#when you shake them violently they make the cartoon running sound effect

[fernsnailz]

the beasts

#when you shake them violently they make the cartoon running sound effect #fern's sketchbook #sth #shadow the hedgehog #baby shadow

[eyeless-shad0w]

TW: This is a Creepypasta on Tom and Jerry.

If you are someone who gets things ruined for you easily or “i’ll never see this the same” PLEASE do not proceed. It contains blood and scary themes. Thank you.

•••

The thirteen Tom and Jerry shorts made by the Czechoslovakian director Gene Deitch are infamous for their poor quality and rather disturbing nature, featuring badly done sound effects and animation and having a more realistic feel to the violence. Some have speculated that Deitch didn't like the concept behind Tom and Jerry and was pressured into making them, and wanted to make the people who watched his take on it feel bad for liking the concept.

What many people don't know is that Deitch was originally signed on to make more than the thirteen episodes the public has access to.

Desperate to get out of his contract, when I was 16 or something I was walking home then I noticed I tripped on a tape, that tape was made by Deitch and he made one more Tom and Jerry short you have ever seen.

The short was called "Tom's Basement." I got surprised so I ran to my house and pop up the tape It showed Jerry out of a mouse hole smiling with Tom's face in it. With the words Tom and Jerry then it showed a basement with the words Tom's Basement.

It opened with Tom in a typical Tom and Jerry house. His owner was the fat, angry guy from other Deitch shorts.

Tom's owner seemed even angrier than in his other appearances; the first scene is him stomping on Tom's tail in a very realistic and painful looking way because Tom is sleeping by the basement door.

The owner yells at Tom to never go down there. Tom is clearly terrified and runs away to another room. Our view stays in the room by the basement door and we see Jerry come out of a mouse hole.

He looks truly grotesque, far more off-model than in the other Deitch shorts. He gets an evil look on his face and follows Tom into the next room.

The next few minutes are fairly formulaic. Jerry repeatedly manages to trick Tom into chasing him to the basement door a few times, but each time the owner catches Tom he inflicts a painful looking injury on him, which stay with Tom even after the scene ends.

After three beatings, Tom is bruised all over, bleeding in a few places, and limping on a broken leg. After this, Tom starts to literally beg Jerry not to bother him any more; he's not really talking, but he's crying and mumbling, and you can tell what he's doing by his body language. Jerry just laughs at him and pushes him back to the basement door.

The owner catches Tom again and goes ballistic. The camera zooms in on his face - it changes color and distorts as he yells at Tom in a much louder voice than any other sound in the cartoon. I can't post most of what he said on here, but it's definitely vicious and furious. It seems like Jerry has finally decided to take pity on Tom, though.

Jerry picks up a knife that was lying around and stabs the owner in the leg, quite graphically. Tom opens the basement door and they carry the owner's body down the stairs.

There are dozens of other bodies down there, decaying and showing signs of their violent deaths. Tom and Jerry shake hands and it seems like they've triumphed over the serial killer... But Jerry gets an evil look in his face again and Tom says, in that ghostly, deep voice...

"DON'T YOU BELIEVE IT!"

Jerry stabs Tom, killing him, and throws his body into the pile. The last shot is Jerry putting up a 'For Sale' sign on the yard of the house, laughing, clearly planning to do it all again.

#creepypasta #tom and jerry #long reads #fiction

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s Notes:

CW: sexist language, blood, parental abuse. This is a heavy chapter, please proceed with caution.

XII

the earth will see our eyes go blank tonight / the earth will rot away go blank tonight / I, I really wish these snakes were your arms

Soft snores float from the back of the truck, and Hinata does her best not turn around and stare.

Yamaneko had fallen asleep, her body curled up next to Last Boss’. The taller militant is resting his chin on top of her head, a protective arm around her waist. Their backs are turned from the other two occupying the front seats.

The taller militant glances at them with near-murderous intent when Tatta hits a bump on the road and wakes Yamaneko up. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, glances at Last Boss, then feels an overwhelming urge to puke her breakfast out.

Pale, the militant hangs her head over the edge of the four by four, and hurls.

“Stop the car,” Last Boss tells Tatta, who hits the brakes and looks at the female militant with concern. Hinata couldn’t help but look as well, watching as the terrifying militant rubbed his girlfriend’s back.

Coughing, Yamaneko turns to the driver. “Could you drive more carefully? Shit…”

“Sorry, I’ll drive more carefully,” Tatta blurts, bowing his head low in apology. He can still feel Last Boss’ death glare burning the back of his head as he restarts the engine.

Somewhat concerned for the nicer militant’s wellbeing, Hinata tosses them a water bottle, which Last Boss catches with one hand. Drinking from the water bottle slowly, Yamaneko gives the other girl a thumbs up.

Slumping against the backseat, HInata is still coming to terms with the fact that these armed and dangerous maniacs are still people who can have attachments.

She then starts to wonder if the militants at the back were anything like who they are now. The Borderlands does seem to bring either the best or the worst out of people, after all. Was Last Boss always an eccentric guy prone to violence, and was Yamaneko always a blunt gal with no regard for social norms?

The street artist takes a sharp inhale in contemplation, and regrets doing so as soon as the damp, earthy scent hits her. Rolling down a window, Hinata pokes her head out of the car, unable to stand the smell of sex and sweat from the militants at the back, and chuckles to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Tatta asks, a hand on the steering wheel and eyes still on the road.

“The car smells like sex and now I’m wondering if I should take her advice.”

“A-ah. Well, it’s your choice,” Tatta replies, his free hand scratching the back of his head.

“What about you, Tatta? Ever thought of sleeping around in the Beach?”

A small laugh escapes his lips. “Not really my thing, sorry. I prefer spending my time fixing cars and goofing around with my friends.”

“Mm, that does sound better. I enjoyed painting that mural with you, by the way. We should-”

A voice who belongs to neither of them cuts their conversation short. “Keep it down.”

Both of them nearly jumped upon hearing Last Boss’ voice. The militant is staring at them with mild hostility, his lover’s head still resting on his shoulder. “You’re going to wake her up again.”

“Right, sorry!” Tatta blurts, then he turns away from him, cold sweat on his forehead. Hinata tries her best to stifle a giggle. There’s something she finds humorous about seeing the enigmatic and frightening Last Boss cuddling with a sleeping girl and shushing people for her sake.

The two in the front remained quiet for the rest of the drive back, their knees bumping together.

The car came to a halt as they arrived. Gently, Last Boss shakes his lover awake, who drowsily mumbles something incoherent as she stretches. The group was unloading their haul when Aguni approached them, a grim expression on his face. Niragi and another militant followed closely behind.

Hinata flinches upon seeing the man with the pierced face, who closes in on her, trapping her against the side of the four by four. Tatta glares at him with wide eyes, feet plastered to the ground and too afraid to move. Niragi whispers something inaudible to the rest of the people present, which makes Hinata shrink further into the warm metal of the car.

To the street artist’s relief, Yamaneko gets in between them and pushes Niragi off nonchalantly as she walks towards the chief. She didn’t hear the quick “thank you” that bubbled from HInata’s throat, who slinked off to the back of the vehicle to hide.

“The hell is your problem?”

“You’re rolling your tongue out like a cartoon wolf again. You look like shit,” Yamaneko replies, smirking and flipping her side fringe as she turns away from Niragi.

“You smell like shit. You smell like a damn brothel,” Niragi yells after her, and she raises a single middle finger in response.

Niragi sneered, his fun for the day ruined, and he stood next to Last Boss.

“Shit, Last Boss, you too,” Niragi remarks as he caught a whiff of Last Boss’ scent, fanning the air with his hand. “Wait, is that dried sweat I’m smelling from your face or- you fucking dog,” Niragi adds, giving him a devious grin.

The tattooed militant rolls his eyes and doesn’t dignify Niragi’s teasing with a reply. He couldn’t hide the smug look on his face, though. Aguni frowns at their juvenile exchange, and pushes past Niragi.

“Enough. Where the hell were you two?” Aguni asks, voice low and full of disappointment. The chief looks at Last Boss and Yamaneko, and one can compare him to a father scolding children who snuck away past their curfew.

“Easy, chief. We just went on a double date with those newbies,” Yamaneko replies, smiling as she motioned to Hinata and Tatta. Her smile turns to a wicked grin upon seeing Niragi’s jealous expression.

That was Tatta and Hinata’s cue to run away as far as they can from the scene.

Before Niragi can confront the two of them, Aguni gives him a glare to remind him of why they’re here, and he begrudgingly stays in place. Then, he turns back to the pair. “We thought the two of you dropped dead somewhere.”

“Dropped dead? I- chief, what happened while we were gone?”

“This isn’t something we should be talking about in the open. You two, come with us,” Aguni responds. Gulping, Yamaneko gives Last Boss a worried gaze, who stands a little closer to the shorter militant.

Dread settling in her gut, Yamaneko found herself in the makeshift morgue again, where several bodies lay on separate gurneys. Aside from the Beach executives, there were several other people in the room, including a few familiar faces. Kuina and Chishiya are present, as well as Sunohara, who acknowledges her with a nod. Ann looks at the militants with a grim frown, and takes off her shades.

“We have limited equipment here in the Beach, but thanks to Sunohara’s help, we were able to determine that the victims’ hearts, brains, and kidneys are damaged. This might be a poisoning case,” Ann announces as she walks towards them.

“Do you think this is the same killer from before?” Aguni asks, stepping towards one of the corpses. He lift’s the dead man’s arm, and sees his number tag. Seventeen; just one rank away from Yamaneko.

“It’s possible. The suspect might’ve caught up with our attempts to investigate and switched methods. Plus, I think we have a motive now.”

Yamaneko turns to the taller woman, brows furrowed.

“Is there any reason why I should be here?” she asks, heart racing.

“That’s where the motive comes in. The player numbers of the people who were killed were in the top thirty. Twenty nine, twenty three, nineteen, seventeen, and twelve. One of the victims was even a member of Aguni’s martial sect. Whoever did this is eliminating higher ranked players. If you hadn't left this afternoon, you might have been a target. From the clues we have so far, someone who’s very desperate to leave the Beach must be behind this.”

“Then we need to put an end to this, fast,” Mira finally speaks up. “It’s only a matter of time before this person targets someone on the executive board.”

“I think I know who this person is…” Niragi scoffs. “It’s definitely Yamaneko’s asshole dad.”

Head whipping towards Niragi, Yamaneko folds her arms in skepticism, about to say something, but ultimately choosing to close her mouth. Hatter uses the silence as an opportunity to impart his observations.

“Come to think of it… whenever he turns in his cards from a game, he’s often the sole survivor.”

“Are you saying that he killed the other players to receive sole credit for the card?” Kuina speaks up from her corner. Beside her, Chishiya gives the executives a knowing smirk. “It’s a possibility.”

Aguni turns to the daughter of the suspect, who’s sweating bullets. “You said it yourself that you think that the man is capable of being violent with anyone. What do you think?” he asks.

“Hm. Your father is CEO of a company that provided services to this hotel before we all ended up here, am I correct?” Ann asks, circling Yamaneko now. “What kind of goods did they manufacture?” she adds.

“Yamacorp is an industrial manufacturer with a focus on chemical manufacturing.” Yamaneko replies.

“Was your father knowledgeable about the goods his company creates, or does he only manage the business side of things?” Ann asks, the conversation effectively turning into an impromptu interrogation.

“Father oversees the factory from time to time since he has a background in chemistry.”

Ann frowns. “Then there’s a high possibility that he is involved. One of the household poisons that can cause such damage is antifreeze.”

Lips trembling and thoughts racing her head a mile a minute, Yamaneko grimaces. “Are there any other suspects?”

“The only people with access to potentially hazardous chemicals in the Beach are the supply runners, medics, or the militants.”

Niragi rolls his eyes and points his rifle at his fellow executive member. “Are you accusing us of killing one of our own, Ann?”

“No. I’m just saying that it’s a possibility. We need to test the victims’ urine for calcium oxalate crystals, gather fingerprints, gather more witness accounts-”

Niragi interrupts with sarcastic clapping. “That plan’s just perfect, but you’re not in a damn forensic lab anymore, Ann.”

“Let’s just kill him,” Last Boss pipes up. At his suggestion, Yamaneko turns to glare at him.

In the corner, Chishiya chuckles and folds his arms. “Idiots,” he mutters under his breath, earning him a sour look from Niragi. Kuina observes the two of them, then turns her attention to the Hatter, who takes a few steps across the room.

“Niragi has a point. Ann’s methods would take too much time. The Beach is well equipped, but we don’t have everything,” the number one quips.

“We need to extract information any way we can,” Aguni adds.

“Then let’s beat it out of him,” Last Boss suggests.

Yamaneko begins to stammer, unable to come up with words in response to her fellow militants’ suggestions. “I- he-”

“What’s the matter, Yamaneko? Don’t tell me you feel sorry for that piece of shit. You’re sounding like that mousy little girl we picked up again,” Niragi asks, looking cross.

“I just think that beating someone into submission would only make them admit something they didn’t do,” the shorter militant says.

“She’s right,” Ann adds, placing a hand on her hip. “We need to lure the truth out of him.”

“How troublesome,” Last Boss mutters. “Beating him up is more straightforward.”

This time, Yamaneko frowns. “That’s what he did to me, and it always ended with me confessing to things I didn’t do just for the pain to stop.” His lover’s admission made the tattooed militant pause for a moment, throat dry, and Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed his own spit.

“Then do it to get back at him. Don’t you want to?”

At that point, Yamaneko’s hands are sweating, her voice inaudible to anyone but her lover. “I want to, but…”

“We’re not going to get anywhere with this,” Chishiya speaks up, leaving his corner and stepping under the harsh lights of the room. “The suspect isn’t even in this room for interrogation, and we’re not even sure if anyone is competent enough to manipulate the truth out of him. I know I can’t be bothered with it.”

“Then the next best thing would be for a Heart specialist to manipulate him into admitting his involvement, yes?” Mira suggests, grinning as she paces to the shortest militant in the room. Yamaneko’s throat is a dry river on a hot day, and her heart hammers against her ribcage.

“I’d do it myself, but being approached by an executive member would betray our intentions to him. We need someone who can rouse strong emotions out of him… provoke him and make him irrational. Make him blurt out a confession.”

Mira gasps excitedly, making eye contact with Yamaneko. “Ah! Why don’t you try it, Miss Yamane? You know him better than anyone else in the Beach.”

“It’s Yamaneko. I’m not a heart player.”

“You give yourself too little credit,” Mira croons.

“This has gone on for too long. We’ll bring in Mr. Yamane for interrogation later.” Ann crosses her arms. “Hatter, should we adjourn?”

Unsettling feelings pool in Yamaneko’s gut, staring blankly ahead as the meeting ends. She brings her hands to her face, groaning as a wave of tension wrapped itself around her head, and feeling vaguely nauseous. Aguni approaches his underling, his frown deeper than usual, betraying the sliver of concern he feels for the girl.

“How do you plan to deal with this?”

Yamaneko shakes her head, and hangs it low. “I honestly don’t know. My relationship with father is strained, but I still can’t wrap my head around the possibility of him being a serial killer of some sort.”

“You’ve experienced his cruelty first hand, am I right? Trust your own experiences with him.”

The chief’s words make her look him in the eye, a wordless understanding forming between the two.

“I’ll seek you out when I decide what to do, chief.”

Aguni nods and leaves without another word. Lover close by, the younger militant retreats to the rooftop, where no one can bother the two of them. In silence, Takatora observes her. Across the horizon, the sun is slowly setting, and the sky is painted with hues of pinks and oranges.

“I’m going to go on a game with my father,” Yamaneko finally says, eyes fixed on the setting sun.

“I’ll come with you,” her lover replies, bumping shoulders with her. The shorter militant sighs, scratching her head. “You can’t, Tora.”

“He’ll hurt you.”

His sight doesn’t leave her as she stands up to pace around. “Father’s afraid of you, I can tell. He wouldn’t dare to interact with me if you’re around. I have to do this alone.”

“Just settle for the other solution. My method.”

“I want to hear it from his mouth. I want to see him shoot his own damn foot. I need that satisfaction, Takatora.” She sits back down, and holds his hand, fingers entwined with his spindly ones. “If my method fails, let’s use yours.”

Cold fingers touching her face, Takatora turns her head and kisses her. It was short, and uncharacteristically tender. “You’re worried,” Yamaneko breathes, the warmth of the kiss still lingering on her lips. “I’m your wildcat, tiger. A frumpy old man doesn’t stand a chance against me.”

This time, Takatora kisses her with more hunger, his hand leaving hers to cradle her neck. “I’ll come to your game venue as soon as I’m finished with mine.”

His lover breaks the kiss to whisper something in his ear, chin resting on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The heavens are a deep blue now, the sun gone.

“I’ll go tell the chief about the plan so he can inform the other executives,” Yamaneko mumbles, watching the clouds roll by.

Another night of games are about to begin.

As Yamaneko enters the elevator to descend to the lobby, a tan hand holds the doors open. HInata steps in, keeping a safe distance between herself and the woman armed with tactical daggers.

“Hey.” Hinata tosses something to her, and the militant catches it. “You left those in the back earlier.” Yamaneko’s body went rigid as she looked at the item; her packet of birth control.

She missed several days.

“I- thanks.”

Yamaneko couldn’t pay any attention to what the other girl is saying as paranoia gets the best of her.

“Surely, I’ve been feeling tired for the past few days because of the chief knocking me on my ass during training and not because Tora knocked me up, right? I’m nauseous during the car ride because Tatta wasn’t driving carefully, right? I’ve been feeling emotional because of the stress from the Beach serial killer case and the big possibility of father being that nutcase, right?”

“Right?”

“Hey, um, are you there?”

Hinata’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, and she clears her throat. “What did you say again?”

“I said thanks for getting Niragi off my back.” Hinata scratches her head. “Look, um, I know you’re one of them, but you’re alright. Say, what if we work out a deal of some sort?”

“What kind of deal, newbie?”

“You keep Niragi off my ass, I’ll get you whatever the hell you want. Promise. I’ll be your personal procurement gal.”

Yamaneko chuckles. “Hm. Why the hell not? Hell, come with me in a game tonight. I’m sure I can ask the chief a favor to group you with me. I’ll show you the ropes.” In return, Hinata gives her a genuine smile. “Sure.”

As they walked together to the lobby, Hinata couldn’t help but stare at Yamaneko. She’s short, probably the shortest member of the militia, and her hair’s a mess of uneven cuts at the back. The red highlights on her bangs and fringe are somewhat faded, and her dark makeup looks pristine at the moment, unlike when she found her getting bent over a desk by her boyfriend a few hours earlier.

“If you don’t mind talking about it, how did you end up in the militia?”

“I encountered Last Boss and Niragi in a game and they took an interest in me. I dropped my wallet, they found my address, and they whisked me away.” Yamaneko pauses, looking at HInata with slight concern. “Are you sure you’re ready to hear what I’m about to say about Niragi, though?”

‘You’ve pretty much told me earlier that he’s a sleazeball now. I can take it.”

“Well, I was one of the girls he screwed upon arrival. I just… learned to tolerate it to survive. He stopped touching me after I stopped reacting to him. Or maybe because Last Boss told him that he wanted me to himself. I’m not sure anymore.”

“A-are you really suggesting I just give in and just let him have his way with me?!”

“What the- Of course not. But it’s an option if you want your life on the Beach to get easier. Or maybe you can ask that friend of yours to pretend to be your boyfriend, but I doubt he’s the type of guy Niragi will respect.”

Face contorted in anger and indignation, Hinata stammers. “I don’t know what’s more fucked, that he won’t leave a woman alone unless she’s the girlfriend of someone more dangerous than him, or that you don’t give a shit that Niragi’s-”

When Yamaneko grabs her by the shoulders and slams her against the wall, the other girl is reminded that she’s still an armed and dangerous member of the militia.

“Let’s get a few things straight here: First, I don’t fucking appreciate you putting words in my mouth. Second, I’m just telling you how I survived Niragi. The fact that I accepted your deal is me extending my help. So, don’t push your luck with me, newbie. I can still change my mind about this and throw you to the wolves.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

With that, Yamaneko lets go.

“C’mon, we have a game to play.”

As the slips of paper were being handed out, Last Boss and Yamaneko looked for each other’s eyes across the sea of people, and they gave each other one last look of longing as they went on with their respective groups for the night.

Yamaneko and Hinata receive their assignment, and the former’s face lights up when she sees Sunohara approaching. Silently, she thanks Aguni for heeding her favor of letting her choose her teammates tonight. The chief knows she has a plan. Not long after, Mr. Yamane approaches, glances at his daughter, and turns away, entering the back of the car.

Intentionally, Yamaneko sits in the back as well, while Sunohara rides shotgun, the wind tousling her chestnut bob, with Hinata on the wheel. The car ride is tense and quiet, wind howling as the car speeds through the empty streets of Tokyo.

Nervous, with beads of sweat on her forehead, Yamaneko felt nauseous again, rolling down the window to hurl.

“You alright?” the doctor asks, looking at her through the rear view mirror. Yamaneko nods and leans back on the car seat, keeping her head tilted upwards. From the corner of his eye, Mr. Yamane watches his estranged daughter, expression inscrutable.

The car screeches to a halt as they arrive at their destination: Tokyo Zoo.

Yamaneko regards the place, solemn expression on her face.

Her childhood days weren't always filled with hurtful words and beatings. On some days, on the off chance that Mr. Yamane took a day off, he’d bring her with her mother and sister here. But that all halted when he took his father’s place as CEO. Still, Yamaneko thinks the glimpses of familial happiness doesn’t outweigh the horrible things he did to little Minami, Mai, and his deceased wife.

“Of course this just had to be the fucking venue,” she thinks, slamming the car door shut.

One by one, the Beach members picked up the smartphones from the table, facial recognition registering them as participants, and followed the arrows to the game arena.

The synthetic voice most people dreaded breaks the silence. “Registration closed. There are currently four players. Difficulty: Six of Hearts.”

“Another Heart? Just my luck,” Sunohara sighs, rubbing her arms with her palms. Yamaneko inhales deeply, eyeing the new girl, then her father. “Ever played a Heart before, Hinata?” the militant asks her.

“No.”

“Then you’re in for a lesson.”

The doctor takes out a cigarette from her coat and lights it up, visibly anxious. “Heart games play with your heart and mess with your head. They’re the nastiest games out there.”

Judging the Beach veterans’ reactions, Hinata knew she was in deep shit. Mr. Yamane looks visibly distressed too, sweat beading on his balding head and soaking his dress shirt.

On a circular table are four snake tanks, the glass covered by an opaque fabric so the inside isn’t visible to the viewer, with a hole large enough for a hand to fit in on top. In the middle of the table is a syringe, a vial of unknown substance, and a scalpel.

“Game: Antidote. Rules: Two out of four boxes contain a live Gloydius blomhoffii, better known as the mamushi, one of the most venomous snakes in Japan. Each player must simultaneously stick a hand in a box and keep it in for five seconds. Players who haven’t been bitten by the snake must decide who deserves the antidote. Time limit: None.”

A hiss coming from the direction of the boxes is enough to confirm that they do indeed contain live snakes. The echo of the arena makes it hard to determine from which boxes it came from.

“Fuck. Fuck this,” Hinata mutters, legs shaking.

“Don’t tell me you’re running away,” Yamaneko quips. “You have a better chance of surviving if you stick your hand in as opposed to getting struck down by a laser.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Mr. Yamane interrupts, choosing a box of his own. “Stop stalling and get your hands in.”

Rolling her eyes, Yamaneko drags Hinata to the box beside her, and she takes her spot as well. Sunohara gets ready as hell, psyching herself up as she rolled up her coat’s sleeves.

“On three,” the doctor says. “One, two, three!”

All participants stick their respective hands in. Yamaneko chose her left arm, given how it’s in poor shape in comparison to her right one, and she tries to make her movement as slow as possible. Maybe the snake wouldn’t bite her if she doesn’t disturb it.

Unfortunately for her, Mr. Yamane exclaims as he feels fangs pierce his skin, and the snake in Yamaneko’s box gets startled as well, its teeth sinking into the flesh of her forefinger.

Heart hammering in her chest, Yamaneko pulls her hand out from the box and curses as she sees a droplet of blood on her finger. “Shit! Why the hell did you have to scream like that?!”

The ex-CEO hisses. “Shut up! You never learn your lesson, do you? Still talking to your father like that, have some respect!”

At the revelation that the two are related, Hinata’s eyes widened. “He’s your father?”

“Yes. We’re not exactly on good terms, as you can see,” Yamaneko sighs, trying to squeeze the venom from her finger. Sunohara strides to the table, retrieving the medical supplies. Then, the doctor touches the militia woman’s hand to stop her. “Don’t. Squeezing it would only make it spread. It needs to be excised, and then we need to inject you with anti-venom.”

A coarse hand grabs the doctor’s arm, causing her to gasp in pain. Mr. Yamane is giving the tall woman a furious glare. “Wait a damn minute! You sound like you’ve already decided to give her the antidote. What about me?! Huh? You’re a doctor of some sort, right? Who gives you the right to decide-”

HInata separates him from the doctor, her stance defensive. “Are you seriously going to let your own kid die so you can live? What kind of father are you?!” the tan-skinned girl exclaims in disbelief.

“Probably the type who kills people to advance his Beach tag,” Yamaneko quips, putting her own game into motion.

“Says the woman who brandishes daggers and gives her pussy away to murderers,” Mr. Yamane barked back. “You’ll be wasting the antidote if you give it to someone like her. I have a decent daughter and an infant son to come back to in the real world! Give the antidote to me!”

“Oh my God, you know you’re not helping your case at all by calling her those awful things, right?” Hinata quips, both hands on her hips.

A bitter laugh bubbles from Yamaneko’s throat, underscored with light pain as her hand starts to swell from the snake venom. “But the daughter in front of you doesn’t deserve to live? Tell me father, who else didn’t deserve to live?” Voice cracking, Yamaneko is screaming at that point. “We know it’s you. You killed those people in the Beach. You’re so desperate to go back to your cushy life as CEO, huh?!”

“You know what? Fine, it was me! You know I’d do anything to survive, Minami. That’s what I taught you as well!”

As the venom spreads through their system, the estranged father daughter pair escalates their quarrel, with the daughter striding towards the father to grab him by the collar.

“And yet you judged me for doing what I can to survive when you kicked me out. You judged me for getting caught giving men your age handjobs and blowjobs under the table. You judged me for stealing when I had nothing else.” Head spinning and tears pooling in the corner of her eyes, Yamaneko’s voice completely breaks as she utters a cry.

“You turned Mai against me. You poisoned your children against each other. You don’t deserve to be called a father.”

A slim, gentle hand pulls her away from the old man. Sunohara is giving her a sympathetic look. “We don’t have much time. Hinata and I decided you should get the antidote. You won’t be out of the woods yet after we administer the antivenom, too, so let’s move.”

The ex-heiress lets go of the Yamacorp CEO, cathartic, laughing and crying at the same time.

When she looked down as she tried to walk, however, the smile disappeared from her face. Blood stains her thighs, and the crotch of her bikini feels warm and wet. “This is embarrassing,” she croaks, and Sunohara merely chuckles at her predicament as she sits her down. Hinata stays right beside her new friend, if she can call Yamaneko that, offering her a shoulder to lean on.

Antivenom fills the syringe as Sunohara extracted it from the bottle. “Let’s administer the antidote, and I’ll get you some pads for your period when we get back on the Beach, huh? Maybe we can get help for your fa-”

Whatever Sunohara was about to say was replaced by a scream as she watched Mr. Yamane charged towards them with a dagger.

Deranged, delirious, Mr. Yamane stabbed his own daughter with her own weapon, the blade sinking in her gut. Squelching sounds and Yamaneko’s scream of agony echoed in the open space, accompanied by Hinata and Sunohara’s own shrieks of terror. Withdrawing the knife, Mr. Yamane threw it aside, and reached for the antidote.

Before the needle can plunge into his skin, a laser fires from the sky, cutting his life short in an instant.

Wide and wet with tears, Yamaneko’s eyes didn’t leave her father’s as she watched his final moments. Beside her, Hinata is shaking and covered with the militant's blood, while Sunohara is breathing heavily, still in shock.

The gravity of the situation sinks in when Sunohara hears Yamaneko whimper beside her.

“Help me.”

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #fanfic: dormouse #oc: minami yamane #oc: zia hinata #oc: lilian sunohara #oc: tsuyoshi yamane #last boss #takatora samura #last boss x oc #takatora samura x oc #suguru niragi #morizono aguni #rizuna an #mira kano #shuntaro chishiya #takeru danma #hikari kuina #kodai tatta #fanfiction #character study

[ducktracy]

71. buddy the gob (1934)

disclaimer: another one of those cartoons where racist caricatures and stereotypes are predominant. i don’t at all endorse them, they’re wrong and they’re gross, but they can’t be swept under the rug, either. this review is going to contain racist content and imagery. this is purely for educational and informational purposes. if i can do anything at all to make it easier to get through, and if i ever say something offensive or wrong, PLEASE let me know. your enjoyment is my priority. thank you for bearing with me.

release date: january 13th, 1934

series: looney tunes

director: friz freleng

starring: jack carr (buddy), bernice hansen (girl)

sorry in advance for the horrible quality, all of the uploads of this are the same. and also in terms of that disclaimer: this isn’t as nasty as one step ahead of my shadow (thankfully) and the stereotypes aren’t too... raging, but they’re still there, gross, and constitute a disclaimer. anyway, it’s finally 1934, and friz freleng’s first independent director’s credit! buddy the gob (not to be confused with porky the gob) entails our hero budy arriving in china and saving a girl from being sacrificed to a dragon.

open to a rather impressive shot of a fleet of ships (much like the opening of conrad the sailor). fun visuals galore as the ships slide on the waves: nothing new or exciting, but mildly entertaining. freleng’s love of musical timing is evident with various cannons firing and whistles blowing to the beat of the music.

elsewhere, our faithful sailor buddy is dutifully scrubbing away at a pair of pajamas. the pajamas shake the water off like a dog, gratefully accepting a towel handed by buddy to (redundantly) dry itself. buddy, the master of thrilling dialogue, peers out the window and cries “oh, boy! china!”

eagerly does our young gob dash up the stairs and jump off the side of the boat, landing safely in a rowboat. treacherous waves are no problem for the ever optimistic buddy. we fade out and fade in on a bustling chinese village, stocked with stereotypes as always. thankfully, the stereotypes aren’t as nasty, mean spirited, or abundant as they are in one step ahead of my shadow, which this is practically a remake of, but they’re still cringeworthy and uncomfortable. a mother carries her children with a carrying pole, the children dangling by their hair from the pole instead of buckets. meanwhile, a man reads the script on a flyer, getting taller as he reads up and compressing as he reads back down.

buddy encounters the poster and scratches his head, unable to translate it. nevertheless, the magic of cartoons rages on as the script translates into english, reading “GRAND CELEBRATION TODAY, the 150th birthday anniversary of the SACRED DRAGON.” friz tries some fancy work with the camera angle, zooming in on the lower half of the poster that reads “a beautiful girl will be sacrificed to the dragon. COME ONE, COME ALL!” buddy rushes to a growing crowd, trying to get a good look. he climbs a matryoshka of a family like stairs to dive into the crowd.

the crowd isn’t witnessing a brutal execution, but a stereotype filled parade. a man twirls his baton and bounces his beer belly up and down, two men carry a drum, mice jumping on it to create a drum cadence (reused from it’s got me again!), a line of trumpeters, a man playing piano, another man using children and their rice hats as cymbals (😬).

there are some masked dancers who parade the streets, including a caricature of jimmy durante. they loved their durante gags! many more are to come. behind the slightly terrifying durante is the girl about to be sacrificed, crying as she’s carried away in a cage by two men.

loyal buddy hears her cries for help and promises to save her. he runs after her, up a stairway and to a doorway that slams in his face. one of the guards lifts him up with his spear and tosses him to a wall, the spear sticking and buddy falling to the ground as his pants tear.

this is pretty clever: after a few failed attempts at using the spear as a pole vault, he rips a gate off its hinges and fires several of the bars like arrows. one by one, the arrows stack up in the building, proving buddy a safe way to crawl into the building via window and save the girl.

inside, a man is chaining the poor girl to the wall, swallowing the key to the lock. buddy bursts in once the man has left, but not before we get a shot of the fire breathing dragon behind bars. buddy tries all he can to free the girl, trying to rip the chain from the wall, yet fails.

with some quick thinking, he knocks on the door where the man presumably entered. as the man walks out, buddy smashes a barrel over his head, parts of the wood binding him together. our cute boy scout turned violent displays more aggression as he kicks the man in the ass, the key spitting back up onto the ground.

buddy unlocks the lock, and the girl is free. unfortunately, so is the dragon. cookie uses a lantern to jump out of the window and landing in a cart (an appropriate accordion sound effect to accompany the panther unfolding). buddy prepares to join her—he joins her sooner than expected when the dragon literally sets a fire under his butt.

a man pulls the cart (i guess that’s one dehumanizing factor left over from one step ahead of my shadow), the cart flipping opposite ways as they hit rocks. the townsfolk aren’t happy at their celebration being ruined, and an angry mob follows buddy and his girl. the man trips over a rock once more, and the cart is lost in sight. again with the dehumanizing horse gag as the man runs on all fours, carrying buddy and his captive while neighing. ugh. you’re better than this, friz!

buddy and his girl run to a bridge, where buddy snaps the ropes connected to the pegs in the ground. there are some nice visuals as the two run across the bridge, the bridge folding beneath them and plummeting to an endless chasm.

once they make it to the side safe and sound, the two mock the townsfolk, who shake their fists and their spears. one man throws a spear at buddy, and it misses. this gag feels particularly freleng to me, i’m not sure why. i guess it feels rather looney tunes-esque in general. the spear becomes anthropomorphized, and seeing that it missed its target, turns back around and jabs buddy in the butt. iris out.

i have conflicted feelings on this one. for one thing, it wasn’t as bad as i was expecting. the racism is still very much there and shouldn’t be shrugged off, but it isn’t as blatantly nasty as one step ahead of my shadow. another thing, although it was very uncomfortable, it was a relatively good buddy cartoon. more interesting than the rest. the music was great as always, and the sound effects are becoming more and more tolerable. as always, though, the stereotypes and caricatures prevent me from enjoying the cartoon’s full potential. friz certainly has much, much better entries as we’ll get to see and enjoy, but this was also his first independent directorial job. so, if anything, this cartoon carries historical significance with friz’s first directorial credit, but that’s about as much significance as it will get. i wouldn’t really recommend it, but if you do watch it, view at your own discretion (link).

#lt #buddy the gob #reviews #long post #racism tw

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Golden: Part 1

Pairing: Skinwalker!Steve x Reader Summary: After a long day of work, you unwind in your bed and ramble at your dog (a golden retriever named Captain) who, like all non-sentient creatures, listens dutifully and without judgement. But everything isn’t as it seems. Warnings: Blood Word Count: ~1,558 A/N: This is the third Monster!Character one shot for Spooktober 2018! If you’d like to be tagged in other Spooktober stories like this one, check out this post! Send me Spooktober requests for Monster!Character fics you want to see! This request is from Ao3!

Masterlist // The Monster Series Collection // Part 2

By the time you walk in your front door and lock it behind you, you’re practically dead on your feet. The sound of nails clacking excitedly on the floor catches your attention, though, and a half second later a comet of golden fluff barrels around the corner. You can practically hear the cartoon screeching halt sound effect playing in your head as your dog- Captain- comes to an abrupt halt in front of you, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth in a big doggy grin.

You can’t help but smile at him as you slip off your heels, juggling them and your bag so you can scratch gently at his ears. “I’m home, bud. How was your day?” you ask him in your go-to doggy voice.

He can’t understand you, but he woofs quietly and pants happily as he trails you through the halls, close but not close enough to trip you up.

“That’s good,” you said agreeably, eye sparkling with amusement. You drop your bag off on the couch but don’t stop walking, marching tiredly towards your bedroom. You don’t pause except to throw your jacket towards the closet before you collapse into bed, blissful sigh leaving your lips.

The mattress bounces gently and you turn your head to look at Captain, who lays down next to you, just far enough away that his breath doesn’t reach you.

“You wanna hear about my day?” you ask him, knowing full well you’re going to regale him with tales, heedless of the fact that he won’t understand a word of it. He seems to enjoy the sound of your voice and you enjoy talking to a creature that can’t judge you.

But Captain gives you a big doggy smile and whuffs gently, so you take that as a yes.

“Well, Pierce was in a particularly bad mood. He had me running about the office all day after the coffee shop mixed up his order.” Captain whines softly so you absently reach over and scratch gently at his ears. “But then I went to the canteen on the bottom floor and that guy was there again,” you tell the golden retriever, eyes serious. As if sensing this is important, he stills, staring at you with brown eyes. “You remember, right? The one with the blond hair and the prettiest blue eyes ever?” Captain tilts his head to one side and blinks at you, and you frown. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t, would you? Anyway, he was working the register again and I finally managed to get a peek at his name tag. His name is Steve!” you say excitedly, not quite able to stop your voice from growing in volume.

Captain whines at the noise and you quickly scratch at his head and sooth him with long pets down his back. “Don’t be jealous, it looks ugly on you,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him.

This is apparently the wrong thing to do, though, because a second later Captain scoots forward and licks the entire side of your face.

“Captain, no! Erughk!” you exclaim, trying in vain to shove the mass of fluff and muscle off of you.

He does sit back down, though, mouth open, panting and undeniably happy.

You snort at him. “Glad you see it my way. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I brought home one more person to give you pets?” you ask, grinning when he woofs softly. “It’s settled, then,” you tell him. “I’ll ask him out tomorrow!”

Captain’s tail thumps against the mattress insistently, obviously excited because of your tone. Dogs could understand that much, at least.

You smile and crawl underneath the blankets, resolve settling deep in your chest. “Tomorrow, then. Better sleep so I can wake up early and plan my outfit extra carefully.”

Captain, of course, remains quiet as he settles in above the blankets, right next to you. Even through the blankets he’s like a heater and you think that maybe, with him around, you can put off turning the heat on until a little later into October.

“Goodnight, bud,” you mutter, falling asleep quickly. The only response you get is a sleepy snuffle, but you’ve already fallen into unconsciousness.

You don’t hear the howl echoing outside, waking Captain instantly, nor do you hear the low whine in his throat at the sound.

You awake with a screech, a vice-like pain in your arm snapping you into alertness immediately.

Captain was sitting on the bed, staring down at you, jowels tinged slightly pink with blood.

Your blood.

You scramble away from the golden, eyes wide with fear. Never in the time you’d owned him had he done anything violent towards any other living creature (not even your neighbor Ms. McGillucutty’s vicious minpin).

Blood seeps out of the bite and you clamp a hand around it, eager to staunch some of the bleeding.

You half expect Captain to attack again, but he simply stares at you, tail between his legs and head down, whining softly.

“What the fuck!” you cry out, not too loudly, afraid that you’ll startle him into biting again. “Shit,” you hiss, flinching as your arm throbs painfully. The door to the bathroom is open and you long to go in and clean the cut out, but Captain is between you and it and you’re afraid he’ll lunge if you make a move for it.

But then the sound of something cracking- it was a deep, wet sound, that had your stomach turning- makes you freeze.

It’s coming from Captain.

Maybe he was hurt and tried to wake you up, but couldn’t? Is there someone in your house? Was he trying to warn you?

A yelp of pain followed by even more cracking and Captain is shifting- but that doesn’t make any sense- and his hair and snout are receding and his eyes are changing colors and he’s growing broader and his claws are turning into nails and his feet are shortening and within a minute Steve- Steve from the sandwich shop- is sitting naked on your bed, eyes watering.

You’re so shocked that you don’t even flinch as he practically throws himself at you and sobs into your hair, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had to. I didn’t want to, but we need your help and they didn’t trust that you’d help if I just asked. I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

“What are you?” you breathe, horror creeping into your voice. “Is this a dream?”

He doesn’t release you. If anything, he pulls you closer. “This isn’t a dream. I’m what humans call a skinwalker,” he admits quietly, voice ever so slightly muffled by your hair.

“You’re Captain,” you whisper, brain not processing the events of the last five minutes at all.

“Yes,” he answers immediately.

“And you’re Steve, from the canteen at work.”

“Yes,” he answers again, voice breaking.

“You bit me,” you mumble into the meat of his shoulder, mind painfully aware of the throbbing in your forearm. The pain is radiating outwards slowly and, deep in the back of your mind, a tiny voice shouts “infection” at you. “Why?”

“They asked me to turn you.” He finally moves back enough so that you can breathe freely. You stare numbly as he takes your hand gently in his and lifts it slowly, brow furrowing as he gives your arm an assessing stare.

Your gaze follows his and you’re shocked to see it’s already scabbed over, dried blood making it look worse that it actually is. “What the hell,” you breathe. “I’m fucking dreaming,” you whisper, light-headed. This was too weird. This couldn’t be real.

But Steve-Captain shakes his head, blond hair nearly falling into his eyes. “Not a dream. I’m sorry,” he says, blue eyes immeasurably sad.

“Turn me. Into a dog?” you whisper, tearing your eyes from your mostly-healed wound (which was still throbbing in a worryingly painful way) to stare at him.

Steve-Captain shakes his head slowly. If he hadn’t just bitten you, you might say he looks pitying, or even gentle. “A skinwalker. We won’t know for sure what you’ll turn into, but we’re guessing a cat or a dog. Maybe a parrot.”

“Why me?”

Steve-Captain frowns. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, but you should sleep for now. The transition is going to take a lot out of you.”

You should have said no. Should have shoved Steve-Captain from your bed and run away. Gotten in your car and driven as far and as fast as you could.

But the whispers of “safe. pack. sleep.” and hundreds of equally-comforting thoughts drift in the back of your mind, and your eyelids grow heavy without you realizing it.

You sink down into the sheets, not caring when Steve-Captain slides in next to you, one arm going around your waist while the other brings your wounded arm to his mouth, pink tongue darting out to clean the blood from your bite mark.

You fall asleep to the sight of tender blue eyes keeping watch over you, big arms shielding you from the world.

When you awake your bed seems larger and you blink and yawn, staring down at Steve-Captain, who’s his usual doggy self.

Maybe it was a dream after all.

You open your mouth to say good morning to him, but all that comes out is a long, plaintive meow.

Part 2

If you’d like to be tagged in other Monster!Character, like this post!

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#steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #skinwalker!steve x reader #skinwalker!steve #spooktober #Spooktober 2018 #monster!character one shot #The Monster Series

[askfatmaudpie]

NUTTY BODY (2nd anniversary of the blog)

Another day in the rock farm. The sun was rising, Pinkie helped Marble in the Pie sector, Limes, the boss of the 4 daughters of the now deceased Igneous and Cloudzy Rock Pie, was checking the mail stuffs while Maud, which was planning to work at 6 a.m was still sleeping at 11 a.m dreaming of eating rocks...

“bills, bills, affetto mails, tumblr asks, bills...” the blue-grey sister was checking with an unamused face that would terrified a lot of people if they own her something. The mails seemed to be an average mediocre news for starting the day, then something enlighten her morning...

        “M or Ms Pie from the Pie farm domain...

You are cordially invited to this year’s “Grand Galloping Agriculture & Industry Center” to represent the rock industry of your city: Rockville W.Eq.

Your stand will be the number 418 west wing as shown on the map...

the GGAIC will take place on....

YAHOOO!  Limestone instinctivelly yelled out loud not caring of who’s asleep nor who need to hear it! The pink sister ,Pinkie, could hear it from the nearby mine and rushed out to know what was happening, even tho she knew in her mind that it has to be good to makes her older sister yelled her joy.

“Limestone!” She arrived at their house with her young sister almost riding her against her will because pinkie was holding her my the torso. “What is happening! Oh lemme guess! You had a letter that isn’t bill! That isn’t love letter for Maud! That isn’t Tumblr asks like for X asks everybody gained Y pounds! THAT ISN’T TUMBLR ASK AT ALL!” The older sister limes was only noding yes or no with the joyfull smile of a child. “OH LEMME GUESS DEAPER! you had a letter.... from the equestrian ministeries of agriculture and industry... becauuuuuse... WE HAVE A STAND ON THE Grand Galloping Agriculture and Industry Center YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO GO FOR YEARS!!!!!!!” 

“YES!” The older sister threw while dancing on her back legs with her younger sisters Pinkie then Marble which hasn’t even process what’s going on! “This is going to be the BEST DAY EVER!” Limes threw while her and pinkie were doing some dance of the joy on the living room thinking of all the potential income it could bring...

There will be plenty of good time for everypony! Limestone will be having new clients, Pinkie will will be invite of the “end of the day” party they organized for the stands and for the visitor too. Heck! Even Marble will have some good coffee, she even has a friend from Swhaydeen that will be there at the coffee stand... Everypony seemed to be happy until a weird sound came out....

*GUURRrroowwwwwrrblorrrrrup slosh*

“Mmh” A fourth sister cames out rubbing her large belly yelling for breakfast while sloshing at every step she was doing “Congrats everybody! We did it!” she said with her monotone voice while coming for a meal.

Everybody stop dancing when she came out, you could actually see than their 4th sister, Maud, was a bit different when it comes to morning hygiene at the body awakening...You could actually see that despite she was preparing a meal large enough to makes her 3 sisters sated, you could actually see she had a midnight snack, even a 2 and 4 o clock snack in the morning, if not 2...

“Welp guess we should organized ourselves to know, who will do what, might if i helps after my breakfast” The 3 sisters watch out while Maud, the biggest one is eating like 4 with her still neutral looking despite all the sweatness she managed to set on the table...

Limestone was there... not moving with her eyes wide open. What kind of publicity she could makes with a sister like this? Is she the owner of a rock farm and a mine or the owner of a pigsty? Limes couldn’t imagine what would it be if they go there with a sow of a sister! The daydream became a daynightmare...

Pinkie was whispering to her 2 sister limes and marble “maybe we should take her back on hooves? limes nod, Marble was a bit sceptic at first but then after her argument thinking that maybe her shapes would give her a friendly look to the customer, Maud scratches the back of her heads , showing her smelling armpits. At the smell of it Marble was feeling sick and nauseus, as much as her sister Pinkie who had her hairs cartoonically roasted by the perfum and Limes who were coughing having the smell of her throat. “Well not bad when you know she took 5 showers a day...”

Limes has to take a decision “Maud before you go at the center, maybe we should take care of you, you know, not making the customers run away from your bad habits and so on...”

“MY bad habit, what do you mean by bad habit?” replies Maud. At this moment, everyone in the room heard her large belly pressing against the table and shaking it at the ripples of the gurgles. However, this gurgles wasn’t a call for more food but more a warning for upcoming gas up her ass, and not a good smelling one...

At the released of it, Maud was looking to her sister with a sad puppy eyes, temporally spacing out to what she had become... Her softness could be a good thing when it comes to snoozing a hoof on her belly pillow while it was adorably rumbling as it process food for her now enormous appetite but she remember that she wasn’t always like that... In fact what would her parents say to her if she was alive? She then look at herself while processing how much she gained since there death...

“Maybe if we want me to get in good shapes, we need to take very seriously or even take the extremest measure possible.”Maud puts after spoiling and gropping/shaking her wobbly belly. What she was holding was probably enough to choke someone with the navel on it...

Limestone was starring in the emptiness, thinking... What can we do at this state of bulimia? Limes was about to give up the idea to let Maud comes but it would sound sad for Maud to not let in. It’s not everyday you go to this kind of event.

THEN! PINKIE GOT IDEA!

“Maybe if we need an extreme measure, we can talk to it to an extreme expert i know!” pinkie said. “What extreme expert you know? I hope this isn’t one of quacks like i saw earlier selling product for idiots?” limestone said before adding “i saw a pair of twins at the middletown last week, and Celestia i never had such a will to kill somebody!” 

“Yeah but no” Pinkie reply “ it’s not a quack in fact she helped me and even Maud when we got issues with Poison jokes effects” ”Oh her!” Maud add, knowing who pinkie is taliking about! “I remember her, hope she’s not too pissed because of her broken pot from last time...”

________________________________________________________________

The more she though about it, the more she felt unsecure about herself, but she actually feel like it might have a bit of exaggeration about it. Maybe she was a bit too obese. Yes she might be smelly sometimes despites taking showers often but what does it says about her?

Limestone was more convinced, she don’t want this moment of her life to fail! She need Maud to get rid of this fat and now! (or at least for the convention)

Pinkie, as her plan asked for, bring her 3 sisters to a zebra friend’s house that was build in a tree near the everfree, Pinkie obviously knocking as simple as possible...

“ZECORA IT’S PINKIE AGAIN! MIND SOME HELPS HERE! CAN YOU HELP!” she says while knocking the door at 10 hits per seconds

“Mind you stop knocking please? I heard you with ease!” The zebra said while opening the door...

Pinkie explaning very quickly the situation, Zecora is trying to find a way to help the sisters...

“ I think i might have something helpful, but i feel like your sister is a bit doubtful. But fear not! You can take it as shot because if it help you to for your please, the effects are also temporally for your ease, which make it easier to cease...”

At this words , the zebra showed the potion to the fat mare, which at the look at it hesitantly, give a stare to her sisters smiling to her then drinking the entire bottle one shot.

At first , nothing! The blue mare who were watching was actually questionning if it was a hoax. “Are you feeling something right now maud?”

The only thing Maud seem to feel was some burbly rumble in her stomach but before she could answer properly the gurgle just exploade in intensity in front of everyone!

The gurgle actually turn into a violent wobble , throwing violently the belly against the floor. The 3 sisters was shocked, even Maud was loosing her neutral face wondering what is happening at this brief moment. She hasn’t had time to think properly the wobble goes back and forth throught her belly before reaching the butt, the hooves and the face cheeks. Then nothing but her good old blue dress...

“MAUD!“ Limestone, Marble and Pinkie shout in unison thinking a second that they might did a huge mistake... They all look around to see the empty dress closer as they realize it might hide something...

Burried inside of the dress, the shiest sister, Marble, find a small part of the tail exceeding “mh-mmaud?” What they will find shock them...

Inside of the dress was hiding a skinny version of maud completly sounded and, actually looking well built. The now skinny pony was wondering what was going on without remembering her name or the date of the day...

After taking back her mind, Maud was actually in shock how well it works: she like a pony version of George Bizet’s Carmen. She could dress with the same clothes she didn’t wear for ages. Heck they even did not change during all those times, same smell, same feeling at the touch, as if her fat time never happened...

But after hours of rebirth, Zecora had to ring the end of the break, the potion are starting to loose her effects and Maud could feel her belly rumbling warning that her fat are coming back...

________________________________________________________________

The d-day is coming and Maud prepared herself for the day. She just had to take a good chug of Zecora’s potion (enough to hold it for the day) and here we go for the convention...

At the moment she came to her stand, something unpredicted happened. All the stallion that went in her way was staring at her... drooling, wondering what this chick was, even father of 3 childs was just not reacting like such despite having their wife and children next to them...

The only males that went to her stand was clumsy flirt, just wanting to have a bed with her,nor Maud or Limstone wasn’t amused...

Then a certain photographer mare, who were sponsoring the event, cames to visit the stands to see how was it going before seeing something happening at the stand 418 on the west wing...

There was a wonderfull skinny rock mares with her soft bedroom eyes , long eyelashes wearing smooth dark blue dress with a black belt getting a bit of customers but most of all a lot of compliments and a bit of flirt.

Seeing how neutral she was reacting to the public and how cold blooded and magnificient she were, there was only one thing on her mind.

ZIS IS ZE POHNEE I NEED TO HAVE AS A MANNEKIN...

At the second she finish this sentence, she came to the stand, diamond on eyes, thinking of talking to that golden goose of a mare. Unfortunatelly, the older sister , seeing how it was going south decide to take the succession on the stand...

“Iz ze grey mere ztill heer?” say the photographer mare presenting herself as “photo finish” “I wood like to talk to hers rite naow, I wood really be interested to talk to her privatelly!”

The grey mare which was drinking a bit as for a break was interogating herself to why would she want to talk to her in private. “I waz looking at you earlier, and i waz thinking that you might be an amazing model for my galas! Might i prepare you a contract if you vish to follow?

Maud was stunned, in only an afternoon fit, she was from selling rocks to the golden gate of celebrity...

“It seem like a good idea but mind we i talk to my colleagues and sister on my stands” As they talk about it to the 3, none of them could believed it...

After discussing, Limes actually wonder if it could be 1: a new life for Maud and 2: a great add for the farm. Limestone signed up the contract as long as they stay close to each others...

________________________________________________________________

The days following this moment were pure gold. Maud (as she keep drinking Zecora’s potion to stay fit) was showing herself in gala with the best robes and even had photo session but something off started to ruin the party...

Be a mannequin is a tough job and really unfunny also Maud had the really good idea to work for the “miss equestria” competition which isn’t making things easier...

What was a rebirth at first lasted as a death trap, she was to the oint of giving up and stop drinking that zecora’s poison as she tend to say deep in her mind.

But something that seem odds is that the more she regrets her fitness, the more she needed to drink it the potion for making it taking effect. It was like her body (with the tiredness of her new job) was rejecting the product. In fact in the quarter finale, she almost lost because she had a little bit of chub visible, because of that, some of her “fans” believed she was pregnant making the rumors with all the pictures you could watch on the press that she might have a boyfriends in the V.I.P circle. Despite the denial, the rumors are hard to leave...

Then the final of the miss equestria cames....

________________________________________________________________

“Did we has enough potion for tonight?!!!” The grey mare say in an unusual state of stress “I need more of it for tonight!!!” The 3 sisters look at her worried...

Limestone who feel her sister slipping out of control has to catch her in her full hysteria crisis to calm her down. Pinkie who always see life as a neverending party feel like joining on to stuck her on the ground even if the fun here was more an exit than a true solution to the problem. The only sister than seemed helpful was the last one, Marble.

“Mm Maud?” she said with a really relaxing quiet voice... “Mind if i have your attention?” 

The hysteric sister Maud ,who was tired of fighting against her 2 sisters, feel like she had no choice than listen to it... “Did you remember where you became huge enough so i could use your belly as a pillow?” She ask before saying “After you went sick and you were bones and skin and i you started eating a lot, I thought you find a way to deal with what happened to us...Then i saw you were actually having fun with yourself. You even shared it to me and pinkie, and yes i remember correctly, about Limestone.” 

“Limestone was actually a bit tougher to you because, even you felt happy about your chubness, you went a bit lazy and slept a lot according to her because she were a bit scared for you. Scared you let yourself go again and does bad things to yourself... 

We didn’t wanted you to feel bad about yourself, we just wanted you to BE yourself!” Marble let a nod and a smile while Maud is touched to what her sister told her. “Lime! Pinkie! I think you can released me? I think i’m no longer in a stressful state right now” she said with her normal monotone voice... 

Lime and Pinkie released her as she take herself back to a normal state of mind, and finding the courage to prepare herself as it was just a normal day for her. “Maud? Are you feeling ok right now?” Limestone said. As she felt the chub won’t come back yet, Maud reply with just a yes and said that maybe she won’t need a potion after all...

The potion actually last longer than she first though when she was in her hysteria mood as the Ceremony of the final and the verdict fall at the finale of the Miss Equestria...

There was only 2 mares at the end; Maud was one of them.

Maud was actually stressing , her heart was beating at 160 beat per seconds which actually shorten the effect of the last potion. Maud stay monotone outside but she can feel her legs wobbling as they can’t handle it anymore...

________________________________________________________________

She won...

She couldn’t believe it...

Maud was barelly able to stand on her skinny legs while she was receiving the crown and the flower, but while she was thanking everyone for voting on her, something odd happens...

As she was talking she was interrupting by peoples (and hers) realizing than her right hooves have suddenly swelling “?”

Maud try to relativise saying it was something happening to her time to time which is why she took time to take her medicine in her dress while with her left hooves, she was deflating her right hoof and shaking in it then taking her medicine in her dress but as she was holding the bootle, the hands holding it inflate too and broken it...

The following actually shocked the entire public to the point that some of them faint.

As she try to relativise the inflating hands, she try to deflate it which didn’t remove it, it just propulse it to her right face cheeks and disfigure one of her profile.

The more she try to remove it the worst it become, as she trying to deflate one part another if not 2 inflating going to her ass crack, then wobbling through her guts and legs then faces then her backs , ruining her dress in the way. At one point it wasn’t worthing it as all her good old grease was at some place disfiguring her flank some of hooves, her face and her back, making her look like a hunchback monsterous at the complete opposite of what she was supposed to be...

Then after a sigh, seeing everybody assisting at the atrocious circus, she ended up to stop releasing her grease and show herself as what she is: Fat Maud Pie

________________________________________________________________

As her body stop wobbling from the released the room was silent...

“I...I would like to make a statement for what just happened...” Maud says to break the silence....

“First I’m sorry to what you just endure and i hope you won’t have nightmare of me tonight” a quiet giggle get out from somewhere in the crowd

“Second, I actually feel sorry for my competitor, after what you see, I kind of feel like I cheated despite i never really wanting to be a Miss Equestria...”

“When i started taking this potion you saw earlier , it was for being the prettiest mare of the country, i wanted to be acceptable to everybody. I was actually doubfull that all this grease, this fat, sometimes this smell and even (borf) this hygiene i often have because of this tendency to be a big eater (at least for my case) was attractive enough for someone to look at me as a person you would say “hi”... I doubt myself, I managed to make myself entering in a molding. People talked to me, sometimes in an unexpected and dirty manner...”

I made myself suffer...

I made my round self forced to enter a squared world, just because i was ashamed of myself. I though it would be a rebirth to take a magic pills....i mean a magic potion and get rid of my problem, but it cost more, i couldn’t really exit. I was stuck in a downward spiral; to what end? 

This humiliation of a moment...

Now i look like a whale caugh on a torn up net, with all the flab and everything else, guess i won’t need this anymore...

As she removes her torn up dress , she was interrupted by people complimenting her shape in her background. As she heard them the positive words cames more and more noisy until it became a full cheered audience just for her!

She was almost crying, feeling she was pretty fit as fat. As the true beauty for her was being herself.

After though the jury didn’t let her be miss equestria as she cheat, but she won’t let her moment of glory and cheers getting ruined,  but as she was in a full euphoria, her belly suddenly gurgle...

________________________________________________________________

Because of an poorly and abusive use of the potion, it backfired violently and her belly just fall flat on the ground as she had twice the amount of grease in it.Maud at the moment didn’t realize and was stuck in an unusual “uh oh face” on her head, but it was only the beggining...

At a really fast paste, her fatness just grew up incredibly loud, having enormous flab growing on her, causing the crowd to panic through the exit causing some wounded.In less than an half of a minute, she was fulling the entire room with her fat.

NEWS HEADLINE: A DROPPED MISS TALK ABOUT BEING WHAT YOU ARE, THEN TURN INTO A MOUNTAIN...

Later, while Maud was almost holding the entire building, Limestone, Marble and Pinkie were escaladed on her around her face. While Pinkie was playing on her grease as it was a bouncing castle and Marble cheering her as she was hugging, Limes started chatting to her...

“You know Maud, I feel sorry for you... Sorry because, if i weren’t too obsessed about this events weeks ago, maybe we won’t be to what we are...”

“Don’t worry about that Lime” replied Maud “It actually helped me about knowing myself a lil bit better, even through i end up with more that knowledge... (sigh at her own joke) Limes giggle at it as if she was relaxing herself on her sister “By the way, you touched me with your monologue earlier” “Before she throw you trough a wall with her flank” Pinkie cuts as she was laughing...again (if only you saw her face as her favorite fat sister almost crushed her under her rump earlier)

“ I actually don’t know if the backfire i just get will last any longer” Maud say as she felt she must have lost 1 pound since she stop growing...but she felt released of all that weight over her shoulders. 

“Maud!” Lime says “By the way, should we continue your contract with Photo Finish? After what happened, she doesn’t seem like she has the will to live after that incide...”

At this moment, Maud’s now gigantitly large belly released an obnoxious gurgle shaking her flabs and everything in her neighborhood, her belly touch or press against “That was your belly?” Marble asks

“Yeah i’m feeling hungry, anything for my line?” Maud says before the four sister laugh....

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This is probably the toughest story i ever wrote, mainly because i’m not a huge writter as i prefer to draw. I hope there won’t be too much spelling check nor it is unreadable thank’s to my pretty english. Hope you all like it and happy birthday Ask Maud Fat !

#mlp #story #fat maud pie #maud pie #Limestone pie #marble pie #pinkie pie #pie sisters #photo finish #zecora #skinny potion #nutty body #fat to fit #fit to fat #immobile #miss equestria #body shame #macro #fat #unrealistic obese #monterrang #askfatmaudpie

[fixxofvixx]

TEACHING VIXX - CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

I AM SO SORRY that this chapter is so long 😶😶😶

I couldn’t stop writing. Anywho, I hope you enjoy. Next chapter will feature meeting the parents! 😓😓

Ravi’s chapter is up next! Probably in the next couple of days.

Thank you for reading!!

———————————

The apartment was deathly quiet. You were standing at the sink rinsing off some vegetables for dinner when warm hands wrapped around your waist. You smiled at the content feeling it gave you. You dried your hands on the towel next to you and turned in Taekwoon’s arms. As soon as you were fully facing him, he attached his warm lips to yours. He was a bit rougher than what you were used to but didn’t say anything. You thought that maybe he was having a bad day or had too much caffeine. His hands roamed your back and fisted in your shirt.

As the kiss deepened, something sharp pricked your tongue and you jerked back. When you opened your eyes, what stared back at you wasn’t Taekwoon. His eyes had turned completely white and long fangs protruded from his gums. He looked like some different creature altogether. You were too shocked to say anything, you just stared. You tried to get out of his arms by pushing on his chest but it felt like his hands had grown claws and were now digging into your hips. Still, you struggled until he gave an animalistic growl and slammed his hips into yours, effectively trapping you against the counter. This definitely couldn’t be Taekwoon. His eyes roamed over your fave and eventually traveled to your neck. In the next second, he lunged forward and sank his teeth into your shoulder.

You screamed as you shot up in the bed. Your body was soaked in sweat and you were shaking.

“(Y/N)?” Taekwoon’s hand touched your arm and you cried out again, still enveloped in the horrors of your dream. You bolted off the bed and backed away several steps. Taekwoon looked at you and frowned. You could tell he was confused but your brain was still hazy. You saw him slowly come off the bed and come towards you. His hands were splayed out in front of him in an effort to calm you down. Your breathing had become ragged and shallow. You wrapped your arms around you middle to try and control the shaking.

Taekwoon cautiously circled his arms around you. When you tensed, he stopped.

“What is it, love? Bad dream?” You stiffly nodded your head and he gathered you in his arms. You tried not to give into the instinct to run away from him. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you like that but you couldn’t get the image out of your head of what his face had looked like.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head, finally able to wrap your arms around his waist. You didn’t want him to know that it was because of him. He would feel guilty eventhough he’d had no control over your dreams.

He tucked your head under his chin and held you close to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat under your ear was soothing your nerves.

“Want me to make you some hot chocolate?” You hesitated for a moment wondering if you wanted to actually go into the kitchen. Realizing you’d have to go sooner or later, you nodded.

He released you from the warmth of his arms and grabbed your hand to lead you into the kitchen. You almost felt ridiculous but couldn’t do anything about it.

Reaching the kitchen you sat down at the little cafe table chair. You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your chin on top of them. You absentmindedly watched Taekwoon as he gathered the items for the hot chocolate. He had done this before when you would have nightmares about HaeJeong. You would usually tell him about them but you weren’t ready to talk about this one. Especially when it involved him.

However, curiousity knawed away at you. Was what you saw in your dream even possible?

“Taekwoon?”

“Yes, love?”

“How many colors can your eyes change to?”

He chuckled and walked over to stand in front of you, hot chocolate in hand. He sat the mug beside you on the table and pulled another chair out, sitting himself in front of you.

“What color do you want them to be?”

“Oh…no, what I mean is…the, uh, red, black, and green I’ve seen, that’s everything, right?”

“There’s a few more. Whatever you’ve seen on stage, of course. Why?” His hands wrapped around your ankles and his thumbs rubbed soft circles on your skin. You took a large gulp of the hot chocolate, the feeling of the warm liquid spreading throughtout your body. He patiently waited until you finished the entire drink.

“I was just curious. Um…c-can they go, uh, white?” You lowered your gaze to your knees, hoping you didn’t sound crazy.

“Like this?”

Your eyes snapped up to his face just in time to see his eyes go white. It wasn’t exactly like your dream because you could still see his pupils. But, it was enough to send you scrambling off the chair. Your legs got tangled up in his hands that were still on your ankles. You smacked the floor with all the grace of a belly-flopping sea lion and groaned.

“Geez, (y/n), what the hell?” Taekwoon lept from his chair and lifted you from the floor. Once you were upright and your feet touched the floor again, you tried to back away from him. He wasn’t having it and tightened his hold on you.

“(Y/N), please tell me what’s wrong. Look at me.” Keeping one arm around your waist, the other raised to your chin. He gently pulled your face up to meet his. You flashed your eyes up at his and breathed a sigh of relief when they were green once again. You relaxed just a fraction and took a deep breath.

“Tell me, love. Please, I don’t like seeing you like this.” He touched his forehead to yours and wrapped both arms around you again. You rested your hands on his chest.

Sighing again, you slowly told him the details of your dream. Your body was stiff waiting for his reaction. You feared that he would laugh at you or tell you that you were crazy.

“Well, that explains why you freaked out. I’m sorry that I caused you to have a nightmare.”

“No! Please don’t feel sorry! It wasn’t your fault. It’s mine. I was probably thinking too much about it and you just so happened to be on my mind.”

“What was on your mind so much that you had this kind of nightmare about it? What’s been turning over in that pretty head of yours?” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips but you frowned. You knew what it was but you didn’t want him to know. It was embarrassing to tell him. He smoothed your hair away from your face and tried to catch your gaze with his own.

“Not going to tell me?” You shook your head and he tightened his arms, effectively leaving no space at all between your bodies. “You know, I can probably guess. All I have to do is listen to this.” He tapped a finger over your heart.

“Its not important Taekwoon. It was just a dream.”

“It is if it makes you run from me.” His comment made you instantly feel guilty. You hadn’t meant to do that. “Now, is it about meeting my parents?”

You shook your head no. Honestly, that was the least of your worries. From what Taekwoon had told you, they were easy-going, loving people.

“Ok. Then, are you worried about sleeping with me?” You heart involuntarily leapt at his question. You should have known that he would have guessed it quickly. You could do nothing but remain silent. “Ah, there it is. Perhaps if I’m more specific, you’re worried about me marking you with the tattoo?”

You buried your head into his chest and sighed.

“You know you don’t have to do it. It never even crossed my mind to force you into this. We can always do that later….or…never, if thats what you want.” His voice sounded hurt and you mentally kicked yourself. You raised your head to look at him.

“Taekwoon, please don’t think for one second that I don’t want you. I do. You’re the only one I want, forever. I just tend to over-analize things all the time. The nightmare had nothing to do with not wanting to. I suppose I was just thinking too much about how it would go that it just stayed on my mind.”

“So you’ve just been sitting around wondering what it will be like to have sex with me?” His eyes sparkled and he grinned mischievously.

You gasped at his blunt words and then hid your face in your hands.

“Oh my God, Taekwoon, no!” Maybe. “It had just crossed my mind last night.” Liar. “I was simply wondering about how the tattoo would work. That’s it!” Bullshit.

He laughed and picked you up easily. Carrying you to the bedroom and dropping you on the mattress. He went around to his side and climbed under the covers.

“Come on, my innocent one, let’s get some more sleep. We have,” He looked over at the clock on the nightstand, reading that it was only 3am. “six more hours until YoonJung comes over and takes you away from me for the day.”

You rolled your eyes at the apparent pout on his face and slid under the covers. Burrowing into his side, you laid your head on his chest and let his heartbeat lull you to sleep. His fingers came up and slid through your hair rhythmically. Sleep took you fast and thankfully, this time, you didn’t dream.

—————————7 hours later—————————-

You were pulling on your socks when the doorbell rang. You headed towards the door but Taekwoon had beaten you to it.

“Hey, I’ve come to retrieve my date.” YoonJung stood at the door staring up at Taekwoon towering above her small height. She looked around him and squealed.

“(Y/N)! I missed you!!” She dodged around Taekwoon, removed her shoes, and bolted towards you.

“I’ve missed you too, Unni!” You were soon enveloped in a crushing hug, causing you to squirm.

“Seriously! I leave you for two months to go and visit my family and you become a lead in a violent korean drama!”

“Well, its not like I asked for it!” You smiled at Taekwoon but noticed that he was staring at your feet. Following his gaze, you wiggled your toes and chuckled.

“Something wrong, Taekwoon?”

“I’m on your feet.”

YoonJung looked down and laughed heartily.

“Oh my god, (Y/N). You are such a huge dork.” She brought her palm to her face and cringed.

“What? They’re cute!” On your feet sat a pair of socks with cartoon Taekwoons on them.

“Do they have any others?” YoonJung took a great interest in staring at your socks.

“They had Jaehwan and Wonshik.” You watched at her eyes lit up when you mentioned Jaehwan’s name. “You can have the Jaehwan pair. I was going to keep the Wonshik pair but I think I’ll give them to JiYoon.”

“Why were you going to keep Wonshik’s?” Taekwoon’s voice was low and tense. You were unaffected. You looked up at his face, eyes now red.

“Because they’re cute.” You challenged his gaze and you eventually won. Taekwoon sulked off, mumbling under his breath.

“Okay, let’s go before Taekwoon buries us. And you even wear your own clothes anymore?” She gestured towards Taekwoon’s sweater that you were wearing.

“Hey, the pants and everything else are mine!”

You walked arm in arm to the door. Taekwoon leaned against the wall, arms crossed at his chest. You smiled at his expression, lips in a pout. You rose up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss but stopped right before you touched his lips, pulled away, and descended to put on your shoes. When you stood a low growl filled the small hallway. YoonJung turned around, eyes wide. You giggled and turned to Taekwoon. You leaned forward and connected your lips with his. He leaned closer and bit your bottom lip. You jumped back and stared at him. He winked at you, his revenge complete. You narrowed your eyes at him. He shrugged his shoulders and handed your bag to you.

“Be careful and keep your phone on you.”

“I will. And don’t forget. No listening!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

You went out of your apartment and walked towards the elevator.

“What was that all about?” YoongJung pushed the button for the elevator.

“Oh, he can hear me from anywhere in Seoul. So since I wanted to talk to you about some things, I made him promise to dumb his senses down.”

“No, I got that part. I’m talking about before that. He growled at you.”

“Oh! Yeah, he does that all the time. He doesn’t mean anything bad by it. I, uh, kinda like it.” You blushed as you stepped into the elevator.

“Oh geez. Yeah, we have a lot to talk about.”

It took you about twenty minutes by bus and walking to get to the restaurant that you had chosen to eat at. Ten minutes later, you both had various side dishes and soups laid out on the table. You noticed YoonJung staring and you braced yourself for the onslaught.

“Ok, talk.”

You took a deep breath and told her first of the whole situation with HaeJeong and MinJeong. She was shocked because she had worked closely with MinJeong to secure your job.

After an hour of cursing them both your conversation turned to Taekwoon. You finally told her of the nightmare you had that night. She listened intently while you told her of the fears you had.

“I understand that you’re scared. I was too. Your first time is awesome and crazy all at once. But don’t feel obligated to do it just because you’ll be going away with him. He would understand.”

“I know he would. I just….I have no idea what I’m doing. What if he expects something and I don’t do it right? Or if I’m bad at it? Oh God, what if I’m really bad at it? Or whay if I break something? And then there’s the whole tattoo thing. I still don’t know how all that is going to go down. I-I love him. I don’t want to lose him just because I might be bad at sex.” You let your head drop and hit the table. After a few seconds you could hear YoonJung laughing. You groaned but her chuckles increased in volume. Finally, you raised your head to glare at her.

“Oh, honey, you really do think too much. If you want to be with him, then just let go and have fun. I promise he’s not going to be grading you on your performance.”

“What have I gotten myself into?”

“Answer that question yourself next week.” She stuffed a bunch of food in her mouth and smiled.

“But we’re going tomorrow. We’ll be back in three days. Why next week?”

“Because thats when you’ll probably be able to walk again.”

Your mouth fell open as you finally caught her meaning.

“Unni!” Your cheeks turned to fire as your mind processed what she was talking about.

“Oh hush. I’ve seen you two together. He treats you like porcelain. He wont care that you’re not experienced. He just wants you for you. All you need to be concerned about is having the time of your life. Believe me, being with a hybrid is a completely different experience.”

You started to respond but then you thought about what she said.

“Wait, Unni, how would you know?” You watched as her face blushed slightly. This amazed you because YoonJung rarely blushed.

“Well, its not like I planned it and he’s WAY too young. But, I couldn’t help it! He’s just so adorable and his aegyo just kills me!”

You gasped as you realized who she was talking about.

“You slept with Jaehwan?! Oh my god, when?!”

“Before I left to see my family. Not long after you guys came back from that vacation house.” She had a wistful look on her face and you smiled for her.

“What…how…but….how was it?” You whispered.

YoonJung just laughed and blushed even more.

“I’m not telling. You’ll have to find out for yourself. Just trust me. Trust him.”

“I do trust him. I’m just scared, I guess. I want this but I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to. He’ll take care of you. C'mon, let’s get you back. Taekwoon’s probably pacing the floor.”

You looked at your watch and realized that you had been gone for about four hours. You were surprised that Taekwoon hadn’t tried to text you.

“Yeah, probably. Either that or he’s asleep.”

When you got back to the apartment, you invited YoonJung to stay for dinner but she declined stating she had another meeting. Unlocking the door and walking into the living room, you saw Taekwoon lying on the couch, fast asleep. His huge frame took up the entire couch.

You quietly walked to your bedroom and found some more comfortable pants to put on. Glancing towards the door you slid your pants down to the floor and kicked them towards the hamper next to the door. You watched them land and froze when you spotted Taekwoon by the door rubbing his eyes. Thankfully, his sweater that you had on covered the important parts but your legs were completely exposed. The heat of embarrassment coursed throughout your body. His eyes traveled down your body and lingered on your legs. You couldn’t move. The look he was giving you prevented that. He has seen you in a bathing suit before but this was different. This was more intimate. Your heart hammered in your chest as he walked towards you. Your hands fisted in the pants that you had intended to put on but now served as a security blanket.

He stopped when he was only a few inches from you. Your eyes locked with his as you stood there fastinated when they started to glow. His hand reached out and grabbed a handful of the material of your sweater and pulled you in the rest of the way. His free hand cupped your cheek as his head lowered towards you. His body was warm from sleep and his lips were soft. Sliding his tongue across your bottom lip, you granted entrance. His hand that had been fisted in you sweater moved to wrap low around your hips. The action brought your body even closer to his and it was unmistakable that he was aroused. Your heart flipped in your chest and heat pooled in your belly. He released your lips and dove for your neck. He placed various kisses along the skin but your mind involuntarily went to your dream. You stilled at the thought and he noticed. He raised his head and looked at you. He took in the worried look on your face and furrowed his brows.

“You okay” His voice was raspy from sleep and you cursed your body for reacting the way it did. You wanted that voice to whisper things in your ears, not asking about other things.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry, I just…” You didn’t know what to say. Nonetheless, he seemed to understand. You felt guilty when he backed away slightly.

“Why don’t you finish changing and I’ll start the food.” He smiled, but not fully. “I’m making pasta.”

“I don’t deserve you.” You almost wanted to cry. Why did you have to be so backwards?

“I think that’s the other way around my love.” He kissed your forehead and headed to the kitchen. “Oh, I went shopping earlier and got you a present. Its in the closet.”

You watched as he walked away, wondering how you got so lucky. You quickly put on your pants and went over to open the closet. A small, plain shopping bag sat on the floor. You picked it up and took out the contents. Immediately you gasped and dropped everything to the ground. There, on the floor was a very expensive looking black lingerie set. You jumped when warm breath spread over your neck. Taekwoon’s hand slowly slid down your arm and held your wrist, rubbing small circles on it with his thumb. He chuckled at the sight of the set and bag on the floor.

“Not quite the reaction I was expecting but I just wanted to get it for you. You don’t have to wear it. In all honesty, you look just as good just wearing my sweater–and nothing else.”

#vixx #vixx fanfic #vixx fic #vixx scenario #taekwoon #leo #ravi #wonshik #n #hakyeon #hongbin #ken #jaehwan #hyuk #sanghyuk #vixx hybrid #hybrid #taekwoon fic #leo fic #taekwoon hybrid

[walktalldontcha]

Art trade for @jailhouserokk / @aquaburry! They requested that wonderfully agonizing angst - I hope it hits the spot! And I can’t thank you enough for wanting to do this with me ♥

Pairing: Johnny/Vance Rating: T (M at a push) Synopsis: There’s a savage, irreversible thunderstorm brewing inside Johnny in torrential bullets, licking momentous at the crackled bedrock of his aching sternum as he attempts to sellotape his own bestial thoughts back together into something which an be reasonably translated. Doubts corrode impressionable mind with titanium band suddenly feeling far too weighted -- restrictive, cuts off all circulation and has him reacting feverishly to everything he swore he once wanted. Vance has vivid sunlight in peridot eyes that burns so bright that, for a moment, Johnny begs for a savage hailstorm to rain down on them both and put an end to this ongoing moment of falsified clarity.

It should be raining, that’s the only clarified thought Johnny can successfully focus on at this particular moment of suspended mummification. It should be absolutely fucking thundering, those huge fat raindrops that hibernate on upturned lashes and crash on fallible glass with such brute force that the surrounding walls seem to creak in a decibel which would indicate impending collapse; there should be saturated cobwebs and their creator struggling to cling on to sloppy, rotting panes as the world around them simply screams monsoon season. Only then could his sudden state of dire melancholy and villainous imagery make even a single fucking modicum of sense. Perched on shallow hips knots an ethereal being who truly defied royalty, blood once undoubtedly stippled in cobalt along convoluted pathways now coated in multicolored oil; that aqua-blue vibrancy has transferred onto the collar of he, his father, and his ancestors before him. Vance has an enrapturing illumination to him, iridescent translucence that leaves Johnny’s worn fingertips aching as though covered in one thousand minuscule cuts; one day he’s certain to contaminate his boy, he certain of it, plague him with the same unnecessary darkness that likes to flood his own head and can only be silenced with the chalky influence of vile-tasting pills and a chase of aged whiskey. Butterfly kisses flounce across taut jaw, prettily freckled lips melting over unshaven speckle until those beautiful winged delights threaten to contort into moths; for even in instances of dewy intimacy, lingering touches and pecks designed to be chaste, Vance has a natural possessiveness to him he likes to pretend is well-hidden. When Johnny does not immediately respond - not even to roll tired eyes nor shrug him off with a scorned sigh of him being ‘annoying’ as is sometimes the custom - Vance views this as a open invitation to bring more of his kinetic energy. It’s rare for Johnny so be quite so visually numb. “Hi!” Vance shrieks as though they hadn’t been sitting together, engaging in something of a pickled silence, for well over an hour now. “Is there anybody in there?” Soft hands raise, ring finger extended, to click titanium band across Johnny’s all too familiar earring. The sound pings! far too violently, makes all acid tucked away within churning stomach formulate a cannonball of unspoken anxieties to crash down within his organs once more. Johnny leaps with it, swipes his own ear the very moment that Vance makes an unceremonious tumble into (thankfully carpeted) flooring; he hears the creak of ill-prepared patella skidding through loose fibers a minute later. “Don’t fuckin’ do that!” It’s all acid. Acid and mold and rust and his throat feels clawed raw every time his mind manipulates him into talking to Vance this way; scrapes him off his boots and leaves him crippled on baked asphalt. Vance doesn’t have to say anything. There’s incinerated welts in his vision that speaks absolute volumes, an inflamed braille wordlessly seeking out answers and spluttering apologies and suddenly - fuck - Vance feels two feet nothing. “Sorry.” He eventually splutters. Switchblade apologies. A carotid artery shattering word when uttered in that broken squeal. It should be raining. When he practiced this exact moment within his crippled mind over and over and over again, words and phrases clicking together like cheap plastic bricks to form something akin to logical sense, it was raining. Pouring. An apocalypse was dawning on the horizon. The tears which burst from Vance, corroding silvery tendrils on cheeks of garnet, fall in such robust torrential waves that they look like that hailstorm he had been promised; every droplet leaves his soul just as frostbitten. Johnny wants to choke. There’s a dusty little dish full of decorative pebbles tucked away in the corner and he’s certain that if he were to swallow them all his throat would close up and he’d hack hack wheeze his way to an immediate universe where Vance can’t look at him like he’s such a fucking criminal. “Stop that.” He whispers, as though such a command would somehow locate his fiance’s - boyfriend’s - off switch, sever all cables. Power out - time to do damage control, sweep their mistakes under heaped rug and try, in vain, to move on. Vance is in-fucking-consolable, presses strawberry welts into his temples beneath murky fingers and blunt nails, tries to scrub his tears clean but they coagulate and form anew. There’s a fist around his throat that’s coated in thistles, that squeezes his essence from rickety lungs, tries to remove every last molecule of happiness he once had stacked within him like daisy chains and loose dandelion seeds. Such revelations would always be inevitable; he swore he could hide behind ebony lashes and talks of matching tuxedos, that if they focused on how many rhinestones they wanted their Elvis impersonator to wear they could somehow make this high school romance something absolutely timeless. He’s a fucking idiot. Stupid, selfish, reckless little disaster held together by his own amplified psychosis. And he knows that he should let Johnny slither away like he so desires, press silver halo into wide-set palm and allow his love to taste freedom once again; let him taste purified oxygen in ways he hasn’t been able to for far too long. Sever the noose that he forcefully knotted against crushed jugular, allow him to genuinely l o v e again. But he’s nothing if not dedicated to embossed leather, ripped jeans, stale cologne and the way Johnny holds him, pushes all his pieces together until they click without once hesitating nor making him feel less remarkable for doing so. They maintained balance through that stark crimson thread the poets always wrote stances about. He should have known Johnny’s would fray if it was gnawed at often enough. One word. One decibel. One future impossibly snuffed. “Oh.” Johnny’s vision fades to onyx, severed vessels in his eyes making everything as horrifically dark as the shallow emptiness ricocheting inside compact skull; all those mistakes he has made - will continue to make - stacked together into heavy cement bricks. There’s blood in his mouth that he can’t spit up. Justification (or lack thereof)  would only tear freshly inflicted wounds, would gouge his fingertips directly within sunken holes to p u l l flesh and tissue apart; spit salt over sensitive nerves. There would be no recovery. But maybe he isn’t quite so far gone as to leave Vance dangling like that, trying to scoop his heart back into broken chest - sand licking the open junctures of his fingertips despite how Johnny promised to keep him safe; he hadn’t indicated protection from the agony he himself would have undoubtedly inflicted. “Don’t fuckin’ say ‘oh’ like that. Like yous surprised!” Johnny’s hands are pressed into fists, bladed lock, pressed spine-first into cemented doorway. He cannot remember when he stumbled toward the nearest escape route, when his natural instincts to flee over force had suddenly kicked into overdrive, but if Vance keeps looking at him like he’s a steel blooded criminal finally unmasked he’s going to go running for the hills til his ankles crack clean off, broken chips of flecked marble. “You ain’t really think marryin’ me, bein’ my... my husband was gonna work, did you? Did y’really think I’d be able t’jus’ whisk y’away t’fuckin’ never-land like yous deservin’?” There’s a pain in his throat, the very stones he was too afraid to swallow bubbling back up, and when he looks at Vance all he can see is moonlight wilted by frost; rain. “You ain’t get it Vance. I’s gonna ruin you. I can’t keep y’tied t’me forever. Yous talented n’fuckin’ gorgeous n’I’s gonna be nothin’ but some joke who thinks with his fists firsts. I love you too much t’let you be known as the fool who married Johnny Vincent. I ain’t gonna let you be the man whose husband ran out on ‘im.” Bones scraped raw, mandible cracking, Vance’s sobs playing like broken records on the back of his mind. If he could find that articulated crevice of skin located inside his joints he could peel it clean from bone. If you squint, count shadows and effectively decoupage silhouettes together, add a sprinkle of decades spent suffocating under collegiate weights, painting cartoon smiles on Vance’s face until he can pretend to taste ambrosia when in actuality he settled for a fucking loser, Johnny is cookie cutter carbon copy of his own father. He’ll break, decimate, then flake. Leave Vance incomplete, bleeding and disemboweled during a volatile windstorm. And it’ll be raining. “You won’t,” Vance speak so quietly, cotton lungs, that he almost doesn’t realize the vocabulary comes from his own sleek lips all chapped up from his own trauma; from shaking quite so viciously. “You won’t be a joke. You won’t walk out on me. You won’t.” “How the fuck d’you know? I’m fuckin’ poison Vance. I fuck up everything. I’m a fuckin’ deadbeat like him.” There’s an unknown adrenaline that shoots Vance full of confetti and freshly lit dynamite, implosive, scattered prisms of fractured light throughout his joints until he’s skidding to a halt in front of his... Johnny. His fingertips are coated is tears, salt, pressing loose pebbles on either side of honeyed cheeks; waterlogged visions uniting until suddenly there’s a clash. a boom. a collapse. "You ain’t gonna leave me because I need you. An’ you need me.” Like blood coiling crimson hot betwixt copper veins, carrying explicit oxygen and patchwork endorphins through overgrown foliage that threatens to paint vessels mahogany with doubt; they truly n e e d each other. Their own prepackaged medication sealed within cushioned lips and wandering tongue, freshly prescribed antidotes for their own crippling mental paralysis. Johnny isn’t crying but he’s stumbling toward the very precipice of an unknown abyss, crystallized bedrock and an inflamed agony prodding across spiderweb lashes. Spacious palms holding onto Vance’s hips for ear fucking life, licking away those crisp tears continuing to tumble in a forceful shower down Vance’s heavily freckled features - through spiced nutmeg and rose - and he kisses his apologies on bowed lips. Their teeth clack. Chests rattle. Cool metal swallows exposed skin as the shudder into one and other, attempt to thaw through Johnny’s anxiety and remind Vance that fuck does he matter. They can do this produce wedding bells and exchange vows and borrow names from one and other in pleasant greeting. And on their wedding day, when futures glisten leather and lace with an entire army of supporters lodged beside them, it absolutely will not be raining.

#Drabble #Chaz does the writing thing #Johnny/Vance

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Sorry to bother you as you must be sleep deprived and bust with all the other asks. You are so prompt and detailed, I admire it. I can totally see Chad and Freddie happening, they seem to complement each other easily from your analysis/hc. Could you do Aziz with anyone you choose or Jordan with anyone you choose from Descendants universe. I have to admit I've seen quite a few Jay/Jordan fics, would that actually work?

[Around the time you asked this.]

I actually got a full’s night’s sleep since that last one,actually, I’m fine. And thank you, it’s a positive side effect ofboth ADHD and Asperger’s Syndrome.

Yes, I’m a huge fan of “opposites attract,” and Anon made merealize that with Chad and Freddie. I must say that, realisticallyspeaking, any good relationship is based on people being completelycompatible with their core values, than complementing each other asif they were shades on the colour wheel. Not impossible, certainly,but not a guarantee that you'll be a great fit—look at canon Benand Mal, and their numerous issues for the moment.

To more positive things: Jay/Jordan it is!

They would in fact work out! Most of the sibling headcanons I’vedone are just that: headcanon, and it’s also probable that canonAziz (whenever we get to see him, if ever...) will just get into moreunfriendly, less brotherly rivalry with Jay. (Which would honestly bean interesting dynamic in itself to explore, but I digress.)

Jay and Jordan will likely bond and be compatible from both beingnative to Agrabah (or at least, raised in the little slice of Agrabahon the Isle), their shared snark and penchant for being the centersof attention through their unique skills (Tourney, YouTube), the sharedimportance of Freedom and being unconstrained to do whatever youplease, and possibly even shared abandonment/attachment issues withtheir parents, if Genie and/or Eden turn out to be the neglectfulparents I headcanon they are.

[After I realized that I had spent way too much time on headcanonand need to sleep, and the Trollrhi sponsorship post.]

In Auradon Prep, the two are likely to bond initially as part ofJordan doing a “Tourney Fever” series on her channel—how to getand put on sweat-resistant make-up that won't look gaudy under thesun; dressing for the summer/close to summer heat from a native whereit was really scorching hot in summer and the rest of the year, stillreally scorching hot, whilst still looking stylish and accessorizing;and how to avoid common mess-ups and accidents that will probablyruin the entire game for you, even if your team wins.

The whole Fighting Knights and several of the VK's and AK's joinup as part of the “live demonstrations” of how these incidentshappen, and as male and female models for the make-up, particularlyfor the minority students in Auradon Prep and most of the statesnorth of the Great Wall separating South and North Auradon, likeGreece, China, and of course, Agrabah. Most of them quickly leave thechannel as soon as the series is over as filming is hard work andthose studio lights she uses can get uncomfortably hot, but Jaylearns to love it and hams it up for the camera more often than not.

Jordan is more than willing to put him on, since he's a hit amongher viewers, and as a popular VK Tourney player, carries a lot ofinherent novelty and appeal. “So long as you don't mind doing a lotless bumping into people and 'accidentally' spilling drinks all over your muscles, at least,” she warns as he's watching her edit.

“No problem—so long as you teach me how to use that camera.”

So begins a new relationship—Jordan hosting every episode, doingthe editing and script-writing, and Jay being a frequent specialguest (Tourney practice and Remedial Goodness classes take up a lotof time), handling the grunt work of setting up lighting, fixing thecameras on their tripods, and holding it whenever Jordan wants to break away from thestatic, one camera/fixed angles style she has been using all thistime because she's never really trusted anyone else to handle herequipment.

The two also have a very natural, entertaining dynamic on set,effortlessly trading sarcasm, snarks, and some genuinely interestingcommentary from Jay sometimes whenever they get to talking about howto make a budget stretch and how to make the most of Auradon'snumerous generous souls and free offers (“The key is to learn hownot to feel obligated to buy something.”), a special onparkour and exercising in urban environments, and of course, “HowTo Break Into Your Own Room” where he talks a lot about how it wasa necessary skill to access locked cupboards and rooms where youcould potentially scavenge life-saving supplies, instead of starvingin your room until your father remembers that he was punishing you.

Aziz, being the “Protective Little Brother With A Hate-On ForJay” in this headcanon, is not happy about this arrangement,especially with how intense their casual flirting can get sometimes.He also finds himself purposefully avoiding the comments' section,which he hadn't needed to do since the beginning of Jordan's“puberty” where she was intentionally making herself “developearly” to earn more views.

“I don't like you and Jay making these videos together,” Azizsays one day when they're hanging out in her lamp/bedroom.

“So don't watch them,” Jordan says, rolling her eyes as puts her pen to paper and casually crosses out some witty banter that isn't as witty as shethought they were. (Can't make all of them on the fly, just most ofthem.) “And don't even think of asking me to stop workingwith him, he makes my videos so much easier to make, not to mentionmy viewers love him.”

Aziz frowns. “Can't you try and get someone else?”

“When I already have him?” Jordan snorts. “No thank you!Interview a potential replacement on your own time, Jay's workingdamn well and I sure as hell ain't fixin' him. Why does he rub yourlamp so wrong, anyway, lil' bro?”

Aziz furrows his brow. “I don't like how he looks at you. How hetalks to you. How he acts around you. It's like he's...”

“Oh, I don't know, attracted to me like pretty muchevery averageheterosexual teenage boy, ever?” Jordangroans and rolls her eye. “Sand and silver, Az, we alreadyhad this talk, and I seriously doubt you want to do it allover again!”

Aziz cringes and suddenly feels ill. “It's different this time,alright?!” he says as he’s holding his lunch in.

“What, you're afraid he might ask me out on a date one of these days...?”

Aziz opens his mouth to shoot back a witty reply, before heregisters exactly what Jordan had said, and he looks like he's justbeen accidentally hit by the parade elephant float going at fulltilt.

“Did he ask you out?” hesplutters.

Jordan blushes.“So what if he did? And what if he kissed me? What if we're goingout and we just haven't thought it was important to tell you becauseit's our damn business?”she says, her tone getting snarkier and meaner, her cheeks onlygrowing redder.

Aziz holds up hisfinger. “JD, I need a wish.”

Jordan sighs andholds up her hands, still blushing. “It better not be 'I wish Jaywon't be in love with you anymore' because it's against the DjinnCode, and I wouldn't do it even if it wasn’t.”

“I promise you I will never attempt to do something like that, magically or non-magically, and I wish foranother scream-absorbing pot,” Aziz says.

A small pot witha lid with the logo image of a cartoon face slapping the sides oftheir face whilst screaming in abject terror appears inAziz' hands. He opens it, puts the little-larger-than-his-mouthcontainer to his lips, and yells, his whole body violently shakingbut not a sound coming out.

He puts the lidback on fast enough that nothing escapes. “Thank you,” he says,putting it on a convenient end table nearby. “Okay, now that that'sout of my system...

“He's trouble,Jordan,” Aziz says, his face turning serious. “I know he seemsfun and wild and crazy on the outside, but I've seen him—all ofhim.”

“Oh, I neverrealized you could see into the window of someone's soul, after yougo running around with him in Agrabah for little less than an afternoon,” Jordansays dryly.

“I mean it,sis!” Aziz says, just barely keeping his voice level. “I need togo...” he mutters.

“Don't slam thelid on your way out,” Jordan says as he magics him out. “I hatethat.”

“I won't,”Aziz says as he turns back into magical sand and whisks on out ofJordan's lamp.

She sighs, looksdown at the list of witticisms and snark she and Jay justbrainstormed on, finds she can't really work on them anymore. Shegets up, grabs Aziz' contained scream from her counter, and dumps itinto her main trashbin in the corner.

She mulls overher thoughts as her lamp is filled with the faint, distant sounds ofAziz going “AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH….!”

#Descendants #Disney #Headcanon

[genesischi]

The Present 12/8/18 (about events 9/8/18)

The Present

The sudden silence as the word leaves her mouth. It doesn't fall from her lips, it lingers like a cartoon character who has just run off the edge of a cliff, just waiting long enough to look down and see the abyss below. Instead of the words it is my heart that drops.

“Cancerous,” she says. She continues talking, how it isn't certain, they will check alternatives. But every word is laced with implication, and the follow-up of “What do you want us to do?” shows just how little faith she has.

She wants to put him down. She wants to just not wake him up. As if it would be kinder to kill him in his sleep without his or my consent. As if stealing the time we have left would be better than money and painkillers and all the love I can give.

She picks up the box and has me sign the form. I sign it then don't know what to do. She tells me I must leave the room, go the opposite way from her, I must walk away from him as she takes him to what her tone said will be his death, either immediately or slowly.

I put my fingers through the bars of the carrier one last time, look at his bemused face and say “I will see you soon, I hope,” and feel so guilty for the tag, as if I have no belief in him now.

The bottom of the crevasse comes rushing up towards me as the door of the consultation room closes. The floor meets my knees as I drop, my tears and sobs echoing along the corridor and through the waiting room. The dogs quieten as if they know.

A nurse comes along and looks at me with that kind of panic all sufferers of meltdowns know. She brings tissues and water but says nothing. I want her to say anything, anything. She doesn't speak, so I do. I tell her it is my birthday. I am twenty-one today and officially an adult in every sense.

It appears the world has decided adults have no best friends, no silent supporters, no therapists nor loved ones.

I tell her the cruelty of the diagnosis, and bitterly mention that I had been anxious enough of just the risks of anaesthetic. She smiles, can give me one good piece of news, that she thinks there is no need for fear there. “He's a tough cookie,” she says, “He gave me a real dirty look when we put him in back.”

After how long I'll never know, how many tissues the only way I could have counted that immeasurable silence as she offered no more comfort, just the hollow placation that it might not be cancer, might be something more benign, safe, easy to treat. But no words other than confirmation either way would have drawn any real reaction from me then.

Eventually my imposition feels too drawn out, her fidgeting and discomfort become too clear to stand. She wants to get back to work, wants me to leave and take my problems and emotions away. So I drag myself up, arms empty and far too light. I leave the vet, shaking and still choking on hyperventilated breaths. I weave my way across town, vision too blurred to clearly see the obstacles and cars in my path, tempted not to care about them but for the chance, that sliver of a chance.

I phone my stepdad, would have called Mum but for fear that she may say the wrong thing and remove even that sliver of care. He starts to greet me with a happy birthday, but the briefest amount of the first syllable escapes him before he hears and understands, before he processes the sound I am making.

There are tears, and then there is this.

“Oh my darling, what's happened?”

“Cancer, the vet said they think he's got cancer.”

I don’t remember his words, other than that they are general soothing nonsense before he gets to being helpful. Burton makes me logically go through the conversation with the vet, tries to find hope in the specifics and the rationale that she has to tell me the worst case, has to know my answer and my wishes. I end the call all too soon, must keep my phone free for the most important phone call I will ever receive, one that will save or end two lives.

I finally stumble into my house and the rubbish soundproofing lets my wails echo, my arms reaching for an embrace that isn't there, collapsing onto a bed with no purr, no nuzzle, no gentle, silent comfort. Finding my way to my desk I open Facebook to let it be known just how essential it is that I receive no birthday phone calls, and the notifications pour in, all happy returns of the day and none asking after the importance of my radio silence. None acknowledging the truth that I wish this day gone, not repeated.

After that essential task is complete my purposelessness hits me. With no need to feed, nor duty of care, I have no reason to exist, nothing to do with myself. My sobs grow louder and wake Rhys who comes in to hover anxiously nearby, deciding after a moment to hug me.

He asks what is wrong and yet again I have to say the words, have to repeat the reality, reinforce and resign myself to it. “Oh no,” he says, “Oh no.” Then goes quiet. There are no real words to say.

Eventually we decide we have to distract me with something, we watch Van Helsing, King of Dreams, Prince of Egypt, The Feathered Serpent, and part way through my mother calls to tell me she has intervened.

She says she phoned the vet and found the exact timings and procedures. At 11am he would be taken in for the op, and the results would be known by one or one-thirty. Through every film and show I check the minutes. My crying intensifies at moments where love or death are referenced, and when eleven comes around I choke “If he doesn't wake up again, he's just gone.” Followed by another round of violent sobs.

After one-thirty there is still no contact from the vet, and the awful realisation begins to hit, both Rhys and I checking our phones to watch the time tick. No news must be bad news. Perhaps they could not wake him and are still trying.

Then the phone screams into the tense waiting, my mother's voice rings out. “He's awake!”

And in that moment my constant tears swap from deepest grief to greatest joy, relief, and thankful prayer. Mum continues “So that's the first bit of good news...” her voice continues to echo on speaker phone, rabbiting on about the specifics of what had been done and what had been found, the only bit to truly hit me was “They don't think it's cancer.”

Later when at the vet's again they told me about what they saw on the x-ray and how they are now “cautiously optimistic” it is the remainders of an extracted tooth rotting and causing infection, difficult to remove by now, but far easier to treat – and more viable – than cancer.

The vet yet again reduces me to tears with her ineptitude, again implying the worst rather than giving a fair assessment and hope. She tells me to go back to the waiting room if her presence causes me so much distress, I do, I don't need more of her deadly fatalism.

A blue box comes from around the corner and I have never seen a better sight then a grumpy cat looking over his shoulder at me. I take the box from the nurse and flee outside with him, Rhys in tow, having thankfully accompanied me – without eating all day I was not convinced I might not faint trying to carry my heavy weight home. Before going down the stairs outside common sense returns enough to go inside to pay the hefty fee for my suffering before coming back and all but running home with my best birthday present.

The moment I release Bela from the box we know something is deeply wrong. His eyes look through us, and he doesn’t respond to his name.

The cat who would run top speed to jump into my arms, who would flop down beside me and nuzzle and purr, who would drag himself along the floor commando-style for fun... wasn't there.

The cat with the body of Bela wanders the living room on wobbly legs, teetering from side to side until collapsing and lying still. His chest moves with each breath but his eyes stare unseeing, and he doesn’t move.

Frantic with the wrongness of the lack of recognition I stroke him and talk to him, getting no response. Rhys looks up the symptoms of anaesthetic while I panick and say he'd never been like this before, and dread the potential permanence of if Bela himself had gone after all, and we'd only been left a shell.

I lie down beside him, curled around, big spoon as we often do. And nothing, no purr, no movement or reaction. His paws are cold, and his ears, and Google says it is a common side-effect. No stroking nor massage seemed to warm him, he refused and hobbled away from all blankets and attempted nests. I arranged piles of cushions with his favourite bedding, I tried to have him sit or lie on my lap to no avail. Every time, he walked away into the kitchen to find the cat flap we had locked, nosing at it to try and leave, or to hide under the table.

In my despair I go to find him some treats, something small to eat to see if it had any effect, and he immediately follows, but not for me. He goes straight to his preferred spot under my bed, the first familiar action in the hour or so since returning home.

My panicking abates, if only slightly, and I agree to leave the house when he no longer careens into furniture while walking.

After a humble but pleasant birthday drink at Wetherspoons we come home and Bela still hasn’t returned to the body sitting in his place.

When in bed the stranger jumps up next to me, and there is the most tentative of a head bumps, his pupils still overlarge and gaze unfocused, but there is a nuzzle to my shoulder. The cat lay down next to me and let me wrap my arms around it.

When we wake up together the next day, the sun reflects green in golden eyes, but it is Bela looking out of them.

#probably still have tenses mucked up but I don't care #my writing #cancer #illness #vet #death #potentially #cats #feline friends #Bela #my cat Bela #my birthday was a bit shit

[notsdlifter]

Addled Roots: Prologue

The Apocalypse Obsession

The apocalypse was a national obsession, you could say. People always talked about the end of the world. Every summer, Hollywood churned out blockbusters about robots pushing mankind to the brink of extinction. For a decade-long stretch, the most popular show on TV had zombie herds wandering across the country like the buffalo used to tromp across the Great Plains. People had fears galore: global warming, rising seas, super flus, super volcanoes, giant meteoroids, toxins in our food, air, and water. Y2K was supposed to signify the collapse. Then it was the end of the Mayan calendar. The sun itself was a massive flare away from frying all the electronics on the planet and sending us back to the Neolithic Age. It was just a matter of time before some flop-haired billionaire pushed us to the brink of nuclear annihilation. The apocalypse was right around the corner and we were all chewing our fingernails off waiting for it to arrive. Oh, those were the good old days. 

If I could go back to 2018, I would be the Apocalypse’s Paul Revere. “People,” I’d warn, “The apocalypse isn’t coming… The apocalypse isn’t coming. IT’S ALREADY HERE!” 

Here is a quick history lesson. The “first beast” of the apocalypse was invented in Japan in 1893 when a chemist used western science to understand ancient Asian medicines. The Nazis gave a synthesized version of it to soldiers during World War II and the drug-crazed Wehrmacht blanketed half of Europe in a furious Blitzkrieg.  The tentacles of the beast spread across America in the 1950s. It started as a simple pick-me-up, a good time booster that beatnik poets used for fuel. Then it was outlawed in the 1970s by the American government relegating it to biker gangs and hardened drug users. By the late 1980s, Americans were making it in their bathtubs and houses were exploding from Ogunquit Maine to the salt flats of California. It shattered rural American communities like Little Boy’s blast flattened Hiroshima. Crystal Methamphetamine, is far and away the most abused drug in the history of the world. 

The Drug Epidemic

In late 2018, while America was deep in the throes of a quarter century old meth epidemic, another drug started to wreak its havoc. A “second beast”—if you will briefly indulge my hyperbole—had legitimate roots, and many got it by prescription and in pill form. It had a handful of names: oxy, roxy, fentanyl, black tar, china, chiva, smack, heroin… call it what you will. All of them were from the same family of opioids. Unlike its bastardized brother meth, opioids reached into all levels of society. It hit housewives just as hard as street users. Unsuspecting patients were prescribed the drug by their trusted family doctor for an injury only to begin the spiral of addiction. People bought it in the mail, off the shadow internet, and had it FedExed to their houses. Pill mills were seemingly in every strip mall in America. Opioids were everywhere, more ubiquitous than the Golden Arches of McDonalds. 

A syndemic is the study of two epidemics and how they interact. Imagine, if you will, two massive epidemics each wielding a crippling outcome of addiction in millions of people. On the one hand, you have the meth scourge, arguably one of the worst in world history.  On the other, you have the opioid crisis that was rumored to be so debilitating both economically and socially that it alone have removed America’s status as a superpower. Now what if both of those epidemics fed off each other and exponentially magnified the negative consequences? What if they were spinning at breakneck speeds in opposite directions in a social particle accelerator and smashed together? New elements are born that have unforeseen consequences. That is a syndemic effect. And that is exactly what happened to the Great U.S. of A. 

The opioid epidemic was sucked into areas that were already ravaged by meth like light hits a black hole. And in the pressure and darkness of those afflictions, something truly malevolent sprung from the track-marked carcasses of dying addicts.  There was an interaction, an unexpected agitator that spun people into a specific mindset. It wasn’t pure rage, not exactly, because there was a calculating aspect even though they moved with reckless abandonment. These addicts awoke from a figuratively dead sleep with the intent to murder. They had—to borrow a word from the legal community—a “depraved heart” and singular purpose. 

“Oh, you poor fuckers,” I’d say, “you should have seen it coming.” 

A Rash of Drug Overdoses

The addicts called it a “goofball.” It was a mixture of meth and heroin heated in a spoon. The high was a combination of the warm bath sedation of heroin and the frantic euphoria of IV meth. A high-low lethal amalgamation that some addicts described as a tearing in half of the soul. Overdoses skyrocketed. There was a public outcry and a flurry of class action lawsuits aimed at the manufacturers, distributors, and the physicians who wrote the scripts. A hundred thousand died in a three-month period. And, in this little bitty town in the middle of nowhere, there were a handful of ODs that didn’t stay dead.  

It all began in a spot between Denver and Saint Louis. I’m not sure if it happened when some hapless local queued up a “goofball” in a dirty spoon and put a match to it. But I do know that it started with a new synthesis of meth. It wasn’t more powerful than the Mexican meth cooked in super labs or more potent than Walter White’s mythical “baby blue.” But this meth, when it was mixed with an opioid and heated, grabbed peoples’ brains and never let them go. It dipped its tentacles deep into the gray matter and molded the perfect soldiers of the apocalypse.

The signs were everywhere. While people were helplessly plugged into their phones and sprouting roots into their couches binge watching Netflix, America was deteriorating like a bad case of meth mouth. The epidemic hit the rural Midwest first. Addicts showed signs of “the shakes.” Oh, dear God the shakes. These addicts were like normal meth fiends: the rotten teeth, the open sores, hallucinations, advanced aging, the insatiable desire to find the next fix… the whole kit and caboodle. But they appeared only at night in rural areas and in massive packs. They looked like your general run-of-the-mill meth heads but they were different. Really different. 

So, yeah, about the “goofballs”—turns out that was an apt nickname. Do you remember Looney Tunes when Bugs drank poison? His eyes bulged out, arms contorted in lighting fast poses. That was the cartoon version isolated to a single subject. The real-life shakes were this twitchy, spastic shuffle that was eerily coordinated across groups of people. They moved as a unit like nocturnal predators. Once the shakes came, they always packed up and hunting for the living, all while burning swaths of homes to the ground. And these things, these fucking drug beasts, could cut and move like NFL slot receivers. They were dead addicts, with only one key difference. They didn’t eat brains or human flesh. Though they were not alive, they were not undead either. They seemed to exist somewhere between the planes of alive and dead in some biological limbo. These “dead addicts” had only one purpose: to head out at night in large, fast moving packs to murder, burn, and infect. The screams and the flames spread across the country like a viral advertisement.

A year into the syndemic, as the shakes exploded across rural America, there were probably only twenty thousand dead addicts. That sounds like a lot, but they were spread out. The government might have handled things. The larger cities immediately put up fence lines, thick walls, and check points. Martial law and the army’s use of nighttime firing lines and shoot-on-sight strategies were effective for a time. Most places could have ridden out the fires and roving killing herds. But there were issues that no one fully understood. 

These dead addicts didn’t drag their feet and listlessly moan while shuffling toward a meal. They moved in predatory packs and tightly controlled formations.  After they hit an area, they rarely returned. And there are other things, too. They sent out small groups to test the strength of a wall or estimate the total firepower of a defensive position. When they strike, they did it with such an awesome display of force. Twenty thousand rapidly-moving, living corpses, all pressed into and over cement barriers while under a barrage of machine gun fire. The dead addicts scratched and bit and bleed in their frantic, flailing way. It was all so militaristic, like they had a general. And they retreated into dark areas to wait out the day hiding in older sewer lines, in abandoned houses, or just buried themselves in the dirt. Only the most fortified places are still standing, but even they will eventually fall.  

The Troubled Children

Right after the outbreak of the shakes, before shit went south, a new wrinkle appeared. Something started happening with the kids. They were always children of a certain age, slightly older than toddlers and not quite teenagers. You know kids in that horribly awkward stage of life? The big elbows, comically skinny legs, and bad hair. Almost always they were grade-schoolers somewhere between second and sixth grade. These kids became susceptible, open to control. There were many stories of grade-schoolers stopping in mid-stride, always with their head tilted slightly and a thousand-yard stare, before engaging in a brief fit of terrorism. Out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, they threw open gates. They went on violent rampages. They broke into weapon stashes and fuel depos with catastrophic results. A minute later, the kids would be sitting, sobbing, completely oblivious to the world. Utterly unaware of their acts. 

City leaders came up with various plans to deal with the children, all of them equally flawed: (1) isolate, (2) segregate, or (3) eliminate. That would have been a fine plan if talking about a rat infestation or coyotes killing calves. But these were kids. You do not fuck with people’s kids. The slightest insinuation that the government was planning to “deal” with the “kid problem” turned soccer moms into suicide bombers. I honestly believe that Martha Stewart would peel the skin off your face with a butter knife if you threatened her children. All hell broke loose, and it never stopped breaking. No place was safe. There was chaos inside the cities. It always seemed like any place was on the verge of collapse. In the countryside, there was a desperate horror. If the killing herds found you—and there were millions of dead addicts tediously searching everything—they would kill you. 

Token-Oak

All this aforementioned shit started in the little town of Token-Oak. My hometown. And I’d like to tell you that no one saw this behemoth coming, that it was some chemistry accident stumbled upon by a bathtub chef who unwittingly created the batch that brought the greatest military in world history to its knees. But there was one person who saw this whole damn thing decades before it started. 

Before the emergency declarations and mobilization of the national guard, she knew. Before the major cities were surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers with check points every thirty miles on major highways, she knew. Before all rural America became uninhabitable and uncrossable, my grandma knew what was coming. She knew it all the way back in the late 1980s, the first time we saw a meth addict in Token-Oak. She saw the fall and, in her own way, prepared me for what was coming. And everyone thought she was crazy. 

God, I should have seen it, too. It was always right in my face grabbing me by the ears throughout my life. As a kid in Token-Oak, the meth crisis had just taken hold with bathtub cooks springing up everywhere. When I moved away as an adolescent, I saw it increase a little more each time I returned to the town. Little pockets of the apocalypse—lab explosions, rampant murder, and disappearances—were all over Token-Oak. And as an adult that got trapped in that pit of hell, I was at ground zero when the syndemic started. I was in the eye of the hurricane, a silent circle as the ferocious winds of the storm tore the country apart. 

I don’t think we will ever make it back, not to normal anyway. Once the world has been saturated with enough blood, it has forever changed. After the whole scale slaughter of the American Indians, a nation of roads and laws and good Christian morality sprang up in their place. But underneath it all—waiting in the shiny new world—there was this bitterness, the cold reality that human beings are capable of the gravest infliction of suffering and pain. And that is why we were all so obsessed with the Apocalypse. Because deep down, we all knew it was coming. Because it had been here many times before. 

But what I know now is that we wanted it to come, too. And the thing that keeps me awake at night is the thought that we needed the apocalypse in many ways. A fresh start. A clean slate. Call it whatever you want, but millions felt that way before the collapse. 

My story is not the most exciting tale of the downfall—hell, you will find any account of the survivors from the shake attack on Chicago more riveting. It’s not the sexiest, it doesn’t have the best intel on the government response, though there is a great deal written in these pages about how to survive a night in America when they come for you. And they always come for you. But my story is the most complete of all the stories. I was a child in Token-Oak during the syndemic’s humble beginnings in the late 1980s. And, in a blind stroke of luck, I was a graduate assistant at the University of Chicago when the government first tested human brains for the shakes. I was the first person, due to my professional training and location, to recognize that there was a problem with certain American kids. And, somehow, I ended up back home on the day the syndemic officially began. I was at ground zero every step of the way. There is not another person alive or dead that can say the same thing. 

I never thought my life would end up like this. Not in a million years did I think a child from Token-Oak would be on the forefront of the apocalypse. There is a good chance that everyone will be dead soon. The spread has done nothing but intensify since the outbreak. Each passing month, another small pocket of resistance, another American city, succumbs to the killing herds. 

If I told you that I don’t know why I am writing this book, I’d be lying. It will probably never be read by another human being. There won’t be awards, no reading circles, it will not be published. And I can tell you that writing these pages at night nearly drowning in sounds of screaming and the gnashing of teeth has not been easy. But I write this nightly for selfish reasons. It keeps me alive, pushes me to fight on, to scrounge food and keep my weapons clean. Because in these pages, buried somewhere in my memory of the downfall, is a secret. Something hidden that I somehow overlooked. And maybe, if I dig deep enough, pull out my memories, I will find something that will beat these ravenous bastards straight back into hell. 

I am going to take you back to the beginning. All the way back to where it started and walk you through everything step by bloody step. I’ll start with the smartest woman—the most simultaneously ruthless and loving woman that ever lived. And even though we never talked about it, she knew. My Grandma knew it was coming and did her best to warn me.  “Oh, you poor fuckers” I’d say riding from city to city, “the APCOLYPSE IS HERE.” 

Robert Warrington, Ph.D.  Token-Oak, Winter of 2026 2556 days after the Syndemic

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