#FUCK that checkerboard asshole

[roseyturtles]

Bingo for Benny Gecko 😌

BITES HIM BITES HIM BITES HIM BITES HIM BITES HIM BITES HIM BITES

#fallout new vegas #fnv #benny gecko #ugghhh my relationship with Benny is so love/hate #FUCK that checkerboard asshole #I want him to recieve consequences #I want him to raise a child #I want to kiss him directly on the mouth #I want to sodomize him #he occupies entirley too much of my brain #fuck him #I hope he dies #I hope we both die

[navigatorwrongway]

#velvet posting #this is the little meow meow #kitty time #she’s my baby!!!!! #13 years and still trucking!! #mar posts

[cinebration]

Take You For A Ride (Keatlejuice x Reader) [One-shot]

Premise: You call a cab and are taken for a ride by the ghost with the most.

Happy Halloween! Partly inspired by this fanart by @clairjohnson​​.

Warnings: sexual themes

Gif Source: villainquoteoftheday

You had to call a cab out to your house when you discovered your piece-of-shit Cadillac wouldn’t start. Nevermind that you were already late to the party. Yes, you didn’t really want to go, and the broken-down car afforded you a perfect excuse, but your friends were expecting you. That asshole Doug would say shit if you didn’t make an appearance, as he was determined to have you excised from the group merely because you were the only one who saw through his toxic bullshit.

So you called the cab and waited for its arrival, resigning yourself to being more than fashionably late.

Screeching tires drew your attention a few minutes into waiting. Going to the window, you peered between the horizontal blinds and out into the sleepy suburban street.

A yellow taxi with black-and-white checkerboard stripes across its side idled outside your door, chugging noisily away. Thick exhaust coughed out of the battered muffler underneath the cab’s trunk.

The driver leaned on the horn, piercing the silence with a wheezing honk.

Slinging your purse over one shoulder, you locked the front door behind you and hurried to the taxi. The door didn’t open, the handle sticking. You yanked with all your weight, nearly toppled over as the door screeched open.

A cloud of cigarette smoke poured out into the night. Wrinkling your nose, you hesitated before slipping into the backseat. The leather stuck to the backs of your thighs.

“You got here fast,” you muttered, trying not to touch too much with your hands.

“I was in the neighborhood, babe.”

You glanced up, eyebrows arching in surprise. The plastic partition separating the driver from the backseat was missing, affording you an unobstructed view out the windshield.

The driver, one arm draped across the back of the passenger seat, glanced at you from under a Breton cap emblazoned with the word ‘Guide.’ The poor lighting of the nearest streetlight cast long shadows over his face, making his eyes gleam out of pools of darkness. Lips peeling back in a smile, he didn’t wait for you to respond before turning back to the wheel and pulling away from the curb.

“Got the car and came runnin’,” he continued, his voice a gravelly growl. “Couldn’t get here fast enough.”

You glanced at the running meter, wondering what the trip out of the suburbs was going to cost you. Fuck Doug and his malicious agenda.

The driver adjusted the rearview mirror. You glimpsed those dark-encircled eyes again.

“You don’t seem too happy, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

“I’m stuck in a cab going to a party I don’t want to be at.”

“I’ll say,” he mumbled, a snicker in his voice. “Want a cig?”

“No.”

“Joint?”

“No.” You looked at him suddenly, trying to see the whites of his eyes. The last thing you wanted was a car accident making you even later, if not dead or injured, because he was high.

“Like what ya see?”

You snorted despite yourself.

“Yeah, I know I’m hot shit,” he continued. “The hottest shit you’ll ever find, babe.”

You weren’t sure if he was serious or if he was trying to make you laugh. Either way, you felt some of your anger evaporating.

“A great steamin’ pile,” you mimicked, rolling your eyes.

“Hey. That ain’t funny.”

Frowning, you glanced away from his searing gaze in the mirror. “Sorry.”

He barked with laughter, startling you. “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”

You chuckled uneasily, glanced out the window.

The scenery didn’t look familiar.

“Where are we?” you asked, trying to peer through the fog. It hadn’t been foggy in the suburbs.

The fog curled at the windows, blocking your view. Nothing but darkness and eerie shapes loomed beyond the thick soup.

You glanced at the driver. His attention was completely directed out the windshield, his face in three-quarter profile. Only one headlight seemed to be working, the yellow light both absorbed by the fog and cast back by it.

You realized suddenly that you hadn’t told him your destination. Had you told the cab company on the phone?

“Where the fuck are we?” you repeated.

“Relax, babe. Betelgeuse knows where to take ya.”

“The star? What the hell does the star have anything to do with this?”

“Thanks for noticin’ I’m a celebrity.”

You slumped back against your seat, agitation building beneath your skin. You glanced back out the window. The driver wasn’t going very fast, you reasoned, given the way the car felt and how slow the fog moved past the cab.

Your hand crept to the door handle.

The locks shut simultaneously, the sound like sharp gunfire.

You looked up to see the driver’s eyes in the mirror again, staring through you. Mischief and malice gleamed within them. Lips curled away from moldy teeth in a delighted grin.

“I’m takin’ you for a ride, babe,” he growled. “No stops.”

The car accelerated with a jolt, backfiring. You seized the seat, clutching yourself in place.

The fog whipped around the car in a slipstream. Squeezing your eyes shut against sudden motion sickness, you let go of the seat and wrapped your fingers around the seatbelt across your chest.

It writhed in your hands.

Eyes popping wide, you glanced down. A massive snake moved against your breasts, its tail dropping onto your shoulder as its head moved to your lap. You jolted, flinging the snake against the back of the seat in front of you. It landed in an angry heap on the floor, cool scales brushing against your feet.

You jerked your feet up onto the seat, knees to your chest.

The driver cackled in the front seat. “Oh, babe, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

~~

Betelgeuse got off on the sound of screaming. He liked it best between the sheets, but hearing it in any context got him hot and bothered and hard.

He licked his lips as he listened to you shriek, the snake in the backseat having multiplied. A whole nest of them writhed on the floor, climbing up each other to get to the seat.

Snakes, he knew, were a particular phobia of yours. He had watched from the shadows as you cringed just seeing them on the TV, filing away the information for later. It had taken the ghost in the house, an old curmudgeon displeased with having a young woman in his space, a full two months before he decided to summon Betelgeuse.

But the ghost was an old man, and Betelgeuse was more interested in you than in fulfilling his part of the bargain immediately. So he waited for the opportunity, watching you the whole while.

When he overheard your plans that night, he knew it was time. Disabling your car had been a piece of cake.

You shrieked again. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the sound, before turning to look back at you.

You were the picture of distress, hair disheveled and face blanched with horror. What Betelgeuse would give to muss your hair himself, to make your mouth form that O shape.

Oh, to have you scream his name.

He had half a mind to entice one of his snakes to slither up your pants. You had nearly pushed yourself up against the back windshield, wedging yourself above the headrests.

“You should be wearin’ a skirt,” he drawled.

With a snap of his fingers, you were. He peered up the skirt, your legs splayed from your awkward angle. “Oh yeah, babe.”

You kicked your flat off your foot, smacking him right in the face. Betelgeuse pulled back in surprise, caught between amusement and indignation. He slammed on the brake, sending the snakes slithering across the floor to his side of the cab.

“Hey,” he snapped, pushing up his hat. “That’s not very nice!”

“Let me the fuck out!”

“You want out?” His eyes flashed. “Okay.”

With a pop, you both were outside the cab. You stumbled, falling to your knees in dark muck. The fog curled around you as though you were in a bubble.

Betelgeuse could get used to seeing you on your knees. Leering down at you, he crouched to your level.

An unnaturally long tongue extended from his mouth, flicked against your face.

You recoiled with a scream.

“You really are speakin’ my language, babe.” He stood, readjusted his bomber jacket. With a flourish, a cigarette appeared in his hands, the end lit. He took a deep drag from it, glancing away into the dark. He had taken you far from home.

The snakes spilled out of the taxi, slithering around you.

Betelgeuse smirked as you screamed again. God, he loved his job.

Your screams suddenly turned to laughter. Betelgeuse blinked in surprise, taken aback. He turned to find you rising to your feet.

“Hey, lady, this ain’t supposed to be funny.”

“It really isn’t,” you said. You feigned swiping at fake tears of laughter. “No, the funny thing is I got you out of the house.”

“What?”

“And now I’ve got you right where I want you.”

You seized him suddenly by the wrist, your hand hot around his cold flesh. He flinched, the heat suddenly searing.

“What the fuck!?”

“Adiuro te, spiritus, in servitute mihi.”*

Symbols burned into Betelgeuse’s skin where you touched him. He shrieked, yanked his arm back with superhuman strength.

“What the fuck did you do to me, bitch?”

“You’re a servant again, Betelgeuse, only you aren’t in the civil services anymore.” You flashed him a wicked smile.

His stomach curdled at the sight of it. He recognized the smile all too well.

It was his own shit-eating grin reflected back to him.

*“I bind you, spirit, in servitude to me.”

#Keatlejuice x Reader #Keatlejuice #Keatlejuice imagine #Michael Keaton x Reader #Michael Keaton #Michael Keaton imagine #Beetlejuice x Reader #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice imagine #Betelgeuse x Reader #Betelgeuse #Betelgeuse imagine #Beetlejuice (1988) #Happy Halloween #Halloween

[itsleese]

Governor’s Ball | Bakugo Katsuki X Reader (BNHA)

Warnings: Fluff, Swearing, Fluff

This is a companion piece to Notice! A prequel, of sorts, written in our fav boom boy’s POV. Hope you enjoy ♡︎

Bakugo couldn’t care less about this stupid fucking ball. He doesn’t give a shit about the rich, hates the idea of wearing a suit, and dancing? Fuck. Off.

Still, here he is.

Black suit, red vest, black tie, scowl.

Eijiro’s buzzing, has been since the idea of the stupid party was announced a whole fucking week ago.

The place is huge, a real grand ballroom. Gold accents and crystal chandeliers, checkerboard tiles— a motherfucking orchestra that has him rolling his eyes. There are tables everywhere, a stage, a dancefloor. Everyone’s dressed way too nicely; men are all in suits, ladies all in floor-length dresses.

He’s fussing with his cufflinks when he sees you the first time, and he swears air actually leaves his lungs. You’re so gorgeous, he hates it. Hates your lipgloss smile, your stupidly long eyelashes. Your dress is red, long, sparkly, backless. He itches to touch your skin, so he shoves his hands into his pockets to distract himself.

But he can’t look away, can he?

Fuck no.

The way the material shimmers and moves as you walk, the way the sweetheart bodice frames your breasts just fucking so—

“Katsuki, you dropped this.” Eijiro elbows him, crouches at his feet.

Frowning, Bakugo follows him with his eyes. “What? I didn’t drop any—” He starts, but when his friend stands back at full height, there’s nothing in his hand, just a big, dumb smile on his face.

“Your jaw,” he grins. “You dropped your jaw.” Bakugo rolls his eyes.

“That’s fucking stupid—”

“She looks really nice tonight, huh? Wow, even think I’ll ask her to dance.” Eiji says, looking in your direction, then sending Bakugo a sideways glance. He’s baiting him, he knows he is.

“Do what ya want, shitty hair.” He shrugs, turning around to pretend to look for someone. “You seen Aizawa? Which one’s our table?”

He hears Eijiro hesitate, but think’s nothing of it. “Ah, it’s… I dunno, I—”

“Well, well, well,” Bakugo almost flinches at the sound of your cockier than thou voice. “Look what one of Aizawa’s many cats dragged in.” When he turns, you’re grinning. Just the fact that you’re standing there in front of him, hand on your hip, looking like that, has him practically speechless.

“Hi, [Name],” Eijiro greets, sending you a smile. “You look really nice tonight.”

“Aw, thanks, Kirishima.” You poke your tongue at him cheekily, swish your dress in your hand, look down as the sequins catch the light. “The colour matches your eyes, doesn’t it?”

Ugh, you’re flirting with Eijiro. Gross.

“The fuck do you want?” Bakugo manages to say, eyes darting away from you.

You take a deep breath, exasperated. “I was going to come over here to let you two know where our table is, but now I don’t think I wanna tell you.” You shrug teasingly, and he sees it, he sees the way your bare shoulders shimmer under the lights. Is that… makeup? Surely you can’t be so gorgeous that you actually glow?

“You’re so fucking irritating.” He grumbles, because you are. You walk around looking like that, then you open your venomous fucking trap, destroying the angelic illusion.

Why’s he like it so fucking much?

“All you’ve gotta say is please.” You step closer, rise your chin a little, challenging him. He can’t say he’s ever seen your eyes up this close before.

He better not be fucking blushing.

“Fuck you.” He spits. “Like we need your sorry ass to help us.” He glares down at you, not wanting to back down from your challenge. Your eyes narrow, glossy pout twists upwards. “C’mon, Kirishima.” Bakugo steps around you, brushing past you.

You even smell nice.

“Good luck finding your seat, simp.” You grin, waving gleefully. He just snarls at you, keeps walking.

Then the idiot following him opens his mouth. “Katsuki,” he starts. “Why the hell do you let her get to you so much?”

“I don’t, asshole.” He calls, tosses him a glare over his shoulder, rolls his eyes.

“Uh, yeah, ya do.” Kirishima laughs, coming right up next to him. “You like her, huh? My boy’s got a crush!”

“Shut yer trap; don’t be fucking stupid.” He snaps, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

“Can you just admit it to me? You’re always complaining about her, but you look at her like—”

Bakugo stops mid-step, glares at his best friend. “Like what? Like you look at Momo?” He offers, brows raised expectantly. Eijiro’s face turns as red as his hair. “That’s what I thought.” Bakugo scoffs.

“I only like her a little.” He defends.

“Yeah, well, I only like looking at [Name], okay? She’s a shitty fucking person.” The blonde grumbles.

Deep down he wonders if he’s just trying to convince himself that’s the truth.

God, he fucking hopes not.

Eventually they find Aizawa, make it to their table, and get to finally sit the hell down. Bakugo’s feet are fucking killing him.

The night drags.

Partly because this sure as hell ain’t his scene, and partly because of you.

You and your stupid red dress, and the stupid, mindless old men ogling you—a minor—dragging you away for dances. One brings you a drink, and Aizawa steps in.

Bakugo hears him say the work “student” really loudly, and the man’s face turns ashy.

“Fucking hell,” Bakugo grumbles, rolling his eyes for the millionth time that night.

“Hey,” a soft voice chimes, sliding into the empty seat next to him. Practically everyone’s on the dancefloor, so it shocks him to look up and see Yaoyoruzu smiling at him. “Not your scene, huh? When you’re a top Pro, you’ll be attending lots of these.”

“Yeah? We’ll see.” He snorts; she looks pretty, too. Dressed in emerald green chiffon; it looks like something his father designed. “When I’m Pro, the only rules I’ll have are my own.”

She eyes him sceptically. “Right, sure.”

There’s a silence then—not that the party’s quiet—but she’s thinking, and so his he. You catch his eye again, this time with a much older man, tall and stern. He can’t see your face, but the man puts a hand on your shoulder, and Bakugo tenses up.

“She’s a good person, you know.” Momo says, leaning closer to him, her eyes following his. “She gives you shit because you take the bait.”

“Like I give a fuck.” He snaps, sending her a heated glare. “What? You think I like her? Me? Like her?” He’s incredulous. Well, at least trying to be.

He then realises that he’s jumped into the defensive way too quickly, and Yaoyorozu is way too intelligent to miss it.

She hums, deep in thought, as she watches you flutter around. Someone’s asked you to dance.

It’s Kirishima.

That weaselly little—

“Well, she’s capable, she’s pretty, and she’s intelligent. What’s not to like?” She asks with a short shrug.

Still taken aback by his best friend clearly cutting his grass—

No, wait, Bakugo doesn’t even like you, why would that even bother him?

And you’re not his grass to begin with—

Not the point, Katsuki.

He scoffs, feeling his face heat rapidly at his train of thought. “Her stinkin’ fucking attitude, and her incessant ridiculing.”

When he glances to Yaoyorozu, she’s grinning at him. “Right.” Is all she says. But it’s the cock of her perfectly shaped eyebrow, and the tilt of her chin that tells him that she knows.

And it pushes him to further explain himself. “I don’t like her, so you can get that stupid fucking idea out of your overactive brain right now, dipshit.”

“Bakugo,” her tone screams lecture. “You look at her the way Ochako looks at Izuku. You’ve been staring at her all night. I didn’t pick you for a liar.”

Wow, liar. He hates that. Hates it when people accuse him of being dishonest.

“I am not a fucking liar.” He glowers, because he isn’t.

“Do you like her or not?” He presses.

“I don’t!” He hisses, because yeah, you’re pretty, but you’re fucking annoying.

“Liar.” She grins. “You’re redder than your vest, Bakugo.”

“She’s attractive, and she’s a fucking moron, okay? Doesn’t mean I like her.” His voice rises a little, so he corrects himself. “Not that its any of your fucking business.” He whisper-hisses.

“I won’t tell her, don’t worry.” She smiles. “It’s not my place.”

He’s convinced she knows, and that she’s just as honest as he is, so she won’t go back on her word. Despite the fact that she’s your best fucking friend.

“You and Eiji are the only ones who know, so keep your fucking trap shut.” He grumbles, admitting for the first time out loud that he does like you.

Ugh, he hates that.

Why you?

His eyes find you again. Kirishima’s gone and Raccoon Eyes is in his place, twerking back into you. You toss your head back, laughing, work on spanking her ass.

“I don’t think she’d believe it unless she heard it out of your mouth anyway.” Yaoyorozu sighs. “You said it yourself, she’s a bit of a moron.” A crowd begins to gather around you and Ashido, and Round Face and Asui tug you both away, clearly giving you a scolding for your antics.

You laugh, and it’s beautiful.

He groans and folds his arms on the tabletop, buries his face against them, embarrassed.

What would it be like to touch you? To dance with you? To be the reason you smile like that?

It’ll never happen, he knows that.

Knows he’s too proud to make that first step towards common ground, to try and get to know you. Knows you don’t wanna know him anyway.

There’s a tap on his shoulder, and when he scowls up at the person, he sees you. Cheshire grin, twinkle in your eye.

He panics, because of what he’s been thinking, what he’s been talking about with Yaoyorozu.

“Truth or dare.” You challenge—always with the challenges.

“Dare.” He narrows his eyes, because it’s the least daunting option.

Your smile grows, and you hold out your hand to him. “Dance with me.” He opens his mouth to object, glare already deepening, but you cut him off. “If you don’t accept the dare, you’ve gotta pay the penalty.” You point out, hands on your hips.

He sits up straighter. “What’s the penalty?”

“Kiss the person of my choosing.” You say, chin raised at him.

“I never even agreed to play your stupid game.” He scoffs, turning away from you, only to see Yaoyorozu’s expectant face.

“Whatever.” You announce. “Everyone’s playing, so I’m gonna go and tell them you’re refusing the dare, and you’re gonna have to kiss ‘Shitty Deku’.” You say into quotation marks.

Momo raises an eyebrow at him, and his heart skips.

It’s his chance. Kinda.

He can dance with you, touch you. Both under the premise of it being a dare. You’ll be none the wiser.

“Fuck,” he breathes, standing up. “Fine.”

Your face lights up, and he can feel his ears and neck heat up.

“Geez, don’t wet yourself.” He rolls his eyes.

“I can’t believe you picked me over Izuku, I am honoured, Lord Explosion Murder.” You curtsey dramatically.

“Fucking hurry up, so I can sit back down.” He grumbles, hands in his pockets as he strides towards the dancefloor.

You say something snarky, but he doesn’t hear you. As soon as the two of you step foot onto the dancefloor the lights dim and the music slows.

You laugh, and he turns to glare at you. You point over to the band, and he sees Denki and Ashido sending a thumbs up from the conductor’s stand. Seems like they planned for this. Like they’d requested it.

“I’m going back to the fucking table—” he scowls, but you grab his arm, drag him deeper into the dancefloor, and place his hand pointedly on your waist, reaching for his shoulders.

“Other hand, too.” You instruct, smiling up at him, inches away.

He clenches his jaw, but follows suit; rolls his eyes and looks anywhere but at you. How the hell can he look at you without fucking staring?

You smell like flowers and candy and he’s telling himself that you’re just teasing him—because of course you are—but he can’t help but enjoy it a little. Enjoy the fact that he’s holding you, and you’re holding him, that you’re less than a foot apart, and you’re easily following his simple box step as you both sway to the music.

“Why did you ask me?” He grunts out, kicking himself after the fact.

To make fun of you, dipshit.

“Kirishima gave me the idea, actually.” You smile, mascara lashes batting up at him. “So, you can thank your best friend for putting you in this horrible predicament.” He rolls his eyes at your smirk.

“It’s kind of stupid way to make me uncomfortable.” He mutters, and you tilt your head to the side inquisitively. “You’ve just gone and made yourself uncomfortable too, dumbass.”

You laugh then, squeeze his shoulders. “I like dancing, so I don’t mind.” You say. “The look on your face when we got out here and the lights went down? Totally worth it.”

He just grunts in response, makes sure to glare away from you, to roll his eyes.

But he enjoys the rest of the dance. Resists the urge to pull you against him, to tighten his grip, to even move his hands from where you’d placed them.

When the song’s over, you pat his chest. “You’re actually a good dancer, asshole.” It’s a complement.

“Hope you enjoyed it, princess, because it’s the first and last one you’ll ever get.” He grumbles.

Your eyes widen, jaw goes slack.

His heart stops.

He called you princess. You heard him.

“What the hell are you staring for? You’re gonna catch flies keeper yer trap open that wide.” He narrows his eyes, bends down to your eye level; tries to act like it’s not a big deal, so it’s you who looks like the idiot for overreacting.

You just correct your face, swat at him, step away. “Whatever, grumpy-ass.” Then you’re gone.

He heads back to the table, slides back into his seat, and spares Yaoyorozu a glance.

“How was it?” She asks, smiling.

“Shut up.” He replies shortly.

She leans a little closer. “Wasn’t that bad, huh?”

He sighs, tired.

It was nice. It was really nice.

But he doesn’t need to tell her that.

“Shut up, Yaomomo.” He grumbles, folding his arms and laying his head back down on them.

He gets a whiff of your perfume.

Transfer from when your hand was resting on his shoulder during the dance.

A smile worms its way onto his face, and he breathes it in again.

Maybe shitty parties aren’t so bad, after all.

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #notice fic chatter

[omegaplus]

# 3,928

The Mighty Mighty Bosstones: “The Impression That I Get” (1996)

There’s only two ska records in my library and both of those are the first two Specials albums. I’m talking about the real deal, and not the Nineties’ third-wave explosion. Those two have left a bitter taste in my mouth and it’s still there. When third-wave “ska” came up, so did the elitist dicks on Long Island who thought they were above all and everybody. They felt that their progeny and original tried-and-trues were threatened by industry bands such as Less Than Jake, Goldfinger, and Reel Big Fish who made posers to come out of the woodwork. That I understand. But I never understood the appeal of ska because back then I thought it sounded like silly and comedic circus music, so I totally avoided it. I’ve had interactions with the keepin’-it-reals and I always thought they came across as bottom-line all-important assholes in general regardless of how passionate they were of protecting the sanctity of clown car anthems. These checkerboard cadets had their noses up to the sky when they weren’t looking down on you just because. And I think to myself: ‘this was what you’re so up-in-the-ass about?

Last week we got news that The Mighty Mighty Bosstones called it quits. The reaction was mostly enthusiastic with a couple of lyrical puns thrown in for tired measure. Unless you were a die-hard -Bosstones fan, your vision of them was their only radio hit “The Impression That I Get”. I experienced it during at time dealing with tumultuous situations with friends on both sides. I was ambivalent and indifferent to it. It never moved me but served as a tiny asterisk during my the time between graduating Brentwood and entering community college. Who else joined the -Bosstones for a shot at radio immortality? Squirrel Nut Zippers “Hell” (’96) and Ashley MacIsaac & Mary Jane Lamond’s “Sleeping Maggie” (’95). 92.3′s K-Rock gave them airplay and even Alternative Press awarded the -Zippers the front page which later they regretted. In my eyes, it was an unusual what-the-fuck moment where both K-Rock and Alternative Press rode those spur-of-the-moment trends, and those artists all left as quickly as they came. “The Impression That I Get” may or may not been the catalyst that ignited ska’s laughable third-wave, but why did the industry chose that single? I have no fucking idea. But, some time later, the mess in my eyes began. Just like alternative music, hardcore, and certain sects of hip-hop / rap (”keepin’ it real”) had their phonies who had to start somewhere, ska came on the scene. As I could see, it was a headshaker.

TL; DR:

Wow. The Mighty Mighty Bosstones break up and now everyone’s calling it ‘the day ska music died’. Yeah, okay.

Don McLean would tell you, too, to eat a bag of sausages.

#omega #music #mixtapes #reviews #playlists #ska #Mighty Mighty Bosstones #Ashley MacIsaac #Squirrel Nut Zippers #GTFOH #Less Than Jake #Goldfinger #Reel Big Fish #Don McLean

[hyperfixationtimego]

Happy little hcs to atone for my sins

Taka and Hina are study buddies

Sometimes Aoi manages to get Taka off track because she’s just so enthusiastic and wants to hear about all of her friends’ hyperfixations and special interests

37.2 minutes later

Taka’s infodumping about how he despises moral philosophy but also thoroughly enjoys it bc that’s how moral philosophers are

Or he’s infodumping about political science and debate tactics and how speeches were effective or not for various reasons

Sakura and Mondo work out together

It started off as a coincidence when they were in the gym at the same time but it kept happening so they called it a schedule

They talk about their SOs and they’re smiling

Sakura teaches Mondo certain stretches and exercises to help relax different muscle groups for whenever he pulls a muscle or has a flare up from the thing with the bikes

Leon constantly asks Chihiro to turn alter ego into a vocaloid or at least program a bit of that tech into their system

Bc he would rather shave his head again than talk to Sayaka about producing music

He just has so many ideas

And it’s cool when there are kinda punk rock songs that are covered in an 8-bit or a vocaloid style

Byakuya and Celeste have a small series of bets with low stakes about what their inferiors classmates will do to lead up to them jingling away morosely like the fools they are

Sayaka shamelessly advertises her group’s mercy to her classmates and friends

Everyone gets their nails painted at some point

Nobody knows how Byakuya got roped into it but it worked

Makoto has rainbow loom

Atua forgives you

anyway YEAH LEGIT?

Hina has fully and thoroughly fallen in love with all of her friends and classmates’ expressions whenever they’re talking about something that excites them omg 🥺

she sees someone rambling and having a good time and hears the enthusiastic pitch of their voice as well as the general Vibe™️ that they’re giving off and she just???? [Y E A R N]

:)

and also just???? her and taka being study buddies is so valid oh my god??? they’re really close because of it!!! And Taka always loves hanging out with her because he knows she’ll let him just Talk??? and he adores that about her????? And she’ll be ENGAGED which!!!!!! oh my god!!!!?????

hi in this house we love and adore hina

And Sakura and Mondo???? absolutely?????

they have friendly competitions over who can lift the most weights/do the most reps/etc. (they do it sparingly, ofc! bc Sakura at least knows that they’ll both be subconsciously trying to beat the other as opposed to listening to what their bodies need in the moment. Sakura is the single braincell of class 78 no I won’t take it back because it’s true)

and they totally doooooo like they both get such cute loveydovey pining expressions whenever it’s Their Turn™️ to discuss the latest cute thing their partner(s) did. and listening to the other talking???? oh my god it’s literally the neatest thing????

Sakura looking at Mondo: I would die for this man

Mondo looking at Sakura: this woman is literally beauty and perfection in human form

THEY’RE SUCH GOOD FRIENDS OKAY???

also chihiro joins them for training sometimes!!!! She obviously isn’t able to do as much as the other two are, but both Sakura and Mondo are always so proud of her progress??? They’re like “you are so cool and strong do you know that??? you better know that”

and speaking of chihiro hdbdvdvdvdvdvdvdvd on GOD Leon will Not leave them alone abt it and they’re just like

“y....you do NOT have the attention span,.......you’re gonna get frustrated within like the first five minutes......and then I’ll have done all that work for nothing..............”

but Leon’s >:( no I won’t!!!! music is my Passion!!!!!!!!

so it’s like *sigh* okay

and anyway leon genuinely does rlly like it???? like he gets burned out very easily and can only compose things in short bursts, but he’s always so so so proud of the finished products??? (Even if nobody else likes it but shush 😌)

and it makes chihiro :D to know that something she made (even if it was done with reluctance) has brought one of her closest friends so much happiness????? she’s also like good for Leon but also if he ever bothers them about something like that again they are Literally Going to Snap but that’s another story for another day vwv

AND YEAH LIKE. HE DOESN’T MIND TALKING TO HER ABT MUSIC IN GENERAL BECAUSE IT’S AN INTEREST THEY SHARE (quite possibly one of the only times they will have a conversation without one constantly insulting the other ❤️) BUT. ADMITTING TO HER THAT HE NEEDS HELP WITH IT IS THE WORST HE HATES IT HE HATES IT HSBDBSBD

god okay so. his first impression of her when they had just come to hope’s peak and met for the first time was “oh my god!!! she’s a pop idol!!! so she must know a lot about music!!! maybe she’ll help me become a popular musician!!!” and her immediate reaction when she first heard him ask was to literally roll her eyes and he was like oh okay fuck her actually

and then slow burn enemies-to-friends 💛

WHEBDVSVS CELESTE AND BYAKUYA JUST BEING RICH ASSHOLES IS SO FUNNY??? LIKE THEY HAVE WEALTH SOLIDARITY AND THEY ACT ALMOST LIKE alright your status makes you worthy of my time, I suppose-

they’ve had bets on everything from how many times kirigiri will pass out from exhaustion by the end of the school day, to how long it’ll take before Kirumi finally Loses Her Shit, to how many people will be harmed by Komaeda’s luck while hanging out with him.

Mfs about to die smh

and dhdbwvwbsvwvwb yeah like??? sometimes a normal conversation with maizono will turn into her being like “yeah, and by the way, if you’re looking for a change of style and wardrobe, you should check out the newest shirt my band just released as part of our merch drop, and-”

Makoto is the one who gets baited into her merch ads most often sndbsbsbdbdbw

even mentioning the word “merch” around Leon or Kaz will earn her a lot of groaning and sighing, and occasionally a pillow or other soft object being hurled at her face 💛

oh my god they all have a manicure spa day,,,,,,,class bonding 🥺

hdbdvdvdv they got Jill to break into his dorm and kidnap him ngl like the specifics they gave her were something along the lines of “use as much force as you need to without killing him” and she was like “DONE”

and okay I’m not gonna talk abt everyone’s nails but now I’m thinking about it and like-

Sayaka gets like a lighter violet background with gold and white stars smattered around them, more concentrated in some areas than others, and it’s generally very pretty 🥺

chihiro’s are a different solid pastel color on each finger!!! it’s very kidcore and fun and they love it so muchhhh!!!

leon gets a little self-conscious when it’s his turn because his nails are highkey disgusting from all the time he spends playing baseball - there’s dirt trapped under them and everything so he’s just like hhhhhhh anxiety go brrrr but anyway he gets solid black because he’s edgy and cool like that 😎

I think Taka gets a French manicure with little dark red flowers pressed towards the tips because!!! simple yet pretty!!!

Celeste probably takes the longest because her request is sooooo complicated like it’s black and red and long ass acrylics with overlapping patterns and everyone else just kinda sits there feeling h o r r i b l e for that poor nail stylist

Toko gets a checkerboard pattern, with each nail having a different neon color in place of white!!! Because she knows that Jill will find it cool and pretty and colorful the next time she fronts (visual stimming jill?? 👀)

Togami just picks whatever will get him out of the chair quickest hdbsvdvdvdbdbdb

anyway Makoto????? rainbow loom????? absolutely

he has so many bracelets!!!!! so many so many so many and he knows how to create such a wide variety of styles it’s so cool!!!!!! he wears a bunch of them at any given time because they are so fun to fidget with!!!! and rubber texture hvvvvhvv!!!!

and he creates personalized ones for his friends, too, like he knows their favorite colors and sometimes picks up on whether they prefer a certain style or not from the way they react to the other ones he’s made and it’s!!! just so neat!!!!!

I’m thinking about it and!!! he has a bi pride fishtail, a trans pride arrow stitch, a black and neon green railroad, a pastel pink/blue/purple/yellow ladder, a jelly yellow and green dragon scale, a rainbow double cross, and a bunch more!!! he also has a bunch with charms and beads added into them!!!!

He also makes them for his friends even if he knows they won’t wear them!! Like Toko, for example, isn’t the biggest fan of jewelry because she doesn’t like the texture, but he creates one for her anyway and fills it with so much love (it looks like a daisy chain!!!! because at least she’ll be able to look at it and hold it and still be interested in it without it needing to be on her wrist!!!)

he makes a ton of bright colored ones for Mukuro (usually either single or inverted fishtail because he knows she wouldn’t enjoy wearing anything too heavy or overbearing) so that she has more mobile visual stims!!!

similar for Jill!! although most of hers tend to be black and bright neon rainbow in various bulkier styles!!!! Jill will also force him to let her look at his bracelet-covered arm whenever they hang out because. my god,,,,,,so many Colors™️

he’s found that togami prefers black and white simpler styles, and that Kyoko absolutely adores singles, fishtails, and double fishtails in any shade of purple, and that Mondo likes any of the larger styles in darker colors + blacks and grays!!! Chihiro loves anything with jelly and glitter bands!!!

Leon usually only wears one at a time, but he cycles through every single one that his boyfriend’s ever made for him because????? GOD they’re so cool and his boyfriend is so crafty and incredible and just,,,,,,,,,hvvvhvv every time he looks at the one he’s wearing he’s able to calm himself down and remember that Makoto loves him........it’s also very good for stim and fidgeting <3

anyways sorry yes Makoto with a rainbow loom is filling me with serotonin and it’s canon now

#Makoto with a rainbow loom......what will he do........ #create literally so many things apparently!!! #it relaxes him 🥺 #Makoto naegi #class 78 #danganronpa #ask box #the-human-sharpie #aoi asahina #kiyotaka ishimaru #mondo owada #mondo oowada #sakura oogami #sakura ogami #Leon kuwata #chihiro fujisaki #Sayaka maizono #Byakuya togami #celestia ludenberg #Toko fukawa #genocide Jill #Kyoko kirigiri #genocider syo #genocider shou #makuwata #naeleon #leonae #leonaegi #dr headcanon tag #non despair au (danganronpa)

[anubislover]

A Family Matter - Chapter 1

(As far as Ikkaku was concerned, deep down, every Marine was a corrupt scumbag. Some were just better at hiding it than others)

“Really hope Law doesn’t take too long to rescue us,” Shachi sighed, laying against the cool tiles of the prison floor, staring at the florescent lights in the ceiling, “otherwise I’m gonna die of boredom.”

“Agreed,” Penguin said from the cell next to him, using his shoelaces to make a cat’s cradle. They’d been locked in there for two days, and he had managed to tie and untie every type of knot he could think of for the sake of having something to occupy his brain. “They could have at least let me keep the deck of cards I’d brought.”

“Or given us a checkerboard or something. Hell, I’d take a book on Marine rules and regulations at this point—at least I could use it to beat my own skull in.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad,” Ikkaku chuckled from her cell across the room, folding her hands behind her head as she settled against the wall. “There are worse places to be incarcerated than Drake’s ship.”

It was true; while the brig was grey and boring, it was undeniably clean and well-kept, which was far more than they could say for other prisons they’d seen. On top of that, while the three Heart Pirates were locked up in separate cells, they weren’t chained to the walls or even cuffed, there were small cots with pillows and blankets, and no one was being tortured or interrogated. Hell, they’d even been given regular meals that resembled actual food, which was a pleasant surprise.

Really, the only concerning part was the cell in the far back corner that, from the look of things, had Seastone bars and shackles. Anyone could guess who Drake had reserved that one for. He might as well have hung a welcome banner.

Of course, the brig could have resembled a 5-star spa resort with meals prepared by a personal chef and Ikkaku would still have a fairly low opinion of the commodore. He was still a Marine, and she’d never known a Navy dog that wasn’t some kind of corrupt scumbag deep down, especially those that attained an officer’s rank. Some were simply better at hiding it than others.

But for now, she’d appreciate the decent-by-Marine-standards captivity, then take great pleasure in wrecking their shit.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t make me any less antsy,” Penguin stated quietly, suspicious of any guards that might be listening just out of sight. “We’ve got to be ready. Remember the plan.”

The mechanic rolled her eyes. “Of course we remember the plan.” Law had basically drilled it into their heads; the three of them had been dropped off on Einer Island to cause a commotion as a decoy while Law took the ship to Zwei Island to quietly raid the Marine base housed there.  He’d known Drake would take the bait and capture the three of them, and the Polar Tang would intercept his ship a few days later so Law could sneak aboard, free them, and they’d set about causing some wonderful havoc for the commodore and his crew. It was convoluted and complicated and she had no doubt Law would get the exact result he wanted. Which was, she suspected, the ire and attention of a certain Allosaurus.

Her grin widened as she connected the dots. “You’re not worried about the plan; you just don’t like thinking about the last time we were aboard this ship.”

Shachi sniggered while Penguin blushed from his neck to his hairline. His expression was nearly as mortified as it had been during the incident in question. “Damn it Ikkaku! I was so close to repressing that, too!”

“When we next hit land, I’ll buy you a bottle of grain alcohol as brain bleach,” she cackled without remorse. Really, being locked in a Marine prison cell would never be her idea of fun, but she was glad she was stuck with these two—teasing Penguin was far more entertaining than any poker game.

The good cheer was swiftly vanquished as a deep, cold voice from the doorway stated, “Honestly, Ikkaku, are you really still such an idiot? Or do you find the idea of dying in prison amusing somehow?”

No. It can’t be, she thought, freezing as her mind registered the familiar, intruding voice. She hadn’t heard in years, save the occasional nightmare, but it still made a wave of dread crash over her like a tsunami. Her palms immediately began to sweat while her heart pounded in her ears. He’s supposed to be stationed in the West Blue, not the North.

In sync, Penguin and Shachi turned to observe the unfamiliar man that entered the brig. He was about Law’s height but with at least three times the muscle mass. He wore the crisp white suit of a Marine officer, his coat dutifully perched on his broad shoulders. His hair was jet black and gelled back, but it was clear that the locks were naturally curly despite his efforts to tame them. There was something vaguely familiar about him, though neither man could put their finger on it. He wasn’t that different from most Marines they’d encountered; he held himself with the same over-bloated self-importance to match his too-polished appearance. His smile was especially disconcerting—there was nothing genuine about the curl of his lips, as not a hint of warmth reached his dark brown eyes.

The newcomer approached Ikkaku’s cell with measured, slightly-too-loud steps. “What, not going to greet me properly? It’s been at least four years.”

“…hi, Ushi.”

His insincere smile dropped as he scowled in disapproval. “Tch. Try to say my name with more respect, you worthless little brat. I’m a Marine captain now.”

“Good evening, Captain Ushi, sir.”

Shachi’s jaw dropped when Ikkaku didn’t make some sarcastic, biting comment. The woman he knew never let someone talk to her like that. She’d certainly had no trouble sassing the Marines when they’d been captured. Hell, once she’d gotten comfortable among the Hearts, she’d taken to back-sassing Law on the regular. It was funny as hell to watch the two of them go at it like a couple of squabbling siblings. In fact, he suspected Law enjoyed and even encouraged it to an extent, as he’d just argue right back instead of pulling rank or disciplining her. The crew occasionally wondered if their captain spoiling her like that was a good thing, as it reinforced her lack of respect for more powerful figures.

To see that fire doused so easily by one man set Shachi’s teeth on edge.

“Better,” the Marine said blandly, pulling a key out of his pocket. “Though, it’ll be Commodore Ushi soon; there’s been talk of promoting me. I’ve made a good impression among some important people. People who want to see me advance. Unfortunately, that’s unlikely to happen unless I clear up a few loose ends first.”

Instinctively, Ikkaku shrank back, pressing herself hard against the wall as if it might open up and swallow her. Her big brown eyes were fixated on the floor, and her lips were pressed together so tightly they’d turned white.

It was easy to guess what “loose ends” he was referring to. Ushi had always been ambitious. Praised for his strength, intelligence, sense of responsibility, and charisma, the whole island had loved him, giving him a grand send-off the day he left for the Marines. On the few occasions he’d had time to visit home, everyone was quick to call him the pride of Rivet and a future hero.

The handful that knew better had learned to keep their mouths shut long ago.

In the cell across from her, Penguin’s hands clenched as he watched the interaction before him. This was very, very wrong. In the year and a half that he’d known her, Ikkaku didn’t shrink. From anyone. Not Law, not enemy pirates, not drunken brutes twice her size—even Drake had gotten a few bruises when he’d been forced to subdue her during their capture. She was feisty and scrappy and wasn’t afraid of slamming her foot into some asshole’s groin when threatened.

It became clear that this particular Marine was the exception when he unlocked her cell door, marched inside, grabbed her by the collar of her jumpsuit, and dragged her to her feet.

Ikkaku didn’t resist. Resisting had never done her any good in the past. Ushi always took it as a personal offense and would come up with worse punishments. Or make Hapushiru, Nausagi, and Fukuro beat her up instead so he could keep his hands clean and maintain his image as the “responsible” one.

Of course, she was swiftly reminded that he’d never been shy about taking matters into his own hands when he was in the right mood when he sharply smacked her across the cheek so hard she saw stars for a moment.

At the loud smack, Penguin and Shachi sprang to their feet, ready to fight. “What the fuck—”

“You’ve got some balls hitting our crewmate!”

Ushi ignored them in favor of sneering down at the woman in question, “Can you believe the twins were actually bragging about you being part of the most wanted crew in the North Blue? As if you’re the one the family should be proud of! You’re going to come with me, nice and quiet, or we’re going to have problems. And you remember how I tend to make problems disappear, right?”

She shuddered at the memory. Three days. She’d spent three days wandering alone in the woods, cold and hungry and terrified that she’d be eaten by wolves. Three days wondering if Ushi was right—that Mama and Papa would be better off without her. Without a worthless daughter than would never amount to anything holding everyone back…

Gramps had been the one to find her. Nausagi and Fukuro had realized that, even if their baby sister annoyed them, and even if having one less mouth to feed meant more money for toys and treats, leaving her out there to die was sick and wrong. The twins had defied Ushi and told their grandfather she was missing. The old lighthouse keeper had searched the woods in the middle of a storm for the sake of finding his seven-year-old granddaughter, and she could still remember his wrinkled face lined with worry and raindrops when he’d finally found her shivering in a hollowed-out tree.

As relieved as her parents had been that she was safe, Ikkaku had been scolded for causing such trouble and forcing Gramps to abandon his post and risk something happening, like the light going out and a ship crashing into the rocks. How dare she run off without telling anyone? She’d put herself and others in danger! Why couldn’t she be more responsible like Ushi?

Neither she nor the twins had told anyone that it had been Ushi’s fault—no one would believe them, and he’d just make them pay for it.

He had made them pay for it. He’d taken his aggression out on Nausagi and Fukuro, beating them both bloody while making Ikkaku watch, telling her that it was her fault, that he wouldn’t have to hurt his beloved little brothers if she’d just stayed gone…

CLANG! Shachi threw himself against the bars of his cell, desperately grasping for Ikkaku in hopes of getting her away from the Marine. She hadn’t even noticed that Ushi had dragged her out of her cell—she’d been too caught up in the past. Of the memory of how pointless it was to fight Ushi.

“Buddy, I don’t give a shit if you’re an Admiral—you let Ikkaku go right the fuck now, or so help me I’ll rip your goddamn throat out!”

Meanwhile, Penguin was yelling towards the doorway, “Hey! Is somebody out there? I know this asshole isn’t part of Drake’s crew! Get him out of here!”

Ushi gave the younger men a death glare. “Shut the hell up. I sent the guards to get some coffee so I wouldn’t have any interruptions. Not that they’d step in anyway; what self-respecting Marine would help a bunch of pirates?”

As if to prove his point, he slammed his fist into Ikkaku’s stomach, his grip on the collar of her boiler suit the only thing keeping her from crumpling to the floor.

She would have sobbed if she had the breath to. He was right. Ushi could do what he wanted, and no one would help them. Hell, they’d probably thank him for taking them off their hands; no need to expend resources on prisoners, after all.

Men like Ushi were the reason she could never trust the Marines. The fact that they’d allowed such a violent bastard to advance to a position of authority—that “certain people” wanted to give him even more power—told her everything she needed to know. The World Government was just a gang of bullies who liked to push people around just for kicks. She’d seen it plenty of times; Navy dogs refusing to help innocent civilians, valuing the glory of arresting a notorious pirate over human decency.

Hell, Commodore Drake was probably lounging in his cabin, greedily counting however many belli her brother had paid him to take a single problematic prisoner off his hands.

No one would come to help the Heart Pirates.

That didn’t stop Shachi from straining against the bars harder, the veins in his neck bulging as he struggled to rescue his friend. “Go fuck yourself!”

Smirking, Ushi moved so he was just out of reach of Shachi’s grasping fingers, making sure to harshly shove Ikkaku behind him to keep her out of the way. “Do yourself a favor and stand down, scumbag, before I break that spindly arm of yours. This is a family matter, anyway.”

“Then it definitely involves us! We’re nakama!” Penguin snapped, turning away from the door to face the Marine. If the guards couldn’t help them, he’d just have to figure out how to take down this asshole himself.

Ushi raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Seriously? You wanna fight me for her? Why? Is it because she’s the only woman on your ship?” He glanced over his shoulder at Ikkaku, who was still clutching her stomach in pain, silently praying that the boys would back down before they got hurt. She knew from experience that breaking an arm was far from an empty threat. “Are you the ship’s whore or something? God, you’re an even bigger disgrace than I thought.”

Eyes lighting up with fury, Shachi pulled his arm inside his cell, took several steps back, and then rushed forward, slamming his shoulder against the door in an attempt to break it down.

“She’s our mechanic!” Penguin defended, teeth grinding as he tried to figure out some kind of plan. Damn it, there had to be something in that stupid cell he could use as a weapon. He couldn’t just stand there while this bastard manhandled and insulted Ikkaku! He’d throw his boot at the son of a bitch if he had to!

“Tch. You people must have been really desperate to hire a talentless brat like her.”

“Ikkaku! Are you really gonna let this guy talk to you like that?!” Shachi shouted as he futilely slammed into the door again. He winced at the pain the shot through his shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when his shipmate was in trouble.

“She’s the best damn mechanic in the North Blue,” Penguin stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Soon she’s going to be the best in the whole world. And you’d better let her go right now; otherwise, you’re in for a world of pain when Law finds out you’ve threatened his nakama.”

A pang went through Ikkaku’s chest at their words, warm and stronger than even the pain in her stomach. It was still such a foreign feeling, having people that genuinely cared about her. That believed in her abilities and her dream. Only the twins had really ever had her back, and it had been too dangerous to show it until Ushi had finally left…

She was given a stark reminder of why that was when her oldest brother drew his pistol.

“Ugh, arguing with you two is a waste of time,” he scoffed, pointing it casually at Penguin, whose eyes widened beneath the brim of his hat as he realized there was no space to dodge in the cramped cell. “I’m on a tight schedule, and I’m pretty sure Drake doesn’t need both of you alive to lure out Trafalgar.”

Without even thinking, Ikkaku lunged forward, desperately grabbing Ushi’s arm and jerking it upwards so the bullet hit a ceiling light instead of her friend.

“Don’t you fucking touch them!” she screamed, spinning around and slamming her foot into his ribs. For a moment, her boot appeared black as it made contact, and the blow made the Marine faulter, the gun falling from his hand to clatter on the tile floor.

Unfortunately, he recovered quickly, and before Ikkaku could dive for the gun he grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her up, and bashed her right against the bars of her empty cell. The impact shook her to her core, and she once again curled into herself, the blood pounding in her ears sounding like frantic footsteps to her dazed mind.

“You stupid fucking bitch!” he shouted, shifting one of his hands so it wrapped around her throat. “You just never fucking learn!”

Thinking fast, Penguin reached through the bars for the pistol, but it was just out of reach. He yanked off his hat, planning to use it to catch the gun and drag it towards him before Ushi could strangle the mechanic.

Everything came to a halt when the sound of stomping boots became unmistakable.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” Drake bellowed from the doorway. He charged into the brig, sword drawn, ready to end whatever fight had resulted in a gun being fired on his ship. His eyes widened at the sight before him; a Marine officer choking his sole female prisoner—who for some reason was out of her cell instead of locked up tight like he’d ordered—while another prisoner reached through the bars for the smoking pistol at their feet. Shards of glass littered the floor of Penguin’s cell, the remains of the florescent light sparking dangerously above him while Shachi clutched his shoulder in pain.

Instinctively, the two guards that flanked Drake drew their rifles, though no one was quite sure if they were aiming at the Captain or the pirates.

“It’s about fucking time,” Shachi said shakily, gripping his shoulder. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and the pain was making its presence known. He was sure he’d injured himself trying to break the door down, but there was no way he was going to stand down until he knew his comrades were safe.

Drake didn’t spare him a glance, his intense grey eyes solely focused on the two figures that weren’t locked up.

“Captain Ushi,” he growled, “while I gave you permission to come aboard my ship, I don’t recall giving you leave to visit the brig. Mainly because you didn’t request it.”

“Ah, yes,” Ushi said, releasing Ikkaku’s throat. His grip on her shoulder remained firm as he lowered her back down to the floor. “I apologize for that. You seemed extremely busy planning Trafalgar Law’s capture, so I planned to bring it up at dinner.”

“Dinner started ten minutes ago. I was waiting for you.”

“Must have slipped my mind.”

“Much like I’m sure your hand slipped when you fired that gun.”

“More like it was forcibly jerked about,” Ushi replied, sparing the wheezing Ikkaku a disdainful glance. “I drew my weapon in self-defense.”

Drake sheathed his sword, mainly so he could cross his arms in disapproval. “Against three unarmed prisoners, two behind bars and one of which is a woman a third your size?”

He had the gall to shrug. “From what I’ve heard, you shouldn’t underestimate the Surgeon of Death or his men. I mean, they’ve been crafty enough to slip through your fingers before, Commodore.”

Grey eyes narrowed at the small show of disrespect. “While this is true, I’m curious as to what business you have with them. And why you sent the guards that were stationed here away. Surely if you’re intent on not underestimating them, you’d want backup? And given the state I’ve found everyone in, I’d say it’s a damn good thing they came to find me instead of taking a coffee break like you suggested. Otherwise you’d have been shot in the back by Trafalgar’s first mate, and the woman could have unlocked the cells, thus allowing them to slip through my fingers once again.”

Ushi glowered at the man in question before grimacing, fully aware that Drake had backed him into a corner. “Fine. I’m here because I’m taking custody of the Heart Pirate woman.”

“Do you have some sort of official paperwork formally requesting a transfer?” he asked, lifting a critical eyebrow.

“Well, no. I was hoping I could make that request of you personally. Of the record, so to speak.”

“Why?”

Shooting Ikkaku a sharp warning glare—the kind that promised unimaginable pain if she dared speak against him—Ushi indicated the woman he had pinned against the bars. “You see, sir, I’m ashamed to admit it, but Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates is my baby sister. She’s always been a spoiled, disobedient brat, but I’d never expected her to devolve into piracy. Maybe it’s my own fault; I left to join the Marines when she was twelve, and I guess without me around, there was no one willing to discipline her.”

Drake looked thoroughly unconvinced, giving a meaningful glance at her cheek, which was already darkening into an ugly bruise. “Is that what you were doing? ‘Disciplining’ her?”

Penguin and Shachi could practically hear the air quotes around the word, and the duo found their hopes beginning to rise just the slightest bit. Drake was their enemy, but they knew for a fact that his tolerance for bullshit was exceptionally low.

Ikkaku was less convinced. There had been plenty of times when it seemed like someone would finally see past her brother’s lies, but he always managed to talk his way out of it and push the blame back onto her. Partially because people didn’t want to see the town’s Golden Child as anything but the perfect, responsible young man everyone had set him up to be.

Seeing that his superior was less than impressed with him, Ushi immediately set to justifying himself. “Look, our parents worked long hours to put food on the table for five kids; keeping them all in line fell to me. I did my best but, well, I guess her career choice shows she’s always been a bad seed.”

Drake actually scoffed. “Your failure as an authority figure among your siblings does not fill me with confidence, Captain Ushi. Get to the point—why do you want me to hand the woman over to you?”

His jaw tightened in frustration. “Because this is a family matter. I’d rather spare our poor parents the shame of the world finding out their daughter became a pirate.”

“You fucking liar!” Shachi shouted.

“You just care about your damn promotion!” Penguin grabbed the bars of his cell in a fruitless attempt to break down the barrier and get to the man who held his crewmate hostage.

“Like he’d listen to scum like you,” Ushi jeered.

“And yet I find myself inclined to believe their side of the story over yours,” Drake snarled, jerking his head towards the prisoners. “I have no time for games. If you don’t start telling the truth in the next three seconds, I will report you—and your little ‘off the record’ request—to Headquarters.”

Frustration finally coming to a boiling point, the Marine captain snapped, “Look, I know it’s a bit unconventional, but my superiors say I could be up for a promotion soon, and I can’t let her cost me everything I’ve worked for. Surely you understand just how difficult it is to advance your career when the Navy knows you’re related to a pirate, right Commodore Diez?” he finished with a sneer.

Silence filled the room at the utterance of the ginger’s surname. Penguin and Shachi actually froze; they vividly remembered the name Diez Barrels, the pirate captain that had made the neighboring Minion Island his base of operations. They’d never seen the man himself, but their parents would often whisper about bodies of those he’d brutally murdered washing up on Sparrow Island’s beaches.

Drake was the son of a pirate?

Meanwhile, the man in question took a deep, calming breath as he assessed the situation. As tempting as it was to rip the man to shreds for daring to bring up his father, doing so would do nothing but make things spiral into blood and chaos. He needed to keep his temper in check and be rational before he made his call.

He regarded his colleague carefully. Captain Ushi had been perfectly cordial when he’d requested permission to board his ship. Had commended Drake’s bravery and impressive record, and the way he led the men under his command. He’d been polite, professional, and while perhaps a bit heavy-handed with the praise, a generally respectable man.

Now, he had his little sister pinned against the cell he’d dragged her from, a smoking gun at his feet, and two prisoners declaring he’d basically tried to kill her for the sake of a promotion.

Drake turned his full attention to the woman. She hadn’t spoken a word since he’d arrived—very odd based on what he knew of her, though their interactions were limited. What he did know was that the mechanic was mouthy and quite the plucky fighter. After all, she’d tried to break his nose and had called him a rather colorful array of curse words during her arrest. Yet now, she was silent.

Her body language spoke volumes, however. Glistening eyes averted to the floor so as to make her assailant feel dominant. Shoulders hunched in pain. Teeth digging into her bottom lip so as to hold back any defiant words that might slip out. Hands and knees trembling ever-so-slightly.

It was when a pair of tears bubbled over and trailed down her bruised cheeks that he made his decision.

“You’re right,” he said slowly and calmly, taking a few casual steps forward. “I do know how difficult it is. It takes an exceptional amount of hard work and ambition to overcome the stigma that comes with being related to a pirate. You may have her.”

One of Drake’s hands shot out to rip Ikkaku from Ushi’s grasp while the other fisted the collar of his shirt, lifting him up so his toes dangled over three feet off the ground as the ginger growled, eyes momentarily burning orange, “When you have the appropriate transfer paperwork, signed by an Admiral, stating the exact reason you wish to take this particular pirate into custody. Until then, she remains my prisoner on my ship. And speaking of, I’m revoking any permission I gave you to come aboard. As such, I’m going to ask you—once—to leave quietly. Immediately.”

For his part, Ushi stared at his superior in unconcealed shock, however any argument he might have made was swiftly silenced as Drake unceremoniously dropped him to the floor. He crumpled a bit, but at the larger man’s ferocious glare he backed off, clumsily scooping up his gun before marching out of the brig with his head held deceptively high, not even sparing Ikkaku a glance.

“Athos, escort Captain Ushi to his ship so he doesn’t get lost,” Drake ordered.

One of the guards nodded and lowered his gun, running off after the chastised officer.

Silence weighed down the cramped room until the pair’s footsteps faded. It didn’t escape Drake’s notice that Ikkaku’s slight shoulder still trembled beneath his hand. Duty momentarily fought with compassion in his mind. Her reaction to her brother’s presence was painfully familiar. And while he shouldn’t give any preferential treatment to a pirate, even a female one, he had no doubt this would not be the last time Ushi came after her.

“It’s Ikkaku, correct?” he asked her, voice gentle but firm.

She blinked up at him, surprised at his tone. “Uh…yeah.”

Nodding to the remaining guard, he shifted his grip so his large hand wrapped almost entirely around her bicep. “Given the current circumstances, I believe it is no longer safe for you to reside in your cell, at least until I can be certain your brother is well and truly gone.”

Loathe as she was to agree with a Marine, Drake was right on the money; Ushi may have retreated for now, but there was no way in Hell he’d let Drake’s ship out of his sight so long as she was on it, especially with the added threat of his superiors finding out about both their relation and his attempt at an under-the-table transfer.

Marines were shady bastards, but they liked to pretend to be squeaky-clean. Ushi’s screw-up might have cost him his promotion, but that didn’t mean he’d give up. If anything, he’d be even more determined to kill her.

She glanced at Penguin and Shachi, who seemed just as conflicted. Separating them wasn’t in Law’s plan. Sure, there was no place on the ship they could put her that he couldn’t find, the it could cost him the element of surprise if he had to Scan the whole ship.

Then again, if Ushi did manage to sneak aboard before Law arrived, there was the very real possibility that he’d come to find a dead engineer, and potentially even the corpses of his first and second mates, too.

On top of that, Drake’s firm grip on her arm and the fact that he’d managed to throw Ushi around like a rag doll made it clear that, as polite as he was being, she didn’t really have a say in the matter.

Heart in her throat, Ikkaku found herself nodding. “Ok. Yeah, that’s…that’s reasonable.”

Pleasantly surprised at the Heart Pirate’s compliance, Drake gave her a brief smile before leading her towards the hallway, turning to the remaining soldier. “Porthos, double the guards in the brig, and if anyone you don’t immediately recognize as a member of this crew shows their face, notify me at once.”

“Hey, where are you taking her?” Penguin called, eyes narrowed. In all honesty, he didn’t disagree with either Drake’s or Ikkaku’s decision—it was more important for his crewmates to be safe than conveniently together. Law should be there to get them tonight, and it didn’t matter if they were on opposite sides of the ship or not; he’d rescue them all. The plan would be fine. Drake wouldn’t know what hit him…

His blood ran cold when Drake actually smirked at him over his shoulder. “When he comes to rescue you, tell your captain that he can find Miss Ikkaku safe and sound in my quarters. And that the cell in the corner is reserved just for him.”

To Be Continued...

#one piece ikkaku #ikkaku one piece #ikkaku #One Piece Fanfiction #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #op fanfiction #heart pirates #shachi one piece #one piece shachi #shachi #penguin one piece #one piece penguin #one piece x drake #diez x drake #x drake one piece #x drake #tw: physical violence #tw: past trauma #one piece marines #pre-series #trafalgar D. Water Law #trafalgar law

[mrsbhandari]

Permafrost

a/n: hi!! ive recently gotten past my block a little bit so ive been able to write more. this is a sequel to Wilt, and i’ll be writing more for this short unplanned series soon!! 

words: 1.3k

warnings: language, awkwardness

summary: he’s home for the holidays, and boy is it cold.

#

It was three in the afternoon when Ajay passed the sign reading “Welcome to Cedar Cove!”, and it was around 3:05 when he pulled into his parents’ driveway, looking the exact same from when he had last visited a few months ago. He hadn’t told anyone but his family about that last visit, but everyone was sure to find out about his current one. He was half excited and half dreading it. Before he got out, he heaved a sigh and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, steeling himself for the inevitability of having to face his friends who mostly decided to stay in Cedar Cove, and even the ones who didn’t still returning home for the holidays. 

His suitcase was light in his hands, a testament to the fact that he always packed light. A small flashback to the London trip left as soon as it came, centered on a blonde ponytail and a bright smile. Fuck, it’s been a year and a half. Get over her, he scolded himself and sucked his teeth, choosing to focus instead on the faded  yellows and dull oranges of the dead leaves lining the cement path to his door, adorned with a small note. 

AT GOLDEN GRIDDLE. JOIN US WHEN YOU’RE SETTLED. YOU KNOW WHERE THE KEY IS! :)

Ajay let out a bitter laugh. Of course it’s the diner. Finding the key under the mat, he set to work getting inside and to his room, both pleased and uncomfortable at how untouched it was. Rather than immediately start unpacking, he dug around in the memories of what felt like his past life, full of pictures and gifts he couldn’t bear to bring with him when he went to New York. His side of the dorm room was bare, but he figured that it was better than filling every inch of his new life with his old one, featuring a girl who probably hated him. He sucked in a breath as that truth came to the front of his mind. Nope, definitely hates me. 

The breakup had been sad but swift, since Ajay left the very next day. He never considered himself to be an asshole, but upon watching her weakly beat her fists against his chest as she sobbed against his shirt while he just stood there silently, taking it without a word, he knew that she was going to go home and cut up all the pictures of him that previously cluttered her walls. His legs felt weak as he walked over to his own relationship shrine, a collection of movie tickets, pictures, and notes shared between them that he had never gotten the chance to take down. A music box she gifted him gathered dust on his desk, so he blew it off and wound it up, allowing the light, tinkling notes to play as he placed his clothes back into empty drawers. It was 3:25 when he finished, grabbing his phone from his nightstand and shutting off the light to leave. 

It had been months since he’d visited Cedar Cove, but as he drove down the streets he’d grown up on, it seemed that the only thing that changed was the leaves on the trees. The closer he drove to the diner, the more he felt the anticipation and hope that maybe...something else was different. 

The parking lot was far more packed than he ever remembered it being, even when teenagers stormed the place after plays and football games. The spot he pulled into was facing the diner, and in the late afternoon sun, he sat in his car and watched the people sitting in the booths through the windows. He spotted his mom, Jim, and Mohit sitting in a booth, his little brother laughing loudly at something his stepfather said. Ajay glanced up and felt his breath catch in his throat. 

She changed her work hairstyle, electing to have it in a messy braid that reached down her back. The uniforms had changed, too, now consisting of a simple checkerboard T-shirt rather than the previous solid red. Desperate to keep a low profile the last time he visited Cedar Cove, he refused to even pass by the diner; now he wanted to know everything he’d missed out on because of his pride. Everyone else in the diner was facing away from him, so he couldn’t pick out anyone that could possibly know him. Taking another deep breath, he turned off his car and made his way into the restaurant. 

The bell over the door rang obnoxiously as he entered, signaling an arrival he wished to keep quiet. He kept his head down as he walked to wear his family was seated, but quickly looked up after everyone who was facing away from him turned around at once. 

“SURPRISE!” a chorus of voices shouted, making him wince as his eyes traveled from face to face. His family was the first group of people to say hi, but they quickly went back to their seats to allow the onslaught of hellos from his friends, who gathered around him expectantly. Erin stepped forward and threw herself into a hug, swaying back and forth to prolong it. 

“We missed you, stranger!” she said, laughing at the choir of agreement that erupted from his other friends. Clint and Graham held hands as they waved hello, indicating that Clint really did move on from Rory, who excitedly clasped hands with Ajay. Skye waved a small greeting from her seat at the breakfast bar, still dressed in the dark colors that he remembered her for. Casey called his name from the open kitchen, showing off his cooking skills by flipping a pancake while keeping a conversation up with him. He felt awkward with so much attention on him, but at the same time, he was upset that the one person he wanted to be close to and let ask him invasive questions was refusing to even get near him. Ajay was led to a booth where everyone crowded around him, questioning him about New York and his fancy film school, intent on squeezing every ounce of information out of him. 

“Is everyone there super stylish? You’ve changed a lot from last Christmas, Ajay,” Erin prodded, referring to his outfit that didn’t seem to belong in southern Oregon. He laughed and took his jacket off, feeling hot under the inquisitive gazes of his previous classmates. 

“I showed up to the first day and immediately felt out of place, so my roommate helped me out.”

“What’s your roommate like?!” Rory asked, leaning their head on their hands to listen. 

“Oh, his name’s Nikael. He’s, uh, more into photography. But he’s really cool! You’d like him.”

“What’s the dating scene like?” Ajay’s head whipped to his right and he nearly fell out of the booth in his haste to stand, towering over Bailey as she looked up at him with a blank stare. The entire diner fell quiet, intent on watching what would happen between the two. 

“I…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. He searched his mind for a response that wouldn’t lead her down the wrong path, but he couldn’t find one. “How’ve you been?” 

“Avoiding the question? You don’t need to spare my feelings, Ajay.” She crossed her arms and gave him a cold smile that lasted a split second, but its effects lasted far longer. He struggled to respond when she turned away from him to call out to Casey, who was loading batter into a waffle iron. Ajay suddenly noticed that she had changed from her uniform into normal clothes that made his heart ache, wishing that he could say a word. Instead, all he could do was watch helplessly as she spoke to her brother. “I’m clocking out, Case!” She walked to the door and opened it, ignoring the bell that loudly rang in favor of sending him a glance over her shoulder. 

“Bailey, I--”

“Welcome back, Ajay.”

#ajay x mc #ajay bhandari #hssca #hss #hssca ajay #high school story: class act #high school story

[centipedall]

Crown of the White Death, or The Asbestos Prom

Senior year was my year. Student council president? Check. Choice college? Check. Prom queen? Check. Stayed with my boyfriend? No. Found out he was a cheating douche? Check. Not have a date to prom? Check. Prom king be a total loser who leaves early? Check.

Meh. Whatever. I don’t need losers in my life, anyways. Which was part of the reason I organized things the way I did. As student council president, I’m the one in charge of planning parties and organizing them. Well, the way I did it this time was just fan-freaking-tastic. Complex, yeah, but name one good thing that’s simple.

Now, my school is kinda set up in a circle. There are seven class areas that connect to two others, one for each subject. And, coincidentally, for each club I’m president of. And each color of the rainbow. Math, science, social studies, language arts, world languages, technology, and art. Chess, Science Honor Society, Philosophy, Creative Writing, Spanish Honor Society, Cyber Security, and Pottery. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, black. I would have used the massive central courtyard and gymnasium for the final one, made it into a whiteout zone to contrast with the final black area, but there was a horrible asbestos outbreak there a week ago so it was shut down. Oh well. No plan survives first contact with the enemy, right?

So, if you weren’t in one of those clubs, I tried to make sure you didn’t come. Giving discounts to club members, targeted harassment, not telling people that the gym was full of asbestos, all that stuff. You know, to save space. No sense in wasting that on losers. Especially not losers who now have asbestosis. You don’t need all that nastiness here.

So, club members were in their respective areas, there were very few non-club members here, and everything was set up. There wasn’t really a theme, but everyone had kinda taken to wearing their own things. My student council team wore small, masquerade-style masks.

I stalked through the halls of the school, basking in the glory that I had made this happen. My entourage of student council members followed me. We didn’t really talk- for some reason, they didn’t like to talk to me. No one did, actually. But hey, that’s fine. I don’t need anyone.

I started my second round down the halls, starting at the red chess area. The chess club members wore simple, black-and-white formal clothing, contrasting against the various red tones of the math department. A few of them had chess pieces emblazoned on their dresses or suit jackets. They visibly paled as I walked in, making way for me and my group.

Then, I walked into the orange room, with a single massive paper-mache microscope in the center. The club members here wore stylized lab aprons, gloves, and goggles, designed more for fanciness than protection. There was a refreshment table full of smoking drinks in plastic flasks, which were evidently highly enjoyable. The vice-president of the club dropped her drink as I walked in, and it stained the carpet.

“Uh, h-hey, Prez.” She stammered out.

“What’s your problem?” Harsh, sure, but I had things to do. Well, not right now, I guess, but normally I do.

“Richard, uh, he saw, he saw, uh-”

“Christ, just spit it out already!”

“Norman! He’s here! In the next room!”

“Oh what the fuck.” I seethed.

That bastard. I told him that I never wanted to see him again. And now he showed up? Here? Oh, I’m going to tear him a new one. Quite literally.

I walked speedily into the next room. My face was a placid mask, and I walked with grace, but my hands were clenched. I felt skin split along my knuckles.

In the yellow room, there was only the paled philosophy club, goofily dressed up like different figures from history. I know they had fought tooth and nail- literally- over who got to be Aristotle. She averted her eyes- sorry, eye, now- to the ground. Plato glowered at her. That one didn’t need a bald cap anymore.

“Next room. Sorry.”

“Goddamnit.”

Creative writing. They had transcribed their favorite books into tattoos on their skin. Weird stuff. Kids were like a cult almost, which was why they were my least favorite. They still looked away from me as I stalked into the Spanish Honor Society’s room.

Huh. There was no one in here. Just an over-saturated blue. It hurt my eyes. Makes sense why no one was here.

It was similar in the purple room. The cybersecurity kids were in here, though. They scampered around on the floor, completely nude but for the blindfolds they wore. I was about to walk into the final room, but I hesitated. My ex was a big guy. Maybe I should have my entourage join in?

I turned, and they weren’t there. They must have stuck behind in one of the other rooms, too scared of him to go in. No matter. I’ll deal with this myself. Like a real queen should.

The black room was, of course, pitch black. But for a glow that emanated from a figure in the center. My ex. He was, of course, in the most infuriating costume I’ve ever seen.

He was thin, scrawny. Which should have seemed impossible, given how he was two-hundred pounds of muscle last week, but whatever. He wore a long coat and a pair of pants, both pure white. His face was alabaster white, just like my mask. Actually, I think it was a mask. As I walked closer to him, I heard wheezing, like his breath was short. His mouth and chest were scarred with bumps. Every breath he took almost inverted his chest, actually. His skin and eyes were irritated, but not red. Just white.

He coughed, a wet, hacking noise, and something came out. A small, wet piece of flesh flew from his mouth. It hit the ground just in front of me. It was just like his chest. Scarred, bumpy, and pure white.

Oh God. He was flaking. Clouds of little white flakes left his mouth with every exhale. Little bits left other parts of his body with every movement. Mostly his fingers and shoulders. The greatest amount of dust, however, came from the chunk that had left his mouth.

The worst part of all this, the real kicker, was the crown. It covered the top half of his eyes, like a blindfold almost. It was white and gold at the same time. I- I’m not sure how, it just was. It was bigger than my own crown, too. Like he was the prom king. A prom king afflicted with asbestosis.

Oh, that asshole. I pulled my hand black, and slapped him across the face.

But I didn’t. There was nothing there. Just a mask and clothes, crumpled on the floor.

I wheezed. Coughed. Something came out of my throat. Something wet, bumped, and scarred. And then I blacked out.

‘

Senior year was my year. Student council president? Check. Choice college? Check. Prom queen? Check. Just an awesome year.

As student council president, I’m the one in charge of planning parties and organizing them. Well, the way I did it this time was just fan-freaking-tastic. Complex, yeah, but name one good thing that’s simple.

Now, my school is kinda set up in a circle. There are seven class areas that connect to two others, one for each subject. And, coincidentally, for each club I’m president of. And each color of the rainbow. Math, science, social studies, language arts, world languages, technology, and art. Chess, Science Honor Society, Philosophy, Creative Writing, Spanish Honor Society, Cyber Security, and Pottery. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, black. I used the massive central courtyard and gymnasium for the final one, made it into a whiteout zone to contrast with the final black area.

It was all pretty sick. Just the greatest party ever. There was only one problem: I had shown up late. And my prom king and boyfriend had probably taken his throne without me. But that’s okay. My entrance is going to be fantastic.

First stop, red. The chess room. My royal entourage behind me, we quickly strode through the room. It was a pretty fun design. The checkerboard people flickered in and out of existence. Black to white to black again. Good people. Fun to be around. Very, very smart, and very good at games. I was a big fan of the way they dressed up for the occasion. Old-fashioned in a new way, I guess?

Orange, now. The scientific. Loose strands of DNA littered the area. They looked like flasks, this time around. Filled with steaming liquids. They drank from plastic skulls full of juice. Nonalcoholic, of course.

Anyways, next room. yellow. Weird guys. I heard that this year, like always, they had fought over who got to be who. The leader was always Aristotle, but the others got to war over Descartes and Plato. Me, I prefer being the same person all the time, but different strokes for different folks, right?

Into green. The written. The folks in here had yellow skin, like an old book. The actual brains were written on them, though, like inked tattoos. It really must suck, being mental when all your friends are physical. Then you have to buy bodies, and actually get yourself in them. They’d bought cheap, but they made it look nice. Careful not to touch any bodies and smudge someone off, I went into the next room.

Blue, now. Just one member, in here. Spain looked at me with their thousand burning eyes. An army of skulls chanting in the darkness as their fingers danced. The mountains and rivers become nails and blood vessels. Twirling shapes in the darkness. A single piercing shriek echoing through the void.

Classy fellow. I’m glad they showed up. And in their best dress, too.

Okay. Purple. I walked through the blind, deaf, mute things. Cylinders of flesh that faintly throbbed as they sat in their chairs. Blindfolds covered alternating parts of them, like stripes. They rocked a little, swaying from side to side. It wasn’t due to any outside influence. Just their minds. I tried it once. The whole sensory deprivation thing. I got too antsy in there. Too many irons in the fire, you know.

Final room. Black. I was the only one in here. It was pitch-black, of course. Wet too. It thumped, and I could feel it beat around me. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I emerged from the pot, and entered into the white room. The throne room. My court. They were all there. Everyone from before. My kingdom bowed as I entered. And he was there. On the throne, with mine next to him. Two equal chairs, to represent two equal forces. The king and his queen. The light and the dark.

Pieces drifted from him, up into the sky. He breathed and his chest inverted. His crown was large, white. Beautiful. I couldn’t see my own, but I knew it was just as beautiful. I took my place next to him, sitting. And the kingdom was whole again. White and black united to become perfection. One that would reign for the rest of forever.

This is such a kickass prom.

#body horror

[grim-faux]

18 - The Witness

There were three or four of them, I’m not sure, I didn’t stop to count.  I froze up for about two seconds as they slowly approached, detecting my movement, the sudden charge of nerves as everything in my head suddenly shut down and reboot instantaneously.  It smelt like burning cotton.  I gave a small gasp as my brain shot into gear and I teetered around the side of the desk, the wood squeaked against the floor as my thighs knocked the sides. “Hey!  Hey!” Fuck!  I sprint to the front of the room, stumbling as the image in my visor flashed and flickered.  No!  No-no-no-no!  My camera survived a two hundred foot fall, and when against all odds I managed to retrieve it, it fizzles out and dies!  No!  Don’t do this!

The image cleared in time for me to spot the counter with the shattered glass.  I vault over it as the patients call after me, shrieking profanities along with the promise of excruciating demise.  Something whizzed by, inches from my head and clattered into the distance.  I never saw what it was. I swung around the sharp corner, stumbling as I regained traction and my camera flashed static.  Damn!  I lowered it enough to see the dark punch of the doorway, contrasted against the soft glow in the windows.  I shot through the doorframe into the next room, jerking around the gleaming shelves that swept into my path.  The camera’s image failed as I bumped and fumbled my way through the room, white flashed through my eyes as my hand struck the sharp metal edge of a shelf.  I heard a deafening crash as one of the patients in hot pursuit, smashed dead into a shelf and the whole line of them erupted at my back.  I glimpsed over my shoulder to evaluate the damage, and saw two of my pursuers at my heels.

I passed by a door but didn’t bother to slam it shut on them, I was already charging through the open cafeteria where the patients gazed into oblivion. A flash of light filled the room, I felt a hand sweep against my collar as I picked up speed, rounding the counters on the rooms left. Where was it I came from? Doors! Big doors, right by the counters. The hall took another left, just around the corner was a rolling table on my left. Without a thought I snared the handle and wrenched it behind me, the wheels squeaked up until a painful crash sounded when the half blind lunatics ran into it.

A snarled, “FUCK YOU!” echoed behind me.

Maybe that was a mistake, too late to regret it.  At either side of the hall locked doors lined my path, for once an asset.  My progress had been linear enough, I couldn’t recall hallways that I might’ve overlooked.  Find the light, the lockers, then closet.  Don’t stop, never stop till I’m dead!

The next corner took a hard right, I stumbled and hit the opposite wall and pushed off, keeping course on what was my only direction.  The hard footfalls of the patients echoed around the corner, they would catch up.  They were still upset with me, I’m sure. 

Another left, I’m blinded as I tear through, still staring in the nightvision as the lamp overhead blazes down.  I barely blink as I stuff the camera strap between my teeth.  Almost there.  I lunge over the bed frame panting hard against the Velcro strap, concerns of where my hands have been and where the cameras been far away in a place that no longer existed.  It feels like the patients are right behind me shrieking.  Any moment I’d be yanked back, my throat slit, skull beat to a pulp.  No.  No-no-no-no-

A sharp right and I’m in the locker/closet.  Yes!  Here!  This was it!  Home free!  I leapt, catching the roof of the lockers and dragged my body up.

The obnoxious drone of drumming water greets me, blocking out the curses of the men below struggling to scale the locker.  I exhaled a sharp breath, not bothering to care how much my ribs ached, or the blood now coating my hand.  I’d deal with it all later, what mattered was I’d gotten out with my life, and my camera.  I wanted to appreciate the small accomplishment, reuniting with my invaluable piece of hardware, and the small pride I felt in the escape. Let me get out of this washroom first, I just couldn’t enjoy this with the fuckin white noise aggravating my head.  I took the camera strap from my teeth and moved toward the other side of the room, reminding myself to remain cautious despite how well these events turned out.  I needed to put this room behind me, in case the variants managed to stay focused long enough to get up into here.  There was also the point that I was in a relatively good mood, and something terrible must happen to spoil that.  It always seemed too happen.  It was a curse of the Asylum. Try not to think about getting grabbed from behind and drugged with a giant needle.  That was a prime example, as it was a massive insult to my pride. I reached the other side of the showers, from which I first entered the room, and crawled under the interior frame work of the wall.  I remained huddled in the shadows for a moment to reassure there was no one waiting, that I was alone.  The hall was empty, on the far right I could now see was a doorway at one point, but those of Mount Massive had fixed that. Unless, all this time the patients have been the ones to block doorways and cram furniture into the halls.  Interesting thought.  Made a little sense too, but I doubt it mattered anymore. The opposite side of the hall held another door, presumably that led to the showers and other venues.  I didn’t bother to try it, though it was clearly blocked.  I took it slow into the next room, the vivid memory of shapes and faces watching my progress fresh in my mind.  I winced as the image rolled in the visor, it knocked me from my brooding, though I was partially blind for the spell. I continued, constantly glancing over my shoulders, twisting as I thought some sound came from a desk or table.  Despite the cameras return I was still paranoid about this room, the static didn’t help either.  Occasionally, the lightening burned through the atmosphere with a thick rumble, I stopped to listen and make sure I was hearing over the sound of silence.  I felt alone here and it was beginning to frighten me more than the patients.  Sometimes I preferred being alone, many of the people I worked with were generally assholes, so I preferred it.  But I needed people now, I was too deep and craved normalcy, a tether to something reliable.  The sound that followed me was deafening, I needed to get out of this crushing silence. Reaching the upper floor was no longer the challenge.  The room was as it was left, no longer crumbling into ash.  I stepped over the charred wood by the wall and jumped to the edge of the remaining upper floor, and pulled myself up.  The floor was settled and had no longer any intention to crash, and scatter the camera or me across the checkerboard tile.  The doorway was still here, welcoming me with its swirling dark and its secrets and the promise that through it, I would reach my destination.  Whatever that was anymore. Thus far it had been misleading truth, along with one disappointment after the next.  I was done with it, but there was still much in store for me.  Nothing could ever be easy.  I would never be done with this.  There would always be something unsettling and dark locked in the back of my mind, nesting in my doubt and feeding on my fear. The hall to my right led to blocked doors, dead end.  I turned to my left, first seeing the rupture in the floor before taking the leap.  I will forever have this unreasonable fear that I will fall and lose my camera.  And I will always clutch it tight in my right hand, until the bone is worn down into my skin.  It hurt like a bitch when I did that. Due to my paranoia I saw it fit to shut a door with a large gaping hole behind it.  I don’t know, maybe a patient will wandered through here, break down the door and fall to his death.  Seemed like a reasonable assumption. Beyond the doorway was a segregation gate on my right, possibly leading to one of the floors I visited earlier.  Or maybe the stairway where I found the Walrider folklore file, it was locked and therefore a dead end.  Another door tempted me on the left but the latch was jammed. The floor creaked under foot as I moved towards the lit doorway ahead.  I tried not to rest my full weight on one board for too long, and listened as the wood spoke of its pain, long wretched moans as it shifted.  It was getting tricky to anticipate which portions were trustworthy but I was cautious.  I stepped through the open gate at the halls end, even from a distance I could see the fires consumption.  Nothing remained of the room I was in, a few pieces of wood that had not fallen away.  Below, I took note of the doorway ‘Father’ Martin had hailed me from.  He said I could find a way across on the upper floors, but he was on the lower floor the whole time.  Damn that guy. As I moved out further onto the charred ledge, the floor crocked and gave out.  I threw myself backwards into the doorway, as the wood snapped away, timber crashed down until the supports locked and held it in place.  Holy crap.  My breath came in short gasps, I nearly thought the floor was just going to fall out.  Weakly, I laughed. I needed a way down that didn’t involve a too dangerous stunt.  Most of the floor had fallen away, I wasn’t about to take the leap, even if I didn’t doubt the wood could hold my weight.  From this height the least of my worries would be a snapped leg. Through the NV I spied a small portion of the wood on my left, still intact, and it wasn’t too short I had to shuffle along.  I hopped over and judged my footing, trying not find the one loose board that would— I staggered back when the wood under me fell out, and I sat on my butt staring at the small space that at one time felt solid.  Step lightly, take your time.  I carried on, jumping across a short gap to the far wall and moved to the edge of the walkway that remained after the fire.  The smell of charcoal was getting to me, not to mention whatever else was reduced to ash in the blaze.  Bodies, plastic, chemicals, cotton. Across from my position, pieces of the floors support held tight to the wall.  I jumped over snagging the burnt wood and used it to lower myself to the small pace below, and then dropped.  I glanced around my new surroundings, and took in the patient standing at the end of a fully lit hall.  My head buzzed with the realization but I tried to keep calm, think clearly.  I lowered my camera and straightened up from my crouch. He was clothed, only half of my brain screamed warning.  I took slow, calm steps toward him, aware of the high drop at my backside.  He watched me, occasionally throwing his eye to the gate he stood beside.  It looked horrible the way his face had been stitched, and the ear on his left was completely gone.  I paused when he gave a short gesture with his hand, towards his eyes, then looked to the door again. “Only one way out.  Only one way.” I looked from him to the door, then back to him.  He looked like he could just throw me in.  Rather tempt him I stepped by, through the doorway and looked back as he swung it shut.  “How do you know you’re not a patient?” For some reason, and I can’t explain why, this question jarred me to the core.  Why?  Rather rebuke such an insulting inquiry, I began to doubt my own presence here.  Who was my mysterious contact, exactly?  David Annapurna?  He never made it out of here, did he?  Murkoff… couldn’t have been in the dark about his mutemail account, could they?  The company was always on top of those sort of things.  “The experiment is still happening” yelled someone.  That had been forever ago.   Through all the evidence I had seen, Murkoff was finished.  Weren’t they?  Or was someone still alive running this place, while I scrambled about prodding at the surface, in the meantime the real evidence was hidden away in vaults I would never access. I suddenly felt like the biggest idiot in the world.  I had already established that this was the worst mistake of my career.  But one question from some lunatic has caused me to doubt everything I had been through.  I pressed my forehead into my palm, ignoring the thick smell of charcoal or the fact I was probably rubbing it into my bloody scalp. What was I here to achieve?  What was I to gain from this job?  Expose Murkoff?  Or did ulterior plans await in the woodwork, that I had not been made privy to yet? I crouched under a jungle of shelves and cabinets that had been crammed into the hall, the short plush carpet now under foot filled me with a warmth that I had missed. Whatever was happening, it wouldn’t happen to me.  I’m not a part of this process the patients had been put through, I’ve never endured this ‘therapy’ the doctors implemented on their MKULTRA subjects.  I was going to get out of here, with all the evidence on this camera, the one I risked my life for! And Murkoff will be buried so deep Satan– no, the Walrider, would be insulted by the company.  There goes the neighborhood! Light filled the hall, momentarily blinding me through the NV feed.  I took note the cheerful curtains hung along the windows on the left, and I could see the rain falling against the heavy grade chicken wire stretched outside.  No thick, rusted bars, no moldered, outdated wood.  The droplets clung in thick globs along the crisscrossing squares, the image flashed causing me to lower the camera and rub at my eyelids. It was at this point I finally noticed my camera, or the visor, was cracked.  That explained the short glitches, but it still worked.   To be certain I leaned on a bookcase and played back some of the recent footage to make sure it was recording.  I didn’t realize it, but when the patient had related to me there was only “one way out,” someone had muttered a soft “thank you,” and listening to it, I realized that had been my voice.  Huh.  I don’t remember that. I might, should’ve been a little more concerned, but there was a lot lately I was missing.  I took it as shell shock, it would be weird if I was unaffected.  For months, maybe years, I would be reliving this nightmare.  But at least I’ll be far away from it, and living.  That was more than what Murkoff’s staff had accomplished. A few new marks were etched up the cameras plastic casing, a large crack now along the side where it must’ve hit the board before falling through the floor, or where it came down on the floor below.  It was holding up and recording, if not, it still provided my light source.  Char was smeared all over its sides where my fingers pressed into it.  The soot had clotted much of the bleeding since my recent mishap, at least until I hit them on something else sharp and painful. More shelves and desks had been lodged into the hall, I pushed out one of the chairs that was between the stack and continued on through easily.  The dull throb in my ribs was overshot by the buzzing in my bones, like I’d been shot with a Taser but without the seizing and screaming.  Just the hammering in my skull. I cleared the gap a little more and listened.  Nothing.  Cautiously, I moved forward keeping eyes focused on my direction.  The modern side of the Asylum was almost more unsettling than the outdated section.  Almost.  With the clean walls, the lack of furnaces, and the fresh carpet.  The initial appearance was such a major deception.  I moved through another broken segregation gate into the bright gleam of a lamp, on the wall to my right a plaque hung labeling directions.  Chapel, Cafeteria, Recreational Hall, Library, and Lobby.  Was I on the third floor?  I was losing focus, couldn’t figure where I was.  Father Martin had mentioned where I would wind up, I doubt I was keen on listening to his preaching at the time.  This hall would lead somewhere. As I turned holding my head, a shape moved at the halls end, beyond a glass door.  I zoomed on my camera and heard the crack of wood, before the shadow ducked out of view. Big fucker!  I dashed to the nearest door at my left, exhaling with relief to find it unlocked.  He was already bashing another door somewhere, I ducked inside and shut myself in.   The room was well furnished with couches set up in one half of the room, above them a cheerful lamp blazed forth.  The carpet sounded strange to my ears after I had become accustomed to the rickety wood floors, and charcoal.  In the furthest right corner desks and monitors, beside them a fireplace.  On the wall to my right sat a bookshelf filled with encyclopedias, among other texts whose labels and a few files.  I didn’t care for how homey the room was made out to be, or how pleasant it felt to stare at something other than bloodied floors and puss coated walls.  Out there Chris Walker had not given up on his personal vendetta.  I slipped down beside a desk and watched the door, listening for the trademark sounds of big fucker demolition. Where did I need to go?  First floor should be my new objective, those doors would lead to the front grounds of the Asylum.  I never unlocked them though. Don’t think that far ahead!  Have to get by the big fucker first, then worry about finding the way out.  If he corners me, I will be dead.  Think.  There has to be a way out of this area.  A door, something!  Where did he come from? Meanwhile, I felt the tremors as Chris pummeled another door into oblivion.  Three earsplitting crunches, followed by the earth splinting tremor as the wood gave, allowing the big fucker to hunt new ground.  I had to think carefully, if he couldn’t enter a room he would tear his way in, by whatever means.  But I wouldn’t be completely trapped if he found me here, a second door was set a few feet down from where I entered. After some careful consideration I came to a decision, not one I was particularly fond of, but it was better than waiting for him to burst into the room.  I had maybe one chance, unless I could find another room to hide in before he saw me. I made sure I had a firm grip on the camera, then loosened myself from the desk I was crouched beside and crossed to the door at the other side of the room.  Both needed to be open, this room was my plan B if the other plan went to shit. I leaned on the door frame to check out, the light failed to reach this end of the hall forcing me behind the NV feed once more.  It set me to ease, I was less likely to be seen poking out with my camera scanning for the big fucker.  I felt the trademark crunching of oak, before I caught the movement of his work.  I felt the wall quake with a final crash and the large shape slipped out of sight. I dashed across the hall into a joint corridor filled with dark shadows, but to my disappointment discovered the end was a blocked by a grate and some office chairs.  Nonetheless, I climbed over the chairs to test the handle and myself, that there was no way through here.  I returned to the main corridor and knelt by the corner to check.  Chris was coming this way!   My visor flashed, and I slunk back as the feed cleared.  The sound of chain twitter drew closer and closer, oddly reminiscent to the noise I thought I heard.  It was unbearable in this place and time, I pressed myself into the wall struggling to block it out.  The whole time I’m half ready to bolt or half working to rub down the nerve to keep still until the absolute last second.  The sounds give way to splinting and a crack as the big fucker threw himself against another door.  It was enough to drown out the tremors in my muscles. Until the door gave a final snap and shattered.  I poked my head out to confirm he had entered a room, somewhere.  My next target was a door across from me, the hairline crack of light shone through the dismal hall.  I couldn’t make out where Chris had gone, I only wanted to get into that room and out before I was cornered there.  My worst fear was that it would be another tiny broom closet. I swatted the door open and entered, it wasn’t a tiny closet, it was a tiny lounge.  A long table ran parallel to the back wall, some chairs pinned behind it, high on the wall to my right was a large screen splattered with dry blood.  What caught my attention was a vent that cut through the room overhead, dust or condensation spilled across the ceiling.  The flue above the table had snapped partially and hung sideways by two screws. I slammed the door shut and dragged out one of the chairs and braced it under the handle.  That might buy me some time.  I doubt I had much time to work, in the past ten seconds I had not been discrete with my activities.  The screws didn’t look sturdy, they were tiny and the vent looked ready to fall off.  But when I climbed onto the table prepared to wrestle it off, the screws held tight.   No thank you, I was not going to roll over and take this.  Once securing the camera in its pack, I reached over and pulled up another chair.  They were light enough I could get one above my head with minimal pain, I braced myself as I swung the legs out across the grate.  It echoed and bent, but held.  A second attack caught the chairs leg in the grating, and I wrenched ripping one screw loose.  The cover fell and I dumped the chair in order to clamber into the opening/exit.

Before I could heave myself up into the flue, I paused to glance one last time at the static filled screen.  The mist swirled around the pulsing light of the screen, but there was something more.  Some… sort of image?  The crackle filled my skull as I gazed, senses lost.  The distant recollection that Chris still hunted for me was there, but…

I reached for the camera, but decided against it.  For one, the image was overlapped.  I raised my hand against the bright screen and the image was still clear, unobstructed by my hand.  I leaned back as it fluctuated and squirmed, just like the thing I saw in the dark.  It’s face—

Without a thought I clambered up into the vent, my head throbbing.  Just keep going.  The way out, it can’t be much further.  This vent must lead back to the main room, if not, wherever I wound up I could navigate somewhere more tolerable from there.

One side was bared shut, I didn’t need to bother with it either.  I struggled to get my camera out of its case, then turned and shuffled in the opposite direction, to where dead eyes gazed at me.  At some distance I had to stop and stare back.  A sharp pain bore its way into the back of my skull, and I pressed my forehead into the cool metal and held out as the pain pulsed.  I’ll get through this.  Need to keep moving. A draft moved from my right, I crawled into the connecting vent trying to bear with the throbs beating my brain.  A short ways in and the vent twisted further to the right and opened into another office.  I shut off the NV to rest my eyes and pulled forward, to drop gently onto the sticky flood. Blood trickled beneath the only doorway, I didn’t want to imagine what might lay on the other side.  A book shelf had toppled spilling files and psychology volumes across the floor, a desk was beside the wall with another shelf that remained upright and stacked with more boxes and files.  Bottom line, it was another dead end. Some of the files I sifted through mentioned some of the shady work of the Asylum, with some of the patients BEFORE Mount Massive was shut down.  There remained current files, and many of the lower level staff expressed the usual concerns and confusion with the lack of progress their patients made with standardized treatment. From: [email protected] To: [email protected] subject: Patient WILLIAM HOPE  Heya Cindy~  Another “interesting” conversation with Billy this morning. He says he’s been talking to Dr. Wernicke again for his therapy “in the white place.” I’m disturbed by the fact his delusions have only gotten worse with medication, (which isn’t in the literature for benzodiazepine.)  In any case, his dead doctor friend is filling his head with German folklore. Apparently the only thing that can kill the Walrider are vampiric butterflies vomited from a demon called “Horerczy.” the butterflies suck the breath from people’s lips and drink blood from their nipples. They can also take the form of emaciated upright pigs, or sick dogs. So Billy’s got that going for him.  You’d mentioned Billy talking about his mother’s tattoos before, are any of them by chance tattoos of butterflies? Next time I get outside of the Murkoff firewall, I’m going to look online and see if there’s any actual basis in German folklore, or if Billy’s making this garbage up from whole cloth.  Would love to compare notes sometime. Wouldn’t mind doing it over a glass of wine. . Gets lonely up here on Two. – Kurt Billy Hope.  I’m sure I’ve heard the name mentioned a few times before. I sat on the desk and pressed my fingers over my brow, hoping to steady the pain. What was his connection to the Walrider?  He was one of the failed experiments, but like all the other patients he was apparently having dreams about the dead doctor.  “Wernicke’s waiting for me there.”  I shuddered at the recollection.  None of them had ever… seen Wernicke.  I had to remind myself, he had not lived long enough to reach the Asylum.  They knew about him through their dreams.  A sort of mass hallucination, more of Murkoff’s tampering and conditioning, the H therapy.  “Blood dreams,” Billy reportedly called it.  He was dead to them because they only encountered him in dream.  That was how the dead doctor performed his experiments on the living patients.  What a chilling epiphany. Vampiric Butterflies. I snorted out a laugh as I flopped back onto the desk.  I wonder if there was a Horerczy in the area I could rent out. The vent seemed colder this time, the floor too painful to touch with my bare hands.  I curled my fingers into my coat sleeves to ward off some of the chill as I crawled back into the section with the stiff corpse.  I pushed my face against my collar and made an effort not to breath in the thick fumes of flesh, fetid in the tight walls about my shoulders.  It only made matters worse that his dried out eyes were fixed on me while I moved closer.  God, he looked awful.  He needed to be out of my way.  I stuffed my camera into the pack and pressed my hands against the fabric of his greasy shirt.  Ugh. There was so much wrong with this, I couldn’t begin.  His neck and spine gave a gruesome crack as his body tumbled out of the vent, and a dull Thwack! came from below when he hit.  Sounded like a rotten watermelon I dropped out of a tree once.  A few of the insects nesting in his corpse took flight and hummed about, dazed and agitated.  I gazed down and braced myself to drop, didn’t need to go trampling his corpse too. This place.  I knew this place.  It felt like a long time ago, but I’ll never forget the window I went flying out of.  Or… the place that it had begun.  I was standing in the glassed in upper floor where I had first entered Mount Massive.  I walked along the wall towards the stacked and crammed bookcases and desks, where the big fucker first welcomed me into the Asylum.  The small gap I had entered was stuffed with broken chairs and another cabinet, it looked as though the big guy had tried to climb over the slaughter of furniture himself, with poor results.  I tried to crawl over myself.  This was the beginning of the nightmare, it would only be fitting as the end.   The first shelf I attempted to scale cracked, I flopped forward catching myself on my hand as the entire collection of furniture shifted, nearly pinning my arm.  It did, the corner of a chair pinned my right hand with the exposed bone.  A strangled yowl lurched from my throat before I slapped a filthy hand over my mouth to stifle the sound, I sobbed briefly as the nerves blazed in my knuckle.  Why did I think that was a good idea?  I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my free hand against the chair’s legs in order to twist my hand free, then crumpled to the floor holding my wrist.  That had been stupid.  My shoulders trembled but I continued to hold my hand, allowing blood to collect along my fingers. The door to the library was open, that sickly familiar sweet decay climbed out on some invisible draft.  What irony it’d be if I stumbled in to find a concealed way to the exit, the discovery would be the last nail in the coffin.  I shuddered at the allegory. The room was dark, I needed my camera out anyway and did my best to scrap some blood onto a cleaner section of my shirt.  Insects invaded my space, attracted to scent of death that clung to me, and the fresh blood that spilled.  I didn’t have the time or energy to dissuade their persistence, to acknowledge them reminded me of the state I was currently in.  For a short while I held the camera awkwardly in my left hand, while the right continued to bleed out.  Blood stains led into the room, but I expected worse awaited inside.  I stood at the edge of the black veil and listened keenly for sounds, the labored snorts of a man with his face fuck started off.  I don’t think I could survive another toss out a window.  I entered slowly, it was quiet but for a subtle trickling— Something flittered in my vision, I sprang back against the door frame.  Nothing was there, I was imagining things.  The camera kept buzzing.  My heart was racing.   Rows of bookshelves filled the room, it looked like they had meetings here with the two tables set together near the back, along with a dry erase board shoved into the corner.  The wall was lined with windows and what little light that found its way in, washed across the papers scattered over the floor and desks.  The few pages I looked over had heavy black bars censoring every other sentence or line.  What shocked me most about this room was the lack of corpses despite the musty odor in the air.  I recalled what lay in the rooms not far from my current position, and decided not to dwell on the matter further.   I stepped around a filing cabinet and rows of bookshelves, pausing as the feed sputtered but returned to normal.  I resumed, locating the desk set before the furthest window, with two – one monitor stationed on it.  The fractured lens made it appear as though there were two monitors.  A few files sat on the desk, which I took up as I ventured to check the other side of the room.  It was so quite it was eerie, I could hear my heart thumping in my chest as I rounded the bookshelf half expecting some madman to lunge out at me screaming.  When I focused on the NV it felt as though I had seen someone, heard them too.  I had to pause and hold my head while the echo subsided.  Nothing there.  My nerves.  My stomach twisted and I waited for the nausea to pass. At the front of the room was a cracked door jammed in its frame, on the left a few chairs and a small table with a shriveled up plant on it.  I reached out and stroked the brittle leaves and watched as they snapped under the gentle touch.   The potted plant was a metaphor for me.  It was trapped in an Asylum, shriveled up and pretty much dead, yet, it still stood here in its dry potting soil.  It still looked like a plant.  And here I was, torn to shit, my mind scrambled, jumping at every sound, and I was using a plant as a metaphor for my life.  This was a nice little reprieve, felt like things were almost normal again.  But that grainy sound I couldn’t shake.  It had to be in the walls. I returned to the light outside, first peering around the door frame before I emerged fully and sat beside the door.  The folder was a little worn and its spine flimsy, but it carried more files than it should.  Black specks had dried across the front, which I already knew to be blood.  I tried to ignore the way my beat up hands quivered as I focused the camera and took images of some of the pages, I think some I didn’t bother to let the lens focus enough. (Translated from German)  BERLIN  6.Sept.1938  Reichsleiter Lohner and  Dr. Med. Rogge  I have pressing news concerning the ongoing work of Dr. Rudolph Wernicke in his development of the Morphogenic Engine, expanding on theories developed during his brief but unfortunate relationship with A. Turing.  If I had not witnessed it myself, I would not believe it had happened. But beyond even the promise in cellular regeneration and guided cancerogeneration, I believe Wernicke’s method has breached the spiritual realm. Something has crossed from the other side. I personally witnessed the appearance of an apparition. Briefly, but undeniably so.  Please forward my note, and invitation to witness further experiments to Dietrich Eckart. I do not doubt that the Fuhrer himself may need be made aware of our discoveries.  It is my opinion that Dr. Wernicke’s successes represent an enormous opportunity for our cause and the German people, and are obviously sufficient reasons to keep him out of any sort of culling program. Regards to your family.  (signature illegible) That shed some light on nothing in particular, other than confirming that Wernicke had begun the work that Murkoff was involved with.  The morphogenic engine.  It felt like everything I had seen, reading and gathering, was all being repeated back to me.  But it was starting to make sense what the pages were saying.  The sounds I was hearing, they couldn’t really be there.  I shut my eyes and for a moment lay back against the wall and focused on the hum in my muscles. Something was in the air of this place, transmitting through the walls and reverberating through the molecules.  A sub level drone of something constant, a persistent noise that never had a beginning that I could identify, something in the mountain air.  As I concentrated the sound almost dispersed entirely, until it was null.  If I untangled myself from the chorus, the slightest edges of it crept back into my mind until it hurt like my bones were on fire.   I gripped my camera tighter, solidifying my consciousness in this place, in my private set of molecules.  The blood was drying on my hand, sticking between my fingers and the device, yet I didn’t care.  I sat up more and felt the tremors rolling through my muscles.  Had to get up, walk this… whatever it was off.  I turned myself, keeping a hand on the wall for support as I moved.  There was a door I had avoided up until now, beside where I entered above from the vent.  A bright red and yellowed stain had spread down the wallpaper from the outlet, where the body had bled out.  Even lying folded in his ragdoll mess of spoiled muscle and skin, the dead man’s eyes seemed focused on me as I hobbled by.  I hid my face beside my arm as I reached for the door.   I leaned into the Plexiglas dismayed that it would be locked, until I realized it needed to be PULLED open.  I dragged it shut behind me and took in this side of the room.  Stairs on my right led down to the ground floor, before them at the wall was a segregation gate that I judged to be locked.  Red and smeared footprints crossed from the left side portion of the room, from an elevator, to directly where I stood.  They were large prints, twice the size of an elephant’s foot.  The big fucker could work the elevator?  What next?  Was he capable of learning how to open doors?  Shit. “You’re him?”  I hesitated from tracking the steps on the carpet.  The voice called from the other side of the elevator, behind a segregation gate that jutted out onto the floor.  “Yes.  I’m supposed to tell you— the key to the House of God is in the theater.  Behind the light.” There was some good distance between him and myself.  I just stared at him, probably blankly, I probably looked stupid.  “Huh?” “In the theater,” he indicated to my left with his hand, “behind the light.” I wasn’t really on the same page as him.  I shut my eyes and lowered the camera as the image pulsed.  “B- what?” “You have to see the movie.  So that’s where he left the card.  Okay?” This was not making any sense.  “Did you say card?” We glanced off in unison, distracted by Father Martin’s voice hailing from somewhere distant.  And far.  “Friends!  Children!”  Not far enough from me.  “I need your help, where are you?”  I sighed. “Yes!  Coming.  I’m coming.”  The ‘disciple’ sounded about as thrilled as I was.  He gave one last wave toward the open door on my left, before turning and jogging up the stairs behind him.  It looked like he was following the path indicated with a red arrow painted on the wall behind the railing. I tried the handle.  Locked.  Of course, he already told me I needed the key from the ‘House of God’ as he put it.  How was I supposed to get in if I didn’t get it?  Why WAS I going to find it?  I don’t know.  I was insatiable curious to figure out this disaster and understand at long last, why I have been hunted and nearly killed by these lunatics.   I needed to know.  Even if it killed me.  I needed evidence of what I’ve been hearing, the reassurance that I was still sane despite the trauma, despite everything I had seen. There was a concrete difference between what the patients thought they had witnessed, and what I felt.  I had to find the end of this, and nothing would stop me, not until it was in my grasp.

#outlast #outlast novelized #miles upshure #outlast fanfiction

[artificialqueens]

Free Falling, Chapter 8: Bring the Bitter Taste to a Halt (Branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Thank you holtzmanns for beta-ing! Title taken from Sweetener by Ariana Grande.

Last chapter: Brooke & Vanessa finally get together, thanks to some good old hijinks & tomfoolery from the others on the unit.

This chapter: Brooke & Vanessa go on their first date.

The Royale Diner was by no means the most romantic place in the city. Heck, it probably wasn’t the most romantic place in the intersection,not since that couple had gotten married in the McDonalds across the street last month. But if you asked Vanessa, it had the best comfort food in the world - and there was no better first date to her than sharing soul food with someone that very well could be her soulmate. And that night, when Vanessa caught a glimpse at Brooke’s face as she led her through the plexiglass doors, Vanessa knew that she had made the right choice.

It wasn’t every woman she took out who stared at the diner’s decor in awe before they were even through the plexiglass doors, mesmerized by their reflections the classic checkerboard floors and the glossy red finishes on the vinyl booth couches. It wasn’t every woman whose face lit up in admiration when the waitress came by and offered Vanessa her favourite table and a coffee on the house before they’d even finished saying hello. And it wasn’t every woman who ordered banana pancakes with such enthusiasm she almost broke the table when she slammed the menu shut determinately, blushing deeply when the waitress joked that she’d always known Vanessa liked women who knew what they wanted.

Nor was it every woman who stole pretty much all the fried chicken off of Vanessa’s plate without so much as a sheepish apology, but hey, it wasn’t every woman from whom Vanessa would allow it.

Vanessa wasn’t sure she could put her finger on it, but there was something different about their conversation as they ate. The topics were pretty much the same—their families, different dance competitions, how frustrating anti-vaxx campaigners were—but their tone was lighter, more cheerful, full of giggles and bashful pauses and looks stolen when they thought the other wasn’t looking. It was nice; for once, Vanessa didn’t have to wonder if Brooke’s lingering gaze was because she’d done something wrong, and there was no need for her own heart to quicken with anxiety every time Brooke caught her staring. For once, Vanessa didn’t feel pressure to draw out their contact for as long as possible, afraid to let the other woman go.

“You know, I’m really glad you’re gettin’ to know the kids.” Vanessa took advantage of a lull in conversation, thinking back to the card Brooke had given her. There was no way, thinking about it now, that Brooke had cut it herself, despite the cursive message scrawled there. Really, the jagged lines and safety scissor-crushed edges seemed much more characteristic of Monet, so much so that Vanessa wondered if Brooke had helped her make it. After all, Brooke had been spending more time with the families, trying to discern what they liked and didn’t like, what she could cut or move around or bring to the board to prove the unit was doing well. And Monet was exactly the kind of personality Brooke would love, confident and clever and eclectic, never anyone but herself.

In fact, in Vanessa’s opinion, Brooke probably needed to be around kids like Monet more often, to realize that she could be all those ways, too.

“Yeah, the focus groups have been going really well.” Brooke nodded enthusiastically. “I’m learning a lot.”

“I’m glad, but that’s not what I mean.” Vanessa chuckled, “I mean the rec programs–it’s really cool you sat in with Monet to help her cut the card you gave me.”

Brooke’s fork froze halfway to her mouth.

“Card?” her mouth dropped open mid-chew in disbelief, “I didn’t give you a card.”

“Well, your Valentine,” Vanessa rolled her eyes, “But it’s the same thing, really.”

“No, I–Vanessa, I didn’t get you a Valentine.” Brooke frowned. Realizing the implication of what she’d said, she looked back up at Vanessa in a panic, words tumbling from her mouth as she added, “That’s not to say I don’t like you! I like you so much, like, like you, that’s why I wanted to take you up on your offer of your date! I swear, I was so happy, it’s just that I didn’t think you’d be okay if I made the first–”

“Whoa, hold on, Mary!” Vanessa waved a hand to catch Brooke’s attention, confusion the only thing suppressing the laugh bubbling inside her throat. “What you mean, my offer of a date? You came to me .”

“But… Your card. The Valentine on my desk.” Brooke blinked, staring blankly at the woman across from her.

“Mama, there was no Valentine.” Vanessa shook her head.

There was a beat, the wheels turning in both of their heads, before the cogs finally clicked together.

“Oh my God, I’m gonna kill Nina.” Brooke laughed loudly, Vanessa unable to resist joining in.

“Well, I mean, all that shit they was tryin’ to pull finally worked, I guess.” Vanessa grinned, her heart swelling at the beaming smile that was still radiating off of Brooke, the blonde’s shoulders shaking with little chuckles as she tried and failed to calm down.

“I swear to God, it’s like elementary school again.” Brooke shook her head as the two finally settled, and Vanessa gave a little laugh, unable to do anything but agreed.

Those girls were all fucking nightmares, but God bless them for helping her experience such a wonderful dream as the woman sitting across from her, sipping her coffee over a wry, yet still giddy smile.

Unfortunately, dreams never did last, and so once the humour of the situation finally dissipated, the two were left in silence, the mention of the hospital and all it implied falling heavy over the air in the booth.

“Quarter’s coming up.” Vanessa prompted quietly.

“Yeah.” Brooke nodded, causing a twinge of remorse to sear through Vanessa’s chest when she noticed how suddenly the colour seemed to drain from the other woman’s face at the comment.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Vanessa reached across the table and gave Brooke’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah.” Brooke’s face faltered briefly, her voice hollow, and Vanessa felt her heart crush. Their plates were empty now, and if Vanessa knew anything about Brooke, it was that the minute they left the restaurant, she’d be back en route into the hospital to try and do more work. She couldn’t let that happen; things couldn’t end that way. Not tonight.

Brooke deserved so much more than that.

“You wanna go see a movie?” the idea popped into Vanessa’s head at random, but she let it come out without hesitation; there was no time to think of another one, and anyway, there was a movie theatre not far from the diner that plays old family movies, and there was bound to be a romantic one playing for Valentine’s day.

“Yeah.” Brooke nodded, a reassured and grateful smile spreading across her face, and Vanessa breathed out a little, knowing she’d made the right choice.

—

As it turned out, there were no romantic movies playing at the Black Hole Cinema Club that night. Apparently the owner had just broken up with her girlfriend, meaning that the only movie playing was one chosen at random from the theatre’s Family Fun Night archives. As a result, less than thirty minutes later, Brooke and Vanessa sat munching on a large bag of popcorn as the opening credits of Daddy Daycare began to roll. Vanessa had never minded the movie; it was cute, and had some genuinely funny scenes. This time, though, she watched with a growing interest.

The second half of the movie involved the threat of cuts. The threat was responded to with a fundraiser, one that worked even better than needed for the daycare to succeed. A happy ending for all except the asshole trying to take the daycare down.

It was just a movie; real life didn’t work like that. But still, even after the movie had ended, the fundraiser scenes stuck in Vanessa’s mind.

It was crazy. It was foolish. It probably wouldn’t work.

But it also might, and for the unit, for Brooke , Vanessa was willing to take that chance.

The only snag in the plan was Brooke herself. After an hour or so of scheming and scribbling out plans on paper, exchanging texts with Silky, A’Keria, and the others, she realized with a jolt that she had never actually brought up the plan with Brooke, who was arguably the most important player in the whole operation. No, she had to get clearance first–it was only right, after all of Brooke’s hard work. She was about to pick up her phone and call the other woman, when suddenly, a thought froze her finger before she could dial.

If Vanessa’s plan did get put into action, it would take a tremendous amount of work, work that Brooke would no doubt try to take on almost entirely by herself. Vanessa could all too easily imagine Brooke losing entire nights of sleep applying for permits, calling vendors, and climbing into bed at 2 AM only to stay awake the rest of the night worrying.

The plan might keep the unit afloat, but Vanessa just couldn’t bring herself to drown Brooke in the process.

She put down the phone and continued planning, deciding that she would tell Brooke once things were more firmly in place.

–

If there’s one thing that Vanessa learned from her years as an occupational therapist, it was that whenever you’re getting ready to do something, you need to hope for the best but plan for the worst.

In this case, the worst came crashing through during rounds the next morning, and it was definitely something Vanessa hadn’t prepared for.

Everything started out normal; as planned, Vanessa told everyone to meet her a half-hour early for rounds so that they could talk fundraising. As planned, everyone showed up ready to get to work.

Unfortunately, what she hadn’t planned was for Brooke to see everyone going the same way into the meeting room, chattering excitedly. What she hadn’t planned was for Brooke to wonder what was going on, for the blonde to let herself think that maybe people were still talking about the date from yesterday. What she hadn’t planned was for Brooke to be in such a good mood that she thought she’d follow everyone in, catching them right in the middle of planning.

What she hadn’t planned was for Nina to have too much integrity to lie when Brooke asked what was going on.

And she certainly, definitely hadn’t planned for Brooke to be incredibly mad.

Vanessa had been on the receiving end of Brooke’s workplace-appropriate anger to know that when Brooke was upset, she didn’t yell or rage. Instead, she stood up even taller, let her smile fall flat, and made her voice go quietly, terrifyingly formal.

“Vanessa, may I please see you outside?” Brooke’s voice was quiet, but her gaze was pointed at Vanessa with a fire that Vanessa didn’t think she’d ever seen, one that made her shut up and follow Brooke out into the hallway without another word.

“Is this some kind of a joke to you?” The door had barely closed before Brooke turned on Vanessa, her rage now finally starting to spill out as she hissed, “I told you not to tell anyone!”

“It’s alright, though, they don’t blame you–”

“Shut up.” Brooke snapped, pure vitriol coating her voice. Vanessa blinked, the words taking a few moments to process before setting her crumbling.

Brooke had never spoken to her like that before. Even when she’d talked back, even when she’d been a bit of a jerk, Brooke had always been patient, at most putting up a hand and telling her to let her finish.

“You broke my trust.” Brooke continued, “I told you not to tell anyone, and you broke my trust. I told you I didn’t want people to worry, it was my business anyway–”

“Whoa whoa, slow down, Mary!” Vanessa snapped to, the comment bringing her back to her usual stubborn attention. “This ain’t just ‘your business’ here. Everyone could lose their job. You ain’t even care, you was gonna fire half of us a few months ago anyway–”

Now it was Brooke’s turn to be taken aback. “Fire… Oh, for God’s sake, Vanessa! That was different, and I wouldn’t even think of it now!”

“Well, if you’d just listen, you’d know that–”

“Hey, guys?” both of them stopped talking when Nina poked her head out of the meeting room, a worried frown on her face. “Listen, we couldn’t help but overhear, and we just wanted to let you know, Brooke, Vanjie only came to us because she had this idea for a fundraiser–”

“Go back inside, Nina.” Brooke put her face in her hands, her voice finally evening out. The calm was short-lived, though; once Nina had retreated back into the meeting room, Brooke turned back to Vanessa with a renewed fire, one that was even more intense than before.

“Brooke, listen–”

“No, Vanessa.” Brooke shook her head. “God, you’re really something else, you know that? Not only do you tell everyone something I told you not to, but you decide it’s perfectly fine to just undermine all my hard work–”

Her hard work?

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

“Now, listen, bitc–coin. Bitcoin. Listen. You ain’t the only one workin’ hard. Don’t you come up here actin’ like you ain’t the only one scared or the only one who cares! I ain’t do nothing but try to help, the least you could say is thank you!”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Brooke gave a hollow laugh. “It’s not about the fundraiser, or about how this feels. It’s about the fact that I trusted you, Vanessa. And I shouldn’t have.”

Vanessa said nothing; deep down, she knew she should, but she couldn’t. Not just then, when she was this angry.

Besides, she didn’t really have the chance–a second had barely passed before Brooke was walking away.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #free falling #lesbian au #hospital au #writworm42

[kattloaf]

Unexpected Guest (Dinner Party pt. 2)

Following the tour Tidus and Kamila had given her, Kat found herself with more time than necessary before the night’s festivities began in full. The well-chaperoned tour of the manor showed off its finer features, the grand, opulent rooms, the breathtaking views, the sheer wonderment the manse provided. During it, however, Kat had taken note that, while they covered most of the manor, there were certain gaps that lacked appreciable reasoning. Private quarters were a given, of course, but other parts of the building had been left sight-unseen. 

As her escorted tour of the place concluded, they had offered her a room to retire before the celebration began. As she had so many times during the tour, Kat couldn’t help but marvel at the opulence of the room they’d shown her to. Sapphire blue carpeting with gold patterns near the walls, the pattern reflected in filigree on the baseboards and throughout the wall, which was a deeper shade of blue. As with the other rooms she had seen, there were a number of paintings and pictures with ornamented frames adorning the wall to break up the sea of blue and gold. The furniture, interestingly, was red with silver accents, as though to stand in stark defiance of the ocean they resided in. Against one wall sat an enormous, plush bed with a canopy also of red. Reaching the far wall of the room, there was another set of doors leading to a balcony. Nearly every room facing seaward had a balcony, she’d noted. 

At first she simply spent some time thinking, allowing herself to process all she had seen -and what she hadn’t-. Should she need to run, having a mental map of the estate could prove a matter of life or death. Once that matter was addressed, she surreptitiously took stock of the things she’d brought with her. Tucked into slip pockets along her waistline were three of the wolfram-cored kunai she was fond of. Strapped to her thighs, and glamoured to be unseen, were the two daggers Laplace had forged for her, Fuyakaze and Harukaze. She’d mentally taken to calling them the ‘Twin Winds’, but they had proper names all the same. Lastly, she’d tucked several vials in various places, mostly in her dress, but also her boots. 

Inventory taken, she rose, ambling about the room before inevitably making her way to the balcony. The view was, as she was coming to expect, breathtaking. She stood at the midpoint of the river the manor was built over, gazing out first to the waterfall that cascaded down, then to the valley itself. The sun setting to her left cast long shadows over the near valley, the cliff facing she sat atop curving along the shore. Such brought an early nightfall to the town below. As Kat watched, streetlamps and windows began to glow with light as life began to wind down for the evening. Out at sea, ships lit their lanterns as they sailed in to the docks, seeking safe haven for the darkness of night that was approaching. At her vantage, night was yet to arrive, but down there, in that town, it had begun to descend in earnest. 

Unfortunately, she only had so much time to dwell on the tranquil, beautiful scene before her. Tonight was not a night to let her mind wander to the frayed ends of possibility. Tonight she had to focus. She was in a Garlean province, at the estate of a lifetime politician and, she was fairly certain, the intelligence officer he had as a wife. She couldn’t afford to let whimsy take hold. And so, after several deep, controlled breaths to re-center, she set off to meet the night head-on.

When she had heard there were to be other guests, Kat had expected a half-dozen or so, maybe twenty. Instead, there were over forty that had arrived thus far, with little signs of slowing. They arrived in ones and twos at first, some in carriages, some in magitek vehicles of varying fashion. As the time for the beginning of the party drew nearer, and it was a party, or gala if one wanted to be proper, the guests began to arrive more densely. It was not long before the rotunda was bustling with vehicles coming, dispensing their occupants, then leaving. It’s rather marvelously orchestrated. Just enough chaos to keep it from pure order.

I should like to take a look at some of those magitek rides, not that we’ll get the chance. I’m more concerned about the people -in- the vehicles, as you all should be.

At least we don’t recognize many.

Indeed, quite mercifully so, none of the arrivals thus far had been recognizable outside of name recognition by Kat, or vice versa. She stood in the entry hall, that grand checkerboard entrance that had so entranced her mind when she first entered it. Now, rather than echoing vacuously with the footfalls of two people, it rang with the clamor of  dozens of voices all speaking at once. There were cushioned benches and even end tables lining the spaces between archways now, many of them occupied in some way by the attendees. For her part, Kat had kept mostly to herself, offering greetings to those who passed and took interest, but largely letting the rest of them mingle. It made it easier to listen, watch. To learn who liked whom and who they avoided.

Garlean, red jacket, black pants. Baleful look at the hyur woman in the green dress. Portly balding man, black jacket and cravat. Ill-liked by those around him. Laughs at his own jokes.

Black-haired hyur with the blue shimmering dress. Has a small baby bump. Likely pregnant. Man with her is not her husband. No ring. I like her dress. The pregnant one. Oh! Also, man with her is only half-Garlean. 

So went the beginning of the party for Kat, cataloging as much information as she could about the attendees and trying to draw conclusions from it. It did help that each arrival was announced by one of the servants. Kat recognized the servant in question, though only in passing during her tour. She spent most of her time this way, until the herald at the entry declared another name that shook her from her data assessment. 

“Now presenting his excellency Cassian fae Victus, Vicarius of the Southeastern province.”

In with the announcement walked a man that was, lamentably, familiar to Kat. He was Garlean, with sharp, angular features and a smile that was altogether too self-assured and self-satisfied for Kat’s taste. He was tall, with blonde hair pale green eyes, a hue that matched the color of the vest he wore beneath a dark jacket that had gold trim. The trim, naturally, continued down onto his trousers and even his shoes. The ensemble, which Kat found fitting, but garish in the details, only served to complement his upturned chin as he ambled through the hall. 

Moving furtively, but with caution to appear as though she weren’t being evasive, Kat moved her way further into the hall, taking residence in another of the archways that led into other rooms. Greeting other guests as he meandered, Cassian almost missed her. Such potential success was, inevitably, foiled as his moved his gaze to Kat in spite of her efforts. A ripple of confusion played across his lean features, followed by a haughty, bemused smirk as he made his way through the crowd toward her. 

Ah shit.

Damn.

Why did he have to be here….

Fuck this asshole. 

“Well well, now what do we have here? We are quite far removed from the island of Thavnair, for such a rare variety of desert flower.” Reaching out, he neatly took Kat’s hand, which she had held out in way of customary greeting, and kissed the back of her palm. 

Kat smiled a politician’s smile, full of good cheer without an ounce of warmth in her eyes. “You should have paid closer attention to the gardens on your approach. The gardeners have quite the skill for making desert flowers bloom here. I counted four different varieties native to Thavnair.”

Cassian just chuckled at that, somehow managing to fill the sound with as much casual disdain as possible without making an openly mocking gesture. “Is that so? I was, regrettably, occupied with… other matters that required my attention on the ride in. I shall have to pay attention next I have the chance.” Still smiling that smug, triumphant smile, he finally let Kat’s hand go, which she quickly retracted. 

Changing tact slightly, since Cassian was the sort that could spout platitudes until the sun died, Kat steeled herself. “So, you are a Vicarius now, replete with the title. Last I’d heard, you were still an Eques at the embassy in Radz-at-Han.” She plastered on another of those politically-savvy smiles. “Moving up in the world, aren’t we?”

Cassian simply nodded, his ever present smile not wavering. “Indeed. My efforts and diligence at the embassy were recognized, and thus I ascended to my current position.” He waved blithely with a hand. “It’s all.. So very according to plan and procedure, if you’ve an appreciation for such.”

She lifted a hand to her chin, posturing as though she were thinking fervently. 

Do we?

Logically? No.

Yes, but we really want to.

Really, really want to. 

Kat smiled at length.“I can appreciate following protocol. Remind me, though, how many female serving staff did you go through in a moon? What’s the procedure for that?”

Immediately, Cassian’s demeanor grew frigid, his posture stiffening as the cold delight in his eyes turned to a burning venom. Immediately, his voice lowered, its timbre heavy with implication of malice. “Not so many as the number of beds your back has sullied.”  

With an icy smile, his voice and demeanor returned to the air of casual indifference he wore as a badge of honor. The venom still in his gaze as he stared Kat down, he continued in a voice that carried to those nearby. “Please do forgive my brevity in our reacquainting, there are a number of people I have yet to greet. Perhaps we will be able to… better familiarize ourselves later?”

Inwardly, Kat sighed. He’d bested her in this small move, even if she had gotten under his skin. It wasn’t entirely false that they knew each other, but one night of a drunken Garlean groping her like she was a sack of popotos before passing out was hardly something to discuss openly. No, there was no way she could decline his general offer without committing social suicide this evening. While being associated with him would make it easier to navigate the social scene, he was the last person she wanted to be attached to in the minds of others.

So, she did what she could, and smiled graciously, nodding as she spoke clearly and loudly, “Should the opportunity arise, and our cups be full, I would like nothing more.” It was a small barb, one that she didn’t expect to be discerned by the crowd around them, but it was a barb meant for him. With an achingly subtle sneer, Cassian turned to find other party-goers to greet. 

It took less than a minute for another to step into Cassian’s place. By greeting her deliberately and associating with her, he’d rent asunder the stigma that surrounded her. Now Kat would have to deal with the parade of faces, many of whom she had already met and catalogued, once again. 

You’re right, One. Fuck that man.

Ironically, we haven’t. 

That’s the point.

Blue dress is coming over! And yes, fuck him.

It was not terribly long before the dark, lacquered doors at the end of the hall swung wide, the aged head servant from Kat’s arrival acting as herald. “Good Lords and Ladies, Gentlemen and Women. At your leisure, the dining hall is now open.”

Immediately, there was a cordial, patient rush of people to the dining hall. Naturally it was, in essence, purely a case of migrating from one area for gossiping to another, but it was progress of a sort. Making her own way into the dining hall, Kat once more had to take in the spectacle borne of wealth and appreciation for interior decor. The checkerboard marble floor gave way to one that was of solid black marble, seams of gold in the tiles giving it a splash of decadent color. Adding to the color palette were red banners, some with the Garlean emblem, others without, spaced evenly along two of the walls and between the twin staircases that curved up to the second floor. The fourth wall, while also bearing red drapes and curtains, primarily consisted of large windows flanking sets of open doors, leading to a grand balcony.

The table, which stood as the centerpiece of the entire room, was massive. A red cloth runner split the table in twain visually, but by all appearances it was a single, seamless expression of extreme craftsmanship. A warm sienna, the wood grain was almost indistinguishable from all the work that had been put into it. As she was led to her seat second to the right of the table’s head, Kat tried to suss out whether it was a single object, or if there were sleeves cleverly disguised. 

That HAS to be multiple trees. There’s no way that it’s a single piece.

At a glance, I don’t see any divisions. It looks solid. 

I’m with Four, no way it’s not composite. 

Still looks good. 

Her chair held out for one of the servants -the same miqo’te woman who had first greeted her, curiously, she claimed her seat, the servant woman helping her scoot in to a comfortable degree. Kat turned her head to offer the woman her thanks, but she was already gone. Off to tend to another guest, no doubt.. Shrugging, Kat turned her attention forward, just in time to see Cassian being seated across from her, next to a spindly, anxious-looking man she recognized from earlier as one Bicchus nan Dichus. 

Dinner was going to be interesting. And long.

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Hunger Games

Roxas uses the toe of one of his black and white checkerboard Vans to prod at the rib of the young man sprawled in front of him. “You wanna get up?”

Vanitas presses a hand to the bruising in his gut and does not respond.

Roxas isn’t sure what he can do at this point, but Aqua spares him the trouble of deciding, returning from the back rooms with another oversized cardboard box in her arms.

Both guys jolt at the thump as Aqua’s box of accessories hits the sale’s floor. The entire thing topples sideways, spilling a cascade of cute plushies and menacing chokers, sunglasses, winter hats with ears and comic book themed bikini tops.

She’s at Roxas’ side in an instant. “What the hell happened?”

Vanitas groans pitifully, and Roxas glowers, volume rising, “The fuck is wrong with you?” Roxas looms above Vanitas, half expecting to see Venom crawl out of his mouth. He turns to Aqua who stands, massaging her temple and scanning Vanitas for external injuries. “The fuck is wrong with him?”

Aqua connects the dots fairly quickly as Roxas cradles his fist and Vanitas whimpers. She pushes Roxas a step back by the shoulder, and he lets her.

“He’s trying to get himself fired,” she says.

Vanitas opens his eyes a slit with the sole purpose of glaring at her.

“And he doesn’t need your help.” Her lips purse, narrowed eyes redirecting to Roxas. “Try not to kill each other while I grab the ice.”

“Axel didn’t tell me you were certifiably insane,” Roxas mutters as Aqua steps off behind the register.  

“Me?” Vanitas struggles to sit, doesn’t quite make it, lays back down and shuts his eyes. “I didn’t know you were in the fucking Fight Club, jackass.”

“Black belt, jackass. That’s my point. You don’t know me, you talk shit about me and my only friend here, and then you come at me trying to…” Roxas’ gestures turn vague as Vanitas’ eyes twitch back open, amused with the vulnerability that exasperation has brought to Roxas’ voice.

“Well, I don’t know what you thought you were going to accomplish, swinging like that,” Roxas concludes frankly, as the guy’s expression goes rigid, “but…”

“Roxas, you are not helping,” Aqua seethes from behind and below the register. Do they keep the first aid kit there? Does this happen often?

“Your only friend is…” Vanitas glances to the side, rubs the back of his head, lip jutting out as his thoughts churn.

Roxas knows he shouldn’t have said that, but he’s made his bed, so he may as well jump on it.

The small blonde leans over him once more, inspecting his knuckles. “Say one more thing about Axel. Go ahead.”

“Shit,” Vanitas replies breathily, managing to sit up, a wince marring his grin. “Now I’m kind of turned on. Maybe the three of us…”

Roxas sees red. He lunges, but Aqua grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him backward, her long nails digging.

“That’s it!” Pale blue eyes shift between them, tone Mom Level angry and disappointed, “I’m calling Xaldin.”

Roxas can’t remember who Xaldin is, but he doesn’t sound like someone he’d want called. “Please, don’t.” His blue eyes go wide and childlike with alarm, and her grip loosens when he doesn’t pull at it.

“What?” Vanitas scrambles to his feet, yanking down his faux uniform blazer, brushing off the dirt. He whirls on Aqua. “Why?”

“Seriously, Van?” Aqua chucks the icepack at his chest and turns on her heel toward the register and the store phone.

“Hey, no. Aqua!” Vanitas objects calmly, waving with the ice pack. “Don’t call him. It’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” Her brows rise though she stops. “He just decked you.”

“Yeah, but I was asking for it.” Vanitas trails her, cocky as ever, a hand against her back. “C’mon. No need to make a fuss. We’re cool, now,” he pauses, hand dropping, turns back to Roxas whose jaw has borderline detached itself from the rest of his face, “right, Fight Club?”

Vanitas holds a hand up for Roxas’. Roxas wonders if Vanitas has a split personality like Jekyll and Hyde or Betty Cooper on Riverdale.

With a pang, Roxas realizes he could get fired from not just Hot Topic, but the entire mall for this incident.

Merry Fucking Christmas, Roxas. You’re never going to pay it all back.

“I...” Roxas wants to say no, keep the asshole knocked to the ground. But he shrugs, shakes his head, “Yeah, whatever, man. Just don’t try it again.”

Vanitas nods, smile not quite sincere enough for Roxas’ liking. “Of course.”

Roxas clasps his raised hand. Their elbows knock, their fingers squeeze, and then they brush past each other. “Happy Hunger Games,” Roxas says.

If Vanitas is anything like Roxas’ ex, Seifer, one display of bravado should be enough to earn his respect, or at least direct his attention to weaker targets.

Yeah. There had been a reason that relationship hadn’t lasted.

It seems to work though. Vanitas flat out beams at the jab.

It’s Aqua’s turn to balk. “Vanitas, are you sure that’s how you want to play this? You part ways unlikely friends?”

Vanitas nods, thumbing at his lanyard, rubbing absentmindedly at the bruise on his stomach with the ice pack. Feeling their eyes on him, he turns to Aqua. “Think maybe I should take fifteen and think about what I’ve done.”

“...Vani.” She gives him another hard look, but it softens, apparently more convinced than Roxas is that he’s resolved himself to making nice. “Alright… We’ll let you know if we defeat any Heartless.”

“If we...” Roxas straightens his hipster glasses like it’ll help him hear, “what?”

Vanitas flashes a gum commercial white smile as he turns toward the entrance. “Knock ‘em dead, Blue.”

“What…?”

#kingdom hearts #roxas #vanitas #aqua #axel #organization xiii #seifer #akuroku #hot topic au #my writing #hunger games #riverdale #venom

[deadtower]

g-d i found some of my old writing from when i was like 18 or 19 and it was, predictably, black veil brides bandfic 

tho, to my credit, you think the love interest is gonna be andy, and andy’s sort of a dick through the whole thing and you’re like, really? she’s gonna get with this asshole? and then you realize the whole time it hasn’t been “andy/oc with a side male character [jake pitts] pining for her”, it’s been jake/oc but andy was the one she met when she was younger so you just assumed it was gonna be andy/oc when really it was jake/oc somewhat slow burn

anyway so my writing back then was incredible and fucking HILARIOUS, my writing is still amazing now but i had a certain je ne sais quoi when i was younger that’s sort of phased itself out of my writing and im trying to get it back

the point of this post is to showcase exhibit A which is that there’s a scene where the band members are playing checkers. but it’s not normal checkers. it’s with banana slices as the checkers. it’s called Banana Checkers because twentysomething punk boys are still boys and boys are Just Like That. (i don’t know how they know which banana is which team and the fact that i don’t know that makes it even funnier imo bc i doubt they do either.) and losing sucks, and you don’t want to do it, but not because you just lose a game of banana checkers. it’s because after you lose you have to eat all of the banana checkers.

and even that isn’t gross for the reason you’d think (the reason you’d think being that the checkerboard is probably at least mildly dirty, even if it’s just a few flecks of dirt). the reason is because they’re all vampires and therefore are made extremely sick eating human food. they don’t care that there’s dirt flecks on it.

i was a fucking incredible writer back in the day and honestly i need this kind of nonsensical humor back in my writing.

#i feel so SERIOUS now and it's just. h #most of my concepts are serious but ive gotta be able to put humor in there somewhere #because my humor and the sheer amount of nonsensical stuff i can write is astounding #i have like 50+ notebooks of this kind of stuff

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights

Pirate-themed intro!

Skype with Kit Buss! A magical picture frame!

Kit was Liam’s wrangler at a con in London, and he was immediately impressed with her art. They kept in touch afterwards, and Liam immediately brought her up to do the character art when the show got started.

Liam’s original character description he provided to Kit was extremely detailed. In contrast, Laura’s description was “Make me look hot.”

Kit’s always had quite a bit of creative license to make the official character portraits, beyond those provided descriptions.

Kit’s reaction to getting a new character-arc request: “It figured it would be Sam.” She got the request two days before Taryon showed up, when only Matt and Sam knew.

Original character concept for Tary: “Richard Branson meets Tony Stark with a dash of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast.”

Kit would love to do an episode with Mary Elizabeth--she made Lilith a tiefling because she loved Zahra so much.

Kit was so emotional at one of the more brutal parts of the Whitestone Arc that she had to go hide in the bathroom at work for five minutes.

Lilith’s voice was based on the doll in the hunter’s dream in Bloodborne.

Kit has continued to play Lilith in a game DMed by High Rollers’ Mark Hulmes

Brian: “EpiSODE 87.” Marisha: “Why do you say it like an asshole?”

Both Keyleth and Marisha, deep down, are kind of hoping that her mother is dead, because otherwise she’s alive and just never came back.

Brian messes up Vex/Vax again. “Critrolestats... please delete your account.”

Pirate ship names! Liam: “The Salty Bastard”. Taliesin: “The Purple Mane”. Liam: “The Raven’s Lullabye, The Ocean’s Bulge”. Taliesin: “The Dignity and Impudence”. Marisha: “...The Dignity and Impotence?”

Keyleth would be more likely to accept her mother’s death if it was part of the Aramente, so she wouldn’t be as likely to react strongly against the Kraken the way she did against Raishan.

If Percy could get rid of the magical feats, he would. He’s okay with the magical items he uses because a lot of them are thinly magical or sort of anti-magical. He doesn’t like not knowing why something doesn’t work. Marisha: “Is that how you feel about Keyleth?” Taliesin points out that Percy’s prepared for Keyleth to wind up completely vulnerable for no other reason than that somebody comes in and snaps their fingers.

Taliesin: “If you’ve learned anything about me, it’s that I can put anything in this studio in my mouth.” Liam: “I mean, I’m right here.”

Liam: “I think we’re both a little competitive. (whispers) [Laura]’s more competitive.”

Taliesin describes Taryon as Scrappy Doo.

Out-of-context quote from Marisha: “I don’t want anyone to think I’m shitting on sommeliers.”

Brian: “This is my favorite episode of whatever the fuck this show is.”

Keyleth thinks it’s kinda nice that somebody is looking up to her a bit.

Vax has been spending more time with Grog because he wants him to be happy, and feels closer to him now that a lot of the tension between them has dissipated. Liam doesn’t trust Travis not to restart the prank war, though...

Taliesin describes Percy/Vex as “leaning positively into the bad decision.”

Liam points out that without Vex in his life, Percy might veer off into a Sith sort of direction. Taliesin is inclined to agree, and notes that, punk-rock as she is, Vex keeps Percy from going too dark.

Marisha points out that a lot of people coming to LA build a chosen family, which is what happened with their group. Liam: “Vox Machina is a family because we’re a family. It just bleeds through.” Taliesin notes that it seems like D&D should always veer in that direction, but he’s never had a game actually go that way to the extent that this one has.

After Dark:

Magical reappearance of Kit Buss!

Liam thinks it’s a toss-up between Vax, Keyleth, and Grog accidentally killing the Kraken. Vax: “I’m just gonna teach him a lesson-- oh, he’s dead.”

Taliesin once dyed his hair half-black, half-white and braided it into a checkerboard.

Possibility of updated character art with the Vestiges!

Liam points out that the beauty of the show is that it shifts from deep and meaningful moments to goofy messing-with-friends moments on a dime. It’s simultaneously a very deep show and fundamentally a game.

Taliesin can see Keyleth as Yoda in the future. Marisha: “Yeah, totally!”

Everyone would love to see Kit’s take on Senokir and Raishan.

When Matt described Captain Adella, Kit thought of Zamira Drakasha from the Gentleman Bastards series.

Brian’s official ship names: Kevaxleth and VexPex.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #long text post

[zhijinzhi-blog]

*

- You can always rely on the miners - The Jews as tandem of Relgion financed the fuck out of the creation of America. Not In-Return, but simply, as-is, Israel sists. - Insecurity is Homosexuality (Less when its Fostered as opposed to cultivated.) - So shutting off that desperation is Good - more Philosophical - The United States has, forever, operated under Martial-Law (Surprise! - - Who do you say "Thanks" to ..-) - Sodomised by Satan/ Molested by ME - Such as, if you're : - A Slave , or -A Slave -A Slave .- -

(Martial-Law for the un Armed, modernly, is basically the Asshole-System , or if you dont swear on Time The Energy Prescdent --> The Expectations Premise

- Its not gonna mean anything - (The Psychological term is "Constant".) . {The Binary Of Front And Back- ? } ___

The Birds and the Bee's " "Falling in love and the sex is when Suddenly/ Abruptly you do it Determining its shelf and Shelf-Quality-

(Unthinkable-Unmortable, *Stupified byh You~ ) [Well it looks like Everythings straight in this manilla...}

{Wear are you and how when you put it out is ..} Base-8 , Base-10, has mostly nothin' to Do with 0-9 .

' Imprison the Evil-' // (61-51 ^?) [- That's a "Degrees" sign, Baxter-] -

Time, for our purposes (or at least what was "In" it -) is a Checkerboard- | BULLSHT ! ___ (Intensions-magic that Flows-in is bad-curse.. "up-folw" is good..

{[well-look at them--] Sun-,SET| '   ___ - IS IT THAT BITCH , THAT FUCKING BITCHC TH' ANTICHRIST AGAIN?? ___ {To Regress is to become child-like..simplest lesson w/ out 3D coins is - each and every, Noun, has a light and dark side, and, each and every only (beyond or beside Physical Violence, or Abusive-Magic) which one engages modifies, propogates, and toLerates . -..

HEY, BITCH -

[{Please, GOD] | ___

|)Lay-Siege[||

-THATS WHAT ITS FOR =

Emotions ...- Aren't Controlled - ___ (You liv|<e insid of you Jesus' Dream) ___ ... - The Hurt Wander up-' _ memory's a virtue work is a theft lullabye's are handsom' the Prettier ar' kept- ' - .. now that is what they Say-

- The term i used (Beta album #1) "Static Transformations" . ___ (Ok, well i can sniff you out in 3.2 seconds...) ___ {... try to make your paperwork "agree" ---}[Lou Gherghig's Disease, plus "Felt" ..] ___ FUCK ___ (Thats the difference btwn a masonic-transaction, and, (Can I say Wicca?  No?) A, um, "Initiated Ghost-Theft".)

Page 4 :

#|? #*