the space for a while to get away from the others once. The team does not know what happens in there, but it is mildly concerning since it either repairs or breaks a person.

Bulkhead theorizes that its a pocket dimension like the shadow zone. Ratchet refuses to think about it. Optimus will say nothing about whatever he knows. Arcee and Bee assume its a safe haven or sorts and Wheeljack is almost certain they keep weapons in there. Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen both agree that the restroom is simply a quiet space where a human can deal with personal issues in peace.

No bot is willing to try and confirm anything since humans flip out at any attempts to view the supposedly sacred ground.

Rafael is generally pretty good about flying under the radar most of the time, but he has a habit that has caught the team's attention. Humans have been noted doing what they can to clean themselves on their own. Its rather ineffective to clean one's own venting openings with digits considering the sheer amount of germs involved, but it is not out of the question to do so when a cleaning cloth is not available. Rafael occasionally and quietly trying to clean his nose is not what bothers the team.

No what horrifies them is the goop that he pulls out after his attempt at cleaning. What Ratchet has studied states that the goop is referred to by a number names, but is commonly called snot. Its the natural germ catcher humans have, but it still unsettles the team whenever Rafael quietly blows a few or when one of the others grabs a tissue and makes a rather disgusting sound as they try to clear their airways.

The goop reminds the team of any number of horrible things. But the sheer amount of GROSS within a small amount of the stuff has left the team all gagging whenever they find the stuff around base. Rafael is usually good about being clean, but sometimes he gets lazy and will use his chair to hide his cleaning attempts. Bumblebee has almost purged a few times seeing the marks on the chair from where Rafael may or may not have wiped his fingers.

Is he twelve? Yes. Is he fully mature? No. That much is evident just by looking at his chair.

[fandomwritingbit]

I feel like if William found out that one of the cute, kind, unassuming girls that works for him was also serial killer he would definitely get horny about it. And of course when he implies to her she knows she's like "Take's one to one, Mr. Afton~" They would both just sooo messed up and fuck about it I think

Hello! Sorry this took so long, I wasn't planning to publish this 'til next month but a sudden urge to finish it struck me and here it is!

Serial killer William Afton x (afab)serial killer reader

warnings: murder, somewhat glorified, reader and William are both fucked up

It’s been 6 months since you started at the diner and by now you were more than well acquainted with your role. It came relatively naturally to you this whole customer service thing, your brightly coloured scrunchies bobbing as you kept patrons happy and balanced everything that needed doing by the end of your shift. To cut it short, you were absolutely thriving. Your bosses liked you, so much so that you’ve had your first raise already, it was all going just swimmingly. It’s just the perfect job, no one would ever think anything bad of you here, you’re just too damn cute, too damn charming. It’s really an excellent cover. 

The diner gave you more than just cover though. You've learnt some very helpful skills over these months, like what the best chemicals for cleaning are, how to remove even the most stubborn of stains and how to dispose of the things that just couldn’t be cleaned. 

At the back of the restaurant for example. Like most eateries has huge skips, always full of the week’s waste and secluded enough to offer a window of opportunity. It was very easy to get in as you had a key, that and the knowledge that your cheap-arsed employers didn’t install cctv there, and so of course you put the window of opportunity to use. Several nights of fun easily hidden from prying eyes in black bin-liners and blending in with the rest. How could it be that easy?

But, what you hadn’t considered was that perhaps you weren’t the only one using such a perfect place. 

~

He stumbled through the door like a drunkard, the high of his activity so delicious, it made his fingers tingle and a cold electric colour tint his vision. He props the doors open with a brick,  reaching into the diner to grab what he needed to get rid of, his shoes slipping in the red slick dripping from his form. God, it’s all over him, staining his shirt and leaving footprints on the floor, a nightmare to clean up, but he wasn’t worried. He had all night to sort it out, not like any of his lay-about employees would be in a hurry to chuck any rubbish out anytime soon. 

He grabs the bag, moving it over to the bins and opening the one furthest from the door. Taking a bag off the top, he undoes the half-arsed knot and sets about getting rid of his evidence, a baseball cap, one of his branded teddies and a blunt statuette; each smeared in the blood on his hands. He packs them into the bag and again ties it up. But he’s too careful to leave it at that, and removes the bags closer to the bottom, intending to shove the incriminating one down where no one would find it. And it’s there at the very bottom of the skip that he sees it. It’s such a sobering sight that he freezes for a moment, confusion flooding his features. 

A kitchen blade, a large one stained with crusted blood, he was sure of it. That browning red was so familiar, Hell it was all over him now, the smell very apparent. But that wasn’t his. The bins were emptied only two days before and whilst he is an efficient man, he wasn’t that good. He reaches down to touch it, but stops inches away. Right next to the knife was something else. As he plucks it from the rubbish, it all clicks into place. 

~

At the end of a busy shift, you walk down the staff hallway more than relieved, absentmindedly taking off your apron a few paces before your locker. There was nothing special about to day, but it was fucking rushed, hardly a moment to breathe and right now nothing sounds better than going home and spending you day off in bed. When you’re done shoving your apron inside the locker and slinging your bag over your shoulder, your body instinctively tenses at an awareness of a presence behind you. So you shut and lock the door as quickly as you can, before facing your boss. 

“Oh hi, Mr Afton. Just about to clock off.” You smile brightly, so sweetly that he almost doubts himself, almost reconsiders what he’s about to ask you. Almost.  

“Don’t yet. Come into my office, I want to talk to you.” There was an amused tone to his voice, like there was a hidden joke you weren’t aware of and did not understand. But that was nearly always the case with Mr Afton, everyone said so, said that they dreaded when he was on shift because they couldn’t tell if he liked them or was a hair away from sacking them. And right now, you feel the same. But surely he liked you? How could he not?  

“Yeah, okay.” You try to keep your voice obliging and happy, following the nod of his head for you to walk past him, down the hall and into his office. You’ve been in here before, using his stapler on some leaflets or asking for extra change in the till. It’s always a cold room, hardly decorated and a little imposing, very much in line with the man himself. 

There’s a heaviness in the air that you don’t want to break, so you wait for Mr Afton to ask you to sit, watching him from your seat as he leans against his desk. He’s enjoying this too much, the slightly startled expression on your pretty face, like you have no idea what this is about, like you’re thinking about anything you could have possibly done wrong. He almost believed you.

He half smiles before breaking the silence with small talk. “Been busy today?” He wants this to be slow, but the temptation to just out you prickles at him.

You blink, a little surprised at his casualness, it was out of character but not exactly unwelcome. “Yeah, pretty crazy. We managed alright though.” You hope he’s asking for the sake of asking, not expecting you to recall anything too specific because the shift was a complete blur. 

He hums, a handsome smirk spreading across his face, “Well I’m glad. Chris was supposed to be in today, he called in sick last minute. Which I’m sure had nothing to do with today’s footy match.” You giggle, yeah, Chris wasn’t the brightest for that one. His grin fades as he looks thoughtful for a second. “Some people are so good at lying, it’s insane. Don’t you think?”

Your eyes go wide in suspicion. “Yeah, I suppose so… We all do it sometimes.” You keep smiling in an effort to keep this conversation light. 

“Not you though. You’re too honest, there’s hardly a sick day to be found on your record.” You nod, thinking that maybe this was a compliment, or commendation, maybe he was going to reward you for such good work? His posture then changes as he again grins. “If you were going to lie it must be about something very… serious.” He watches the way you subconsciously shake your head and it tickles him, you really have no clue where this is going to go and it’s just delightful. 

Unable to reach his conclusion you just out right ask. “Uh… what’s this about, Mr Afton? Have I done something wrong?” 

“Undoubtedly.” He continues teasing. ‘Something wrong’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, though it would be hypocritical for him to say so. The glee he’s getting from dragging this out is immense, but he’s just dying to see that cute little face of yours drop when he reveals your disgusting hobby. He sighs, “I found something the other night, you know. Something very interesting.”

Your eyes narrow as you look at him in disbelief, maybe a small part of you knows just from the malice in his eyes that he has you because a sudden dread seizes hold of you. “Sorry- I don’t follow…” You’re confused, he couldn’t know what you’d done, he just couldn’t but if he did… 

“You’ll get there, sweetheart.” He speaks mockingly before slowly standing and walking to the other side of his desk and opening the top drawer, humming a tune as he does so. You watch him fingers tapping against each other in anxiety, you can’t help but notice the heavy looking paperweight on his desk, it’s a cube carved out of some polished stone, the corners sharp.

“This.” His words force your gaze from the object to him, and the small piece of fabric pinched between his finger and thumb. Just continuing to stare at it, it doesn’t trigger anything, until he tosses it down onto the desk right in front of you. 

It’s a scrunchie. A light pink scrunchie, patterned with crusted blood. And then it hits you like a freight train. You can see yourself wearing it, two low ponytails resting on your shoulders that night. People told you how cute they looked on you. How didn’t you notice it was missing… Well, your mind was on other things that night.

You move your eyes to him, goosebumps all over your skin as you mind races. And at seeing your strained expression he laughs, unexpectedly and meanly. “God, your pupils- that is really something.” You look crazed, frantic, maybe even terrified, it was like nothing he’d ever seen yet still achingly familiar, it's frightening in the most delicious way, making his trousers cling to his growing erection. 

“I…” You start but instantly falter, gaze flicking between your boss and this paperweight. The darkest part of you is frightened into planning by this discovery. It’s far from you but you could reach it if you tried, just across the table, you just need to wait until he’s distracted but right now his attention is solely focused on you. You just need to wait-

“You’d never be quick enough.” He cuts through your train of thought like he could read your fucking mind. “I’m not completely stupid, though perhaps scaring you into a corner isn’t the best idea.” His tone is full of ridicule.

“What do you want?” You say hoarsely, too much emotion in your mind for you to think clearly. If he knew what you did -what you are- why are you here? Surely he’d have called the police and by now you’d be in an interview room surrounded by coppers. Surely, they’d have already found your pattern and linked as much to you as they could. But no. You’re here, in his office.

“I’m not here to bargain with you, love.” He chuckles, “I’ve seen where you live, there’s very little you could offer me.” Though he can certainly think of something very sweet you could offer him.

“-You’ve been to my house?” You say slowly, his mocking passing you by somewhat. This was too much to learn at once. 

“I had to do some research. You know, a knife in a bin is one thing. A fella in a river put a name to the weapon. But then,” His eyes are wide with animation as he talks, “I remembered another man in the same river, a few weeks ago, stabbed to all hell. Then I found another… I must say, you’ve done well not to be caught.” 

“A-re you gonna call the police?” Your voice cracks on the first syllable, making the rest of your question quiet.

He pauses in thought, the silence tortuous. “...No. I can’t have them poking around. I don’t want any other unsavoury acts coming to light.” 

At those words you suddenly dawn to a realisation, that look in his eye, that devious glee that at first you thought was just teasing. Was something else. Something very dark. It makes you exhale, an odd and sinister calm settling over you, enough for you to relax your posture in this chair and glace around the room. You know what you’re looking for and find it easily, a missing persons poster pinned to a pinboard just on his left. 

“That kid…” You speak lowly, utterly enthralling him. And he follows your eye-line to said poster, his eyebrows raising slightly. “He’s dead?” The question is pretty sure on your lips, a cruel confidence to them that showed the spark to you he’d been looking for. 

“Probably.” It’s noncommittal, but amused and you can just see the disturbed actions in his eyes. It’s crazy, like a monster in human skin.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” The words are so weighted, they tear aggressively from your throat, an unintentional emphasis that cuts through the room like a razor. And the harshness of his grin is more than confirmation. “You’re a fucking murderer.” You laugh incredulously, disbelief melting away by the second. 

“Takes one to know one.”