#why can’t people be blobs?

[azmaarts]

WARNING: Do NOT read my tags if you’re worried about 3.1 spoilers.

Drew HSR Achilles and Patroclus. :P

Someone pls tell me how to pose Phainon’s foot. I kid you not, I spent at least 3 hours on that foot and it still doesn’t look right. TAT (Mydei’s back too.)

Edit (3/30): To the person who tagged #op this is gorgeous, YOU’RE gorgeous.

Also, I’m glad I could contribute to the list of fanart that are persuading you to join the ship. We’re a happy and healthy community thriving off the waves of copium. Come join. :D

[empyrangel]

ngl me and the groupchat are having a fantastic time laughing at you. the way you go off at every little insignificant thing. the way your responses make no fucking sense and are so incredibly juvenile it sounds like im listening to a bratty ten year old attempt to annoy me. im literally crying with laughter holy shit why are you so easy to set off. keep posting ur stupid little rants its the best entertainment ive had in ages

What’s wrong? Too scared to show your face on the silly little blog app? You’d never have the guts to say any of that without your mask. You can laugh yourself all the way to hell, sweetheart, but you’ll never be anything more than a coward. You can say whatever you want about me behind your comfy little veil of anonymity, but at least I’m able to say what I say with my whole chest. I’ll laugh at you back, little coward, your scared little remarks make my day. Keep giving me attention, I love it when people like you can’t stop obsessing over me. And give your groupies a kiss for me, mmkay?

[lass-us-slay]

So I read a prompt about how Wonder Woman found Danny in a trash can (don’t remember which one) and I was bored.

So I took that lil info and made it into an AU.

So basically, Danny get yeeted into this unknown universe and has no where to live. And no where to live means no money. No money means no food. No food means Danny can’t keep his human half sustained.

So what does he do?

Decides to not change into a human and live in a trash can.

Yes you heard that right, live in a trash can.

Because he’s a ghost, he doesn’t have to worry about the germs and stuff. But that doesn’t mean he lives in just any trash can! He lives in a clean one ☝️

AND he also decorated it with his name so other people know it’s his!

And so Danny has been here for a while now and realizes

Holy shit there’s hero’s here- you know what, why doesn’t he have hero’s back home?!

And being minorly annoyed jealous (but he’s never admitting that)he thought:

Well since there’s hero’s here already, guess I’m not needed.

.

.

.

Good. I’m tired af

And so Danny caries on his life, being content with his trash can and scaring whoever comes into his alley. It’s fun. Sure he sometimes needs to ugh overshadow people to feed his human side, but other than that.

It’s going great.

But Danny doesn’t realize that with Amity gone (or smth, you choose) which was his haunt, he slowly makes the trash can into his new haunt.

And slowly but surely, Danny’s beloved haunt trash can starts to become other worldly kinda.

Yk because of the ectoplasm.

So now Danny’s lovely trash can haunt has more space inside and- Hey Danny can actually sleep in it better!! And he got some company too!

In the form of blob ghosts.

Two actually.

They keep his trash can clean and help purifying some corrupted ectoplasm that he finds. Because for some reason this universe’s ectoplasm seems half way artificial and tastes a bit weird. Which is where the blob ghosts help out in.

Everything was great.

Danny was loving the trash can life style.

He has two blob ghosts friends. Which he named Sam and Tucker, and yea they couldn’t talk but that was fine.

He wasn’t lonely, he wasn’t. He had two very much talking friends like Sam and Tucker.

However one day two weirdly dressed people- oh they were hero’s.

Well anyway they found him, one woman stripper and one furry guy.

But it was on accident! He was just peaking out of his beloved haunt trash can, and they spotted him.

He stared, they stared back.

Then the woman stripper asked him questions, even when he said:

“Don’t mind me, have a nice day!”

But they just kept bother him and giving him weird looks and glances.

Which- rude.

Didn’t they see his mark on his haunt trash can? Obviously it means it’s his home, so they shouldn’t be bothering him still. He’s safe as can be.

Plus.

It’s not like he’s looking at them in suspicion and weirdness, I mean look at them! What kinda cheep knock off vampire fury mix and American stripper style clothing are those!

They should mind their own business!

———

Just a silly lil drawing of this lmao, don’t mind me.

[sturnsblogs]

YOU’RE PREGNANT!?

Teacher!Matt X Milf!Reader

—

You had the ultrasound photos propped up on the kitchen counter like they were pieces of art—because honestly? They kind of were. Two tiny little blobs that had turned your world upside down in the best way possible.

Eliana had been told not to say anything, but she kept bouncing around the living room with the kind of energy that gave her away immediately. She was chewing on her bottom lip just trying to contain herself.

“They’re gonna freak out,” Matt said, peeking out the window as he saw Chris and Nick pull up in the driveway. He looked back at you with a grin, his hand sliding across your bump—even though it was still barely there. “You ready?”

“No,” you laughed, smoothing down your shirt. “Yes. Mostly.”

Eliana was already at the door the second the bell rang, flinging it open like she owned the place. “HI UNCLE CHRISSY! HI UNCLE NICKY!”

Chris scooped her up and spun her dramatically. “There’s my girl! You been good for mommy and daddy?”

She giggled but immediately looked at you, and you shot her a warning look like, don’t say anything yet. She clamped her mouth shut like it physically hurt.

Nick wandered in behind them, already sniffing. “It smells like cookies in here. Wait. Are you guys buttering us up for something? Did Matt get arrested?”

Matt gave him a flat look. “No, idiot. Come sit down.”

You brought over a tray with cookies, and nestled between them were two tiny photo envelopes. Chris eyed them. “What is this? A gift? Is it weed?”

Nick picked up one, opened it—and froze.

It was the ultrasound photo. The top one, the one that might show a second sac. Right below it was a little sticky note Matt had written:

“Coming soon… Baby Sturniolo (maybe Baby Sturniolo-s?)”

Nick’s eyes went huge. “Shut. UP.”

Chris looked between you and Matt, then yanked the second envelope open. He saw the little peanut-shaped blob on the paper and let out the loudest yell known to man.

“YOU’RE PREGNANT?!?”

Eliana screamed too, just because he screamed. “YES!!! MOMMY HAS A BABY IN HER BELLY!!”

Nick just stared at you, then at Matt, jaw fully dropped. “Oh my god… are you serious? You’re gonna be a dad? Again?”

Matt was already grinning like a fool, arm wrapped around your shoulder. “Yeah. We are.”

Chris’s eyes were watering and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. “Dude. This is—like, real? A baby?! Maybe two??”

“Don’t jinx us,” you laughed, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

Nick held up the photo like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen. “Bro. You’re literally having kids. You’re gonna be so annoying about this.”

“You say that like you’re not gonna spoil the hell out of them,” Matt shot back.

Chris leaned over, gently ruffling Eliana’s hair. “So you’re gonna be a big sister, huh?”

She nodded so hard. “I TOLD HER NOT TO FORGET HER VITAMINS EVERY DAY.”

You and Matt burst out laughing while Chris wiped his eyes dramatically. “I can’t believe my brother’s gonna be a dad again. God, I’m gonna cry.”

Nick smirked, looking between you both. “Next family dinner’s gonna be wild.”

And just like that, your little living room was filled with laughter, warmth, and the kind of joy that only happens when the people you love most in the world are right there beside you for the ride.

—

A/N- The reason why they say “again” is because matt has made it clear that eliana is considered his daughter.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset-deactivate @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemfemme @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03

[monster-mash-m]

Parasite hybrid.

Cw: Nsfw mdni, yandere themes, murder, madturbation, body control, immortality?

Hear me out-

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

He’s one of the more… sapient parasites. Most parasites glint to their hosts, take over their bodies mindlessly to survive and then kill the host once done with their body.

Not him though, not Or-1-on or as you’ve grown accustomed to call him, Orion. His species of parasite is rare. Yet here he was. With you.

Unlike his parasitic families, Orion didn’t take over his host’s body, in a sense. Sure he could control your body if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He just often sat in the back of your mind. He liked your company and surprisingly… he liked yours. He was rather funny, although you’re pretty sure he’s just adapted his personality from you.

And at the moment you’re at your dead end job. One of your coworkers is being rude. Orion doesn’t like that of course, no one talks to his host like that.

‘Kill them’

You reply in your mind ‘no they don’t deserve death… maybe just a bad hair day though’. You resist the urge to giggle

‘They barged past you.’ He said ‘They deserve everyday to be a bad hair day…’

That was just one instance of Orion being overprotective. He always wanted what he believed was in your best interest.

‘Buy it. You like these.’ He hums out, his melodic voice echoing in your mind “Orion- I’m not buying anymore books, I’m just window shopping.” You reply outloud, when you’re home alone there’s no reason why you have to use your mind to respond. ‘But you like them.’ He protests, taking control of your arm on the mouse of your laptop, clicking the mouse, buying the book you’ve been looking at for far too long.

Orion is sweet, he really is. … he just has a hard time when people treat you poorly. He just couldn’t stand the fact that someone insulted you the other day, it’s been eating away at him. Of course he leaves your head at night, while you’re asleep. Asking one of his more… deadly parasite brothers to get in that person’s head. You notice them become more sickly as the weeks go on. Orion acting the part of a clueless friend.

Orion was unfortunately not much of a physical presence. His true body akin to a featureless clump or blob, almost like slime. Oh how he longed to hold you like a lover would. To run his hands over your soft curves like a lover would… to pleasure you like a lover would…

And oh there goes one of your hands as he lazily takes control of one of your arms. His control making your hand slip under your underwear, making you touch yourself for him. He could feel your pleasure, he liked that. He liked when you gasped for him, he liked how he could make you squirm without even touching you. He’d control small parts of your brain to make the pleasure seem oh so much more intense. Isn’t he just the sweetest.

‘Look at all that cum… you’re the first human host I’ve had you know… I’m glad it was you…’

He coos in your mind so adoringly, almost as if he was inlove, can parasites love?

‘I want to be with you… forever…’

All you could do is just gasp and let out your pretty moans for him as he controls your orgasms. Needless to say he never leaves you unsatisfied.

He will never let you go. Even when you start to age, he won’t allow that. Oh no no. He’s a parasite, he can’t live without his host. He will keep your body up and running, maybe even trying to find a way to make sure your soul can never leave him…

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Idk why but I love this concept!

[livingund3ad]

neglected! reader concept ramble

so I've been thinking about Hallucination!Drowned reader (calling her drowned reader ig instead of Jane doe since we kinda alr know what happened, and she's kinda like hallucination!Jason but ig worse) and she’s just this silent, unblinking blob of shadow shaped like a girl with one single unblinking eye that stares at the batfam boys when they’re bleeding out or dying or otherwise on the brink. like. she doesn’t say a word. doesn’t reach out. just stands there. watching. always from the reflection of water, or something else like a puddle or blood

it’s post-for the last time so this is after she drowns herself and the version that haunts them isn’t even her 18-year-old self. it’s like. 11-year-old her. tween-you. that awkward age where shit started going sideways but nobody really noticed. before they knew you. before they loved you. before they failed you.

and THAT’S the version that shows up in the reflection of a puddle or the surface of a lake or blood pooling near a drain. just. staring. no emotion. no expression. just one eye and the crushing weight of “why did you forget me.”

she doesn’t crawl out. she doesn’t drag them down. she doesn’t even blink. she’s just there. standing still and politely.

like. it’s not even vengeful. it’s worse. it’s quiet. it’s disappointed. almost accusing.

the reason it’s her younger form is bc that’s when the cracks started. when she still thought people would notice. would care. would come for her. and now that part of her is frozen in time. staring back at them like a mirror made of guilt.

and they try to look away but you can’t really unsee a part of someone you killed by doing nothing.

[raineandsky]

#141

The house is quiet, the halls dark. The faint scent of lavender wafts through the air.

This doesn’t feel right. Has the villain broken into the wrong house? That’d be embarrassing. They continue padding down the hallway, their blade a small comfort in their hand. Perhaps this is the wrong house, sure, but the villain’s on edge like they’re walking through a lion’s den.

They push a door open, their body instinctively angled away, but there’s no need. They’re in the right house, and the person they’re looking for isn’t even close to attacking them.

“Where the hell have you been?” the villain snaps.

For a moment the hero ignores them. A paintbrush drifts back and forth in his hand, his brow knitted in concentration. He leans back to study his work, his head tilted slightly, and says, “I’ve been here the whole time.”

The villain can see that. The painting in front of the hero can’t have taken anything less than a week. They glance about for a moment—the walls are covered in art, all in various states of completion. “Well, when are you coming back out? You’re kinda needed.”

The hero moves closer to his painting, the brush dipped lazily into a colourful blob of paint before taking to the canvas. “I’m not.”

The villain barks a laugh, and that seems to finally get the hero’s attention. He turns his stool around to give his nemesis a blank glare.

The villain has to clear their throat. “You’re not coming back. Ever.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

The hero sighs. Paint spatters the front of his shirt like fireworks, his hands brown and green and blue and white. He seems more tired, more drawn—his shoulders sag, his eyes droop, his posture slouching. He looks every bit as done as he says he is.

“Because being a hero is hard work,” he says flatly, “and I have decided that I’m done with hard work.”

“You—” The villain barely knows where to start. “You can’t just quit. People in the city need you.”

The hero chuckles, turning back to his painting. “You sound like [Superhero].”

“Yeah, well, it’s true. Being a hero doesn’t mean you just get to leave when people need you! You can’t— you—”

“Are you my arch-nemesis?”

That gives the villain pause. “Huh?”

“You’re talking a lot about how much people need me for someone I thought would be happy that I’m out of the way.”

“I’m insulted you’d imply that I’m anything less than your arch-nemesis,” the villain snaps, “but it’s not that, [Hero]. I need you to go back out there.”

The paintbrush pauses halfway to the canvas. “You don’t.”

“No one does it like you do.”

“There’s good heroes. You’ll find them.”

“None of them are you, [Hero].”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“By the agency’s standards, I’m dead.”

The villain’s next retort dies on their tongue. “What?”

The paintbrush continues on its journey across mountains ridged with paint. “The agency thinks I’m dead. I was starting to think they might’ve sent you to tell me they figured me out.”

“I could tell the agency you’re still here.” The villain shrugs nonchalantly, even though the hero isn’t looking in their direction. “If you wanted.”

The hero huffs a laugh. “That would involve going to the agency, and you’re not going to do that.”

The villain groans, throwing their hands up in defeat. “Why can’t you just undie and come back out?”

“Like I said,” the hero says with an age-old sigh, “I’m done with hard work. I never liked being a hero anyway.”

“But…”

“No buts, [Villain].” The hero’s eyes are glued to his painting, clearly more interesting than his nemesis at his back. “I’m done. Find a more willing hero to bother.”

“Fine.” The villain throws the door against the wall a bit harder than is necessary. “I’m going—but this isn’t the last you’ll see of me.”

“What?” the hero snaps, but the villain’s already drifted down the hall and back out into the night.

-

The superhero carefully settles into the seat opposite the villain. “It’s not often we see villains just… roaming into the agency.”

“Aren’t many reasons to, usually.”

A notepad flips open in his hand. Good—he’ll want that. “So what’s the special occasion?”

The villain clicks their tongue, a smile threatening to break on their face. “I have some big news for you.”

[huskyliker]

Hey so. This is disgusting.

That Glamrock Freddy drawing so so obviously ai. What’s even the point of that? There’s no ai in the video, and Roxanne is drawn by an actual person. Why didn’t they just draw Glamrock Freddy too???

Well I guess for clickbait 😒 which is so disappointing to see. You people have an entire server of artists but you choose to put ai art in thumbnails.

Incase for some reason you can’t tell it’s ai I’ll point some things out

-His head is connected to the hat

-his hand is just a blob

-The joint connecting his ear makes no sense and looks like another piercing

-the black rope on his neck isn’t connected to anything

-The lighting bolt isn’t fully colored in and is just a wonky shape

-his muscles don’t make any sense

-his pants just stop when it gets to that one belt loop and it’s a different color on the other side

-the shading on the belt buckle is uncanny and doesn’t match the rest of the drawing

Ai art is killing the art industry, and I do not support the use of it. Especially when you already have an artist working on the thumbnail. That’s just lazy, and they’re using it just for views.

[hana-bobo-finch]

damnnn I hate it when tumblr doesn’t show me posts from my mutuals and I have to scour through their blogs to see what I missed. How barbaric. Especially hate it when I can tell my own posts aren’t being shown. Listen when I post I want EVERYONE to see it. Like look at this

It’s zasp as a larva 🥰🥰🥰ignore the fact that he is Actively Being Eaten

[ozzgin]

I can't get your yakuza headcanons out of my mind, Daitou's got me in a chokehold and I'm not complaining, like--

in regards to that doodle you made to show height difference between reader and the boys [I love your art btw (●♡∀♡)] - I can't picture myself in reader's style, I'm currently going through my goth phase in my 20s lmao; picture a big bitch with tattoos and messy hair who's listening to nothing but 2000s hits and screamo bands - so I'd like to request a headcanon of how Daitou would react to a gender-neutral reader like this :D I also like to incorporate the idea of them once being in a famous band that he's a fan of! (sorry if this seems like a lot, I have a huge imagination hehe)

but if he's more into the cute and helpless type, I'll just walk my ass out the door and yeehaw my way into another yandere's arms ✌😔

That's on me for not drawing the reader inserts as cartoonish cinder blocks :') In truth I'm a little bit embarrassed seeing how many likes that doodle has gotten, it was something I put together in a hurry and the clothing was meant to be baggy, shapeless, with not too many folds for the sake of simplicity. I myself am more of a pilgrim goth, just to emphasize the randomness of the choice.

Drawing reader inserts always leaves me a little anxious. If I use a light shade of gray, will people think I'm excluding poc? Will plus sized readers feel like they've been disregarded? What about masculine readers? As someone who's demiromantic I always struggle taking appearance or gender into consideration, because to me it has no influence whatsoever. Which is hard to express when you want to offer blank slate visuals as an extra to the story.

What I'm trying to say is that all of my characters would like you for who you are. Sure, they find your looks cute, but it's not the defining reason. Maybe you have similar traits to them, maybe you're the complete opposite and they find it intriguing. You could be a buff man and Daitou would be just as grateful to have someone who isn't afraid of him. I usually stick to a female reader for bigger stories to avoid messing it up long term, but in the grand scheme of things it makes no difference. I always imagine reader to be a shapeless blob that provides the dialogue I need for the story mood. There's no concrete preference or type for any of my OCs. I mean, ideally you'd like them back and not hang them upside down above a BBQ pit but I feel these are sensible requirements (?).

And now for the actual headcanons since my ramble is over.

First encounter is comically awkward but for reasons you’re unaware of yet. You’re obviously used to people staring at you (more so in a country like Japan), so you were expecting the curious glance every now and then. On the other hand, being under scrutiny, from a man even more unusual looking than you at that, is odd. Mildly uncomfortable. You’re shifting yourself from one leg to another, hoping to be done with the introductions soon.

On his end, Daitou is anxiously fidgeting and trying his best to focus. He’s seen this face before and he can’t shake off the familiar feeling. Where the hell…He obviously can’t downright gawk at you, and he isn’t sure how to politely formulate a question. After several sheepish peeks, it finally dawns on him: weren’t you part of that band he really likes? No, what would the chances be? Then again, how many people out there would look exactly like you? Is it rude to ask? He has no idea. He resumes his mumbled description of the apartment and hands you the papers to be signed.

Back at his place, he finally digs through his merch and sprawls out the available clues. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of music”, Kazuya comments as he looks over the man’s shoulder. He’d come over to ask about the new tenant. “I’m pretty sure it’s them.” He concludes, confidently placing his index over a CD cover. “Huh? Who? The tenant?” Kazuya holds back his chuckle. “Why would a celebrity show up for a shady apartment offer? You’re tripping, man.”

“I’m sorry, this is getting ridiculous.” You finally exclaim, annoyed by the persistent stares of the now two men facing you. You’re standing in front of the apartment building, arms crossed, huffing at the tall scarred man and his blonde friend. “No, I’m sure of it. Even the tattoo is the same.” Daitou turns to whisper to Kazuya, oblivious to your complaints. In turn, Kazuya lightly elbows him, mouthing something about being rude. “Just ask them, man.” He adds, this time louder. “Ask me what??” You groan. “W-were you…um…in this band by any chance?” Daitou manages to blurt out, searching his pocket for the CD case and ceremoniously laying it under your eyes.

Ah. It finally clicks and you exhale, relieved. You confirm their suspicions and show them some backstage photos to solidify your claim. You ask Daitou if he wants an autograph or something, then swiftly scribble your signature on a piece of paper and hand it out to him. He holds it with a wide, childish grin. “You’re a weird one, you know? You could’ve just asked. I guess I didn’t expect to find a fan in the wild, especially here.” Daitou carefully folds the souvenir, eyes lidded with nostalgia. “Oh yes, it’s great. Drowns out the screams.”

[cuprohastes]

Ludicrous speed.

Let me tell you about humans. They’re shit. No exoskeleton, they need to pour water into their face all the time, no plumage, they can’t even sense magnetism.

They’re wobbly squishy things who walk around looking at the world with jelly blobs, leaking their most important resource out of their skin.

And you hear that they’re the Galaxy’s most dangerous species.

And they’re not, they really aren’t.

The Ixnar are. The Ixnar will get halfway through a genocide before they start to wonder why they’re doing it. The Ixnar will fire relativistic weapons and not give a solitary nnuniq what they’ll hit later on down the line.

Humans? They start by coming up with a reason to be terrifying, and then they refine it as they go. See? They give you fair warning. They think about stuff. They’ll talk to you first, then do something horrifying.

But if you don’t give them that chance, then… well, that’s on you.

And I never believed that reputation. I’d worked with humans for years, and I’ve never seen them do anything more than carry stuff, sing songs, eat barbaric food and sleep. About what you’d expect from a pack animal - Useful, affable, but…. dangerous?

It is to laugh.

Anyway.

The Ixnar.

They sent a raiding party to my homeworld. I couldn’t believe it, I was in shock when their ships entered atmosphere and started firing on our cities.

I was ready to go down and help the survivors - Of course I was!

The Humans?

Well they got angry. Like angrier than they had a right to be. And they’re humans, right? They get angry, they do something with it.

They didn’t want to go down and help the survivors, they wanted to go down and murder the raiders.

You know… they actually hailed the Ixnar and asked them, begged them, even tried to trade with them to stop their attack.

The Ixnar hung up and… the Humans dropped hell on them.

In a cargo freighter. A human cargo freighter.

They love their aerobraking. So they have these huge shields and magnetic fields to manage plasma: They come in, and they trade speed for heat and then coast and shed the heat.

Not this time. I thought we were going to die - They pointed the ship at the planet, and they came down so hard I could hear the air through the hull.

We didn’t even need cabin lights.

And then… they lit the main drives. A thing no sentient would ever do in atmosphere. Because it’s suicide. Absolutely: We were already moving at fifty times faster than the speed of sound, and then they decided they needed to be faster.

And they got it. Because they were angry on behalf of people they never met. They just decided that physics didn’t matter. The hull wasn’t important. Fuel? Engines? Ha! Who cares, right? They’ll just get out and flap their arms if they need to, with a kitchen knife between their teeth.

You know what happens if a fighter skiff gets hit with a shockwave like that? They go away. They stop being anything you could call a thing.

And you know, Humans don’t send out Cargo ships without protection. I mean, their hulls alone are insane. But they also like to carry a little punitive hardware.

About as much as most species warships.

Beam weapons, ballistic slugs, missiles, Field spinners, and those fucking Polaron cannons.

Yeah, nobody has worked out how that works. They’re Polarons. And the humans figured out how to make them hurt.

And they were firing on these little warships from inside a cloud of plasma. And really that shouldn’t work at all, And they just did it anyway. It was terrifying, and I was on the inside, looking out and I was scared.

Then the humans aimed the nose at the mothership. The captain said… And I won’t stop hearing those words ever: “If the Polaron cannons won’t do it, let’s see if ramming speed will do the trick.”

And the crew cheered. They cheered!

I can only imagine the Ixnar command looking down and seeing a hole ripped in the atmosphere, seeing their skiffs flash into non existence and then a boiling finger of cloud just reaching up to point at them.

Did they even remember the human cargo ship that reached out to them? Did they even recognise the glowing white-hot dot of pure fury coming for them?

And when the Polaron cannon lit up, did they even recognise what was happening before their bridge melted?

I hope so. I hope that for a moment they realised they’d fucked up so badly that they got everyone killed and the humans were Big Mad at them.

Me? I was trying not to scream. I was pretty sure that I was going to die, but also? Die like a human. You really understand what blaze of glory means when you’re actually on fire and it doesn’t matter.

Anyway we didn’t have to kill the Ixnar by slamming into them, but the Captain had to eject the engines, and most of the hull because uh, well it was kind of on fire.

Two days later the rescue and relief team picked us up and let me tell you, we were all really drunk at that point.

But yeah.

Humans aren’t dangerous. And yes I would very much like another drink, most kind of you to offer.

[secondarysefikura]

Sephiroth wins but instead of just turning Cloud into his devoted puppet, he decides to simply wait it out and let time take away the memories of Cloud’s loved ones and his reasons to hate Sephiroth instead of Sephiroth taking them away himself. After all they have all of eternity together.

And it works.

Eons later and Cloud’s memories of his friends are fading and he’s even misremembering things about them. A woman who owned a restaurant, a man with a hook for a hand, a tiger that was missing an ear, a teen who at one point stole their weapons, a mouse who rode on some blob thing, a man who was found sleeping in an abandoned cemetery, a man wanted to explore the ocean, a woman who for some reason gave him a flower, and a man who called him something as he was dying.

And eventually memories of Nibelheim, and what Sephiroth did to it and his friends fade away, to the point where Cloud questions why he even hates Sephiroth. What was it that the only person he has left do to make him hate him for so long? It can’t be that big of a deal if he’s now forgotten it….right?

And after many eons Cloud finds himself happy in Sephiroth’s embrace, and soon forgets the many, many times when he used to hate being in the god’s loving arms.

Oh. My. God. YES. Anon, you are brilliant.

I think it would be so good too if, as Cloud started to realize that he was struggling to remember his friends, he took to writing down everything he could remember about them. Of course Sephiroth secretly gets rid of the notes in order to ensure that Cloud doesn't have anything to remind him of before, but he isn't able to find them all.

One day, long after Cloud has forgotten everything but Sephiroth's embrace, he finds a set of his notes. He reads them over several times, but none of it seems to make sense. These notes seem to suggest that these people didn't like Sephiroth--that he didn't like Sephiroth. He finds crude sketches of men and women he can't remember, of a village that he doesn't know anymore, and a version of Sephiroth that just looks...wrong. He stresses about the meaning for a while, but ultimately he takes the notes to Sephiroth and asks what they mean. Sephiroth is his god after all, so if anyone would know what all these weird messages and drawings are about, it would be him. If nothing else, Sephiroth's calm and collected manner should soothe the worry that is creeping into every part of him.

Sephiroth reassures him that the notes are nothing more than the ramblings of a madman, although Cloud can't deny the brief flash of rage that crossed Sephiroth's face when he saw the notes was scarily similar to the drawings of Sephiroth that he found. Maybe there was a reason he vaguely remembers hating Sephiroth once.....

[quintessenceofdust88]

Little Blobs

Hey everyone!! I bring you a new chapter of Little Blobs on this fine Wednesday. From here on, I intend to follow a more logical timeline lol and we'll get to see how Buck's pregnancy progresses from the very start. I hope you enjoy it <3

“What's got you pouting so early in the morning, Buckaroo?" 

Hen’s voice, paired with the smell of fresh coffee, manages to snap Buck out of his mind. He accepts the mug she’s placing in front of him automatically, but he didn’t drink it; he’s too nauseous. Or too guilty. Or both. 

You see, there’s a reason why everybody calls Buck a human golden retriever. It was usually so rare for him to be in a mood, but lately... He’s so often tired, and so often nauseous, that it’s been hard to keep his spirits up. Like that morning with Tommy.

Even though they’ve been together for eighteen months, it was a rare occurrence for their shifts to align so perfectly that they could get ready for work together in the morning. Usually, those moments would make Buck giddy with the domesticity of it all. Not today, apparently.

From the minute he woke up, Buck had just been off, feeling tired and nauseous and out of sorts. And for no reason at all, he simply snapped at Tommy for the leftover fruit he had left in the blender (which, sure, could be a little annoying, but not *that* annoying). Buck knew right away that his "Damn, Tommy, how hard is it to keep things clean?! It's like living in a frat house again!" had been uncalled for. 

Tommy had looked at him in surprise, muttered a "Sorry, Evan" and turned his back to Buck, apparently laser-focused on washing the blender. Buck knew right then that he should apologize, but he was still too pissy to do it, and their goodbyes had been frosty when they left for their respective stations.

And that's how Hen finds him, staring at the void and wondering if he should text Tommy and let him know how sorry he is or wait to do it in person once their 48-hour shifts are over.

Before Buck knows it, he’s spilling out to Hen, kind of expecting her to call him out for being an idiot to his husband, but instead, Hen hums thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I can't help but notice you *have* been moody lately, Buck. Far too moody for a newlywed, if you ask me" She teases lightly, and Buck gives her a half-hearted smile.

"I promise you, Tommy’s not the problem” He reassures her.  “He’s not even complaining about my bitchiness and the fact I have slept on top of him every single time we've sat to watch a movie together for the last three weeks"

"Wait, you?!" Hen asks, her eyebrows going up. "Evan 'ball of energy' Buckley..."

"Buckley-Kinard" He corrects eagerly, his smile widening despite himself at that.

"My bad" Hen chuckles. "Evan 'ball of energy' Buckley-Kinard, falling asleep during movie nights? Aren’t you the one who’s usually researching fun facts and talking a mile a minute, instead of letting people actually listen to what’s going on?"

"Yeah!" Buck agrees, nodding enthusiastically, not even a little self-conscious; Tommy says his ramblings are cute. "But lately, I don't know, I... I thought maybe I was tired from wedding planning, but it’s been a month since we got married. I don’t know what’s going on, Hen"

"Hey, you two!" Bobby's voice interrupts whatever it is Hen planned to say. “Breakfast is about ready, wanna join the rest of us?”

And Buck intends to, truly he does. But the minute he approaches the kitchen and the smell of Bobby’s frittata reaches his nose, he can’t. The nausea that bubbles up in his stomach is too strong to ignore, and he finds himself rushing to the bathroom.

By the time he comes back, Bobby is waiting for him with worried eyes and a glass of ice cold water, that Buck gratefully sips slowly. 

“Alright there, Buck?” He asks, and Buck nods sheepishly, not liking the way everyone’s looking at him as if he’d keel at any moment. 

“Fine, Cap. Sorry about that. Think I caught a stomach bug or something” He mutters, still sipping his water, and Hen looks as if she’s about to add something when the bell rings. 

They don’t get a chance to sit down and talk again, not in private anyway, but Buck feels Hen’s gaze landing upon him all through their 48-hour shift. It’s especially sharp when he falls asleep in the middle of the afternoon and when he barely touches Bobby’s meatloaf at dinner.

It’s a look that Hen has when she feels someone’s being particularly dense, and Buck’s not completely sure what he’s done to deserve it this time, other than being overly snappy and tired. By the time their shift is over, he’s more than ready to go home, wait for Tommy (he had sent an apology text that morning after all, and Tommy’s easy forgiveness had almost made him cry. And just about half an hour ago, Tommy texted that he was caught on a call and would probably be late, which almost made him cry again) and sleep for the next 12 hours.

Before he can leave, though, Hen’s voice calls from inside the station.

“Buck, wait!” She says, approaching him with a small paper bag in her hands. 

“What’s that you got there, Hen? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten me a present” He teases her, and Hen looks uncertain.

“Well” She says carefully. “It all depends on how you’ll see things. And maybe I’m wrong anyway, but. I think you should take these” 

She hands him the bag, and Buck opens it up to see three different brands of pregnancy tests inside. He widens his eyes, looking from the bag to Hen, and she’s looking expectantly at him.

“Hen, you don’t think I’m…” Buck can’t even say it; the possibility had never crossed his mind, and yet… It feels like his brain is short-circuiting as he revisits his latest symptoms in his mind. 

“Well, why not? You are a carrier, aren’t you? You told me that when you were debating if you could be a surrogate to your friends” She says, and Buck nods dumbly. “And, well, I know you and Tommy get… busy with each other very often.”

“We…Well, yeah, but I take birth control” Buck says, frantically recalling the last few weeks in his mind and wondering if he could’ve forgotten to take the pill at some point. And then it dawns on him how frantic their wedding day had been, and yeah, he doesn’t remember taking it on that day. Or the day after. Or during their weekend honeymoon in San Diego (they had been… busy, as Hen would put it). “Oh, fuck, Hen, what if I’m pregnant?! I can’t be pregnant right now, it’s not the plan!”

“Buckaroo, I don’t know what the plan is, but life doesn’t tend to care for it. Maybe you’re not; I’m just saying it’s a possibility and you should check it” Hen says placatingly. “If it’s positive, you and Tommy will figure it out; if it’s negative, you owe me 30 bucks for the tests”

“There’s only one of me” He jokes automatically, but his mind is nowhere near it. “T-thanks anyway, Hen. I… I’ll take those as soon as I’m home” Before Tommy arrives, he decides; there’s no reason to get his husband worked up over nothing if they’re negative. And if they’re positive, Buck has some time to decide on how to tell him.

“You’re welcome, Buckaroo. When you have the results and are ready to share, let me know, ok? Good luck!”

She’s gone before Buck can ask if good luck means positive or negative. He’s not sure he knows what he wishes for right now.

Tommy turns off the engine in his truck, content to see Evan’s Jeep already in the garage. Content but not surprised, considering he got caught up in a search and rescue and is two hours late. He has a strong suspicion his husband’s been catching up on some sleep during those hours, because he hasn’t answered Tommy’s text asking what he wanted for dinner; he had gone with pizza as a safe bet, though Evan’s appetite had been all over the place lately. Tommy knows that the younger man can be stubborn about his health, but he will drag him to a doctor if he isn’t better by the weekend.

He tries to enter home without making much noise, putting the pizzas on the kitchen table. Evan’s not at the kitchen or living room, and the house is completely silent. Tommy makes his way to their bedroom, ready to gently wake Evan up so he can get some food in him before they go to bed for the night; they probably won’t get up to anything fun tonight, both of them exhausted from their shifts, but if Tommy has anything to say about it, they’ll spend the next 24 hours in their bed making up for it. 

But when he gets to their bedroom, he’s surprised by an empty and still made bed, and no husband in sight. Tommy frowns, starting to worry. 

“Evan?!” He calls. 

“I’m in here…” Evan answers, his voice coming from the en-suite bathroom that Tommy hadn’t even noticed was with the door ajar. Something in Evan’s voice makes Tommy rush to it, and he opens the door to find his husband sitting on the floor; he looks up at him with dazed eyes, his fist tightly clutched around something Tommy can’t see. 

“Babe, are you okay?! Was it your stomach again?” Tommy asks, kneeling down by his side and automatically raising his hand to feel Evan’s forehead; it’s not hot, and when he gently takes Tommy’s hand in his free one, Tommy sees it’s cold and sweaty. To his horror, he can also see tears pooling up in Evan’s eyes. “Did something happen, Evan?”

Evan laughs somewhat hysterically at that, which doesn’t help with Tommy’s nerves at all. Then he nods, caressing Tommy’s hand with his thumb, making gentle circles.

“Y-yeah, something happened. I… I figured out why I snapped at you the other day” He says, his voice thick, and Tommy lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Sweetheart, I can’t believe you’re still thinking about that. It was nothing, I already said I…” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, though, because Evan is opening Tommy’s hand and pressing the three plastic sticks that he was so tightly holding against it. 

Tommy looks down at them with a frown, and his heart skips a beat when he realizes what they are: pregnancy tests. Two of them show two lines and, even if Tommy didn’t know what that means (he does; he absolutely does), the third one is a fancy digital kind that has the word in bold letters: PREGNANT. 

He looks from the tests to Evan, his mouth agape, and his husband’s looking back at him with expectant blue eyes and the tiniest hint of a frown between his eyebrows. 

“I… On the wedding frenzy I guess I forgot to take my pill” He says, and he takes Tommy’s stunned silence as a cue to continue. “I… I know it’s not the plan, I know we said we’d wait at least a year before kids, I…”

Tommy can’t take it anymore; in a move that has become signature by now, he grabs his chin and presses a gentle soft kiss against his mouth. When the kiss is done, Evan is the one left agape, while Tommy can’t stop a smile from widening across his face. 

“Fuck the plan, Evan. Are you happy?” He asks earnestly; Tommy knows he is, and the more it dawns on him, the happier he gets. But it’s Evan’s body and Tommy knows he’s much more of a planner than himself, so he’ll rein in the excitement if Evan needs to process this differently. 

But to his relief, Evan gives him that adorable crooked smile, looking down at the tests Tommy’s holding, and then at his own belly, then back at Tommy with eyes full of joy. 

“Yeah, I’m happy. I’m fucking thrilled, Tommy. We’re having a baby!” He says, as it’s just dawning on him, and hearing him say it out loud makes it dawn on Tommy too. 

They smile at each other like two idiots, and before Tommy knows it, he’s helping Evan up and pulling him in a tight hug, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He lets out a delighted laugh, feeling happier than he’s ever felt before, except maybe for their wedding day. 

“We’re having a baby, oh my God, that’s incredible. You’re incredible” He says, resting his chin on Evan’s shoulder, and then with a dawning sense of realization, he steps back, looking at him worriedly. “Oh my God, are you okay?! Is the baby okay? Can you tell if they’re okay?! Damn we need to schedule a doctor’s appointment, and probably start thinking about a nursery, and you have to talk to Bobby and…”

“Babe” Evan interrupts him, sounding way too amused (Tommy’s not often the one to freak out between the two) as he puts both his hand in Tommy’s face, effectively shutting him up. “I’m sure the baby’s fine. I’ll talk to Bobby on my next shift, and we can figure out everything else tomorrow. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re making sense” Tommy easily agrees, nodding and looking at Evan with a scrutinizing gaze. “Are you okay, though, Evan? What do you need?”

“I’m fine, Tommy” He says, his voice sounding between exasperated and amused, but Tommy doesn’t care if he’s being overbearing. Evan is the most precious person in the world to him, and now he’s carrying the other most precious person in the world to him. Tommy will do anything for him. “What I need is food. I’m finally not feeling nauseous and I wanna take advantage of it while it lasts. Please tell me you brought dinner?”

“You didn’t answer me, so I brought pizza. But if you want anything else, anything else, I’ll go and get it in fifteen minutes max. Just name it, babe” Tommy offers, and Evan smiles bashfully, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Pizza is more than fine, but I might make use of this generosity at some point in the next nine months” He says, and Tommy knows it’s meant like a tease, but if anything, it sounds like a promise.

“Anytime you want” He says, and then his hand goes straight to Evan’s still flat belly. He can’t see or feel anything, but knowing their little one is there is enough to fill his heart for now. “For you two, anything, anytime”

“Hey” Evan says, putting his own hand on top of Tommy’s, his smile bright enough to outshine the Sun itself. “I love you”

“I love you too, Evan”

–

When Hen’s cellphone dings, she’s about to go to bed; after coming home from their 48-hour shift, she had helped Karen with the kids’ nightly routine and the two of them had spent some time together watching TV and drinking wine after tucking them in. Now she’s pleasantly sleepy and ready to enjoy a good night of sleep and then three whole blessed days off.

And yet, her conversation with Buck has been on the back of her mind all day. When Hen sees the message she got is from him, it’s with eager hands that she unlocks her phone and opens their thread. There’s only two emojis and five words looking back at her: 👶🏻👍🏻 but don’t tell anyone yet!

A smile spreads across her face, and she sends back a congrats, daddies!! before deleting both messages. Karen has full access to her phone and her to Karen’s, and she knows her wife can’t keep a secret for her life, so she won’t take any chances. But God is she happy for those two. 

One thing Hen knows: they’re going to be wonderful fathers. 

--

Tag list: (let me know if you'd like to be removed or if I missed anyone! Also if anyone else wants to be tagged, either on my fics in general or just the Little Blobs' Verse, let me know! ♥)

[More from Little Blobs Verse]

[Also on AO3]

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri  @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie

[methoughtsphantom]

DP x DC

not me thinking about imaginary scenarios of ten year old Tim Drake in the ghost zone (pariah’s castle)

where Tim thinks it’s strangely soothing that despite being the only one whose steps connect to the ground, there’s not that eerie silence that befell drake manor

strange blob creatures chitter softly and nip at his hair and swooshes and wisps of wind betray the presence of an invisible ghost

which after following he realizes it’s almost like he’s trailing after the black dark shadow that is batman again

which gives him the idea that, maybe, just this one time, he can play the part of robin

that in mind Tim makes out a game of sneaking to the side of ghosts that look like they’re brooding and if they can spot him he loses

most just grunt in response (very in character) while others fuss over him and ask questions which Tim uses to infodump

he also politely asks the ghost that always asks him how he’s doing to instead say the word “report”

(the ghost looks at him weirdly but humors him and besides the answer would be the same anyways)

Tim also(!!)

gets on the case of why the walls lack tangibility when he is the one leaning on them (he doesn’t live down the time he wanted to look cool only to fall through the wall)

hyperfixates on how gravity works in the ghost zone because he couldn’t do a skateboard trick he has pulled off many many times and he’s salty about it

tries to figure out where they are getting human food from (cause it’s hot enough to be homemade but also there’s no kitchen —so how could it be) (also he wants coffee)

finds out the dude that often gives him a side eye when he finds that Tim knows how to do something (math homework), is next in line for the throne and yet doesn’t have a single “mingle and talk people up” bone in his body. (despite it his networking is a solid 7/10)

gets a ghost horse to adopt him what

discovers pretty quickly that there are rooms to which he can’t phase through (a.k.a. he’s not allowed entry) to which he begrudgingly backs off even though that stands in his way of doing a very thorough layout™ of the place (robin would)

sulks over the lack of extreme sports in the place

(Danny takes him to the Far Frozen where they go tire sliding in the snow and where tim learns how to use a skateboard skate and also that ghost ice cream is just as good as normal ice cream)

sulks again cuz he caught a common cold

also because there’s no sun or moon poor Timmy’s already screwed sleep schedule gets more messed up to the point no one knows when or where he will fall asleep

(ghosts find him in the most unhinged of places with a signature purple cloak draped over him every. single. time.)

overall, be a menace

see-> the time he threatened to build ghost weapons he’d somehow memorized the blueprints of cause Danny wouldn’t let him visit the radium girls factory but yes the renaissance period

see-> that time he went through the whole ghost energy and how to work with it book section in the library and half an hour later had a prototype of a star wars laser beam made

(note: bribing only works for hot chocolate, not for letting him keep cool-looking guns)

just tim having the time of his life

clockwork being no help at all (the ghost loves being a cryptid)

and danny trying not to get attached while he progressively gets more concerned over this chaos child he emotionally adopted as his little brother

(to fit canon cause i want it to this would just be until Danny finds the dimension little Timmy is from, then they can safely yeet the child back to the moment he first went missing)

anyways before anyone knows it’s been three months

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 8 – Return to Hyper City (11 Months)

I’m on the way back to Hyper City. It’s the middle of winter, there’s a bitter wind, and it’s almost dark even though it’s still only afternoon. The bus is empty. Hardly anyone’s heading out this way on a day like this. When I get off at the tiny village, all the shops are already shut. But I’m not here for the village – I’m once again following the ritual that takes me to another world.

Tonight I’m heading to the Hyper Light Festival, the winter festival at the crossroads of reality. This time I’m ready. I am enough, and this time I’m not running away.

Look closely, and it’s clear I’m not human anymore. More of my body has changed, and I’ve been practising. My bones and organs are still the same, so the forms I can take now are mostly ‘human plus’ – little tweaks and additions to the basic human shape. I’m learning, step by tiny step. I’m wearing a few subtle signs of my inhumanity – my ears are a bit longer and pointier, my tongue is slightly forked, and I’ve got a greenish tinge to most of my skin, except for a few parts that still haven’t changed. It’s quite the contrast with my red hair. This is the first colour change I’ve managed to do. Do shifters have a default colour when fluid? I’ve never gotten a clear answer. But if mine was going to be green, I’d be totally fine with that.

Why not bigger changes, when I’ve been playing with arms and legs and all kinds of things? Partly because I still can’t hold the big things for long. Small changes I can hold now with only a little bit of effort. And, uh, partly because my tops don’t have enough sleeves. Who’d have guessed that human clothes aren’t designed for that? But this time I’m wearing my T-shirt with ‘be goo, do crimes’ on it, and damn anyone who makes a fuss. I’ve been running on adrenaline since I stepped out of the house looking not entirely human – but it’s so quiet, there’s been no one here to notice.

When I arrive in Hyper City, I stop by the registration office to get my shapeshifter license. I’m still slightly annoyed that I have to do this at all – do they think I’m going to try taking over the city as soon as I can imitate someone important? – but I can’t put it off any longer. I’m now officially a ‘provisional physiological polymorph’, and I’ve got a card to prove it – meaning someone who will, eventually, be able to take on any form as part of how my body works, without using magic. Blob of goo that can turn into anything, basically. They do some kind of scan to identify which world I’m from, and note that down too. And now I’m accepting that there really is magic here – seeing it listed on an official form in a dusty government office is what finally convinces me. It’s not just super-advanced tech, like I’d assumed.

Then I head for the central plaza. I can hear music in the distance, and hints of tantalising smells drift on the wind. By the time I get close, the streets are packed. And the plaza itself is full of… everything.

Hyper City doesn’t just connect to our world, but to many worlds, and all their winter festivals come together here. Yes, the multiverse is real. People changing species isn’t the only mind-boggling thing in this city.

There are stalls selling crafts, people dancing, performing, wearing costumes and masks, music, enchanters, impossible sculptures held together by magic – and more. Unfamiliar and enticing smells waft from stalls selling food from across the worlds. I hear voices in a hundred languages. There are people telling stories, playing games, eating and drinking, all packed in side by side. I spot a giant Christmas tree with glowing globes clustered round it, and it’s only one tiny part of everything.

It’s so much. Almost too much. My mind is drinking in the details. But I’m starting to relax. Enjoying the spectacle. Anonymity in the crowd.

The buildings around the plaza are brightly lit. Globes of light drift overhead, and now and again there are people in the air, too. If I had any doubt there’s actual magic here, it’s gone. I briefly wonder if you can acquire magic if you come from a world without any – something to check up on later. In places, people are gathered around bonfires, or at shrines to more gods than I’ve ever heard of. At street level it’s dim, on purpose I think, and many people carry candles. As they move it’s like a slow river of lights winding between the stalls. Light is a common theme here, and warmth, and protection – light against the darkest time of the year.

Snowflakes flutter on the wind. The parts of me that are still human are cold, but the parts that have changed are comfortable even in this.

And in the crowd, here and there, I spot therians and otherkin at all stages of transition – people who started off with a human body, but were never really human on the inside – people like me. The ones early on are a patchwork of human parts and changed parts, just like I am. We’re still a minority even here, but for once, I don’t feel out of place. It lights me up inside like my first time at Pride. I can’t stop grinning. I mean, technically I could, because I’m a shifter and could rearrange my face enough for that, even at this stage… but you know what I mean. I don’t want to.

Someone catches my eye, over where the crowd is a bit thinner. It’s their colour I notice first – a gloopy orange, almost like syrup. Then I notice their arms are entirely made of goo, translucent and with no bones inside, and so is their hair. They must be a slime! I’ve been reading a few slimes’ transition journals online, and we have a lot in common – we’re on different routes to a similar place. I don’t know if our species are actually related, or if it’s convergent evolution, but either way – someone else who’s a gelatinous blob that can shape themselves however they like? Sounds like someone who gets it!

Before I even think about it, I’m slowly making my way closer through the crowd. And now I’m nervous as hell – going up to some random person in the real world, just because they’re kinda like me? But that was the whole reason for coming here. That’s what I was hoping might happen. The festival was just an excuse, really.

As I get closer, I see that the rest of their head is still opaque and human, aside from the orange tint to their skin. But their fingers are tipped with claws, their bare feet are bird-like with talons, and they have a little blob of goo like a rabbit’s tail on their back. Their clothes look very waterproof, even though it isn’t raining – and oh, that must be to stop their slime soaking into things. I haven’t had that problem yet, but can totally believe it’ll be a thing later.

And then I’m there, grinning nervously – and, yes, with excitement too. I form another arm – a bit awkwardly because of the too-small sleeves – and wave with all three.

“Hi?” I say. “I saw that you’re a slime and uh…”

“Oh, uh, hi!” they reply, waving back. “Uh, yeah, I am a slime… and so are you by the looks of things!” they add with a growing smile.

“Close,” I say, “I’m a shifter! But I’m gooey too.” I turn my third hand fluid for a moment.

They raise an eyebrow. “Oh neat – wait? Like a shapeshifter?”

“Yeah! Actually I guess there must be lots of kinds of shapeshifters here, with the whole multiverse thing. We just call ourselves ‘shifters’ for short. Or, well, sometimes the People of Change if we’re being poetic – ‘fluid as the ocean, wild as the wind’, that kind of thing…” My voice cracks slightly on that phrase, that’s been with me my whole life, focus of so much longing. Then I laugh gently, as I poke my human parts: “Which I’m not, yet, as you can see.”

“Oohh! I do like the ‘fluid as the ocean’ bit, kinda hits very close.” They raise their arm, rippling it like a wave.

I don’t immediately respond, only to realise I’m staring at their arm. I pull my gaze away. “Sorry,” I say, laughing awkwardly, “I think my mind is trying to figure out how to copy your colour, but I don’t know how to do orange yet. I only just figured out green.” I let the green fade away in places, my skin changing back to its original colour, before bringing the green back. “It’s a nice colour.”

The slime looks a little flustered. “Don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before, that they wanna try my colour, or that I have a nice colour, not really sure how to respond to that, but thank you – can say I’m quite a fan, so would definitely recommend it when you can though.” They pause a second before continuing. “But, and, uh, sorry if this is kinda rude, but uh, you still kinda look part human, I was told you had to become something else before you could do shapeshifter stuff?”

“I just got straight on shifter HRT,” I say, shrugging, “there was no mention of anything else. But I’m not going to one of the doctors here – are you at Erian’s clinic?”

They frown a little. “Nah, I didn’t like all the gatekeepery stuff he was doing, so I found another provider who relied on informed consent – they said I had to pick another species first to act as a base for the additional shapeshifter meds. Kinda feeling a little cheated now, even if I’ve been enjoying becoming a slime.”

“But you’re at a proper doctor, right?” I say. “Not just… some person who figured out how to make this stuff? In hindsight, I probably should’ve done that – mine is very hands-off, and the whole thing is super experimental – kinda realising that now seeing other people’s stories online. But they’re a shifter too, they’re the only one who does this specific thing, and I was desperate, y’know?”

They nod. “Yeah, proper doctor ’nd all, but I totally get the desperation, fuck, if I’d known I could get straight on shapeshifter stuff I quite possibly woulda gone for that.” They pause for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Although, if it’s shady like ya say, I’m not sure how willing I’d be to trust it, at least the people I’m going through seem safe and all, even if they are kinda delaying/shortchanging me a bit.” Another pause, before, “You sure it’s safe ’nd all? I mean, it seems to be working for you, but,” they shrug, “there’s enough shit we have to deal with without our meds biting us in the ass too.”

“Yeah,” I nod, “that’s it, it is working, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. But my provider’s really secretive – doesn’t want anyone else figuring out the formula. And I’ve hardly had any support, only vaguely know what to expect at each stage, pretty sure they’re using a false name… Actually that does sound pretty bad when I say it. But it’s working, right? And,” gesturing around us, “I didn’t believe this place existed.”

“Does seem very shady, definitely,” they say. “I’ve been having checkups every six months, actually due my third soon. I’d be careful, as I said, don’t want this to bite ya in the ass. That being said, definitely seems like it’s working.” They gesture at my third arm. “Can’t wait to be able to do more altering of my shape, but I need more human parts to get converted.” They point at their chest. “Still got ribs and stuff under my clothes, which sucks, but given how much my stomach melting hurt, I’m worried about how my spine going’s gonna feel, so for once, slowly is actually preferable.”

I wince a bit. “Ooh, that sounds painful. But, yeah, same here,” I say, remembering how overwhelmed by phantom body parts I was last time I was in the city. “Human’s still my default, and I can’t hold big changes for long yet.” I let my third arm dissolve back into my body – it’s starting to get uncomfortable already. “I’m Callie, by the way. She/her.”

“Oh, right, introductions.” They chuckle awkwardly. “I’m Sandy, she/they, nice ta meet ya Callie.” She extends a claw. “I don’t know how much overlap it’ll have, but you’re also kinda gooey, so maybe it’ll help, but I’ve found if you practice taking and holding forms, eventually it becomes like muscle memory, even if I’m running out of muscles, but you can eventually just kinda take and hold stuff easily.” They gesture to their talons and claws. “Been working on these for a bit now, and now they’re second nature.” They quickly shift between a claw and a human hand, her slime suddenly becoming more fluid, before effortlessly switching back.

I’m envious, I can’t deny it – but it’s not the hopeless envy I would have felt before. Now it’s more like anticipation, knowing that soon I’ll be able to do that too.

“Small changes are getting to be easy like that,” I say. “But,” and I hold up my own hand, “it’s still all bones in here.” And then, with a grin, “Can’t wait to try wings though.” I look up at the orbs floating overhead. “I really want to fly – been dreaming about that for years.”

“Gods yes, I can’t wait to have wings.” She follows my gaze up. “Being able to fly up there would be wonderful…” She trails off wistfully. “Just the freedom to soar up in the air, seems just perfect.”

I try to form wings – not for the first time – but I just don’t have enough goo yet, and of course my clothes are in the way. “I’d have to cut holes in this first though,” I say, tapping my T-shirt.

Sandy smiles. “Yeah, I’ve started cutting tail holes in my clothes, now I can actually have one, even if it is only a small one, not looking forward to all the measuring it’ll take for wings. Although I am vaguely aware there are some shops in the city that are actually trying to cater to those of us with… less human physiology. Haven’t had a chance to check them out yet, but might be something to look into.”

“Oh, I will. Actually, that reminds me! Look at this.” I take out my shapeshifter license and show them. “Can you believe we have to have a license?!” And then I add, “But it’s kinda nice seeing it on something official.” I’m feeling a lot better about it than when I filled in the forms – seeing it actually written down, what I am, is making me smile.

Their eyes widen. “Oh? What’s that?” She leans in to get a better look. “‘Provisional Shapeshifter License’? Huh, didn’t know that was a thing. But wait, yeah, why do you need a license, isn’t it just something you do?”

“They think we’re dangerous or something.” I shrug. “I guess we could be if we wanted to. But that’s not going to happen with me, I don’t want power or… any of that. This is just for me.”

Sandy nods. “Yeah, exactly, I don’t want shapeshifting – when I get there – for power, I just want to, well, be whatever, and ultimately me. People get so up in arms about it for no reason.”

“Familiar feeling,” I say. I’m thinking, of course, about being trans back home. “But we’ve got all the others like us, and that’s… something. People who get it.”

“Mmm.” They nod. “It’s nice to have others like us, this whole conversation’s been wonderful, well except for learning that I might’ve been shafted by my supplier. But yeah, it’s been nice meeting other people going through all this stuff and making friends through it all, and it’s been especially nice to meet another shapeshifter… even if I’m not quite there yet, but like, you get it, is the point.”

We talk a while longer, sharing old dreams of shapeshifting, wandering through the plaza and pointing out things we’ve never seen before. Then, at last, it’s time for me to go, if I want to catch the bus home. We agree to keep in touch, and we hug – and I do my best to form two extra arms for that, though it’s still almost the limit of what I can do. We wave goodbye, and I head home smiling. New city, new world, new friend.

First | Previous | Next

This chapter is a collaboration with @sandyca5tle – whose Slime HRT was one of the stories that inspired me to start writing this in the first place – and takes place between the 14 month and 18 month chapters of Slime HRT. Go read it, it’s goo-d! Also featuring the Hyper Light Festival created by @nuggetofthesea.

And here’s how the provisional shapeshifter license looks, using the template from Slime HRT 25 months. The fields are explained fully over there, but briefly, the letters on the bottom row show what you can do now, with the letters in brackets showing what you’ll be able to do at the end of transition.

And now that we’re approaching the one-year mark, more changes are on the way – coming soon, in Part 9: Hunger!

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added):

@ask-de-writer @avery-victoria-winterlight @botgirl-lilith @dierotenixe @leahnardo-da-veggie

@lunadook @mint-and-authoress @noizepushr @reliableslimegal @sandyca5tle

@saros-system @scrubbinn @the-gender-fae @theriomythic-lesbian @void-botanist

@wuwojiti @zzzestyy

[abalidoth]

Southpaw

What was once steel, made flesh. What was once whole, made broken.

Inspired by a post by @transhuman-priestess.

CW: Medical trauma.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65250568

“Good morning, Ethan,” said my jailer, with a cheer matched only by my hatred.

I looked up from my bed. I didn't bother to correct her. My name is Zenith. Ethan had been gone for years, an old skin that never fit me. But contradicting Sister Sarah leads only to punishment – the last time I’d snapped at her and asserted my real name, she assigned me to “meditation retreat” for a week. Seven days of solitary confinement in the dark. I’d rather claw out my remaining eye.

“I have good news for you,” she said. “Your hand is ready!”

I shuddered. I had been dreading this day. 

She led me out of my cell, and locked the door behind her with a click. There were two Wardens with her – Brother Elijah, who I recognized from previous excursions out of my cell, and another one, a hulking man that I don’t recognize. He glared at me as he steadied an arm under my armpit, and Elijah took the other.

“Brothers Silas, Elijah, please, with me to the operating theater.”

It’s an ordeal, moving around. The Edenists took my bionic leg, so I can’t walk without crutches. But they also stole my robotic hand, so I can’t use crutches on my own. Most humiliating of all, my eye – so not only can I no longer see the ultraviolet patterns on flowers, I don’t even have stereoscopic vision. I wasn’t sure why they didn’t just put me in a wheelchair; maybe, despite what they said, the deprivation was part of the point.

Unnatural, they call us. Perverse. As if there’s something natural about intentionally maiming a person, removing parts of them and dragging their shambling half-corpse down a hallway to –

Actually, I wasn’t ready to think about what happened at the end of the hallway yet.

Sarah walked ahead of us imperiously, owning the space, projecting a confidence that belied her short stature. Even though I could only see the back of her neatly coiffed auburn hair and blue dress, it felt like she was staring at me.

I averted my eyes, instead looking at the Scripture passages and kitschy art that adorned the otherwise hospital-like walls of the compound.

Sarah led us through a pair of double doors to a room that I knew all too well. An eerie blue glow suffused it, almost ultraviolet enough to hurt the eyes. Rows and rows of tanks were mounted to opposite walls, filled with actinic blue suspension gel.

Each one held an organ.

Some of them were recognizable horrors, eyeballs and fingers and lungs, even a little bit of brain. Most of them were internal organs, undifferentiated little blobs of flesh, the bloody red of them shaved down to indistinct blacks and browns by the cyan of the gel.

I had to remind myself that most of these were going to people who needed them, who actually wanted them. Most of these weren’t atrocities, but acts of deep mercy.

But three tanks in this room – one hand, one eye, and a big one for my leg – were for me.

“Here it is,” Sarah said, gesturing at a tank near the bottom of the stack. A pristine left hand floated in it. A mirror of my right floating in the middle of the tank, tethered by gummy strands of tissue to the growth matrix surrounding the tank. A twin – or perhaps younger sister – of the one that I had lost in an accident three years ago.

A spasm wracked through the hand suddenly, curling it nearly into a fist.

Sarah laughed, a fake, brittle sort of sound. “Ah, they do tend to do that sometimes. To keep the muscle toned.”

I retched a little, barely keeping my breakfast down, and pulled away.

“Come now, there’s no time to wait. We’ll get you off to surgery.”

She peeled off, presumably to consult with the surgeons, leaving me with Silas and Elijah. Elijah considered me as he always did – basically a sack of potatoes that he sometimes had to haul from place to place. But Silas was still glaring at me.

“Hey, new guy,” I said. I never wanted to mouth off to Sarah, but the orderlies were another matter. “First time seeing a real-life cyborg, huh? Booga booga.”

Something unreadable crossed his face and he looked away. “Let’s get you to surgery.”

—

They didn’t even have to strap my body down for the procedure. What was I going to do, hop away?

It was never more than lying down on my back that I missed my leg. It was obvious when I was standing how much the lack of balance threw me off, but the constant tension from the asymmetry when I was laying down was horrible. The operating table was uncomfortable, and the room was drafty.

The surgeon was a man I’d never seen before, wearing surgical scrubs and a hairnet, with a neatly trimmed moustache. He came in without greeting me and grabbed hold of the stump of my left arm. He turned it this way and that, tut-tutting at something objectionable, then swung a board with straps up from under the table and strapped my forearm to it.

“If only you’d come to us right away,” he said. His voice was reedy, higher than I expected. “That hack job you did with the machines made this procedure much more difficult, there will be a longer wait time than usual.”

“I didn’t come to you,” I said. “You kidnapped me.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said. “You’ll see how much better your life will be here, with real humans, with real body parts. And once they see how successful we’ve been with you, we’ll have a much easier time bringing in all those pitiable drifters in the desert.”

“Please,” I said. “Don’t do this. I don’t want this. I just want to go home.”

He smiled gently. “Poor thing. You are home.” And he strapped the anaesthetic mask to my face.

—

There was nobody around when I awoke. I was in a different room, one that had windows, although there was no light from outside.

My arm was still strapped to the table, swaddled in gauze. And at the end of it was a pink, fleshy hand. The fingers were wrinkled as though I had just gotten out of a shower. It had none of the callus of the hand I still had on the other side, and the skin of the palms was strangely smooth and shiny.

The hand twitched, sending pain coursing down my arm. I turned my head to the side and retched, hard. Nothing came up but a bit of stomach acid.

I could feel the cold air through the fingers, but it felt wrong. Tingly, staticky, much worse than when I was adapting to the neural feedback of my metal hand years ago. It felt like I was feeling everything through tinfoil gloves.

I looked away. I couldn’t stand the sight of it, couldn’t tolerate the feeling. My tendons and joints were on fire from where they had spliced them together.

I thought of undoing the straps on the board and at least freeing my arm, but I didn’t want to do any more damage than they had already done. If I had to live with this thing, I wasn’t going to make it any worse on myself.

The door creaked open. I turned to see who it was, but backlit by the bright hallway all I could see was a hulking silhouette. He carefully locked the door behind him, and approached me. It was Brother Silas, the new guy, the one who was so disgusted by me he couldn’t keep it off his face. His hood was down, now, revealing a mop of curly black hair.

He put a hand on my shoulder, pushing me into the bed. Before I could shout out, he clapped a hand across my mouth.

I struggled, but his hold was firm. He leaned down and whispered into my ear. “Silicon City sent me.”

I stopped moving. He retracted the hand across my mouth, and the hand on my shoulder became more of a reassuring brace than a shove. “W – what?” I said quietly.

“Vixen knew me from jobs she had done before,” he said, in a low rasp. “She hired me to infiltrate the Edenists and get you out. Everyone misses you, Zenith. We’re getting you out of here.”

Tears came to my eyes, unbidden. “Now?”

He shook his head. “Still need to lay some preparations. A week, probably. I’ll try to get you out before they graft anything more to you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you. We can’t let them take anyone else.”

“I know. We won’t.” He grabbed my right hand with his. “Stay strong, ok?”

His hand was rough, calloused, but warm. “Okay,” I said.

The thing at the end of my other arm spasmed in response.