#its a bit weird to see him with no clear plastic

[screamingmorton]

oh my joyous

he lloks sosos good the chrome turquoise painting on him is magnificent its kinda like the glittery-es painting on his '96 counterpart and they captured him very well hes just so gorgeous man idk what else to say

here's also the box art and the cards that came with him

its so cute😭 im just incredibly happy that we get a new quickstrike figure after years. we rlly don't see enough of this guy at all. idc if the figure isn't all that amazing its just great to see him out of the grave

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 1 : List.

Pairing : Noa x human reader

Warning : A bit of mourning. Otherwise, all clear for this one!

Summarize (please I'm so bad at writing these!): A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words : 3.2k

A/N : It has been a long time since I've written something and it feels pretty good to get back at it with this story! I hope you'll like it and do not hesitate to share your thoughts or like/reblog, it's always appreciated! As English isn't my native language, I'm sorry if you find mistakes or weird wording in there, let me know if you find some and I'll be glad to correct them!

Enjoy your reading 😊

The Memory Keeper masterlist.

It wasn't going to be a difficult day. The list was ready, the tasks the same as the day before and the day after. You had to go to the river: catch a fish, fill the flasks with fresh water, bathe… You had to get on your horse and on the way back, stop at the 16th tree on the right, get off, walk 30 steps and fill the bag with blackberries. You had to avoid the brambles and avoid tripping over the prominent root. Get back on the horse and ride home.

Prepare the fish: remove the head and tail, the skin, gut it and remove the bones, light a fire to cook it. Yes, evolution had done many things, but it must have missed the episode where it was necessary to improve the human digestive system. So the fish still had to be cooked.

The garden had to be tended. Over the years, it had evolved too. It had been a long time in the making. A vegetable garden, tomatoes, green beans and, you couldn't quite remember how, artichokes had found their place too. An apple tree was easy to grow. It took time, but it was easy. And then there was this little gem you'd stumbled upon one day: a rosebush. It was an important one. You had to take care of it too.

You always had to do something.

Your hands knew what to do and how to do it. Your legs took you where you needed to go, and at that particular moment, they had led you to your horse. You had to remove his saddle and bridle, check his hooves and remove any stones that might have got stuck on them. Run your hand over his belly to loosen the skin compressed by the girth. And don't forget to give him a drink. When it came to eating, he found everything on his own, except perhaps an apple, which you gave him from time to time to thank him for his help. He knew how to ask, too. In fact, he huffed and gave you a nudge.

Okay, an apple.

He followed you to the apple tree and you climbed onto his back. You could reach the branches, but it was always difficult to keep your balance. Especially when your right hip wasn't working properly. And you sighed. It really wasn't convenient.

You had to go on with the list, what was next?

“ Hearing my voice at least once and speaking so I don't forget.”

This was important. You had to remember how to speak. The world had forgotten, but you must not. You had no right to forget.

“Say something new.”

And you looked around.

“It's cloudy today.”

Which meant rain wasn't far off. Your horse was now grazing beside you.

“You should take shelter.”

You smile, you'd said one more sentence today. Your horse's ears twitched as if to say “I do what I want” and you shrugged. After all, he was the one to decide. But you didn't want to get wet in the rain. You patted his neck and went off to find shelter in your wooden hut.

You've lived here for a long time. A very long time. So long that you no longer needed a torch to light up the big room when night fell or when the clouds darkened the place. You knew exactly where the shaky table was, the armchair with its deformed, hollowed-out seat and even the little plastic pot you kept forgetting to put back on the table to avoid getting your feet caught in it. And despite the years, you never tripped over it.

You were right to come home. You'd just had time to put the water flasks and the cooked fish on the table when a torrent of water hit the floor. The end of the list would have to wait. The timing was perfect, as your stomach signaled that it was time to fill up, and the smell of the wood-fired fish made your mouth water.

Settling back in your armchair, you ate the fish, watching the rain fall against the hut's only window. Eating with your hands was no longer as disturbing as it had been at first. There were a lot of memories that had slipped away over time, but you almost smiled when you thought back to the embarrassment you'd felt the first time you'd had to eat like that. If you'd known back then where you'd end up…

A sigh.

Drops tumbled against the window and some seemed to challenge themselves to get to the bottom first. They were following the path traced by others before them, but obviously not all roads were good ones to take. Some raindrops went straight down, others tried to cut off their opponents' path, and still others weaved in and out to create their own path. Then a raindrop caught your eye. It seemed the most likely to win the mad race. It glided and slalomed proudly until it landed delicately on your windowsill, blending in with its sisters who had landed there before it.

You turned your eyes to the last piece of fish, which you brought to your mouth.

You took one last look out the window, and that's when you caught sight of it.

A shadow.

A shadow had just moved past your window. The rain kept on pounding against it and you could see the trees in the distance stirring in the wind, and you were sure you saw the shadow moving, quickly to the right, but the shadow was gone. There were only raindrops, only the wind, and you could even hear the dull roar of an incipient thunderstorm.

A deep breath. You had to.

Then a sigh.

The rain and wind must have played a trick on you. If the storm picked up, you definitely wouldn't be able to finish your outdoor to-do list. But that didn't matter, there was still plenty to do inside.

First you had to tidy up. Keeping the interior clean and tidy was important, so you couldn't leave the water bottles on the table. You grabbed them and stepped over the little plastic pot that stood between the table and what you could call a kitchen. At least, that's what you would have called this part of the hut back in the day, because there was only a broken sink and a cupboard without a door. You passed the front door and it rattled against the latch in the wind. You had managed to install a branch across the door, allowing you to keep it closed in bad weather. However, as it didn't close very well, the wind always managed to rattle it between the branch and the latch. But you got used to the noise. So you walked past the shaky door to put the water bottles in the cupboard, and when you heard a suspicious rustling sound, you jumped, staring at the door.

You frowned at the unusual sound. You had been holding your breath, but the wind suddenly whistled through the doorframe, which was sorely lacking in hermetic seals. So you breathed out, taking a calmer breath. The wind. Mother Nature was definitely testing your nerves tonight.

Well, you still had to change your clothes. Night was coming on and you couldn't possibly sleep in your day clothes. You stepped over the little plastic pot again and made your way to the wooden chest beside the fireplace to find a t-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts with a hole in the left knee. Maybe one day you'd find a stray piece of fabric while walking through the forest, so you could mend it. But you hadn't yet got to the list asking you to explore the surrounding area.

There were 7 lists divided into 4 sections, themselves arranged in 12 categories. It was your way of keeping track of time. You no longer counted the days, let alone the years; you'd long since lost the very notion of time. But to grow crops, harvest the fruits of the forest and simply follow nature's millimetric events and be able to anticipate them, you needed a reference point. The lists, though mostly identical, were that reference point. Hanging on the wall with pieces of wood you'd carved yourself, they determined your days and the things you had to do.

You didn't really know when or how you'd started making these lists. But judging by the ink, half washed away by the years - some of the lists had even gone back to being blank - it must have been a long time ago.

You put the current day's list back in its place. Tomorrow, you'd have to complete it while carrying out the next one. But there was one more thing you needed to do indoors before settling into your armchair for the night. One last important thing.

From the chest, you took out a picture frame. The corners were worn, the wood had crumbled and you had to handle it carefully to avoid getting splinters in your hands. You set the frame down on the floor by the fireplace, knelt in front of it and reached into the jar on your right to pick a rose petal, which you placed carefully in the right-hand corner of the frame.

You struggled to swallow.

That's where it always got complicated.

Once again, you reached into the jar and pulled out 7 petals. You always needed 7 petals. You placed 6 of them in a circle on the dry twigs in the fireplace and began humming a song whose words you'd long since forgotten. But you remembered the feeling. You felt a lump in your throat, and you often wondered how you managed to keep the song going.

You hummed, and on the last petal, with the help of a needle, you delicately traced his initials. You had to be careful not to press too hard, you shouldn't pierce the petal, just brush against it enough to see, if you concentrated hard enough, the outline of the letter you were drawing. You also had to blink a few times to see clearly what you were doing. It was important to get it right. Once you'd written the letter on the petal, you laid it at the center of the circle.

It was always at this moment that your hands shook. You needed a moment. Just a bit of time.

You had to wipe your hands over your eyes, the most important thing was to handle the two flints on the floor with care. Your hands had to be steady, not shaking. You interrupted the song to get your breathing under control.

Inhale.

Breathe out.

Grab the flints.

Inhale.

Exhale.

A sharp stroke.

The clatter of the stone threw sparks onto the pile of twigs and a flame sprang up. You started humming again as the fire slowly consumed the wood until it reached the petals of the circle.

A tear.

The fire continued to progress and you stared desperately at the petal in the center, quickly ridding yourself of the tears that were blurring your vision. The flame touched the edge of the petal and you watched the letter “C” burn away and disappear into the ashes.

The flame faded as the twigs gradually disappeared and, once gone, you slipped the petal on the frame back into its jar.

Now you had to put the frame away. Your fingers brushed the edge of the picture inside of it. Despite the years, you had managed, by some miracle, to keep the photograph almost undamaged. At least, sufficiently intact that you could still distinguish the shape of an ape in the center of the picture, despite the cracks.

He was a force of nature. You had taken this photo on a December day, you still knew because you could still discern the white flakes clinging to his dark fur. Back then, you loved taking pictures.

What did they call you again?

The memory keeper.

Even after all this time, it still made you smile. You gently squeezed the frame between your fingers, keeping it balanced on the knees you'd just tucked in towards you. This way, he was a little closer to you.

You made an extra effort to remember the day. He was standing high enough to see everyone around him. He must have been talking about something important; he always had that powerful, soul-piercing stare when he was saying something important. But he always looked…

“Grumpy.”

You concluded your thought in a whisper that knotted your throat. Grumpy. You almost expected to hear him growl, his ego bruised, every time you reminded him that he was sometimes a little too grumpy. “Grumpy because a lot on my shoulders,” he'd snap back at you. “No, grumpy because you're old” you'd always reply, your eyes always playful. And you were the only one who could say such a thing, with the only result being an amused snore coming from him.

And you felt yourself take a deep breath. Of all the pictures you'd taken, this was the last one you had left. You had to put the frame back in the chest, so your fingers tightened even more around the wood. Your head tilted slightly forward, closing your eyes as the wood touched your forehead.

Tonight was difficult.

You took another deep breath, and before the knot in your throat hurt too much, you straightened up and went to put the frame in the chest.

“Caesar, tonight is really difficult,” you whispered, watching the shadow of the lid close over the frame.

------------

It had been a restless night. When your eyes opened the next morning, they felt heavy and swollen, and you found yourself rubbing your eyes to try and make the heaviness go away.

Today, there was much to do. After changing from your night clothes to your day ones, you removed the branch blocking the door and let the sun shine in, warming your skin. The fresh early-morning air caressed your skin and you took a few seconds to smell the distinctive light scent that follows a thunderstorm.

No sooner had you taken a few steps forward than your feet bumped into something hard, causing you to lose your balance. In a fraction of a second, you found yourself on your butt on the ground, a stabbing pain in your right hip that had failed to move to stop you from falling.

“Ouch!” was the only thing that slipped out of your mouth.

You straightened up slightly, remaining seated in the grass, to see what had caused your fall and a pile of apples laid exactly under the wobbly small porch that covered your front door.

God, what a dummy not to have put that away last night. You thought to yourself, looking down at your hands full of dirt. You'd have to go to the river to clean it up, and now you'd just have to take your night clothes with you because you'd also have to wash the ones you were wearing-the mud from the storm must have dirtied your current clothes.

A pile of apples. You thought as you rubbed your hands together.

A pile of apples. You glanced at your right hip. Pfft, if you'd made Caesar break it to put it back in its place, you'd never have fallen today. In fact, you'd have avoided more than one fall.

All because of a misplaced pile of apples.

A pile of misplaced apples.

And like a light bulb switching on, your gaze suddenly fell on those apples that actually had nothing to do there. You hadn't gathered them the day before.

Then you heard it. A muffled purr came gently from behind you. Surely you should have turned around, stood up and dealt with it, but you'd found yourself rooted to the spot, eyes glued to those apples, waiting as an orangutan appeared in your field of vision.

And you refused to look at him, your hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking. You weren't afraid. No. But for some obscure reason, your brain had simply decided to freeze.

The orangutan once again let out a rumble, softer this time, and held out his hand to you.

“I'll help.”

His voice made you blink several times. You did your best to snap out of your stupor, but this time your eyes agreed to look at him, and the orangutan seemed delighted.

Just one more moment. It took another second, just one, to see your hand slip into his and before you knew it, you were back on your feet.

“Raka, we must go.”

The second voice surprised you a little. It sounded familiar and your eyes fell on a chimpanzee, a little further away, who had just finished saddling a horse. You frowned, your horse? You were trying to determine whether it was really yours, but the distance didn't allow you to be sure. There was only one way to find out.

So you whistled.

The horse shook its head and the chimpanzee didn't have time to grab the reins before your horse galloped off to meet you. They were going to take your horse… in exchange for a stack of apples?

You grabbed the reins and stroked the horse's neck as he snorted. He chewed the bit and blew heavily through his nostrils.

For a fraction of a second, you forgot about the two large apes who, from the sounds they were making, weren't particularly happy to have lost a chance of obtaining a second means of locomotion: in your peripheral vision, you could see another horse quietly grazing.

Your hands still knew what to do, and it didn't take you long to remove the bridle and bit from your horse's mouth.

“He doesn't like it.” you said simply.

And only silence answered you, so you showed the bridle to the two apes.

“The bit, he doesn't like it, he's not used to it.”

Your answer didn't seem to convince them. They stared at you, dumbstruck, and if you paid close enough attention, you could almost see their mouths hanging wide open. And that left you bewildered. What didn't they understand? You'd heard them talking, so that certainly wasn't the problem.

“You can't take my horse.” You went on, starting to remove the saddle.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that they were staring at you as if you'd just landed from the sky.

“If you want a horse, there's a wild herd to the south, past the river.” And you pointed in the right direction.

They remained silent as tombs, but the chimpanzee followed the direction you pointed with his eyes.

“Just be careful, the group's stallion isn't very friendly.” You thought it important to tell him.

Your gaze fell back on them and the orangutan, Raka, if you'd heard correctly, hadn't moved a muscle. The chimpanzee, on the other hand, was staring at you thoughtfully, as if he was trying to put together a puzzle with a missing piece. He then moved towards you inquisitively, perhaps, confused?

“Echo, speak?”

It was certainly the most surprising sentence you'd ever heard in your life.

[seventeenpins]

the stranger the better

pairing: Dieter Bravo x Reader word count: 5.6k summary: Dieter gets tentacles. That's the fic. content/warnings: uhhhh this one has a whole lot: importantly--TENTACLES!, lots of viscous body fluids, slight dubcon due to tentacles with a mind of their own??, buckets of cum, piv, tiv 👀, dieter is a switch, sex parasite, anal, masturbation, body horror, idk they're freaks and it's great, reader has a vulva but gendered language is not used a/n: this is basically just a crackfic that i've taken far too seriously. Also, shoutout to Ozzie @ozarkthedog for listening to all my dumbass thoughts and helping me finally get this finished!! ☺️😚

Dieter doesn't know exactly how the idea came to him, but he knows the important bits. It was, he reasoned, a sign- nay, a prophecy. He wishes he could replicate the exact cocktail of stimulants and psychedelics that allowed him to see this glimpse into greatness, because the results were eye opening.

Somehow, the universe injected into him an understanding of That Which He Sought.

He sketched it, painted it, utilized every descriptor he could think of, and sat down his PA, Todd, using every medium he had adequate command of to illustrate as clear a picture for his employee as was possible.

He was very thorough.

Todd, who Dieter often found unsettling due to the degree to which he was able to stay entirely un-rattled by anything, raised an eyebrow.

(Dieter didn't want to ruin the moment, but this was a fucking win.)

The PA's first response was "Excuse me, you want me to find you something that definitely doesn't exist because you had a drug-induced hallucination about it?"

On day five of Dieter waxing poetic, Todd needed it to end. He was already well adept at navigating the dark web--this was not the first time Dieter had had him track down something weird--but he had absolutely no doubt that Dieter was about to get scammed for a whole lot of money.

No skin off my nose, he reasoned, and negotiated the definitely-not-legit sale anyway. Whatever Dieter wants, Dieter gets. Hopefully, he'll be willing to accept the truth when no magical prophecy thing materializes at his door.

It's over a month later, when Todd feels confident nothing would turn up, and just as Dieter begins to accept this crushing defeat, that a strange, perfect cube of a parcel arrives.

It was a sleek box that felt somewhere between aluminum and heavy cardstock, with a heavier, equally sleek box inside. Something about it seemed almost extraterrestrial.

Todd placed it on the least cluttered corner of Dieter's immensely cluttered coffee table and made a prompt exit. If this thing was somehow the thing Dieter was after, he didn't want to be present for even a minute of the aftermath.

Hours later, when Dieter discovers the parcel, his heart begins to pound. With shaking hands, he unwraps it.

It's a bitch to open, almost akin to one of those puzzle boxes, but even more confounding. There are no visible seams. No obvious opening. He's halfway ready to take a hammer to it when, all of a sudden, it unfolds itself in elegant, silvery, petal-like plates.

Inside is a glass-like cube. Glass-like, but definitely not glass--it didn't have enough weight to it. Not plastic, either. The density wasn't quite right. Inside the cube is a strange, pulsating something.

It's the thing from his dream.

The pulsing thing is a little revolting, but mostly intriguing. (Todd would argue the reverse.) Shape wise, it's grub-like, maybe a handspan long, with its body made up of many near-identical segments. Both ends of it taper to a rounded bulb, and both ends are absolutely dripping with some sort of viscous fluid. No flared base, Dieter notes, and then decides it’s a nonissue.

As well as being, well, somewhat disgusting, it's also quite beautiful. It's iridescent, reminding him of some kind of shimmery beetle. It looks soft, and with every strange pulse, the sheen catches the light and throws rainbows in all the crevices of its little body.

Dieter immediately pops the weirdest boner.

For a man who's impulse control is about as ingrained as his commitment to abstinence, he's incredibly proud that he manages to wait until after this Friday's particularly tedious production meeting wraps up before getting started.

He has this weekend off, and gives everyone on his team the weekend off too. When the last person steps out the door, he locks up and promptly gets naked.

If his prophecy is anything to go off of, he expects this to get messy.

The shower pressure is perfect, and the temperature is just right. Slowly, tenderly, he works himself open. Sometimes he does this even when he doesn’t intend to put anything in his ass, sometimes it’s just for the sensation. This time, though, he absolutely does. 

He isn’t sure if he should run the -thing- under the tap first, cause it’s dripping so profusely he’s worried he’ll shoot it across the entire length of the bathroom like an errant bar of soap. In case the lubricating properties are necessary to the efficacy of the process, however, he holds it gently but firmly with one hand as he lifts it out of its, fuckin, transparent aluminum box, holding his other hand beneath it.

It’s slippery, that’s for certain. And when he presses it against the rim of his asshole, he experiences a very new feeling.

It wriggles. As if the nose? Tail? Indeterminate-and-hopefully-not-sentient-end of the thing seems to respond with enthusiasm the second it’s within sniffing distance of his favorite hole. He feels it pulse in his hand, gushing more of the fluid. For a moment, he’s certain the thing is going to evade his grasp and slip away but instead, as if burrowing, it slides itself up, up and away.

Dieter suddenly feels very full.

If he’s honest, this isn’t quite how he expected it to go. He thought he’d be more involved, for one. For another, he didn’t realize it would scurry so quickly into his butt. He thought he’d be able to hold onto it a little. Fuck himself with it. 

Gently, he presses a finger into himself to see if he can feel where it’s gone. Nothing. He switches from his pointer to his middle finger, slightly longer than the former, and presses even deeper, spreading his cheeks with his fist, sinking in as far as he possibly can.

He doesn’t feel it.

This may be precipitating a (not unfamiliar) ER trip, but he’s not ready to give up yet. Besides, this thing seemed at least a little organic. The likelihood of it perforating his bowel seemed pretty safely nonexistent, so maybe this one can be something of a wait-and-see.

Besides, maybe this is just the process! Little in life was actually straightforward, and his vision was pretty nebulous.

Maybe, to move it along, he needed to start by busting a nut. So he takes his cock in hand and starts pumping, feeling the hot spray of the shower on his back, working out all the kinks.

He’s hard, yes, and it does feel good. But after fifteen minutes of stroking himself, he realizes he isn’t experiencing pleasure, nothing that’s building or arousing, which is in itself a new experience. He can always feel pleasure. It’s the goddamn thing that’s gotten him into trouble more times than he can count.

Now, however, the shower’s started to run cold, his dick’s rubbed raw, and he’s no closer to an orgasm than he is to becoming an elected official. He’s been beaten by his own meat.

It’s absolute bullshit, but as he feels himself start to panic he manages to tamp it down a little. Nothing good will come from spiraling. Instead, he luxuriates in covering his entire body in a particularly wonderful-smelling body oil (for combination pampering and sore skin smoothing) and smokes a fat, fat joint. 

This was Tomorrow Dieter’s problem. 

He gives himself a couple more half-hearted tugs, just in case the oil makes a difference. It doesn’t, and it kind of burns, but he can at least go to sleep knowing he did the best he could.

Tomorrow’s a fresh start.

He slips into bed, takes a moment to appreciate the fabric against his bare skin. With a sigh, he drifts off to sleep.

Hot midday sunlight blasts through the gaps between the blinds. He should really get some of those non-gappy blinds installed. Or drapes. Nothing beats a good drape.

As he wakes up, something feels… off. He tries to sit up, but there’s something of a mass at his abdomen. He tries to brush it away–probably some detritus he’d left in his bed and forgotten about. Instead, though, the mass doesn’t budge. Instead, he’s suddenly overwhelmed by an intense, blinding pleasure. It hits him and takes over everything, and by the time he comes back down a whole minute later, he’s certain he must’ve just creamed his pants.

He pulls back the covers to check. 

Instead of the view he expects; his fat, hard cock, thighs, and tummy coated with cum–he finds a writhing, twisting heap of squirming tentacles.

He must still be dreaming.

Dieter slams his eyelids together. Presses the palms of his hands against his sockets till his vision goes brown and black spotty. Opens them again.

The tentacles are still there. 

Not knowing what else to do, he reaches out and touches one of them, gingerly. The same blinding pleasure hits him again. It’s only a gentle touch but already he knows that this isn’t just some wayfaring… squid that’s decided to make a home on his belly.

Nope.

This is definitely a part of him now.

He tries tensing and untensing his core muscles. One tentacle slaps out and hits the bed. Another two tangle themselves together. A fourth smacks against one of his nipples and, with a viscid sucker, pulls a desperate whine from him. Though some of the tips seem to always be emerging from him, he’s able to unfurl even more at will. He’d only noticed seven tentacles at first, then tensed, and a second row exploded from him while the outer layer smacked against the bed like a radial motif made of party horns. He thinks there might be even more. A third layer? A fourth?

When he’s able to relax a little and re-focus his attention, shaking, the inner layer sucks back in and he notices that the outer limbs have the same rainbow iridescence as the thing. Of course. Of course!

It takes time, more than an hour to start separating the new sensations from one another. To divide the writhing limbs and control them each individually. When he finally manages to high-five each of his outer tentacles, one-by-one, he’s certain he has at least enough control to avoid causing injury.

By this point, his cock is aching. He wraps two of the lowest tentacles around his length. The tentacles are thick, but his dick is too. They’re quite cold in a way that’s actually delicious. It feels like the cousin of the sensation he experiences when he slips ice cubes in his ass, only way, way more intense.

Just like that thing, too, the tentacles are dripping with the same viscous slick.

He works himself up. It's so intense, soo much stimulation, he half-expects to cum in a fraction of the usual time.

Instead, he finds himself hours later on the verge of tears, not a single orgasm in sight. 

His body simply will not allow him to cum.

It’s miserable, and clearly a horrible, horrible mistake. Will he be like this for the rest of his life, rife with tentacles and unable to clutch at his own pleasure? His dick is sore, having tugged at himself with every limb available. He has sucker marks on his nipples and throat. One tentacle is still squirming around inside his tight little hole and still he can’t reach his peak.

He needs a fucking break.

And maybe some food.

He checks the time. It’s later than he thought, nearly dinnertime. He’s spent his entire day on this.

He starts to formulate a new plan. Order food. Eat. Hydrate. Maybe he’ll scroll through his phone for booty calls and see if he can pinpoint one single person who might not get him sent away to Area 51. Maybe it makes a difference with another person? 

He barely thinks as he fills up his virtual bag and places an order. Leaves a massive tip because he’s getting into hangry territory and needs his food now. 

He shoots Todd a quick ‘I have tentacles now’ text, and closes his eyes.

It’s been a long day. A bit slow, which makes you itchy, but it hasn’t been too bad.

You’re about to call it a night. Grab yourself a bite to eat, and curl up at home.

Then your phone vibrates in your hand.

A delivery order pings on your phone and the tip is substantial. It’s incredibly close to you, too. You accept immediately, not wanting anyone else to get to it first. The tip alone can keep you afloat till after rent is due.

You rush, heading to the restaurant and, miracle of miracles, it’s a quiet night. The restaurant’s already working on the order and it’s only a matter of minutes before it’s ready to go. 

Twenty minutes from accepting the order, you’re walking up the footpath through a well-manicured succulent garden. The house is ostentatious. An enormous lazy river wraps around the home, and you have to cross over a bridge to get to the fucking door . When you get closer, though, you notice surprisingly beautiful carvings, spandrels, and various other decorative details that make it more than just a generic multi-million dollar cookie cutter home. It’s weird, but it has personality to it.

You get to the door and check the order details. It’s not a no-contact delivery. Instead, the message reads:

very sleepy. need food. 1) knock, if no answer 2) ring doorbell, if no answer 3) bring me food and wake me up and i’ll double the tip for your trouble the door code is 6969

Frankly, it seems a great way to get lured in by a wealthy eccentric and hunted for sport, or recruited to join a cult, or something else equally unfortunate. But self-preservation has never been a priority for you, and life is made to be lived.

You knock. You really want him to open the door himself. Even with permission, going in feels like an enormous invasion, and especially if this guy is sleeping, you really don’t want to tiptoe through this stranger's house.

On the other hand, though, you really can’t see yourself turning down that tip, if it comes to that. Definitely lends itself to your ‘this person is crazy’ theory, but you’re committed. You’re seeing this through.

You knock a second time and wait. Nothing.

Thankfully, after ringing the doorbell, you hear the shuffle of soft footsteps. The lock clicks and turns, and a moment later, you’re face to face with a rather disheveled individual.

His hair is mussed, sticking out in all directions, and, you realize, he looks familiar.

But it only takes a moment to forget that thought entirely.

At first, you hadn’t noticed that anything amiss. He was wearing a striped dressing gown over a crop top and sweats. The stripes, though, looked like they were rippling. And it wasn’t an actual crop top, either, no; the shirt had just been pulled up to accommodate what was on his midsection.

It took every effort not to drop the bag of food when you realize what it is.

“Oh,” he says, noticing your expression. He rubs at his temple, infinitely exhausted as he looks you up and down.

“You’re-” you start.

“Yeah, I’m Dieter Bravo-” he finishes.

You blink, shaking your head. He is in fact Dieter Bravo, you realize, but that doesn’t seem like the most significant thing happening here. “You’re covered in tentacles.”

“Oh,” he says again. “Yeah. I guess they are tentacles."

“Um, are they… yours?”

He shrugs, disinterested.

You fumble to find something to say, instead giving up and thrusting his bag towards him. 

He takes it after a moment.

“Thanks,” he says, not making eye contact. 

Apparently, putting on a robe was this man’s idea of concealing them. Now, he’s not trying to be discreet. The tentacles unfurl, most of them hanging heavy from his abdomen, nearly brushing the floor. Several, however, reach into the food bag and withdraw a burrito and a sauce container.

"Are they--" you watch as two of the tentacles start to unwrap the burrito. The foil tears a bit more than he intends, and then he dunks it a little too heavily into the sauce, which shoots out from the grasp of another tentacle. Salsa verde splatters everywhere. The limbs’ movements are apparently uncontrolled. "Are the tentacles new.. to you?"

He sighs. "Yeah. They just showed up this morning."

You’re not sure what to say. “Huh,” you venture.

“Yeah,” he agrees. But then he looks at you, surveys you, and narrows his eyes. He seems like he’s weighing something.

“Uh, this might be weird, what with this-” he gestures at the tentacles, “Situation. But-”

He hesitates, and you nod, encouraging. “But what?”

Dieter winces. Takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

“Do you wanna have sex with me?”

You look at him. At his tentacles. This is admittedly a lot. It’s almost certainly a bad idea.

But you made a promise to yourself and to your best friend years ago: If you ever have an opportunity to fuck an entity that has tentacles, you’d better say yes.

And it’s Dieter Fucking Bravo. You’re not backing down now.

“Yes I do.”

It starts surprisingly gently. You lean towards him and he cups your cheek in a broad hand, pulling you in.

This isn’t your first time kissing a stranger. If you’re honest, it’s something of a hobby of yours, so the experience of feeling a new give-and-take was familiar despite its novelty. 

What you’d never experienced before, however, was that from the first moment his tongue stroked into your mouth, you felt the most delicious pull.

You were already a little excited, but before even a moment had passed, you now felt yourself drench. Your pussy was drooling, the slick pooling between your legs.

You’re certain he can feel it too.

What had been a look of pleasure and curiosity twisted  into absolute hunger. You swear you can see his eyes dilating. After a moment, you’re certain yours must be, too. The room suddenly feels too bright.

Whatever disinterest he’d shown when you’d turned up at his door has dissolved, replaced with an urgent enthusiasm. “Fuck I’ve been needing this all day.”

From the front door, all down the hallway to the bedroom, a trail of clothing marks your path. 

Between kisses he explains.

“Ever since-” a kiss, “the tentacles–”

You grab him by the hair and he moans.

“I can’t cum. I’ve tried, for hours-”

You hop on one leg and then the other, peeling your socks off as Dieter steadies you by the waist.

“Been jacking off all day-,” he peels his own shirt off, hands flying frantically to make quick work of his clothes, “But I think I need someone else. My body just won’t work. Been hard as fucking rock but nothing happens-”

You slip an arm around his waist and drag your teeth along his collar, grinning when he melts into you.

“You poor thing,” you tell him, and you look in his eyes when you make your promise; “I’ll try and help, much as I can.”

"Amazing," He grins. “I feel better already.”

Dieter’s entirely bare, but you’re still wearing clothing. Something, you both realise, is passing between you. It’s a strange electricity that heightens every sensation. You feel the scruff of his beard against your cheek, you feel your underwear soaked. When he pinches at your nipple, you nearly howl at the pleasure that washes over you. 

As you feel each touch, the sensation builds in a way that’s totally alien to you. He shoves a hand in your pants and groans when he feels the thatch of hair at your cunt. He rubs two fingers along your slit, not stimulating your clit and not even trying to. He’s just warming up what feels like every single nerve ending in your entire vulva till you’re bucking against him.

He pulls his hand away and touches a finger to his tongue, tasting you. Two tentacles make fast work of the button of your jeans. Another wraps around your waist, lifting you up from the floor and suspending you in the air to peel the denim from you, unceremoniously tossing the garment behind you somewhere.

He’s fully naked. His cock hangs heavy and a little to the right, and there’s so much precum, it streams down his thigh where his tip meets the flesh of his leg.

You reach forward and wrap your fist around him. At your touch, he shudders. It’s a beautiful, desperate noise, and already, there’s so much more slick leaking out of him that any suspicion that this amount of oozy fluid isn’t normal is entirely confirmed. You wrap your hand around his length and he melts into your touch with a whine. 

The tentacles wrap around you. You’re not sure how many there are, and their movement is fast and intentional. The man in front of you is essentially a walking sex toy from your sickest, wettest dreams, and you will not waste this.

You reach for one of the tentacles, whatever is nearest to you. For a moment you think it’ll pull out of your grasp, but then it relaxes at your grip. You stick your tongue out and lick the tip, getting the suckers at the end nice and wet. Then, you realize it’s superfluous; the tentacles themselves are already leaking, oozing a pearlescent, cum-like fluid. For all you know, it is cum.

With your thumb, you swirl the slick around one of the larger suckers, and look Dieter right in the eye when you pull one of your bra cups down and press the sucker against your nipple. With barely a flick of effort, a tendril unhooks your bra, pulling it off of you before slicking up your other nipple and pulling a throaty moan from you.

His breath catches just watching you. It’s perfect suction, slick and firm and oh-so steady. 

“How many do you think you can take?” He asks, pink-faced and restless. The flush is so endearing. He looks desperate.

“Give me all you’ve got,” you tell him.

He whines and hisses. You think he might be deliberating, but after a moment it’s like a switch has flipped, releasing any inhibitions he may have held onto, unlocking his filthy tongue.

“Lemme see that wet little snatch,” he purrs, “That’s it, open those legs for me-” 

As if simply willing it–and that may as well be all that it takes–you both watch as one of the fat tentacles splits from the tip, sticky goo trailing between the trifurcated ends like an aloe vera leaf sliced apart. The three new tips writhe apart before slamming into your mouth. Two others pluck at your skin, marring the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

You yelp, muffled, as your legs are spread wide by slick, strong limbs, smaller tendrils prodding at your slick panties before giving up and tearing them apart. Elastic slips loose from your hips, and the gusset of the underwear is a ragged hole.

He steps closer, holds you effortlessly. You’re suspended by a whole mass of tentacles, the suckers pulsating against your skin, dark purple blooms beginning to bruise beneath them. Dieter’s face is so close to your cunt, your first instinct is to close your legs. He holds them open further, though, and breathes deep. “You smell like a fucking dream,” he praises, running a think finger along your folds, dipping in gently, stroking along you, finding where you’re most sensitive.

After a thorough examination, he steps back. “Gonna play with you, baby,” he tells you.

"Jesus Christ", you breathe. The tentacles in your mouth slip out and another tentacle presses at your opening. It slips with a lewd squelch and little resistance, pumps in a couple times, and pulls out to wrap around Dieter’s cock. He strokes himself with the slippery tentacle and lets out a groan.

"Feels like fucking heaven," he breathes, and another tentacle replaces the first, plunging into your cunt and pulsating, filling you so nicely, making you shake. 

You fight against the flutter of your eyelids. There’s so much sensation it’s hard to keep your eyes open, but you need to see him. Need to see this.

“Can you feel with them?” you ask, “With the tentacles?”

“Hmm,” he ponders, “Yes, but–” he slips a second tentacle in with the one already probing your hole and you feel very full. They twist and turn, writhing, pumping in and out of you. You’ve barely gotten started but you can already feel yourself start to build. At this rate, you’ll be squirting all over him in absolutely no time at all.

“I feel it,” he tells you, “And it feels really good, like, fuuuckkk–but it feels like it’s not just me controlling them. It is me, but it’s more than just me. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Then don’t,” you smile, “Just fuck yourself with them the same way you’re fucking me.”

He lets out another whine. It’s cute, really. Only a minute ago he’d been telling you what to do, and with the slightest prodding, he seems eager to obey. You could get far too used to this.

“C’mon, baby,” you coax, your hips canting, thrusting against the slippery tentacles pressing deeper, deeper-, “Keep going just like that. And open yourself up, too.”

He groans, and two tentacles move around him to start spreading his cheeks. A third prods tenderly at his hole.

Just as a third tentacle presses into your cunt, and another is gently pressing it’s suckers up your throat and holding you in place, Dieter is rendered incoherent as one thick tentacle shoves its way into him. Immediately, he sees stars. If this was the result of an entire day of edging, it was more than worth it.

You’re rutting against the tentacles that are fucking you, meeting each thrust. There’s a pulse pumping through each limb, making you feel impossibly full. When you look at Dieter, you’re certain you can see the bulge of a tentacle in his belly, filling him up so full.

You barely have time to process the build of your arousal before the tip of one of the tentacles suckers against your clit and another twists inside you, hits you in just the right way, and you tip over.

Cum spurts from you, your entire body convulsing. You try to close your thighs, try to pull away from the sensation, but you’re still being held aloft and spread out, fully bared. Instead of stopping or slowing, the tentacles only fuck into you faster and deeper. You can’t stop coming, certain at this point you’ve made a whole damn puddle on the floor beneath you.

Dieter watches, transfixed by the entire show that’s played out before him. He’s red-faced, his skin mottled with purple bruises, cock so hard it looks painful, and has a trio of tendrils ass-fucking him.

When your orgasm finally, finally tapers off, you almost expect your holds to release you. A new hunger stirs in you, though, and when you’re still held tight, you’re oddly grateful for it.

Dieter lowers you, pulling you towards him. He kisses you, open-mouthed and messy, groaning into it. After a few moments he pulls away from you, slick lipped and panting. When he speaks, his voice is raspy and desperate, a monstrous echo following it to create a bizarre, two-tone sound.

The tentacles that aren’t already on or in you both start whipping around, grabbing for purchase and pulling away as if they can’t make up their mind.

Dieter pushes you back. Starts to withdraw.

You hold him in place.

Now you can see his eyes.

They’re totally black. Even the sclerae are gone, murky with inky swirls, glassy and wide and beautiful.

“I- I think you need to leave,” he begs, “It’s too much. They’re taking too much from me.”

You reach out to put a hand on his cheek, and he leans in for a moment before flinching away.

“No!” He hisses, “You need to go. It feels too good, it won’t let me stop. I won’t be able to stop. I don’t know how far it’ll go, but if you don’t leave, I don’t think I can stop it.”

Warmth and clarity floods you. You’re not sure how much is your own mind, and how much is this thing that’s taken over, but it’s sweet, really.

He thinks you could stop if you wanted to.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, and you feel the way he melts, feel the way the tentacles stop fighting and start wrapping around your limbs again, their grasp pulling tighter and tighter, “You take what you need.”

With a sob, he lets go.

The tentacles set you down. Your legs shake, and you barely have time to blink before he’s on you. Any distance you had is gone now, his hands grasping at you, his body flush against yours. You can feel the weight of his cock against your thigh, the strength of his arms holding you. He’s steadying you, or maybe steadying himself. The skin-to-skin contact feels so fucking good and, if the way his hands fly all over you, you’re certain he feels it too.

One big hand grabs at your breast, the other clutching the flesh of your hip. He grinds against you, messy and sticky and so, so delicious. 

He settles you back against a surface, seats you and spreads your legs with his strong hands. A tentacle grabs at your jaw almost tenderly, plucking at the skin, holding you gently.

Dieter lines up his cock and sinks into you, groaning at the hot wet clutch that sucks him in. The surrounding tendrils wrap around you both. You’re certain there are still tentacles fucking into him, but you think another might join, right at the same time you feel the slippery tip of one prodding at your own asshole.

You relax into it, nod to let him know you’re ready, and moan as you feel the slimy length penetrate you. Dieter moans, too, entirely lost in the sensation.

He fucks you fast and deep. You’ve never felt fullness like this before. The pump of the tentacles into both you and Dieter matches his rhythm. 

“Fuck-” he croaks, desperate, “Think I’m getting close-”

“That’s it, baby,” you soothe, “Makin’ me feel so fucking good. Come on, baby, come for me-”

He pulls you into him, presses his lips to your in a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, longer and deeper than it has any right to be. It’s a tentacle, too, you realize, and you moan into the suckers that have started pulling at your tongue. It’s disgusting and absolutely exquisite.

He only manages two more thrusts before he explodes.

You feel his balls pulse, cum flooding your cunt. The tentacles pulse too, though, and soon your mouth is full, your ass, his ass. Like fireworks popping off in quick succession, every tentacle unloads, one after the next, painting the entire room in dripping swaths of cum.

He lets out a noise that sounds like something between a sob and a laugh, final blessed release at last reaching him. 

Dieter pulls out, but continues rocking against you, humping your thigh as his alien limbs continue to surge with spend.

After several long, sticky minutes, you unfurl from one another. With some distance between you, you’re able to see the damage that’s been done. The room is a disaster. You can literally see cum dripping from the ceiling.

Dieter’s looking around the room, too, but he doesn’t look concerned. No, he looks impressed.

“Well shit,” he surveys everything around him. “That was fun.”

You’re still catching your breath as he rummages around and procures a stash box. You can see a variety of substances; baggies filled with powder, assorted pills, a few things you don’t recognise, and a fat pouch full of bud.

He rolls a joint, licks the paper, packs it, and sparks it.

“So, uh-” you start, unsure where you’re going with it.

He beats you to it.

“You wanna stay over?”

You stare at him.

“I mean, it just seems rude to send someone home after sharing some life-altering tentacle sex, right?”

“I was unaware there was standard etiquette regarding tentacle sex.”

He shrugs. “All etiquette is just made up, right?”

A glob of cum drips from the ceiling and lands with a dull splat against the top of your head.

You burst out laughing.

Dieter’s eyes crinkle, and he’s laughing too.

He passes you the joint. You take it, wiping cum from your forehead.

“All right,” you tell him, “I’ll stay over.”

Dieter checks his phone, pulls up Todd’s text thread.

Beneath his tentacles text is Read 1:43pm. He rolls his eyes and follows it up.

you remember those cleaners? the good ones? the crime scene ones?

I need em

soon as they’re free

promise it’s not a crime scene this time

there’s just a lot of cum

After you’re both showered, you go to Dieter’s spare bedroom. Hazy from the weed and exhausted from the hands-down weirdest and best sex of your life, you collapse together.

Dieter’s tentacles look different. Smaller, maybe? Less hungry. Sated.

You fall asleep with his tentacles around you.

When you wake up, his arms are around you instead, holding you close. His abdomen is bare, only skin left.

You start to wriggle, to turn over, but something’s in your way.

There’s something at your abdomen, blocking your movements.

Dieter begins to stir. He stretches, rubs his eyes, and takes you in.

“Babe-” he grins, “You’ve gotta fuck me with those!”

Your own set of shimmering tentacles slip and writhe from your body. You pull him close, suddenly hungry, and get to work.

[necroromantics]

🪓 — Conversations With A Killer

ticci toby short story.

- your pen will rapidly hit against the cold, metal table as you watch the clock tick on. time had you in a chokehold, squeezing your throat and forcing its way into your chest. you have done this before, countless times. sitting yourself in a small, empty room with nothing but a pen, notebook, and case file.

- early in your life you decided upon a career in forensic psychology. the mind of a criminal captured you as every interaction you had with a patient made you fall into their hands like a new victim. the difference between yourself and the ones 6ft under, is that in these small, empty rooms, you are in control.

- squirming impatiently in your chair, you opened the case file once again and began refreshing yourself on the indictment . goosebumps began tingling their way onto your arms, and you didn’t quite know if it was the cool air breezing in from the ac or the content on the pages that were the cause.

- thoughts swam like great whites hunting for blood in your mind about the kind of person who was capable of doing such things. your eyes glanced at the suspects name. and then his age.

- the repetitive sound of the plastic pen quickly pattering against the table came to a sudden halt as the door opened behind you. turning around to face the noise, you eyed the man wearing an orange jumpsuit being led in by two bulky policemen.

- you were wrong. that was no man, that was only a boy. he was small, and lanky. his poor posture brought his height down to around 5’6, his skin was pale and his hair was a shaggy mess.

- he threw himself into the chair as he sat down, immediately facing his head down to his shoes, eyeing the ground. you looked back at the officers who brought him in and gave them a nod of approval to leave you alone in the room.

- you knew better than to trust him, despite the harmless appearance. but here sitting across from you was a sickly, awkward looking boy who you knew to be only 19 years old. his gaze stayed firm to the floor, you couldn’t catch a good glimpse at his eyes.

- clearing your throat, you ignored the occasional twitch and jerk coming from the brunette who sat unspeaking across from you. you started, “uh- well. im going to need you to state your name for me, can you do that?”

- for a minute, there was no reply. the only sound was the buzzing of the fluorescent light, and the random sporadic whistle or forced cough from him. you repeated once again, “your name?”

- “toby.” his voice was quiet, but rough. a bit raspy. it was spoken so low you could barely make it out. you knew his name though, of course. you knew everything on the books about this boy. your job here today was to see what he knew.

- “okay toby, do you know why you’re here with me?”

- silence again. he didn’t speak this time, he only shook his head. the boy began biting his nails, his head still so far down his chin almost hit his chest. his head was coiled into his shoulders as he hunched over, doing his best to avoid any form of eye contact. his arm was wrapped around, hugging his core as his other one was raised up to his mouth to be chewed on.

- here sat a boy who didn’t look like he belonged in that orange jumpsuit, and across from him was you who didn’t know what to expect. its not to say you were clueless, god knows you’ve been around the block. but you’ve never dealt with someone so weird.

- amongst the twitches, awkward body language, and aggressive lack of eye contact, there was something else about toby you couldn’t quite put your finger on. there was something in the air around him that felt unnatural, and sickening, like the rot that surrounds a corpse in the morgue. you felt as though you were a mortician confronting a dead body.

- “my report is telling me you were arrested due to your involvement with a weapons trafficking bust. you look fairly young to be involved in that kind of business” eyeing the boy in front of you, you continued, “looking deeper into you, though. we found some interesting things.”

- attempts to illicit any sort of response from the seemingly unstable boy were proven to be futile. but your perseverance knew no bounds, and so you pushed further.

- “do you remember a fire that happened in 2011, in denver, colorado? you mustve been 17 at the time.” your hands folded softly over the beige file that held many documents.

- with one quick motion, his whole body jerked and he slammed his hand onto the table. the sudden sound nearly made you jump, and you would’ve been out of your seat if you weren’t as strong-hearted as you were. but resilient you stayed, just as you always have.

- “i dont know nothing about any fire” he spoke a bit louder this time, and raised his head very slightly, showing his eyes but not quite fixing his posture. though his head remained down, his eyes were now up as he stared at you through his thick eyebrows.

- tobys eyes were dark. his face was young and boyish, but you could see it in his eyes that he has witnessed things no 19 year old boy should have. those eyes were ripe with age beyond him. it felt as though you were looking at a veteran returning home from war, near shellshocked.

- as he continued to eat at his one hand, his other drummed rapidly on the tabletop. dirt was stuck under his chewed up nails, and they were stained with violence. you wondered to yourself for a minute what kinds of things those hands have done, what horrors they have committed.

- sliding the file in front of you, your hand rested on top of it. “do you know whats in here?”

- “a bunch of horseshit.” he muttered, glancing away as he cussed, not taking his hand away from his mouth.

- “this is a documentation of what happened the night of that fire. and information on you as well. the police out there have their own story. now i want to hear yours.”

- toby only shook his head quickly in reply, as to brush you off like dirt on his shoulder. “there is no story, there’s nothing.”

- “amuse me a little bit here toby.”

- his brooding gaze hit the floor once again as his arms wrapped around himself as if he were giving himself a hug. closing him off from the world, and you. this proved to be more difficult than you initially expected. usually younger criminals are talkers, they don’t think things through before they start letting their ego run their mouth.

- “do.. do you not know how to fucking listen? i said there is no.. no story. none.” his words were slightly slurred caused by the deteriorating gash on his left cheek. the tone began to grow harsh, but quiet, like a spark building into a flame.

- with only the lights buzzing and the drilling of the ac spewing out cold air to break the tension that slowly rose between you two, you flipped open the folder and pulled out a photograph.

- “this here is a man named frank rogers, he was an unfortunate victim to the house fire. his son was initially believed to be another potential victim of the fire that spread across the neighborhood and forest as well. but no body was ever found.”

- slowly, he raised his head up. when the boy eyed the photograph, for a split second you swore you saw a hint of amusement form in the cracks of his mouth and eyes. regardless, he remained silent. only repeatedly shaking his head at your questions in desperate attempt brush you off.

- a small tickle grew in your throat as so did your frustration, and desperation. determination to get answers bubbled up inside of you like a sisyphus boulder being pushed eternally up hill. or icarus, making his way towards the sun. despite the chilly breeze flowing in the room, you felt yourself nearly breaking a feverous sweat.

- pulling at your shirt collar, you pulled out a written document and held it in your hands. “autopsy of franks body, as far as they could recover from the fire, showed proof of foul play”. you were lying through your teeth, there was no evidence here. you knew his body was burnt to a crisp, beyond what any autopsy could prove. but you did what you must to confirm the occurrences of that night. this was your job.

- “i guess that’s unfortunate for him then. shouldve learned to play nice” was the only reply toby gave you.

- suddenly a harsh cough shot through your lungs as you felt yourself become a bit dizzy. putting a finger up, you signalled for the younger to excuse you for a moment. it took a minute to collect yourself before you continued again. a quick smirk twisted itself onto the boys face as he kept his head down, trying to avoid your gaze.

- next, you pulled out a collection of old medical records. these were reports of hospital visits from toby’s early childhood, he was remarked as a very accident prone boy. many of the reports showed his body littered with bruises, contusions, and occasional sprains. they were described as accident-caused injuries at the hands of his CIPA disorder which prevented him from feeling pain.

- you knew better than anyone what those bruises were from, and you knew better than anyone it wasn’t any accident.

- “when your father hit you, did he-“ your sentence was cut off quickly.

- “you dont know anything about my father. you dont know shit about what he did”

- the conversation cut out for a moment like a box tv turning off, the immediate change of tone in his voice caught you off guard. he went from a stuttering, quiet boy to a firm, violent tone. it was if he was baring his teeth and growling like a feral hound.

- “tell me then. tell me about your father.” and this is where you win. this is where you get toby rogers to talk.

- “my old man was a mean fucker. he would always hurt my mom, and my sister.” now the hostility has slipped away, replaced with a tragic demeanour where he refused to look you in the eye. sorrow sunk deep into his face, his eyes, now visible once again, looked much more sad then they had just moments before.

- the sudden, volatile changes made you feel queasy, or maybe it was something that you ate. the aura of the boy was suffocating, it squeezed your lungs and scratched at them, forcing out another cough from you.

- through your building unease, you spoke still. “and you? was he the cause of all these injuries?”

- “oh, yeah. i guess. i guess thats why i killed him.”

- your heart dropped into your stomach so quickly it was comparable to a fair ride. did you just get a confession? your teeth bit the inside of your cheek to restrain a victorious smile. maybe this was going to be easier than you thought.

- “can you repeat that for me?”

- “i said,” toby crossed his arms atop the table and leaned in, looking you straight in the eye, “thats why i killed that piece of shit.”

- breath escaped you, and the world around you turned to static. this made your job significantly better, when the killer freely admits to the crime. but you wanted more, you wanted to grab a shovel and dig up the grave of the past. and so you threw yourself into the rabbit hole, and let the static consume anything that wasn’t this boy in this moment.

- “and how did you kill him?”

- “knife. good ol’ trusty kitchen knife.” he was talking so casually, as if it was an everyday event for him. office chatter at best.

- “what did you gain out of this? hurting him makes you just as bad, no?”

- no word from toby, there was an image of a blaring red alarm in your head. a line you shouldn’t cross, but you do, because you need more, and more, and more.

- his stare trickled down your face as he began to eye your nose, the boys expression scrunched into one of disgusted amusement, near sadistic. “your nose is bleeding”.

- tapping onto your upper lip, you felt a wet sensation as blood coated your finger. you were too focused on the confession, and there was that static in your head that drowned out the rest of the world. all that surrounded you was this boy, toby rogers.

- quickly, you get up from your seat and excuse yourself outside. the ambience of the exterior hallway in the station was in stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the questioning room. despite the time of day, the hallway was empty and quiet. it seemed much longer than you remembered.

- the hallway was quiet. the white tiled floors complimented the beige painted walls, and occasional grey metal door. the place that should’ve been filled with beeps, chatter, and police radio were now replaced with the soft buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights that seemed too bright. your head pounded, you felt sick and dizzy, like you were losing your mind in this place.

- making your way down in attempt to find a bathroom, you felt your heart beat in your chest, building its way up to your throat. you could start to taste the metallic blood on your lips as it slipped down from your nose. uneasiness choked another rough cough out of you as you stopped in your tracks. you realized you have been walking for a few too many minutes now. the hallway was never this long.

- you must’ve missed an exit, you turned around and tried to make your way back the same way you came. when you turned heel, your body began to weaken and you collapsed to the floor, a wave of disease plagued over you as it consumed your mind and body. you fell weak onto the floor, and when your body collided with the tile, your hands met dirt and grass.

- your head faced down as you violently coughed, a sharp pain filled your head and there was a violently loud ringing in your ears. blood splattered from your mouth as you dry-heaved in attempt to catch your escaping breath. collecting yourself was a cat and mouse chase.

- the world around you now was dark, and cold. fresh air of the outdoors whipped your lungs as your body began to shake. you look up through tears of pain in your eyes as you remain on your hands and knees and look up at the tall, slender trees that now surround you. this wasn’t the hallway you collapsed in. you don’t know how you got outside.

- you were swallowed whole by sickness and disorientation, you barely noticed the figure approaching.

- a man wearing orange goggles and a barred-smile grey mask approached you. you may have not been able to see his face, but you noticed the air that surrounded him immediately. you knew who this boy was.

- now wearing a sweater and jeans instead of the orange jumpsuit, he crouched down in front of you. hatchets sat loyal on the holster connected to his belt, you saw mud and what looked like to be blood coating his shoes.

- his rough hands grabbed a handful of your hair as he violently jerked your head up to meet his gaze. he silently tilted his head as to look at you in a different light.

- “you.. you wanna know something funny?”

- the boys low, taunting voice was familiar, you felt yourself taken over by adrenaline. you didn’t know if you should try to run, or obey. you stayed silent.

- jerking his arm, he slammed your head aggressively into the ground beneath you, and by your hair he lifted your head up again. yelps, whimpers and begging was all that escaped your bloody, trembling lips as your hands now wrapped around his arm in attempts to get him off of you.

- “i said, you wanna know something real fucking funny?” his voice was muffled by the mask, but boomed loudly almost to the point it echoed. you could hear the brutality leak off of his tongue. glancing at the woods that surrounded you two, you tried to think of an escape plan

- “what..?” your once confident voice was beat to only a quiet, desperate whimper. in these woods, he was in control.

- “you were wrong. im not as bad as my father…”

- as he spoke these words in a mumble, he gripped your hair tighter and got up, dragging you to your knees and forcing your head back to reveal your neck. he stood tall on his feet and looked down at you as if you were only scum under his shoe.

- you squirmed and screamed, you didn’t want to die in this place, not today. you couldve swore you saw something behind him, hidden in the trees. you couldnt make out its face. the ringing in your ears got worse.

- with a quick motion, he removed one of his hatchets from his belt and held it back, ready to swing at your exposed neck.

- “oh, im far worse.”

[theoreticaltranstherian]

ARTISTS! PICREW FOLKS! ECT!

I have a challenge.

I am going to, using my magical powers of description and poetic word choice, describe myself.

You should try to draw/make me based on what I describe and mention me in the post/reblog this post with the picture!

No pressure but if you see this and aren't an artist but know someone who may be, perhaps reblog and mention them? Just if you don't mind :)

However, do not (and I can't stress this enough) use AI art for this. I do not support the use of AI art at all and I do not want to interact with jt whatsoever

(it's gonna be in the third person bc I can write like that better)

(also sorry for my weird similies)

He stood there in front of the mirror, somehwat awkwardly, observing himself. He was 5'6 - no idea why he had that memorized, but oh well - and built like a tree. That is, if that tree was in fact not a tree but a stick with limbs. He had Fluffy red hair that fell to his shoulders when it was wet but rested normally a few inches above. How he hated that hair; Utterly untameable and never sat quite right. He had disproportionately long legs, not so much that it stood out normally, but if it was mentioned you could see it and when wearing skirts or shorts his long expanse of leg seemed to stretch on forever. He had very little muscle, and as he flexed experimentally in the mirror, he snorted - He looked like he was built with pencils. His shoulders and hips were the same width, that is to say quite narrow and somewhat awkwardly thin; it matched the rest of him, but he couldn't help but wish that he was bulkier. His neck was functional if not a little short. Attached to it, as with most humanoids, was his head. He wore thick rimmed round glasses both because they had to be with how thick his lenses were and they hid more of his face, which he was quite insecure about anyway. His ears were ever so slightly uneven, leading to his glasses never quite sitting right on his face and usually resting on his nose. Oh, his nose; the only thing he didn't despise about his face. Not that it was a specifically good nose - One of the nostrils were a bit bigger than the other and it was sort of small - but it looked the least weird out of all his facial features. Resting below his nose was a septum ring, the same black one he'd had on since he got the piercing only because he couldn't be bothered to change it. Continuing down past his lightly freckled face was his mouth, as was to be expected. He had pale lips to match his equally pale skin, the two only differentiated by a slight pink tinge on the former and the assumption that he was not in fact a snake and did have lips. He had eyebrows slightly darker than his hair, although to tell the truth he sometimes would use mascara to make them darker because of his fragile masculinity and his need to fit traditional male standards of appearance so as not to be misgendered. His face overall was the shape of one of those Japanese watermelons that had started to become squared but only very barely before escaping its clear plastic prison. He wasn't insecure about his height, but that didn't stop him from always wearing platforms; he just liked how they looked. He was currently wearing his favorite outfit, consisting of a black tank top that went a few inches up his neck, an olive and dark green striped button up not fulfilling its namesake over top, and some pale dark green cargo pants. He hated wearing jewelry, as it was just one more thing to lose, but he always had on a chain with a gold ring holding a small clock face; His partner had asked him out with it, and he kept it with him because he knew if he set it down in his dump of a room it would be lost to the ether the second he looked away. He also had his ears pierced, but rarely wore earrings and instead always had on a pair of headphones to help with the constant anxiety from noise. He had tried to wear headphones with earrings in the past but found it extremely uncomfortable. As he stepped back from the mirror, he realized his internal monolog was extremely monotonous, and decided to stop observing himself.

Thank you to @annotated-catastrophe for the original idea!!!!

[sophiacloud28]

Vent piece, AU, Rise Leo, Angst

It’s cold in here. Even in pants, sneakers, and a hoodie, the chill of the planetarium still eats at him a little. He’s okay with it, though. It’s not quite enough for brumation, which is the important part. He doesn’t need to completely lose track of everything. He just needs… peace.

And, as he lies across the floor while staring up at the star-covered ceiling, he’s sure he’s found it. He’s certain that, if only for a moment or two, he is finally allowed to rest. Finally able to think of something else than his work, his constant running around, his never-ending parade of personas. Hell, he can almost feel himself drift into nothingness as the light music he hears cradles him to near sleep.

It's always nice, always comfortable, always –

He blinks as he hears rustling. Someone sits in a chair in front of where he’s lying on the floor. And while he wants to call it an accident, his nostrils tell him it's not.

The scent of subtle soap and warm skin. The rustle of pants as legs are crossed and brought apart again. The chair squeaks at the attempt to settle in it, but nervousness is keeping its current occupant from getting comfortable.

He wishes he could say the same. Unfortunately, the cold has a good grip on him and while he’s not brumating, he definitely feels sluggish.

Not that you’ll attack him. You have no way to defend yourself save for a can of pepper spray — the thing smells absolutely vile — and from the presentations he’s seen you give, you don’t have a mean bone in your body, which just… helps.

“Want to stay for the video?”

The thing that impresses him is the way you’ve just… made this look as casual as possible while letting him know several things.

One, you know he’s there. How you caught him when he always takes for the grates the second you have a new group is a mystery — there’s hours, a schedule, and he’s got it all down — but you did. Second, you’ve known for a while. The lack of inflection in your tone indicates experience and redefines your nervousness as one of casual approach. Three, … he just wants to turn his brain off. He wishes he couldn’t understand or care about how an employee knows about his presence and hasn’t called the authorities yet. He knows he could deal with them, certainly if he were a little warmer, but this? This goddamn circus? He’s here to get off work, not…

He sighs. Shuffles. He owes you an answer. He just…

“Knock on the back of my seat for a yes.”

He looks up, away from the stars to you. Your back is facing him, then again he’s in a weird position that puts his head near the seat. He could say nothing, not even knock and watch you squirm. He could crack a joke, say something that might make you laugh or groan as he attempts socializing.

But right now… he just can’t be assed.

He reaches up and knocks against the plastic. You just say thank you and stay there for a bit longer before you get up to rummage for something near the projector. There’s shuffling in the chair you were just seated in before he hears you take off for the doors.

Time for the next group. He wonders if he should stay. If he should do what he usually does and skedaddle before anyone notices there’s a bum on the floor. But when everyone steers clear of the seat, therefore him, he has to wonder what’s going on. What you did to manage it so that, when the lights fade out and he hears rustling, he knows it’s you.

You don’t speak. The video is a speaking one after all. It does make him wonder, though. Even long after the video’s done and he’s left to stare at the stars again, he wonders what just happened and if he should care. He’s not complaining, though, not after getting to finally see the visuals, albeit from an interesting angle.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It doesn’t stop him from returning, either.

It’s been a week. He’s debated whether or not it’s worth risking his neck, his family’s neck over someone knowing he’s using the planetarium as his way to relax. He’s wondered if he shouldn’t tell the fam, or at least his little brother, to make sure it’s safe.

But that would mean letting everyone know. That would mean having to deal with that mess and he honestly… doesn’t want to.

He's tired. He’s done. His brothers, even his dad, have completely drained him dry of anything he could remotely care about. So he goes without hesitating.

He navigates lunch hour and watches the shift change. He flinches as your loud coworker laughs and jokes, reminding him of himself in the most obnoxious way. So much so that he half-wants to punch them for being so annoying. He waits on the floor instead, though, and is grateful when you join him the second they leave, leaving him to knock on your chair.

This behavior is more befitting his twin. He doesn’t care.

“Sorry for that. For what it's worth, the next group should all be teenagers, so no crying children.”

He knows. Presentation hours are for classes. Field trips. And while you don’t necessarily struggle during them, depending on the class, it can get disgustingly loud. Even when teenagers are involved.

He knocks on the chair again. You laugh a little before sighing, “I’m sorry I have to ask you to go. I am getting a break later on, though. If you want to stick around until then, I’ll be happy to show you some interesting features.”

And the tridactyl hand he’s been using to knock on your seat grips his hoodie as he thinks, debates.

He shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. No matter how innocent you are, the mere knowledge of who he is could ruin your existence and his. He’s not here to make friends.

… But the company is nice.

His hand hesitates for a second longer before he knocks. You then hush him away and he goes to the vent where he watches you work and barely get to breathe when you get two classes back to back. And he quietly lets himself in after all the hubbub, laying on the floor as you sit with a breath into the chair he knocks on.

The fact that it gets him a chuckle almost makes him smile. The fact that hears you tap the seat next to you worries him.

“Come on. Best seat in the house,” you tell him, though, and while it doesn’t convince him, it does make him move, make him join you even as the seat creaks under his weight. It has him making sure that you can’t see his face or his hands as he sits next to you. Not that you seem to care, though, as your eyes are fixed on the ceiling and your hands fiddle with a small contraption you immediately bring forward and click on once he’s there.

The lights turn off. The domed ceiling goes from evening to night, showing the stars. And, with another click, lines start drawing themselves across the artificial sky, connecting the stars into groups and images slowly appear, making him blink.

Constellations. He’s heard you talking about those. But thanks to the light pollution, the most he’s been able to spot are the brightest stars and, if he’s lucky, the Summer Triangle. Now, he’s finally able to see them.

He almost gets up. He doesn’t. The moment feels too sacred to break. You seem to notice the shift, though, as he can hear you smile when you speak.

“This is the Greek one, which was eventually taken over by the Romans. There are more, though. The Babylonians had an incredible star chart they left behind, explaining what they saw and why it was important to them. The Mayans had one also, and it's been suggested that other Central American cultures might have either used the same map or had their own variations to it. The most interesting one, though, is the Asian one. Western influence was scarce, so their system works very differently even today."

… Ah. He gets it, now. It's almost funny, too, and enough to make him smile. Make almost reach out in the hopes that you understand that you either don't need to share or that he's grateful. He can't do either, though. No matter how much the world wants to think that there's space for everyone, the fact that he's underground, that the Hidden City exists tells him otherwise. He can't let himself do anything but speak, and breaking the silence feels like blasphemy.

"… Thank you."

He still does it, though. Not for his sake but yours. You need to know he appreciates it, even if some of it is going completely over his head.

"No problem."

Because it's worth the softness that invades your tone. Even if it requires more effort than he has energy for, the payoff gives him just a little more than he thought he'd be given. And he likes that. God, does he.

"Anything you want to see?"

"The star map without the images?"

Because if this is all it takes to get this to work as you click and the images disappear, then he's more than willing to try.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, winter does not seem to agree.

Brumation becomes a problem. His hoodie is no longer enough, but wearing anything else might hinder his movements in the vents. He can't afford to lose the agility, but he knows that, if he's not careful, he might knock out.

Something you seem to notice as well.

Within a month of winter starting, he finds a blanket waiting outside the vent. His careful thanks only get him even more wrapped inside the surprisingly thin yet cozy fleece blanket as you fuss over him while never once looking up as he's asked you to. It doesn't help that every time, you simply smile after he tells you that he's comfortable, tapping a hand against his plastron.

"Good. Wouldn't want you to pass out."

Which only reminds him of what he's doing and how… he's treating this entire relationship.

No doubt you're getting bored. Annoyed, even. Not that you've told him as such and he doubts he'd ever hear you complain, but he doesn't think he's being fair in any way, certainly considering that he's been keeping this up for weeks.

He doesn't hate you. He hopes you know that. It's just… he comes here when everything is just too much. And you pampering him… is just part of it, now.

"Hold?"

"Yeah."

You joining him on the floor between presentations as he buries his face into your side. Him whimpering, trying not to chirp or do anything that would sound remotely strange as he lets you talk about whatever planet has caught your attention or whatever paper you're working on this week. And you chuckling, even laughing sometimes as he does or tries to either give you advice or ignore you. It's all part of the thing that makes him feel a little better, a little stronger by the time he leaves. It's all part of something that makes him feel safe even if he barely says anything.

Because by the time he gets to you, there's nothing left for him to give.

The silence as his eyes burn almost deafens him. He feels you move and almost refuses to let you get away only to realize he's too weak, too slow thanks to the cold to hold onto anything. The cold, the sluggishness he'd fought so hard to find becomes his enemy as you disappear and reappear to help him up and out the doors, your blanket covering him up like a cloak to cover his face. And it's not any better when he steps outside and winter stakes its claim on him and the only thing he can concentrate on is your voice.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The amount of research you have to ingest in the following hours is insane. You figured something of the sort was going to happen, certainly with how closed off he was being, but you'd hoped to avoid any catastrophe involving your new friend.

Alas, from the way he behaves, you should have called this. From his self-destructive behavior, you should have known that he would drive himself to hypothermia, leaving you to figure out how to sort this mess. And that unfortunately means no more secrets.

… You think it's hypothermia. When you see the green skin and the three-fingered hands, you're no longer sure. Certainly when he's not shivering and the only thing that helps are the red crescents near his eyes and under his blue mask.

Blue mask… Where the hell is he from? And does it matter when this is probably going to ruin your relationship? He thrives on secrets and you… Well, you just ruined a whole lot of that trying to save his life after he broke, didn't you?

Either way, he's safe. He'll be alright in a few hours. He just needs to get to a decent body temperature, which he is safely getting to while bundled up in your bed. He seems to have an internal body temperature, after all, just… one lower than yours.

Part of you worries as you try not to hover. The other knows better and simply keeps you busy with making dinner, and you can't be happier with the meal you chose as you let the pea soup simmer. You work on making something warm to drink along with it, too, hoping that he'll be okay with some Chai.

Then again, after an hour, you wonder if he'll be alright in general as you dare enter the room with the food and drink on a tray.

You can hear him breathing. That's much, much better than earlier. The fact that he doesn't really acknowledge you doesn't surprise you, either. If anything, the fact that he's looking at you as you set the tray down is the biggest anomaly. He doesn't follow you. He has too little energy to even begin caring, which you can't blame him for. So this — this is new. And concerning when he doesn't sit up upon seeing the food.

Guilt? A need to hide? The mask and the fact that you've never seen anything of him until now tell you it's the latter. He might not have had any energy, but he did keep you from something, likely only draining him further. It's why you hadn't fought him when he'd asked for your presence on the floor. He needs it, craves a presence he doesn't have to explain everything to. And you have been for the past three months. Something you find absolutely heartbreaking.

"I made some soup and chai. Hope you like it."

And more heartbreaking still is the way he grabs your wrist as you attempt to leave.

You turn to him. Let him pull at your wrist and have you sit on the edge of the bed. He does not let go, though, instead nearing you and settling against your back, curling up there with his shell to the door.

Even if he didn't refuse your offer of getting on your lap before you sit on your bed so that he can, you know it's for protection. It's not the first time he does it, either, even if it's completely unconscious. He cares. More than he lets you or anyone else know. And you're almost willing to bet that's what's breaking him.

He loves. He's just… so tied up in whatever else he has to do that it's not showing properly.

You carefully, sweetly touch his head, something he welcomes with a stretch of the neck and a quiet whimper. You smile as he relaxes, using your lap as a resting spot, and tears no longer in his eyes. He doesn't sleep, not quite, but he chirps, trills, and nudges your hand if you so much as stop petting him. Like a cat, he refuses to let you go until he's had his fill and you're honestly very much fine with it, certainly when, after enough coaxing, you manage to get him to sit and eat.

In fact, the only thing that bothers you is his phone the second it starts ringing, prompting you to fiddle with his hoodie and collect the phone to see who it is.

Another turtle. This one red and massive. Raph is the name on screen. Doesn't stop you from wanting to throw the phone across the room or shutting it down before you resume feeding and petting the one you know to be a slider.

They're supposed to be tolerant to cold. Resistant to brumation. You wonder how badly he's been worn down for this to happen. You also hate the fact that it's making you feel almost violently protective to the point where you want to lash out at the other turtle for treating your friend like this.

… Maybe you should have taken that call. Just to know his name. Then again, you don't want to ruin the trust between the both of you, no matter how little there is. He is at his weakest and he doesn't need to be tested further.

"You think you're up for a warm bath now that you've eaten?"

Besides, from the nod you feel against your shoulder, you have other ways to communicate with him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He doesn’t fight you. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, as you scrub him clean. He only blinks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time once you’re done. He only lets you help him out of the bath and halfway back to your room when his hand lets go of yours and he — he looks away as if caught doing something, being somewhere he shouldn’t be.

“Where — where’s my stuff?”

And you realize why very quickly.

“Your clothes are in the bathroom and your phone is in my bedroom.”

“… Did I… get a call?”

“You did. From someone called Raph. I didn’t pick up.”

He’s awake. He’s coherent. His brain has finally caught up.

“… I have to go.”

And his thoughts and words hurt more than you’re comfortable with.

“Go get your clothes, then. I’ll go grab your phone.”

He looks at you with doubt, but turns around and heads back. You enter your bedroom and collect the blue jacketed phone before walking back to the bathroom where the slider is slipping on his hoodie, having already worked through his pants. You set said phone on the sink where he can see it as he works on his shoes next, unsurprised to hear him soon babbling to someone about trackers and getting someone off his ass for something. What surprises you is the tone. It’s animated, filled with a dramatic drawl and flair you had yet to hear from the slider. It’s nothing like you’ve heard, and it makes you realize just why he’s so drained, certainly when you hear “big bro” from his lips.

You cover your mouth. Your eyes burn. He ends the call and leaves your bathroom before anything else can happen, though and, just from the smile that meets you, you know you can’t cry.

“I’m afraid I gotta go. Someone’s breathing down my neck and might break the building if I don’t get going.”

There’s no point in it, after all.

“I’m… sorry I kept you.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart. Things just happen you know?”

“I guess. Do you –?”

“I know my way out. No worries.”

You’ve already lost him.

He gets to your living room where he takes to your window instead of your door. You feel your face hurt as you watch him expertly jump onto the sill.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Will I see you again?”

And it near contorts in pain as you watch his face, his persona break for a second, an instant in which you get your answer.

No. You won’t. You will never ever see the slider again. He’s no longer safe with you, and it has nothing to do with you.

“We’ll see.”

You watch him jump away. You feel your heart break. And you wonder if you could have done anything differently… while knowing there was never another option.

[as-i-watch]

Straw Hats as Fashion Trends that makes me go insane*

*you can wear whatever want to express yourself or whatever you like idc. What i hate if when brands™ overprice shit bc is "trendy" or set stupid trends like these. Seriously, dont look up the price of some of these

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Enjoy!

Detachable Shorts

Of course this feature was a need in the trouser world, think about the people with hot knees

I think it would be funny if Luffy wore this and undo the buckles to get into fight mode. The trouser equivalent of putting down the straps in your crocs.

Tits Out. [period]

Your arms are always cold? Hate vests? Well this is for you!

Still, i think this is so fitting for Zoro, we respect our tits out king and adds a little bit of himbo energy i appreciate.

Oda draws weird shit like this all the time

Yes this item was for sale and not on etsy. Why? beats me but here we are

I think its a nice refference to pre timeskip Nami outfits, but it actually fits into the post timeskip fanservice theme. I seriously see Nami wearing that.

Cool but why

Its a cool recycling project but im not even going to talk why brands selling these upset me.

I think i would be a fitting addition to Usopp's funky hats collection. Not only he would pull it off, he would steal the desing and make one himself like the king he is.

Pretty but WHYYY

I really like the effect and sawing this fabric is hard af but is more of a texture thing for me. Also my little practical self is screaming at this gloves but i see the aesthetic pleasing side i guess

So naturally i gave the gay gloves to Sanji. Tell you you cant picture him wearing these with his WCI white suit, come on do it, lie to me.

A classic we love to hate

Not you Chopper you are a delight. Im talking about the clear plastic backpacks. In case you missed thia trend, the issues with this are as clear as the bag itself.

So naturally, bc he always carries one, i gave the backpack to Chopper. Hope he fills it with colorful candy

I have vivid memories of this being a thing at some point

This are more of a pre timeskip item since they are from mis 2000's but yeah. They are useless, impractical and they offend me

Yet, i think Robin could've feature a look in a filler or something with these...anklets? I guess? Not the most far fetched imo

Cut and pin.

Not an issue of looks but of pricing. This are cute little tops but overpriced af, they just cut it and pin it.

Nevertheless, they scream Franky to me. They even kinda follow Franky's own stiches on his chest lmao

At a lost for words

I just dont get it. This is not a price thing, just a ok but why? thing.

If someone can do weird shit and get away with it is Brook and i love him for it. He could show up one day at Sunny wearing his coat backward and i wouldnt question it. I imagine him wearing that as a fancy look in a movie. He already wears high heels on the reg, and idk why but i know he has a pair of fishnets.

This fuck me up to this day

I dont mind the ilusion drawing idea, but seeing a whole rack of these in a sleep deprived state kinda fucks up your mind. I dont think it was a clever trend for clothes tho and im glad it died away.

I dont think Jinbe would wear the shirt, but hear me out. His kimono but in that stile, custom made. One day Usopp, Chopper and Luffy will paint it in and is going to be hilarious to see Jinbe walking around like a Father that let his kids do his hair and nails.

You can find more idiot post like this in my tag #straw hats as i make no promise of quality but i have fun

[moonlight-canavalia]

Ch. 4 - Jupiter

Summary: A new beginning and some reminiscing of the past. It’s fluff and just a quick little angst.

Pair: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

More of my works on my AO3

CW: 2,794 words, fluff, a bit of doubts, smidge of angst, pet names.

————————————————————————

“So, what do you think?” he says in a voice so small you might think he’s second guessing his question.

You look at your phone as if it was somehow distorting his words “Wait. Can you repeat that again, Satoru? I want to make sure I heard you right. “ Confusion mixed in your tone. Not even believing your own hearing.

Clearing his throat he repeats his earlier question.

“Do you want to move in together? It’s just a yes or no question, Angel. Don’t feel pressured to give me an answer right now. You can think it over and give me an answer when I get back.” He says confidence returning to his tone. “I’ll try to text or call you tomorrow. Anyways, stay pretty. I love you. Bye-bye.” The high pitch in his bye erupts some giggles in you and the moment of uncomfortable silence is broken. And Gojo feels some of the tension leaving his body.

“I love you too. I know you’ll be busy. Stay safe and see you in a few days, Toru.” Ending the call, your mind goes back to his question. ‘Is it right?’. ‘Should we do it?’. ‘Is it too soon? ’. So many questions coming to the forefront of your mind gives you a sense of dizziness.

Sitting on your sofa to catch your breath, you look around. Staring at your things, around you, pictures, books, little knick-knacks scattered here and there; you can’t help the smile that’s suddenly adorning your face. Because everywhere you looked, you could see some of Gojo’s things that have made themselves at home with yours.It’s not like you two are strangers, it's different of course. In every relationship it’s a scary step, no matter how long you’ve known each other; things change. But why not give it a chance, when you already know you want him. The both of you already took that leap into the unknown when starting a relationship. And even with its ups and down you two are still standing together.

While you’re lost in your own thoughts the poor white haired sorcerer is nervous and alone in his hotel room. “How am I supposed to sleep now?” he asks himself. What if you say no? Was that an early push for you? He didn’t want to pressure you but he really hopes you say yes. All he wants is for you to be there each waking day by his side, his hectic hours keep him away from you enough as is. Sure, there will still be missions where he goes away for days or weeks. But knowing you’re there waiting for him to get back and attack him with care and so much love makes his little heart leap with joy. He has high hopes that you’ll answer him by tomorrow. Even if he’s unable to reach out to you first, he just wants an answer from you. Wanting desperately a ‘yes’ so he can get back to you as quickly as possible and start helping you pack up. The heavens above seem to favor him most times, and this time is no different. Before you text him an answer, you’re already making a checklist in your head on things that you can get rid of and what will you keep. Space is the last thing you need to worry about moving with Gojo. He’d never make you get rid of your things. It could be a random piece of plastic that you’d like to keep for some weird reason of attachment and he’d get a glass box for you to keep it in. But you’re ready for new things, new things you’ll get to do with him. So, imagine his big bright smile the next morning when he reaches for his cellphone and the first thing he sees is your sweet good morning text finishing off with a “You’re doing the heavy lifting <3”. And that’s all it took to start a new adventure with Gojo. You lost count of how many of your firsts he’s taken, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s how you wouldn't change a single thing.

Satoru <3 BABY YOU JUST MADE ME HAPPY I’LL KICK THE CURSES ASS ASAP

Sending him a quick reply of “Please be safe and try to call me later if you get a chance.

That was sent early this morning. Now it's 8:00PM and it still reads ‘delivered’.

The mind could be quite treacherous at times. Alone in your apartment, with a mess around you as you started taking things out of your closet, cabinets, old boxes you forgot about when you first moved in. ‘He’s fine’ you kept repeating in your head; stop overthinking. But you can’t help it. Sure he might be the strongest but things happen, and even though you trust him you still worry.

Lost in your own world of worry you fail to notice he’s right beside you. Until he’s shaking you asking ‘did something happen?’

A wave of relief washes over you seeing him. “When did you—hi baby” you say letting go of a breath you didn't even realize you were holding.

“What’s wrong?” the tall white haired male asks again.

Turning fully to him you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. “Just try to not do that again.” You say as if it was obvious.

You can almost see the question marks around his head as he asks “ do what?” as he reciprocated the hug.

“Not answer me” you whisper.

And it clicked just then for him. You were worried. “Sorry sweetness, I stopped by our favorite take out place to get us some dinner.” He apologizes pointing to the plastic bag left forgotten near your entrance. Resting a hand on the side of your face, he angles you up to look at him “I missed you” he says leaving a quick peck at your lips.

“I miss you too” and just with those simple words he feels his chest fill with so much warmth, so much love he thinks he might explode. The twinkle in your eyes looking up at him always takes his breath away. There’s so much love behind them that he finally understands why people say the eyes are the windows to the soul.

“Come on let’s eat sweetness so I can help you with packing so you move even faster. I can’t wait to have you with me day and night.”

Your nerves were buzzing with excitement at this next big step in your relationship. Barely eating you’re quick to continue rummaging through things to pack even faster. Gojo tried to get you to sit down and eat more but you just smiled and waved him off saying how much you just wanted this to be over with. Nothing can bring on more stress than packing, so the quicker it’s done the better.

Once your white haired man-child of a boyfriend finished eating he was on you. Instead of helping you sift through things he was slapping your ass every time you bent down, adorning your neck with kisses when you stood still looking over things. Pinching your hips randomly, he was bored and didn’t really know what you wanted to keep or throw out. He just waited like a dog on beck and call. Any time you needed something from a place you can’t reach, or were done with a box he was there to grab whatever you wanted or tape shut the boxes.

“This is such a small apartment. How did you manage to fit so many things here, Angel. Things just keep popping out of the most random of places.” he said chuckling.

“I’m tired already. I'll do those two small boxes up there and call it a night.” turning towards your boyfriend you wrap your arms around his midsection and in a honeyed voice tell him “can my strong boyfriend get them for me?” There was no reason to use those words, you can ask him to go through a wall and he’d do it without asking why. Anything that came out of your pretty little mouth was an immediate ‘yes’ for him. He’s happy all the same, boyish smile and bright eyes looking at you flexing his muscles.

“Of course I can, it’s me we’re talking about” — Reaching for the boxes he puts them in front of where you’re sitting on the floor.

Taking the lid off you’re met with a pair of faces brimming with joy. Geto, Shoko, Nanami, Haibara, Gojo and you. Smiling while posing for the camera. Well, all of you but Nanami who had such a deep frown in his face, if looks could kill you all would’ve been scorched. Tears streaming down your face at such a fast pace it’s concerning. Gojo immediately kneels down by your side looking at what you’re holding on to. The carefree smiles most of you were wearing, happy with ice creams on that warm summer day. When you all were just teenagers having fun. Enjoying the small things all of you could afford, no classes, no missions, no curses that day.

Just fun.

Your boyfriend, being the strongest as always, swallows the lump that forms in his throat. It’s something he’ll deal with later, first you. You’re his priority and seeing you this way breaks his heart. He also misses those times, when everything was easier. When you all felt like the world was in the palm of your hands. Laughter filled every square inch of whatever room you all were, snarky remarks here and there from Nanami with Haibara trying to keep him positive.

“Every time I think I can handle what happened I get proven wrong” you choke back a sob rummaging through more pictures. Gojo takes the one you’re still clutching on to out of your hard so you don’t crinkle it further. It’s a painful memory, but that moment, frozen forever in time, is filled with warmth and joy. The purest form of happiness the most simple of things used to bring.

“I still remember our inside jokes.” —Gojo murmurs looking at the picture— I replay them sometimes when I reminisce. We were kids and we were thrown into things we couldn’t quite handle yet, not alone at least. We dealt with it how we could.” Tristful eyes staring at the picture. He sounded so dejected, mind probably off revisiting an old memory.

There’s one thing you wish you could change from what happened. Well…actually two things:

1- Geto leaving, hurting and killing innocent people.

2- Gojo having to keep a strong face in front of all other people, not being able to mourn his best friend how he should have .

“I’ve already told you, you were it for me since I first saw you. But I think this day really cemented it for me. This was the day I stayed up all night talking with Geto about whatever the hell I was feeling. He tried pushing me to confess to you and I didn’t want to.” Looking at your tinged face he chuckles. Big hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing away stray tears. “I wish I had done it sooner.”

Putting your hand over his you earnestly tell him you wished he did, but also how you could have done it too. You’re just grateful it still happened, even if it took you two some time. You two start going through the pictures together. Snippets of stories here and there from your younger days. Making fun of each other, until you found a picture that showed your boyfriend with such a huge love- sick smile adorning his face. You were laughing at something, eyes crinkling unaware of Gojo looking at you. Wracking your head for any memory of this picture you turn it around and see it’s signed by Shoko “when you two end up together, remember I told you so.”

“I guess she snuck this in here, after everything that happened I hid these boxes and forgot about them.” Looking back at Gojo you shove the picture in his face and coo how cute he looked and how this is your new favorite picture. “We’re hanging this one up, we have to. Look at you” you say with heart shaped eyes.

Agreeing with you he can’t stop looking at your carefree smile. The way it hasn’t changed even when the world around you both has. That same sweet smile that has always helped him get out of his darkest times is still there. And he’s looking at it right now as you hang on to the picture resting it over your heart.

“Okay, okay, before I start crying again. Put these over by the door so it can be taken with the first things we move.” Handing them off to him he’s gone in an instant. ‘Did he really just warp? Just for that?’ Short answer, yes, yes he did. Making sure it’s not lost or damaged when you start moving the bigger boxes.

Cutie you think fondly.

Once he’s back you two are quick to move every box into position for tomorrow. It’s Gojo so of course he’s promised you to move everything in one day. ‘You don’t lift a finger’ he let you know. And he’s true to his word, but to his dismay you don’t even wait for him to be done before you’re tearing at the boxes to start putting things away. He's in awe with how on his second trip back you already have so many of your things hanged, your small figurines and funkos already decorating the empty shelves he has. Seeing the mess in the kitchen where you’re putting your plates with his makes his chest feel tight, almost suffocating on his love for you. The pure happiness he’s feeling with finally having you with him day and night, well starting today.

Bringing in the last box he throws himself on the couch dramatically he huffs out “you should have left me warp”

“No, I told you not to use your powers. You can’t be that tired when you can carry four to five boxes without breaking a sweat, that one cant be turned off” – you bring up – “you’re just being pouty.”

“Am not” he says – sunglasses almost falling off his face when he sits up looking in your direction.

Cocking your head to the side you stare at him dumbfounded. “Any bigger sweet boy and I’d probably trip on your bottom lip.”

He just slams himself against the couch and extends his hands up and does a grabbing motion. Signaling for you to come and rest with him. You decide to accept and make your way towards him. Laying on top of him, you make yourself comfortable against his strong hard chest, burying your head in the crook of his neck, peppering it with kisses.

“I know you’re not letting me go for a while so I’ll just take a break with you” you inform him.

Some minutes go by in silence, just listening to the sound of your breathing when the snowy white haired male suddenly speaks up “It’s gonna be nice that the first thing I hear when I wake up is your voice.” You smile up at him and chuckle “I’ve stayed with you before, and you’ve stayed with me before or am I going crazy?”

Tangling his hands in your hair he gives you a deep kiss, tongue swiping at your bottom lip before going in your mouth. The kiss is all consuming, and breathtaking.

“That’s true pretty girl, but now I’m not gonna have to wonder when you’re leaving or when you’re coming back.” Wrapping an arm around your waist while the other one cups the back of your head he brings your head down so you’re forehead is resting against his “I get to have you with me day and night, I get to come back from missions and have you here, I get to tell everyone I have someone waiting for me at home and its the love of my life. We get to build a home together.”

It’s hard fighting the waterworks, you start sniffling trying to not let the tears spill. He is the sweetest human ever, and you can’t believe he’s yours. You can’t wait to show him all the things he deserves and be there for every new milestone that's to come between the both of you. The words are lost on your tongue, the threat of so many emotions bubbling up constricts your throat. You give him a hug that's near bone crushing even for him

“I love you so much” is what you manage before he’s changing positions and is on top of you.

Pt: 1

Pt:2

Pt:3

[allycatcreatethings]

The Acceptance of Adulthood

Chapter 3: What In The World Is Going On???

Wait, hold up; EMMET IS ALIVE?!

[First - Next - Previous - Chapter Index] [Word Count: 1980]

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Finn thought he was going crazy with what he saw in front of his eyes, but knowing that Emmet was moving in his palm, the giant didn’t throw the plastic construction worker right away; instead, Finn placed Emmet onto the couch arm as gently and slow as possible, watching Emmet while trying to comprehend what he was witnessing, his breathing picked up a bit in shock.

Emmet's head kept shifting side to side stiffly, wanting to skim around his new surrounding, and he didn’t understand where he was standing or sitting; Emmet couldn’t quite tell. It felt disjointed with his movement, yet he disliked being rude to stare at the giant.

Meanwhile, Finn was taking deep breaths before trying something to see if Emmet was aware of him. Finn's thoughts about Emmet's well-being and from how Emmet was reacting, and some guesswork, knew the plastic construction worker was confused or seemed dazed.  

It took Finn a while to say anything, fumbling his words into mumbles but enduring it as best he could.

"Um, H-hi Em- Emmet?" he greeted the Lego Figurine as his words fell hard like stones in his throat, as that was the only he could muster out of his mumbles.

Emmet stopped momentarily, and his head looked up with his body leading back, creaking slowly at Finn before moving his arm into the air and gesturing as Emmet attempted to wave with his claw-like hand. The giant boy stares at Lego Minifiguring in awe, his eyes filled with morbid curiosity and astonishment, wondering how this is possible before waving at him back.

Emmet quickly slowed down his movement so as not to overwhelm the poor giant boy since he knew too well when you’re in a sudden situation with barely any time to think about what you are witnessing in front of his eyes, like with Good and Bad Cop and waking up to have the Piece of Resistance on his back.

It was awkward for Emmet as Finn gazed down at him in admiration; the giant boy leaned nearer to Emmet to see his detailed, unmoving face. Emmet examined the giant’s colossal face as he got closer to him and almost jumped away. Curiosity had them both in their grasp as both seemed freaked out, but Finn didn’t dare touch the live Lego figurine, his breathing becoming stifled. 

Finn’s brain wasn’t comprehending that Emmet was alive, but it was clear that Emmet did not want to cause any more anxiety. He was aware of what was going on but unsure if he recognized him from 10 years ago.

“Do—... Do you remember me?” Finn gradually asked, the words hurting in his throat as they left. He also realized how close his enormous face was to the unique Lego figurine and backed off to give space.

If Emmet could tilt his head in perplexity, he would. He attempted to see if he remembered the boy, but Emmet had only recalled him in his visions, so he moved his claw-like hands in a so-so motion and shifted his head from side to side. The construction worker needed to exaggerate everything to communicate the message effectively. He noticed that his body language was going to be critical for now.

“Oh…” The giant blankly responded. He hummed while considering Emmet’s reaction. “I’m Finn. Can- Can you talk?”

Emmet shook his head side to side no once again. He even attempted to speak to prove, yet nothing came out; his movement seemed to come across as disappointed when swinging his arms and legs, even kicking the platform in frustration lightly.

Well, verbal communication is out of the window, and Finn is already struggling because of his condition. This whole situation is weird on its own. Emmet, my Lego Figurine alive? How is that possible? Finn had to ensure he wasn’t dreaming, so he pinched his skin a few times, only to feel pain and flinch. Crap, so it was real. He thought as he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly and nervously. 

“Um… Can I hold you, like, in my hands?” Finn asked timidly to see if Emmet was comfortable around the giant. The construction worker paused momentarily, seemingly considering something, before Emmet disagreed with the thought of being held. Yet instead, he treads stiffly on the couch arm, trying not to frighten the giant before him. Emmet struggled to move, yet he wanted to let Finn know it was okay to touch him but not hold. 

Finn attempted to fill in the blanks but froze when the Lego figurine crept nearer Emmet looked up at him, anxious, then came closer to the boy’s arm and made a slow patting motion, trying to comfort Finn. Even though his smaller size doesn’t offer much, it is the thought that counts. Finn tried to smile at this gesture.

Emmet noticed that Finn had darker eye bags than the last time they met and an almost permanent tired expression. What has happened to this poor kid since they last saw each other?

Finn glanced at Emmet with a pitiful smile. He was unsure if Emmet was scared or trying to comfort him. Man, he wished for a real hug right now. "Wait, where is Bianca? She shouldn't be gone for this long..." His words were coming out better relaxed.

Emmet wasn't sure who Bianca was, but it seemed significant to Finn, yet Emmet couldn't ask his questions about where they were.

A few minutes went by in silence as one of the pair had Emmet's ability to talk removed from the strange and weird rules of Finn's World. It reminded Finn of Wallace and Gromit with each other. Finn tried to break the silence as he led into a question for Emmet, "Should I tell Bianca about you?"

The boy glanced at Emmet before requesting consent to touch him, and Emmet approved by staying still as Finn ran his finger through his plastic hair. Emmet felt like he was being petted like a dog or a cat and didn’t know how to think of it. Scratch that; it started to feel alright as it seemed to help soothe Finn from being stressed.

However, Finn thought of his question to Emmet and knew the answer before concluding, "No, not now. She has other people to be worried about, like me and my condition, not Emmet. I-I can't tell her right now. 'Oh yeah, while you were gone, I discovered that Emmet is alive and now comforting me.'" Finn chuckled as he said the last line mockingly, trying to make light of the situation.

[Liar, there’s no one else in your house; stop avoiding her.]

"God, I sound outlandish. A-a Lego Toy, alive and trying to assist me in my condition, even though I'm 20 times his size?" Finn seemingly starts to see the absurdity of this mesmerizing circumstance, giggling to almost hysteria. 

Condition? What condition?

Emmet thought as he became highly concerned about the giant boy; his laughter sounded forced. Emmet patted one of Finn’s fingers which Finn flinched. 

"Okay, so let's not bring you up until I feel better; no point in lying; I probably would just collapse onto the floor because my whole body feels like I have become into jello," Finn emitted to Emmet, looking ashamed as he turned his head away.

Emmet can see from the giant's body language that he is overwhelmed by his appearance alone. Still, he begins to realize that the situation with Finn is getting too much for him, as this alone seems supernatural and bizarre for him to be alive in the Man Upstairs realm. Does Finn even know about the effects of what is happening to Emmet? If he could just get words out of encouragement.

So, Emmet considered stopping moving ultimately for Finn’s sake. Still, he decided to sit down on the large platform to keep himself from pacing, creating more unnatural movements and making things worse. Even Emmet himself could agree the whole situation was overwhelming, yet Emmet could move his body. He’s not alone in this feeling anymore. 

As Finn glimpsed back, Emmet looked goofy as he fell into a sitting position without any build-up or ease into his action. It made Finn smirk and genuinely smile, giggling quietly to avoid being rude. It appears that Emmet noticed Finn’s reaction and looked bashful, trying to rub the back of his neck as a reaction, but with the limitations of his body in this world, it came across more as Emmet raised his hand in the air and attempted to scratch his back to Finn. 

It was the most random thing Emmet had done, but it oddly fitted him. Finn laughed out loud and then embarrassedly placed his hands over his mouth. 

"S-sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, Emmet. I just thought you were making me happy with your goofy movements, and I thank you for that, even if that wasn’t intentional.” Finn lowers his head to Emmet's eye level, almost lying down on the couch.

When Emmet attempted to speak again to thank him, he failed miserably. He almost felt frustrated but gave a nod instead.

Finn always wondered what Emmet’s voice sounded like. Was it something similar to his voice, or was it something completely different? Another good question was: How would they leave the couch without outside help?

 It was going to be a challenge for both of them to move away from the sofa without outside assistance from Bianca. And where in the world is Bianca? Finn and Emmet both can feel concerned about where she went, but Finn doesn't want to burden her if she is making a surprise for him. 

They should wait for her a bit longer; it's better right now to wait than to get impatient and get carried away without being safe. So that is what they did, at least letting the situation settle in, specifically for Finn for the stress and getting overwhelmed. Yet Emmet could very well be feeling the same thing as Finn. 

As things calmed down after Finn realized his mini figurine was alive, another question popped into his mind: “Wait, how did you get outside of your world?”

Emmet's body movements convey confusion as a shrugging gesture comes from the Lego Figurine. Finn was about to say something before coming to the conclusion of why Emmet was here, which only made logical sense. 

Finn was the one who took him out.

Not by falling down the table, because he and Bianca were playing on the floor, but he took Emmet for comfort, even if it was by mistake. In those last moments of the game, they were stuck in action, and with his condition getting in the way once again, halt everything, including Emmet being stuck in one place. Well, sort of, able to move, but why didn’t the toy leave Finn? It puzzled him for a moment, only to sigh at himself since he should understand the construction worker by now.

Emmet seems to be curious about Finn due to his enormous size compared to himself and the way Finn can move that no Lego Figurine can. Emmet also appears inquisitive about Finn’s sausage fingers as Finn uses them to gesture and play nervously around them. But he knew deep down that Finn needed someone to support him.

Finn looked guilty for Emmet being far from home and said calmly but fragilely, "Hold on, I-It's my fault that you are here; I-I can get to the Portal Tunnel, so you d-don't have to see me in pain..." Emmet shook their head no quickly and panicked due to knowing the condition Finn was in right now. “Yeah, you may be right; we should wait for Bianca to come to us…”

Finn hoped Bianca was alright, but why was Bianca taking so long? Only time could tell.

[Tick Tock, Tick Tock.]

*~ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ~*

[alicewhimzy]

Here are my thoughts on Barbie in full as promised. 🏩💃💄

It was okay.

Right away I noticed how self aware and unsubtle movie this movie is. It wears itself proudly on its sleeve. Barbie is both a feminist icon and something that feminists have criticized, so I can understand why they did this. By turning the dial up to eleven and saying its message as loud as it can, the movie is trying to avoid being misinterpreted. Didn't work for some but that's okay. You can't please everyone.

Barbieland at the beginning is a pretty pink paradise, but it's not perfect. The Kens are pretty much just there to be boyfriends and look cool, and the Barbies are meant to achieve their dreams and be content with them. But before long Barbieland is faced with the horror that no girl's toy company wants to face. Real emotion.

When Barbie starts having morbid thoughts it disrupts the perfect pattern. She is comfortable in her routine because it's all she knows, so she wants things to go back to normal. At first.

Barbie is kind of a diva but not to the point that she's unlikable. She prides herself on making her own choices. There is almost no job she hasn't had, meaning that there's nothing she can't do. We're used to seeing this archetype in an antagonistic role, like Sharpay in Highschool Musical or Regina George in Mean Girls, but this movie doesn't do that. What Ruth, and by extension Barbie wanted most of all was to inspire girls and women to be what they want to be. That's not quite what happened in the real world. But I'll get to that later.

The pink drip in this movie is unreal. YOU GET PINK, AND YOU GET PINK, AND YOU GET PINK! EVERYBODY GETS PINK!

The details like Barbie floating instead of walking downstairs and all the water being either plastic or imaginary were hilarious, like toy story humor.

Ken is a fascinating take on finding a healthy way to express masculinity. He's a bit of a simp but he learns to improve and grows out of it over the course of the movie. Since the world kinda revolves around Barbie, she doesn't have much of a filter, particularly regarding her interactions with Ken. He asks if he can stay for a night and she bluntly refuses him. This shows one of the themes that I noticed; much of the conflict in this movie comes from an inability or unwillingness to see things from the other person's perspective.

Ken's problem isn't that he's a misogynist. He acts like one in the third act but it's clear he's just trying to act like he's on top of things when he hasn't yet figured out what he really wants. The entire purpose of the Ken doll was to just be an optional boyfriend to Barbie, so of course he defines himself by how she sees him. He relies on her external validation because it's what he was designed for so it's what he thinks he wants.

Allen never wanted power. He already made peace with himself in a way so, yeah. He's okay.

Barbie is used to things working out perfectly and when she reaches the real world she sees for the first time just how messy and complicated things can be in reality. This kind of loss of naivety culminates in the unironically best scene in the movie, where after she and Ken split up she just sits on a bench. She sees a girl and her mother playing with her and watches as the girl grows up and eventually leaves her folds, including Barbie behind. Barbie opens her eyes and looks around her. She sees people having arguments, laughing, hanging out together and just living. Existing. Glancing next to her she sees an elderly woman reading a book. Barbie looks at this woman and says "You're so beautiful." And you can tell she means it. The woman says "I know." This moment is where Barbie first starts to realize that things may not be as perfect and she's used to back in Barbieland, but that's okay.

Weird Barbie is fabulous. She can't fit in with the pretty pink paradise of Barbieland, so she is ostracized by the others. Despite this, her confidence is unwavering. From the beginning she is aware that things in reality aren't as simple as they are in Barbieland. Throughout the movie she unapologetically owns her own weirdness. She doesn't need to learn the same lesson that Barbie does because she's already learned it, and in the end the others finally give her what she needed; Respect. She steals every scene she's in and I love her.

Taking control of Barbieland didn't bring Ken happiness, because he didn't want control. He wanted to feel validated. Like a person. Just like Barbie. And when she tells him that he can find his own validation without her, it's one of the most honest moments in the movie. It's where he learns that he can be okay with himself as he is. Just like women don't need a man to complete them, vise versa is also true. Being a man isn't about physical strength or material possessions, or dominance. It's about maintaining a healthy attitude about oneself. You are Kenough.

And the Kens should form a dance troupe. They're great at it and they've got the outfits for it.

Sasha and her mother Gloria have opposing ideas on the idea of Barbie herself and what she says about femininity. Sasha takes a blunt critical approach, putting the "look pretty, be happy" idealism and the adherence to unrealistic beauty standards on blast, and while she does come off as harsh, she still has a point. On the other hand, Gloria found Barbie comforting and empowering, which was why she started drawing ideas like "irrepressible thoughts of death Barbie" and "depressed Barbie", using her own fears and insecurities as inspiration to give Barbie more depth than Mattel was willing to give. Eventually, both mother and daughter are able to reconcile these views and repair their relationship.

It's okay to enjoy a story or a character even if other people don't like it. No matter what they say, that doesn't mean that you can't still enjoy it. Just because it means a lot to you doesn't mean it's flawless, and just because it can be interpreted in a troubling way, that doesn't mean it's ruined. It can always be changed and improved on with each new version. This is something I definitely agree with.

There's nothing much I can really add to Gloria's being a woman monologue. It sums the whole issue up and it shows that the more people that are made aware of it, the closer we are to fixing it. Brilliant.

Barbie has to take control of her life away from Mattel. She has been living under the control of men and she never even knew it. She comes to learn so much about herself and the world around her that she doesn't want to be Barbie anymore. She wants to be Barbra. She knows that the real world isn't all she thought it would be, but that's okay because she's ready to tackle it. She's not afraid to leave paradise anymore. She's not afraid of cellulite, she's not afraid of the patriarchy, and she's not afraid of death. Like all the women she wanted to stand for, Barbra is finally a real person with real feelings.

Her first stop; A gynaecologist.

This Barbie is okay.

🏩💃💄

~A.W.

[greysanatomy-adulteresswhore]

New Beginnings

Summery: Y/n y/l/n is a new intern, she is excited to meet her compitition, and make some friends.

Characters: Meredith, Christina, Izzy, George, Alex, Chief, Baily.

Type: fluff, just doctor life and making friends.

Warnings: everything you would find in a hospital. No gender mentioned. No age is mentioned, assumed to be young. The reader has a famous father, known for his plastic surgery.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Today is the day, the day i start to work in a real hospital. Part of me is nervous, part of me is so excited, i could pop like a ballon. I reach the hospital and park, i see a group of people walking towards the door. I follow them in and make my way to the OR, where the chief said to meet at. Once i make it i see the chief standing there, looking over everyone.

"Welcome to Seattle Grace Hospital." He says. "Im your chief, Dr. Webber." He says. I turn and see a girl who's a bit later then everyone else. Chief Webber goes on and on about how hard this is gonna be, and i can start to feel my insecurity setting in. I look around and people are glaring at others. I try to smile.

After Chief shows us around, he lets us eat and then go to the locker room. I see a man, whos name is George approach the girl that was late.

"M-my name is George O'mally a-and i uh... wanted to say hello" he says awkwardly. The girl snorts but smiles.

"Meredith Grey." She introduces herself. I pause.

"THE Meredith Grey? Daughter of Ellis Grey?" I ask, slightly stunned. Meredith looks a bit dejected but nods. I sorta feel bad. People must say that all the time and never talk about her. I know that feeling.

"Sorry, lovely to meet you. Im Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n." I smile and hold out my hand. Meredith smiles and takes it.

"I believe my mom worked with your father." She says. I nod.

"They did." I beam a bit. Another girl pops into the conversation.

"Its crazy how you two work together now, like your parents did." She says. She was blonde and quite beautiful. "Im Izzy Stevens." She smiles. I nod and so does meredith. Another guy tells us to shut up. I look at his tag and it says Alex Karev.

"Dont be so prissy Karev. It wont get you very far." I say, side eyeing him. A girl sits next to me and Meredith.

"I like you two already, your not annoying." She says. Her tag says Christina Yang. I smile and in walks a short black women.

"Alright. I need Grey, O'mally, Stevens, Y/l/n, Yang, and Karev." She shouts and everyone she called walks out. I can hear her mutter something along the lines of, "too many interns." We stop walking and she looks at all of us.

"Im Doctor Miranda Bailey. I have five rules. Memorize them. Rule number one: Don't bother sucking up. I hate you. That's not gonna change. Trauma protocol, phone list, pagers" she points to stuff on the counter. "nurses will page you. You will answer every page at a run. A run! That's rule number two. Your first shift starts now and lasts 48 hours. You're interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain. You run labs, write orders, work every second and night until you drop, and don't complain." She says as we keeo walking. "On-call rooms. Attendings hog them. Sleep when you can where you can, which brings me to rule number three. If I'm sleeping, don't wake me unless your patient is dying. Rule four: The dying patient better not be dead when I get there. Not only will you have killed someone, you woke me for no reason. We clear?" Everyone nods, but meredith raises her hand. "Yes?"

"You said five rules. That was only four." She says. Dr. Bailey sighs and looks at her pager.

"When i move, you move." She says and her pager beeps. We all rush with her.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

By the end of the day, i have been cursed at, given weird stares, thanked, and thrown up on. I make it back to the locker room and sit down. I cant help but smile. I hear 2 voices and Meredith and Christina walk in.

"Why are you smiling?" Christina asks snarkly.

"When i came here, i thought i would wanna leave. I thought everyone would be against me. But i suppose i can tolerate you guys." I smile and i can see Meredith smiling. Even christina has a smirk on her face.

"Your sappy." Christina says with an annoyed tone. I chuckle.

Yea, maybe this wont be so bad.

[ambiguouspenny]

I would love to hear about see a friend see a ghost or the hearing loss fic. whichever one you'd like. (or both, both is good :D )

Hello! I can do both!

see a friend (see a ghost) is my baby. We call her "Hellfic" and not for no reason. I have the first chapter completed and I have a lot of accompanying art planned to go with it. I am withholding a lot of details for now until I can get my first chapter up, but I want to have another chapter or two under my belt before I post it. It's a canon divergence au, and what I can say is that whenever I'm working on it I just think "I'm going to need folks to hold onto that 'angst with a happy ending' tag for dear life, and just trust me"

the-TK-hearing-loss-fic is the first idea I had come to mind when I walked into this fandom and found we had a boy out here always getting concussed. I wanted to tackle the idea of what developing a sensory disability would mean for TK and those around him in his line of work and what all of that would mean for his sense of self and his relationships.

I put this on pause because see a friend (see a ghost) came to me one night fully formed and I had to dive into it and because I want to make sure I'm taking this subject really seriously and there's a lot of research that needs to happen to allow me to do that.

I do have a small little tester snippet of it though that I will leave below, it's not a perfect representation of what I think the fic will become so proceed with care and caution. I'm always open to feedback on the subject also!

Disclaimer: This may contain some medical inaccuracies, as this is the idea in its infancy. The first word Carlos learns to sign for TK is “soulmate.” It was early on, a week or so after they’d sat next to each other in the audiologist’s office as they were told how things would go as TK lost his hearing. It would happen slowly at first, and then all at once it would be gone. It was a weird thing, to receive such a terminal prognosis for something other than dying.

TK was at home. He’d taken a few days of leave to try and situate himself with this new reality. He was also trying to get used to the hearing aids. They wouldn’t work forever, the doctor had said, sitting across from TK and Carlos, demonstrating how to turn them on and increase the volume and where to change their batteries. They wouldn’t work forever, but they’d prolong the inevitable for just a little while longer.

He’d removed them, shutting them off and placing them back into the tiny plastic case by the time Carlos came home. He didn’t hear the clunk of the deadbolt or the roll of the door as it opened, so he’d startled when Carlos came around the corner, setting an arm full of groceries on the counter.

“Hi— Baby.” TK says, hoping not to trigger any alarms of concern from Carlos. It doesn’t work.

“Shit, why aren’t you wearing your hearing aids TK?” TK makes out Carlos asking as he walks from the kitchen to the couch, abandoning the groceries.

“They give me a headache.” It’s not a lie. But the truth is that TK just wants to go back, wants things to just be normal for a little while longer. Carlos gives him a knowing look, because of course he knows, but he doesn’t question it, doesn’t push or insist that TK take an ibuprofen and keep on trying to adjust to this new scary thing in their lives.

Instead Carlos sits down in front of TK and grins. “I learned something today!” He says, and TK can’t help but notice the way he’s looking at him, making sure his face is clear and visible enough for TK to read his lips if he needs to.

“What did you learn today baby?” TK asks him and he can’t shake the smile that builds up in his chest and shows up written across his face. Because everything sucks right now but Carlos is looking at him like he loves him, and like he’s not broken. TK watches as Carlos sits back just a little bit and can tell by the way Carlos situates himself and his hands that he’s getting ready to show him something in sign language.

Carlos had started studying ASL immediately after their appointment. TK had been avoiding it. Now he tries to ignore the sting in the back of his throat that makes him want to scream. This is what their future looked like, it was not what he’d imagined for them. But here was Carlos, a week into the rest of their lives, already learning a new language just for him.

TK watches the flurry of Carlos’ hands. Carlos is careful with each gesture, each placement of his fingers handled like something delicate. When he’s finished, he sits back and looks at TK, waiting for a response and it takes a moment but when TK realizes what Carlos is waiting for he bursts into a giggling fit, burring his face against Carlos’ chest.

“What’s so funny??” Carlos asks, and its almost clear because of how close his mouth is to TK’s ear.

TK sits up, “baby, I don’t know what that means yet. You have to tell me!” And then they are both cracked apart with laughter and TK thinks about how normal it feels and tries not to get stuck there. “Show me again!”

With same the careful handling of each movement, Carlos starts again, this time he speaks each word out loud with it’s accompanying gesture:

“You” “Are” “My” “Soulmate.”

[r0-boat]

Out of Water

Prologue

Oc: Noah x reader

Cut for length

Amber eyes peer  behind a rock. His webbed hands holding on to the wet rock watching

Land walkers on their fake wooden land. No…wait it's a ' pier' 

Noah always loved going to the pier, even if all he could do was watch, it was like taking a glimpse into another world, because it was!

Land walkers would go to these other land Walkers that had stuff and they would use these papers to exchange for items.

Some were Foods that looked completely alien to him, like pink clouds, cut up juicy bits of something, colorful plastic bags with crunchy things inside, plastic containers of colored water, it was fascinating how different foods were on land. He can't help but Wonder what kind of fish or plant produced foods like these? They all look so strange and so good, but all he could do was watch from the safety of the water since he was too scared to swim closer to the wooden boardwalk and snag a bite of leftover pieces of food that the land Walkers would sometimes drop.

 Some Land walkers bring their pups to the beach. He always had a big smile watching the little ones play in the sand, running about with a smile on their face as their parents played chase. It reminded him of his own youth, even though he didn't really have a lot of friends growing up, he still cherishes those memories all the same.

Noah would watch for hours,sometimes making a note of any Walker that seemed particularly interesting to him. 

as the sun got closer to the horizon his smile faded into a frown when he watched the landwalkers pack their weird stalls for the day…

Perhaps he should get going as well. It is getting late, after all.

Noah let out a sigh looking back at the pier once more, something sparkling in the sand catching his eye before diving below. He did a double take poking his head out the water his eyes glued to the sparkling shiny laying idly in the sand his eyes scanned the pier seeing if the coast was clear. He dug his webbed hands into the sand, his tail gently swishing back and forth as he makes his way to shallower waters.

no one was on the beach the previous land Walkers with their pups for the last ones he saw and they went home hours ago, everyone else were too busy packing up their stalls on the pier. 

so no one noticed a silver webbed hand breach the water slowly making its way up to the shiny object before snatching it, the water rippled and splashed as he took off with his tiny treasure in hand. only stopping for a moment when he was in deep enough water. Noah held up the tiny shiny to the light. The gems encrusted in its golden metal glimmered the metal wrapped around his finger perfectly as if it was made for him. Merfolk had jewelry like this too. His father had a whole room filled with glittering gems and gold trinkets but he would sometimes sneak into decking himself in shining jewelry. Only for his father to catch him red-handed punishing him for a moon. His eye lit up at the thought of having his own sparkling treasure and a human one no less.

He darted across he ocean floor, hoping to make it home before anyone would notice. Excited to find a neat display for his new treasure. It was a long swim from the pier to his home city

Surrounded by a valley of cliffs and coral, to any land walker, there would be nothing but an empty crater, the city only visible to Merfolk. Dens carved from Rock serving as dwellings for its people. While taking some inspiration and architecture from their neighbors on land, most Merfolk hated humans wanting nothing to do with them.

Before Noah could enter the city, Bull Sharks swam in front of him. 

" Not so fast, Your Highness!" the mershark growled, holding out his hand. his eyes looking at Noah's clenched fist.

he paused for a moment holding his fist to his chest. The guard growled at his antics before Noah sighed.

  "A-alright…" Noah said dropping the ring in the guard's hand 

"good… the last thing we need is more Land junk!" he yelled, throwing the ring as hard as he could in the other direction. The Prince's heart sinking as he could do nothing about it.

the other guard spoke " Is that all you have, your highness?"

Noah frowned, not looking at them  " N-no sir…" 

"Good, you may continue"

 

Noah's heart sank, before he could swim too far the other Guard yelled

 "This is for your own good, Your 'Highness', you're a little 'Hobby' is nothing but a disgrace to this Kingdom! "

The leopard shark did nothing else but swam away, feeling a tightness in his chest, trying to fight back something in his eyes. Trying to ignore the stares and whispers of some of the town merfolk as he makes his way to the Palace.

Instead of going to the front gate where he'd be more likely to be spotted and seen by his father he's decides the swim around the side, when he saw the grate made of iron. 

 Noah hunched over inspecting the sand around it, his hand grazing into it around the vent, the head of the rusted butter knife poked itself out.

Noah smiled, thanking Neptune that it was still there, taking his tool, placing it in between the wall and the iron grate, jimmying, and putting pressure on the Grate until it was loose.

Noah slowly pops open the great moving himself inside the vent before ceiling the great back into place.

But not before sliding The Rusted butter knife into the sand back where he placed it before.

  and with him basically breaking and entering into his own house he just acted as if nothing happened praying that the guards didn't notice him leaving to begin with… which to be honest he doesn't even know why he still does it… the Royal Guards did not truly care for him… 

Before Noah could reach for the door of his room.

"Son,"

A booming voice broke him out of his thoughts.

'Fuck…' he turned around looking up 

"Father…"  

The Great White stood before him, his silver locks in a braid with his hair swept back, his eyes deep blue staring down. A Gold crown with blue gems sit atop his head. He was significantly larger than everyone in the hallway, towering over him the nurse shark maids and butlers, even the biggest of the Armies Tiger shark Warriors that would Patrol the Halls at night did not hold a candle to Poseidon. What he didn't have was his shining blue Trident which was no doubt in the throne room, hanging on a wall, his most prized possession, and grandest weapon. His arms were crossed with a noticeable scowl across his face.

uh oh.

His hand waved the guards away so he may speak to his son alone.

" The Landwalkers again… I was just informed that you're coming home with junk."

' Those bull shark bastards…!' Noah grits his teeth.

Poseidon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, " Noah… you cannot be serious; 17 years and I still catch you going up there… how many times do I have to tell you, ?"

He waited for his son's response. 

Noah could only mutter something barely coherent. not looking it at his father who only seemed to anger him further 

" You have the entire ocean; I plainly do not understand why you are interested in creatures that doom us all on the same planet we live on." 

 

" d-dad, I don't want to have this conversation right now…."

"No, 17 years I raised you; you cannot have this little fantasy of yours any longer, Landers or not as nice and magical as you think they are " Poseidon brushed him off immediately.

Noah finally responded, " How could they be any different from us? " his webbed hands balled into Fists. " I've seen only glimpses of what they have…  what they have on land as far better than what we have now."

Poseidon's voice grew, stern pointing a finger at his son. " You don't know anything boy… compared to what I've seen you've only had glimpses, I'm just trying to protect you-"

" I don't need your protection!" Noah yelled. 

 

something in Poseidon snapped, he slammed his fist into the wall his precious Trident appearing in his hand " When I adopted you, I gave you everything… I raised you like my own son! If you don't need my warnings, fine… by sunrise tomorrow, for one year, you are forbidden from returning to the ocean!"

Noah's eyes widened " Dad! I-"  

"No, I want you to see, how foolish you are." 

he's Trident begin to Glow before slicing his finger on the point drawing blood. The red liquid mixed into the water, turning, glowing, stirring, turning blue, and crystallizing, becoming something else entirely, a raw crystalline mineral.

" Noah, come with me." He demands 

practically dragging his son out the castle, his eyes glowing in the Navy with anger.Clutching the Raw crystal in his hand. guards immediately swim to the King and his son protecting them as they make their way through the streets of the town. 

The mer Folk move things out of their way making way for the King and the Prince.

 making their way to a building plated with steel, uncommon and somewhat unusual for a house in Atlantis. 

Noah goes to the door first, the King, after barely fitting through the door.

Sounds of steel heading steel over and over fill the room.

 Poseidon barely said another word to Noah, he could see a faint glow in the other room. He could only see a glimpse of a Merlin Tail. With a strange metal Piece and its tail.

 After a moment of waiting in Silence, the sounds stop.

a hammerhead Mer looked over at her two new clients, her goggles so thick you couldn't see her eyes. 

she smiles bowing before the king "your highnesses!" 

The best blacksmith in the Kingdom, full humans cut gems for their shine Merfolk have the ability to cut gems to bring out their magical power.

they were only here to drop off the raw Crystal.

 

Poseidon tried not to crack a smile, as Noah his eyes glimmering in aw at the glimmering gems.

For a moment he wondered if his son would be okay as Noah and the blacksmith chatted about what material chain they wanted to use.

It has been a while since he himself has surfaced to the human world…

the memories still haunt him,

… his wife still alive beside him; if only he knew that that day would be her final.

With this… at least his son would blend in.

After handing in the raw crystal, the two barely talked on their way to the Palace. Poseidon stated that he was only doing this to give his son tough love, only to be met with silence. 

[afoolandathief]

Fire & Wine — Chapter 1

Working on something I've had in mind since I first had a weird, fucked-up dream about it years ago. TWs for alcohol and language:

I started down the highway with some of my best weapons — a box of wine, a jug of white rum, blue Curaçao, and a packet of Red Vines.

The Red Vines were more of an inside joke. I preferred Twizzlers.

The sky stretched out before me in an uncomfortably clear and piercing shade of blue. Wind snapped and whipped through my curls. I shivered. I was the sort of guy who liked nature. Nature liked me. But this, fuck, this was overwhelming. A flat and endless swath of land leading into purple mountains. Only the hardiest of plants and animals could survive here. Certainly nothing that screamed bountiful or lush or juicy.

I’ve been called all three of those things, by the way.

Still, I had a pretty good reason for being here. A park ranger’s booth  — the kind that was just a shed with a sliding glass window — sat gray and abandoned up ahead. I hauled the box of wine onto my shoulder with a slosh and walked toward it.

I scraped my nail along the window, making sure to get the tone of its hair-raising screech just right, and steadied myself as the ground shook. The shed shuddered and rose in the air, revealing a metal elevator inscribed with symbols older than me. It burned red for a moment before cooling with a hiss in the mountain winds.

How do you find a god of volcanoes? First find one of the largest calderas embedded in Gaia’s sweet, green body.

I still wasn’t expecting said god to answer the door.

Half his face was hidden in shadow, the dramatic fuck. The one arm I could see was in a plastic cuff, braced against a metal shaft that disappeared into the darkness. So it was a crutches day, then.

“Whatever you want,” he said, his voice a low bark. “I’m not interested.”

“I brought wine,” I said, setting the box at my feet. “Naturally. And also this -”

I know what people like to drink. Call it a talent of mine. And I knew at parties he’d sip whiskey and try to sink into the shadows while his pretty wife teased and laughed. Expensive whisky, the kind with smoke and heat. But I also knew he hated the way it burned. That he craved sweetness, and when he drank, really drank, he wanted something that would black him out in only a few glasses.

Thus, the blue Curaçao and white rum I was gesturing to.

He was not impressed.

“Did you think I forgot about last time?” he asked.

“I’m not going to tie you to a donkey,” I said, spreading my arms wide. “Where would I even find one out here? The grizzly bears and your orneriness probably scared them all away.”

I looked up at him and grinned open-mouthed, licking the point of a canine that was just a bit too sharp and too long to be human. A reminder to him that we were not.

“Hephaistos,” I said. “I’m a god of insanity. I know you’re about to crack. Let’s go a little crazy the right way.”

A hint of freckled arm flickered in the light as he steadied himself. The one eye I could see narrowed.

Come on, smart boy. Take the bait.

He stepped back into the shadows. “Dionysos,” he said. “Follow me.”

Fun fact: I made a playlist for this WIP, too

[shellswritesstuff]

Prompt: what happened that night Ardyn stayed with the boys in the caravan.

THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE ASK! I'm gonna turn this one into a multi-part feel good comedy fic. Ignis just wants to cook. Ardyn has murder on his mind.. the dinner is the victim.

Roasted by the Roast [PART 1]

“We’re staying in a caravan, with Ardyn..” 

The implications of an overnight stay with that guy? Prompto couldn’t bear to imagine what it’ll be like.. What if he wears one of those old timey nightgowns? He shuddered, almost failing to notice the man of the hour come closer. And I mean, closer. 

“It’s a pleasure to share such..” A pause as Ardyn eyed the caravan. “..accommodations with His Highness.”

The awkward silence that followed was deafening. It was clear to the four, this was going to be quite the night. Thankfully, it was the caravan by Hammerhead. If anything was to go awry, Cid said he’d give the stranger a good lashing. Gladio caught Cindy up to speed with the whole, scarf-hobo situation, and she reached the same conclusion word for word. 

“That’s him? In the scarf…” She leaned forward, trying to get a better look from the garage. “..scarves?” 

Gladio let out a heavy sigh, he nodded. Even his questionable No-Shirt fashion was a tier above this. “Yep. It’s weird.” He further pushed back his own scarf phase. “Every time we hit a wall, he just happens to show up with a solution.” The word happens had extra emphasis, how did this guy know where to find them? 

Back across the street, the night was getting on as well as you’d expect it to. Dinner was to be served, and five plates were set. Ignis made a mental note to sit between Ardyn and whomever was unlucky enough to get the spot by him. 

“What’s on the menu, Specs?” Noctis came out of hiding. He’d found a cozy place far away from all the social awkwardness. He was going to seek an audience with Titan tomorrow, safe to say he was nervous. His voice shook, if you’ve known him as long as Ignis did, you’d be able to see Noct was a bit paler than usual. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, after all. With no way to see what tomorrow’s challenge will bring, the least Iggy could do was choose a dish without veggies. 

“Come here, Noct. I’ll let you pick the dish.” Neglecting his place as royal advisor for the night, he chose to prioritize being the King’s friend. Noctis practically flew down the caravan’s rickety steps, excited to choose the food this evening. 

This stranger couldn’t be all that bad, right? Sure, he came out of nowhere, led with creepy riddles.. Yeah. Just a night couldn’t be all that bad, right? One way or another, the King and his friends would find out. 

…

“What’s cooking, boys?” Cindy walked up to the caravan, taking a seat at one of its plastic chairs. She hummed, the smell of Iggy’s cooking was quite the pleasant one. 

Gladio came a few moments later after chatting up Cid. “Yessss..” He immediately recognized the ingredients set out.

Noct had picked a traditional Crown City roast. It’s a dish he’s had many times before, but not since he had departed home. Ignis had avoided making it, as not to stir up any past memories too early. He nodded as the King made his choice, knowing the comfort he may be seeking.

“Now how in the..” Ignis was on a mission to make the best roast there was, but an unstoppable force met an immovable object.  

The caravan’s kitchen was a world away from the industry standard set up he’s been spoiled with in Insomnia. Though, he’s made more with worse. If he can make dinner with nothing but a pan, a campfire, and three idiots.. Then this was going to be a cakewalk.

Ignis tied on his apron, ready to cook. He reached for the stove's dial and..

KLANG.

It hit the floor.

"Oh my.. looks like you'll be needing a sous chef." Just the man he wanted to see. "Lucky for you, I happen to be the best repair man this side of Eos. Now, how do you turn this thing on?" Ardyn inflated his experience, you know.. like a liar.

Ignis didn't get paid enough for this. [To be continued!]

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Detention - Part Two

Switch AU

A JSE Fanfic

Back at it again with the second part of Anti’s IRIS visit :) Not much to say about this. Still based off “Anomaly Found.” This is the part where most of the exciting things happen hdjkfaslhjkl. Anti is not handling this well—any of it. But hey, at least there’s a bit of an explanation before things all go downhill quickly. I mean what? Anyway, have fun ;)

More of This AU | | First Chapter | Previous Chapter

When the door finally opened again, Anti was about ready to lunge at the doorway and force his way past whoever walked in, finally escaping this maddeningly small room. Unfortunately his reflexes weren’t as sharp as they should have been, and he barely had time to stand up before the door closed again. The same man had walked into the room, the one with the white coat and clipboard. “Please sit down, Mr. McLoughlin,” he said.

“Oh hey, welcome back! Did you finally remember I was here?” Anti drawled. “Are you finally going to tell me why the fuck you’ve basically kidnapped me?”

The man didn’t answer, merely walked over to the table. He put something down on its surface, then bent over and picked up the camera on the tripod, righting it. And then he sat down in the same chair he had last time. “Please sit down, Mr. McLoughlin,” the man said. “That’s for you.” He gestured at the object on the table: a water bottle, made of opaque blue plastic.

“Are you guys trying to drug me or something?” Anti muttered. But he still sat down. He was really thirsty, too much so to deny a drink.

Just to be sure, he poured a little bit of the water bottle’s contents into his hand. The liquid inside was clear. He took a tentative sip—and was surprised to find it wasn’t water. It tasted somehow sugary and fruity, though he couldn’t quite place the flavor. But whatever. It probably had some sort of drink mix in it. Anti glared at the man, who merely watched him. Then he quickly started drinking, not stopping until the bottle was empty. He didn’t want to risk it being taken away again. Which, judging from his experience with these guys, they might do.

Once he’d finished, the man started talking again. “The date is February 19th, 2020, we are interviewing ‘Anti’ McLoughlin once again. Mr. McLoughlin has experienced elevated exposure levels since we last spoke. Levels in the room have also increased.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Anti blinked. “Exposure to what? Like radiation or something?” He glanced around the room, seeing nothing strange except for the cameras. “What the fuck are you guys doing?!”

“Mr. McLoughlin, there are powers in this world that would seek to harm individuals such as yourself that we are trying to protect you from,” the man said casually, barely pausing as he spoke, as if it was a line he’d practiced for hours.

“What. The fuck.” Anti laughed. “You think that locking me in a room for three days is protecting me? Is that really what you’re trying to do?”

“Believe me, Mr. McLoughlin. It is.” The man’s expression was serious. Grave. Then he looked down at the clipboard. “We’re going to carry out the Hopkins Assessment again.”

“Oh, because it worked so fucking well last time!”

“As before, please try to answer every question truthfully.” The man paused. “Do you prefer to be called ‘Anti’ McLoughlin?”

“No, I made that up,” Anti grumbled.

“Are you 32 years old?”

“I’m a really tall teenager, actually.”

“Are you taking the Dr. Hopkins Assessm—”

“What the fuck are you trying to accomplish?!” Anti demanded. “Why the fuck do you think that kidnappings and weird tests are more effective than explaining to me what’s going on?!”

The man was completely unfazed by Anti’s outbursts. In fact, he sighed a little, like a teacher dealing with a troublemaking student. “On a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest and ten being the highest, how would you describe your current mental state?”

“Negative thirteen,” Anti muttered. Which, though said with hostility, wasn’t entirely wrong. He was struggling to hold onto his thoughts and—

Something flashed.

Anti quickly looked up, eyes flicking to both the cameras. “What was that? Did... did you just take a picture of me?”

The man looked up at him. “Do you feel safe?”

Do you feel safe?!

“I... no,” Anti said slowly, too taken off guard to be sarcastic. Did the man ask the question twice?

“Are you enjoying your time here?”

“Uh. Y... no.” Anti shook his head. There was another flash, and a ringing sound. He flinched back. What was that?

“How does this image make you feel?” The man <doctor> asked.

Anti shook his head again, blinking and squinting. There was an image, wasn’t there? What was it? Was it familiar? “Very... confused,” he said haltingly.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the <man> doctor asked.

“No, I keep asking you that.”

“Are you comfortable

comfortable?”

What was that?

Was there an echo in the room?

“...No.” The light in the room was brighter. Anti flinched as another flash temporarily blinded him, then leaned backwards in case of more of them. Where were they coming from?

“Do you have any experience with ALTR 53815?” The doctor asked, his tone and expression unchanging despite the changing lighting.

“No,” Anti sighed, tired. “I keep telling you, I—no.”

“When was the first time you came into contact with ALTR 53815?” The doctor persisted.

“I haven’t!” Anti reiterated.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Wait…” Anti rubbed his eyes. They were starting to ache. “Didn’t you ask me that already?”

“Have you ever lost someone close to you?”

He opened his mouth to deny the question, but what came out instead was, “Yes.” He was surprised, and his confusion only heightened. Yet, somehow, the word felt right in his mouth.

“How many pictures have you been shown?”

“I don’t know, um...” Anti took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around himself. There were pictures, weren’t there? He’d seen them, didn’t he? What were they? Were they familiar? “Four?”

“How many sounds have you heard?”

Anti paused, looking down at the table. There were sounds, weren’t there? Did they come with the pictures? “Two.”

“Do you regret your decisions?”

He took a few more deep breaths. He couldn’t stay still, moving in a slow circling motion as he sat. “Yes.”

“Do you 

mean that?”

Anti looked up at the doctor. “What?”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?” he asked.

Flash.

Then a sound, like ringing in his ears, but coming from somewhere else. “No,” Anti said quietly. But then he kept talking. “I... yes.”

“Do you believe in life after death?”

A few more deep breaths. The ringing was getting louder. Coming closer. Anti leaned onto the table and put his head in his hands, collecting himself before straightening and giving his answer. “I don’t... know.”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

Flash. Bright. Right in his eyes, no matter where he looked. “Stop,” Anti said quietly.

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significaHnatvlye you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

“Stop.” The question was echoing in Anti’s head. When he looked up at the doctor, his face was wavering, as if it was underwater. He looked away again. Why did he feel like he was being watched? Was it the cameras? Or was it the faint images he could see, superimposed on top of his vision, becoming more vivid when he closed his eyes? “Please, stop it.”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

<Have you ever experienced a>      TERRIBLE    <occurrence that>    HAS IMPACTED <YOU  significantly?!>

“Stop asking me that,” Anti said weakly, hardly hearing his own voice through the echoes in his head, the images were clearer now, faces and hands and things he still couldn’t identify;

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

Have you ever experienced a      <impacted you>  experience  terrible occurrence    <terrible occurrence> ever    TERRIBLE     that has impacted

 impacted

you     <SIGNIFICANTLY?!>    significantly?

“Stop, stop, please, stop it.” Anti closed his eyes to try and get away from the things flashing in front of him, but that only made it worse, he could see people and things and he didn’t know what they were but he could see them and maybe he did know and he could see them;

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence—”

“Stop!” Anti screamed.

And all at once, the things he was seeing disappeared. The ringing sound remained, but fading, getting farther. He took a shaky breath. His throat felt raw, and his eyes were wet. Why did he feel exhausted? Why did he feel so drained? He looked down at his hands, then wrapped his arms around himself again.

“Subject’s exposure has increased to concerning levels.” The doctor was looking at his clipboard, not writing anything. “Suggest moving to second phase, pending board permission.”

Anti blinked, clearing his eyes, and raised his head to look at the doctor again. “What is this?” he asked quietly. “What did you do to me?”

The doctor stood up. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed his clipboard and the water bottle and walked towards the door.

“What did you do to me?” Anti pleaded quietly, tears choking his voice.

The doctor left the room, closing the door behind him.

Alone, Anti leaned onto the table and rested his head on his folded arms, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

The cameras continued to stare, red lights slowly blinking.

———————

Anti tried to go to sleep after that. He wasn’t sure what else to do. Though he hated how the cameras kept watching, he couldn’t find the energy to shout at them or try to knock them down. Whatever happened in that last “assessment” left him bone tired. So he just laid down on the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep wouldn’t come. But he couldn’t do much more.

Yet, after a while, he started to feel something was... different.

He opened his eyes and looked around. Was it just him, or was he being watched? By more than just the cameras. Could he hear a whisper?

oh?udCe l

Was that movement in the corner of his vision? When he lifted his head, he couldn’t see anything.

{ra hsesa tptihW ?aw}

“No. No no no.” Anti forced himself to sit up. “Not this again, please, just go away.”

{o?my t aY gwawoua ten o}

“...wait. No.” He pushed to his feet, staggering a bit. “This isn’t the same.” He looked around. “Hello?”

{ye.n aoCreH am? hyue}

“Yeah.” Anti nodded. “Yeah, I hear you.” It was strange hearing a voice all of a sudden. But he’d experienced stranger things. “Who are you?”

{eohmsplr.ulic  Yce ana W}

“I’m Anti.” Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to give his name to a disembodied voice. But this wasn’t the same as Distorter. He could just feel it. Though... what if that was a trick? He dismissed the thought immediately. If he assumed everything was a trick, he’d be consumed by paranoia. “Wait, where are you?” He looked around the room again. “How can I hear you? Magic?”

{ummteh itdo ee nB.aImc'M.hs  lc.chnaa pIuyyt et  uoe.v'a .cpdotib .l}

“Help how?” Anti paused, then gasped. “Wait, can you get me out of here?”

{t cn,N'Ia .o}

“Then why are you talking to me?” he asked, glancing around again. “Are you trapped here, too?”

{utn.eg's. eiogu  h y.enorestt tor.T}

“No no no, don’t say that,” he hurried to say. “No. If both of us work together, we can get out of here. I’m sure of it.” 

{sBy iui fterhtieg.usor nu tdo iowroi,D ttes at}

Anti took a step back, a chill running down his spine. “Wh-what do you mean? How do you know about that?”

{l... eW.l..I}

Wait. He had an idea. It was crazy, but maybe... “You’ve seen him too?”

{sYe.}

“What are we supposed to do about him?” Anti asked in a hushed voice.

{eft'i.wlM u  ' ualieylotrtg ai adnybf,unore .sptoAku e crIooa e  cny.}

He had to process that he really heard that. “Wait... wait, I don’t understand. What do you mean, ‘special’? I’m... I’m just a guy. He doesn’t even seem to like me.”

{ohIoevtg.na .  o ..w}

“No. No no no!” Anti cried. “No, please don’t go! I need to know!” He paused. But things were different again. He couldn’t hear the voice, or feel their presence. “Whisper?” he called quietly. “Are you there?”

There was no response. The room was just as empty as it had been before. He sat down heavily in his chair. “Oh, come on.” He put his head in his hands. “I can’t be alone here. Please.”

But despite his calls, he felt nothing but the gaze of the cameras.

———————

It couldn’t be that long before the door opened again. Certainly not as long as the two days after the first assessment. Maybe just one. Or not even that. Hard to tell.

Either way, the doctor walked in and sat down at his usual spot. Anti was already sitting in the other chair, though he considered the merits of getting up and walking over to the bed, ignoring this situation completely. 

The doctor sighed, and smiled. He didn’t have his clipboard with him this time. “Hello, Anti. How are you doing today?”

Anti just glared at him, deliberately not answering the question. There weren’t any mirrors here, but he knew he looked like a mess, and that should say everything.

The doctor clasped his hands together on the table. “We know you’ve been through a lot recently, Anti. But we’re really here to help. Please, allow us to lighten the mood a little?”

And then music started playing. Some gentle corporate jingle that would’ve fit right into place in an elevator. Anti started a bit, looking around. It must’ve been coming from the camera in the corner. They had speakers this whole time? And they didn’t talk to him?

“We’re not a bad company, Anti.” The doctor spoke, still smiling. It didn’t look quite right, a little forced. Trying too hard to be friendly. “We know you hate us and think we want to hurt you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. We want to stop the bad things from happening.”

Anti blinked slowly. “You’re doing a great job of that,” he mumbled.

“We would like to share some information with you about our company and why you’re here,” the doctor said. “If you would allow us.”

A pause. Anti just stared. God, this stupid music was getting on his nerves already. “Alright. Fine.” He leaned back in the chair. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for all this time. What took you so long? Tell me what’s happening.”

The doctor nodded, and started talking. Telling not an explanation, but a story. “A few years back there was an incident in a small town in the north of England. Something was discovered that had a considerable influence over the people who lived there.”

“What the fuck does this have to do with me?”

“Please, allow me to finish.” The doctor cleared his throat. “That item was a small stone sphere. It seemed harmless from the outside, but this item was affecting the lives of everyone in this town. They had no idea, of course, but many of the residents reported migraines that wouldn’t go away, numbness in their fingers and hands, and some started hearing voices. We’re not entirely sure what these voices were saying, but they had a clear impact on those hearing them. Many lost their minds or were completely unresponsive while others, sadly, took a darker path.”

Anti nodded slowly. If this was a real story, which he wasn’t entirely sure of, then this thing sounded like a magical object. “And...the point is?”

The doctor continued. “When IRIS found out what had been happening in that village, we sent out a team to negate the problem. The CNC identified the item and took it back here for containment.”

Anti laughed a little. “Alright, SCP Foundation. So?”

“So, you see, Anti, IRIS helped the people in that village,” the doctor emphasized. “We saved them. We find things like those and we protect people from them. We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to help.”

“Okay.” Anti was still pretty pissed off at these IRIS guys, but at least he understood now. “You think that something like... like these weird items... is affecting me.”

The doctor’s expression became very grave. “Unfortunately, we believe there is something far more... sinister interfering with your life.”

Well, no shit. But how did they know? “How much so?” he asked.

“What is affecting you is far more powerful than any of these items.”

“Oh, that’s really comforting to hear,” Anti laughs. “So you’re saying you knew about what was going on. You could have stopped this. But you just watched.” His voice rose. “You just watched as this happened!”

“We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this, Anti,” the doctor said gently. “We know what you’ve been through.”

“No, you don’t know shit about what I’ve been through!” Anti shouted.

“You’ve been seeing things, correct?” The doctor’s voice was forceful, and he leaned over the table, getting closer to Anti. “Hearing voices? Having thoughts that weren’t right? Maybe they started after entering a strange, impossible house?” He paused. “Have you seen a man along with these visions?”

Anti just stared. He couldn’t feel his heart beating. “How do you know about that?” he asked quietly.

“That, Anti,” the doctor stated, “is ALTR 53815. We recently discovered its existence.”

The room was silent. And yet, in the silence, Anti could’ve sworn he heard someone laughing right over his shoulder. “I…” he breathed. “I don’t... know what you’re…” He trailed off. The doctor’s dark eyes were locked intensely onto his. He could feel the camera’s mechanical eyes focused on him as well. “It’s... if... if you were right... would you know what to do? Would you know about the... the terrible things that he does?” His voice dropped low and quiet, and his head tilted down to stare at the table. “Would you know... if I’d done anything?”

The doctor’s gaze lessened. For once, he looked truly sympathetic. “We know what you’ve been through, Anti.” His tone was quiet, steady. “That it’s hurt you. That it hurt the people you know. That you used to be a father.”

“...wait.” Anti raised his head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What do you mean ‘used to be’?” Anti repeated. He could feel his heartbeat again, pounding in his ears and throat.

The doctor paused. “Records show that your son, William McLoughlin, has been missing since early November.”

“Yeah, he was. But—but we got him back.” Anti’s voice began to rise in volume again. “We—we got him back, a-along with my—his friend.”

“Your goddaughter, Michelle Parker-Diaz, was returned, but there are no records for—”

“No no no, you—you have to be wrong!” Anti gripped the edge of the table. “I got him back! I-I’ve been talking with him every day since—since I—he was only gone two weeks. He was only gone two weeks!”

“I’m... sorry to hear that,” the doctor said slowly. “But I can reassure you, there are no records for his return.”

“What do you mean?! There should be! W-we talked with some detectives, they were—I-I remember one of them, Kikelomo. She was—she’s not been the nicest to a friend of mine, but she wouldn’t lie about that, a-and I don’t think the other one would, either! Here, Will is home right now, h-he’s got to be. Or he’s with one of my friends. I-I can give you my address, you can go see—”

“We already have your address,” the doctor said.

Anti’s mind was too consumed with panic about Will to be worried about that. “Then go look! He’ll be there! Or he’ll be with one of them, he will, I-I know he will, he—he can’t not be there!”

The doctor stood up. “We can send people to go check. Don’t worry.”

“H-how can I not worry?! You just—I was just told—Will, he—” Anti couldn’t even stammer out a response. His heart was slamming against his chest, faster and faster. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t worry,” the doctor said, a bit awkwardly. “We’ll tell you if we find anything unusual.” And then he turned and walked away. Anti stared at him in disbelief. The possibility of escape didn’t even cross his mind. It was too full with fear.

What happened to his son?

What had Distorter done to Will?

What had Distorter done to him?

———————

Anti couldn’t settle down. He could barely think beyond the overwhelming emotions filling his heart and veins. Terror so intense he could taste it. Worry that sat in his chest like a metal ball. Anger which blurred his vision with heat. Then, in a split second, he’d go back to terror. In five more, he’d have cycled through all feelings at once.

He wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings. The room had disappeared—he’d been untethered from it. Once he looked down at his arms, uncovered by his jacket that sat limply on the floor, and saw red marks, scratches from his own nails. But he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything other than the storm in his head. On some level, he knew that this was a spiral. That he’d keep going downwards without any way to anchor himself in the increasing waves. But he couldn’t do anything against it. Though the doctor had left the rubber ball in his cell—that’s what it was, not just a room—its bouncing could no longer force him to concentrate on reality.

After a period of time he couldn’t identify—maybe just ten minutes, maybe several hours—he did what he’d resisted doing during that long period of isolation. He slammed his head into the metal bed frame.

The sound it made was somewhere between a hollow ringing and a thud. It echoed in his skull as he immediately staggered backwards, vision blurring, and fell against the wall but luckily not all the way to the floor. The whirling storm of thought finally stopped, overtaken by the sheer pain of the impact. Anti took deep breaths. And he pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to reduce the pain that just kept getting worse. There would be a bruise there. But he couldn’t feel any blood.

It was a solid minute before he thought about anything other than how much his head hurt. But, slowly, he became more aware of the room, anchored once again without the overwhelming storm. Finally, a thought crossed his mind: that wasn’t a mentally healthy thing to do.

And Anti had to laugh. Because of course it wasn’t! This isolation, this confusion, this fear that IRIS was putting him through was torture. Of course he wasn’t reacting well to it. Of course it was causing a relapse. For all Distorter had put him through, he hadn’t driven him to this point. He didn’t care if IRIS wanted to help or not—he would always hate them for this.

Then the door opened.

The doctor didn’t actually step into the cell this time, just stood in the doorway. “I’m very sorry, Mr. McLoughlin, we need to take you somewhere more secure.”

Anti stared at him. The doctor wasn’t alone. There were two black-clad others with him, wearing facemasks that covered the lower halves of their faces. He’d seen their type before. Security guards for this facility. “What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing, Mr. McLoughlin, it’s merely a precaution,” the doctor said calmly. Too calmly.

Something was wrong. Not only was the doctor acting off, not only had he brought two guards, but Anti could now hear a faint, distant scream of an alarm. “You’re not telling me something,” he said slowly. “What happened?”

“We do this a lot, Mr. McLoughlin, we move people around to free up space.” The doctor smiled, lips closed. “You don’t want to be stuck in this tiny room forever, do you?”

Anti’s shoulders raised. That sounded like a threat if he’d ever heard one. “I’m not buying what you’re selling,” he growled. “I know something happened.”

“If you would just follow us, we would happily explain everything.” The doctor glanced at the black-clad guards and made a gesture. The two of them walked into the room and made straight for Anti.

“No!” Anti glanced to either side, then darted left, trying to make a run for it. But he was still weak and lacking energy, and the guards easily caught up. They grabbed him, each holding one of his arms in a death grip. “Let go!” Anti struggled fruitlessly. “You bastards! What happened?! What are you going to do with me?!”

“We’re moving you to a different location,” the doctor said calmly, stepping back out into the hallway. “If you cooperate, things will be easier.”

“You don’t deserve my cooperation! Hey!” The guards began walking back to the doorway, pulling him along with them. “Motherfuckers! Let me go!”

And then they were out into the hallways. Anti kept cursing at the guards and pulling against their grip, but while he did that, he looked around. He hadn’t seen anything outside that room in days. It was surprising how normal it all looked out here. Like hallways in a regular administration building for any business. Apart from, of course, the distant ringing alarm.

They walked down a couple hallways, turning a couple corners, the doctor in the lead with Anti—still fighting—and the guards behind him. Until finally, they came to a long stretch that ended in a pair of double doors. There were windows in the doors, glass squares in the upper half of the wood. Beyond them, the light was red.

“...wait.” Anti stopped struggling for a moment, processing what he was seeing. The glass in the windows was whole, yet the image through them looked somehow shattered, as if he was looking through broken glass. A fractal of the same image.

“What is it, Mr. McLoughlin?” the doctor asked.

“This... this isn’t right.” Anti looked over his shoulder. The hallway behind them was still normal. “We have to turn back.”

“It’s perfectly fine, Mr. McLoughlin,” the doctor said, sounding a bit annoyed.

“No! No, I’ve—I’ve seen this before.”

“That’s impossible, Anti.”

“You don’t fucking get it!” Anti snapped. “I’ve—I think I’ve been somewhere like this before. No, I-I have been here before.” He didn’t know how, but he remembered this place. And more importantly, he remembered the fear attached to it.

The doctor didn’t say anything, just looked at the two guards. They started walking forward again.

“No!” Anti’s struggles intensified. “Please! Let me go! Let me fucking go!” He managed to tear one arm free, and then the other. The moment he could move he broke out into a sprint down the hallway. He had to get out of here! He didn’t know why, but he had to get out!

But the guards were still much faster than him. He only had a few seconds of freedom before they grabbed him again, yanking him back by the shirt and pulling him back to the doors and their broken red light.

“Calm down, Mr. McLoughlin.” The doctor’s voice was calm, controlled. But beneath it, he thought he heard laughter. “Come along.”

“Shut the fuck up! We have to leave! No!” Anti did everything he could. He wriggled, he pulled, he tried to kick the guards’ legs, but nothing was working. They slowly dragged him backwards. “No, please! No!” The doctor was still talking, but he didn’t hear a word of it. “Let me go, please!”

The red glow was hot on the back of his neck. He put all his desperate energy into his struggles, but he couldn’t break the guards’ grip. “No! No!” he screamed. One of them reached out, and opened the do—

———————

There was an alarm going off in the distance.

Anti opened his eyes—when did he close them?—and found he was sitting on the floor, slumped against a wall at the end of a corridor. Red emergency lights shone down overhead. He slowly sat up straight and looked down the hall. People were lying on the floor.

No, not people. Bodies. There was blood pooling around their still forms. Most of them were black-clad guards, but he caught glimpses of white coat wearers lying in open doorways. He couldn’t see the doctor who had talked with him all this time. That wasn’t much of a reassurance, though. Those open doors doubtlessly led to rooms that could be hiding more bodies from view.

He felt a cold chill encompass his heart. What happened here? Why couldn’t he remember anything after opening those doors?

Movement. Anti’s eyes darted to the very end of the hall. Another guard stumbled into view, and then collapsed, going as still as one of the bodies. And behind him, Anti could still see something moving.

A man stepped into view.

He was walking, but something was off about it. A leg was bending the wrong way, an ankle was twisting too far. The arms dangled lifelessly, disconnected, and the head was tilted to the shoulder with the face turned upward. Blood poured from the side of the head, as well as the black pools that served as the eyes. White teeth were bared in a too-wide empty smile.

Anti pushed back against the wall. His eyes darted around, looking for some way out. He couldn’t see one. This was a dead-end corridor. 

The man walked closer. He should have only managed a shuffle with his limbs and body like that, but he was completely unhindered. His pace was slow and deliberate, like a tiger stalking its prey. Anti watched as the head twitched, then snapped upright. The arms and legs shifted into place, and he shuddered as the movement was accompanied by the popping of joints. He pressed further back against the wall. It wouldn’t help. He knew that. But there was no way out of the corridor without going around... him.

And then he stopped. The man stared down at Anti, who stared back up, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. The alarm was still blaring.

Distorter smiled wider, opened his mouth, and spoke.

“Hello Ao͢dh̶án͞.”