new-hampshire - Tumblr blog

new-hampshire · 5 days ago

Note

Help I keep thinking about the zootopia abortion comic

Pope Francis x Y/N after Y/N decides to get an abortion?

The clear sky rings with the sweet, chirping liturgy of the morning birds. An idyllic morning, on the outside.

Deep inside the labyrinth of the Papal Palace, you are in the bathroom. You place it on the side of the bathroom sink with a nervous tap. You hunch over the small plastic strip, nauseous, waiting, murmuring to yourself, “C’mon… Let’s go!” One line appears. Another. “Sweet cheese!”

Sagging with dread, you slump to the side of his bed. Pope Francis, your beloved, snores loudly, one furry arm thrown over his face. Such a dramatic, twisted pose, his mouth open, fanged, drool-slicked, as if thrown agape by some rapturous ecstasy of dream…

But you have to break into that ecstasy. After he hears what you have to say, he may never feel it again.

“Francis…” you murmur. “Francis!” You shake his shoulder. “Francis, c’mon, wake up!”

“We’re off duty today…” he grumbles hazily.

“Francis, I have something important to say.”

“Just text me please.”

You fling yourself up onto the bed, grab his head, and shout, “POPE FRANCIS FROM CATHOLICISM! I am serious!”

“Okeh! Okeh!” he splutters, dizzily sitting up. “Geez, when you call me Pope Francis from Catholicism, it means I’m in great danger.”

“You bet!”

Francis stumbles out of bed, yawning, his sharp, vulpine teeth on full display. “May I take a shower and do other things before you ruin the rest of my day?”

“Yes, it’d be good, I think,” you say, folding in on yourself. You sit on on the sofa, staring down at your hands, as he sings in the shower.

He emerges, bright as the outside morning, running a towel over his furry ears. “Wow! I’m feeling much better now!” he says. “Well, what is this important thing you want me to know?”

Your heart hammers in your chest.

“Francis, I… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, his face is rigid with abject shock.

Then he laughs. “Ha! Nice try, Y/N. You almost got me! As if it were even possib–...”

You stare up at him with your huge, unnaturally front-facing eyes, begging him with your soul to understand.

“Your… your nose’s twitching! So that means…” he gasps, kneeling and grasping your shoulders. “Carrots! Are you for sure? Is this real?”

“Yes,” you say, “it is. I just took a pregnancy test and…”

You’re cut off by the sudden squeeze of his red, furry arms. “Y/N! Oh, Y/N!” Francis cries, lifting you off the ground and nuzzling his elongated snout against you. “This is the happiest day of my life!” He presses you tighter and his fur mingles with your own. “I love you, Y/N! I love you so much! You’ve made me the happiest mammal on God’s Earth!”

“Francis!” you shout. “Please stop! Stop!”

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he frets, putting you down.

“No, Francis, you didn’t. But this isn’t the problem.”

“Problem? You mean, ‘cause we’re from different species and keep the vows of chastity, you think the baby might have some problem, right?”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

He reaches for you. “I don’t unders–...”

“Francis, please! Don’t make things worse for us!”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Francis… I…” you sniff, “... I don’t want this child!”

Darkness crashes over his face. “No! I - I can’t believe you said that!”

“Francis, hear me out.”

“Please tell me I heard wrong!” he cries, grabbing you by the shoulders with his claws. “Why, Y/N?! Why?!”

“Let me explain, Francis!”

“So explain yourself!” he says, releasing you. “Why don’t you want the Lord’s baby?”

“There’s no baby yet!” you protest, standing up straight on the couch to be at eye level with him. “I’m just in my first month of pregnancy!”

“And you decided on your own that this is gonna be the last month, ain’t you?” he persists, misusing the word “ain’t” in his distress.

“I–” you trail off, clutching at your pounding head. “Francis… let’s talk about it like adults, right? …Right?”

“Ok.” he says. “Tell your tale.”

“Well… at first I believed the Lord couldn’t get me pregnant. Yes, I do know there are some cases of virgin births, but they’re extremely rare and none of them involved a couple formed by a pred and a prey. So I foolishly believed we didn’t have to take any precautions. But… how wrong I was...”

“I still don’t understand why you -”

“Because I’m afraid!” you blurt, nose twitching.

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Well… in part, I fear our child might be… you know, some kind of freak.” In your mind, you see a dark, slathering beast, with fox claws and teeth and long, perverted rabbit ears.

“You really think so?” he gasps.

“Why not? It isn’t impossible. Moreover,” you say, clutching your abdomen, “a baby of God’s might be… a little too big for me.”

“You don’t know for sure.”

“Nobody knows and it scares me.”

“So what you’re saying is,” he says, frowning, “‘hey, Francis! Even if God can get me pregnant, I don’t want to raise any children with you.’ Did I hit the mark, Y/N?”

“Francis, I should have had this talk with you earlier, and I’m really sorry for not doing so,” you say, closing your eyes, “and you have no idea how hard it is for me to tell you these things. But I must say that there is another good reason. And it is…” Your eyes pop open. “...my career!”

“What?”

“You know I’m about to be promoted to Bishop and if I accept this risky pregnancy my career will be halted for months. Or years – or even forever in the worst case scenario – if I suffer any sequela of an ill-fated pregnancy.” You spread your hands. “It’s not only my life and my career that are in danger here, Francis. I became a symbol, an inspiration to those small mammals out there who also want to help make the Zootopia Vatican a better place to live. The more I am successful in my career, the more they get confident in their own abilities. For this cause and to make this dream come true, I did my best and sacrificed many things. And I don’t want to let those achievements slip through my fingers like sand.”

Francis turns away, showing you the side of his beautiful white cap and his long, pointed ear. “That’s it,” he says flatly, “your career. I should’ve known you were going to throw it in my face but you surprised me, Y/N. I thought I knew you but… I was wrong.”

“You don’t have the right to say that to me!” you shout. “You know who I am! You know what I am! You know what’s at stake for me since we first met!” You jab a finger in his face. “And you know full well that I did everything for my career!”

“Yes, I do know,” he growls, showing his fangs. “It seems like you could even kill our baby for your career.”

Your mouth drops open and your body goes rigid. On pure instinct, you strike him across the face, and he falls to the floor with a thud. You regret it immediately and fall to his side, already crying. “Francis! Francis! Forgive me, I lost my temper!”

He stands, leaving you kneeling there.

“Francis?” you ask, very small.

He starts packing a bag.

You tug impotently at his arm. “Francis, I beg you, please forgive me! You don’t need to do that! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” You watch as he takes a picture of his mother from its place on the dresser top beside the picture of the rabbit Virgin Mary. “Please don’t leave me this way!” you beg. “I need you! I need you now more than ever! Trust me when I say I still love you! …Francis?”

A teardrop splashes down onto his mother’s smiling face.

“Y/N…” he says, “what would’ve happened if your mother, while pregnant with you… had decided to interrupt her pregnancy?”

“Francis, it’s useless,” you sigh. “I know what you…”

“I’ll tell you what would’ve happened,” he continues. “If you hadn’t been born, Y/N, the world would have been as bleak as ever. Without your light, I’d still be the head of the Vatican, living a life that’s pretty much the same as it is now to be honest.”

“That’s not true, Francis! I’m sure you would -”

“Y/N, listen. There are people who make a difference in the world.” He still hasn’t looked at you. “And you are one of them. Even being a little bunny, you stopped an absurdly nasty conspiracy and helped change the minds and hearts of millions. To me, things like this could never have happened without you.”

“Francis…”

“For God’s sake, Y/N!” he cries, wheeling around on you. “Give this unborn child the opportunity to do the same! I beg you– please let your light continue to shine through him or her!” (In his distress, Pope Francis has forgotten to use gender neutral language.)

For a moment, your vision is filled with bright shapes, representing your hope for the future.

But you turn away. “No. As I said before it’s useless. Sorry, Francis, but I’ve made up my mind. My body, my rules.”

“I see,” he says, trembling. “Any chance you might change your mind?”

“No, Francis.”

“...Neither will I,” he says, shouldering his bag.

“Francis!” You chase him down the hall. “Please stay with me! Let’s talk more about this!” The Papal Palace is so huge and ornate, it takes you three hours to chase him to the door.

“You wanna talk? Well there’s something I’d like to know,” he says, his snout pressing against the front door. “Why didn’t you keep it a secret from me? I mean, why didn’t you just… get rid of the child without me knowing anything?”

“It…” you murmur, “it wouldn’t be the most honest thing to do.”

His ears shoot up. “What?”

“I thought you deserved to know.”

“Humph!” he scoffs. “It’d have been better for you – for us – if you had kept me in the dark about your premeditated sin.” Francis stands in the half-open door, haloed by the daylight outside. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

His keys clatter in the Vatican key bowl.

“Francis!” you call. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry,” he says, his face half-turned, a tear trailing down his furry cheek toward the torn claw marks from where you struck him. “I will survive.”

“Francis!” you sob. “...If you walk out that door… you don’t have to come back anymore!” He doesn’t stop. “Francis! Franciiiiis!” Tears gush down your cheeks. “Oh no! No! No!” You fall to your knees with a plop before the door.

Nothing lasts forever. Even an apparently everlasting love… that has triumphed over the odds… and many challenges… may eventually come to an… end.

Outside, Pope Francis remembers that the Papal Palace is his house, not yours. He comes back inside and bites and claws and bites and bites and bites and wrends you asunder with his horrible, sharp teeth. He eats your tender rabbit flesh like one might take the Eucharist. After he finishes, he burps loudly, and leaves nothing left of you but a sanguine stain on the palace floor.

56 notes · View notes

new-hampshire · 7 days ago

Text

99K notes · View notes

new-hampshire · 2 months ago

Text

you can't blame the guy, they were hungry

The Birth of a Monster

Fandom: Pressure

Summary: The endless cycle of dying and salvaging crystals is changing you... And for the worse

WARNING: THIS FIC CONTAINS (ALTHOUGH NOT GRAPHICAL) CRUEL KILLING OF A BABY SQUIDDLE! DO NOT GET MAD AT ME IF YOU GET DISTURBED, I WARNED YOU!!!

Look at you… Standing in the empty hallway of an underwater containment facility.

You’ve been staring at the door in front of you for quite a while now.

You’re supposed to go forward, to carry out your task.

But you don’t feel like it. You’ve been doing this for so long. You know you’ll probably do this until the end of time.

From a long time ago, you came to realize that you are trapped.

You went from serving prison on a sentence you do not remember anymore, to serving as a “crystal snatcher” for Urbanshade. What could’ve condemned you to this predicament? You’ve been asking yourself for quite a while, yet you cannot find an answer.

Now, you did secure Z-001, you did it multiple times by now: every small cut you can count on your left forearm represents a successful escape, each of them adding themselves automatically. And yet, every single time you woke up again in that dormitory at HQ, as if all of your progress had been resetted.

In fact, you actually did save the Hadal Blacksite, but it was just one of the billions of Hadal Blacksites that exist: billions of underwater facilities that periodically get compromised, so that millions of expendables like you can run around and be slaughtered every hour of the day and night.

Perhaps the others are in the same boat as well, capable of reviving at lightning speeds and forced to live under the same cycle. But at this point, it doesn’t matter: that means nobody can help you get out, after all.

Death. Death is pretty much meaningless in this sisyphean hell you’re in. Death, here in the Hadal Blacksite, is not an escape.

You have died countless times, trying to secure those crystals. You have seen it all: hungry anglers rushing through the corridors, sharks frying your brain in seconds, AIs using you as target practice... You know each copy of each entity like the back of your hand, even if sometimes you die by them as if you’ve never seen them before.

Even if you’ve been told to “forgive them, for they are only animals”, you’ve been harboring nothing but hatred for them. Yes, your “friend” Sebastian too.

Your unbreakable saṃsāra does not foresee an end to your loneliness, at least in a way that can let you have friends.

By now, your frozen heart is filled with resentment and a desire for retaliation. You can feel it’s…

…It’s rotting away who you once were

Yes. It’s consuming you.

You barely remember who you were before the arrest, what you enjoyed, who loved and cherished you.

Your name… You forgot your name, haven’t you? Or is that string of letters and numbers on your jumpsuit your only name now?

As for what you can see… Try to remember the last time you looked at yourself in a mirror, a window of the Blacksite, or just any reflective surface for that matter: Were you keeping your head low? Were your eyes depleted of any spark of hope? Did you feel just as disgusting to look at as the monsters hunting you down every day?

That’s what I thought: you are tired of being the prey, you are inching closer to joining the predators of the depths. You’ll develop your weapons, eventually, but you must practice your hunting skills first…

Ah! Look what is crawling right in front of you: a miniature black mass, shaped like… A Squiddle! How many times have those fuckers jumpscared you again? Far too many. And for a monster in the making like you, they’re nothing but target practice. Even better when they’re small and young, when they cannot run away fast enough or fight back.

Grab the baby Squiddle… Good. See how it squirms in your grasp, how it pathetically attempts to generate a “scary face” to drive you away… It’s nothing but a bunch of incoherent white lines, far from resembling even an eye.

I wonder how fine of a meal it could make, how tender its pitch black flesh could be… And you? You don’t also wish to find out what a Squiddle tastes like?

Go on, open those jaws wide…

A squeak of pain, a wet splat followed by black goo smearing your face and hand… And the little freak is dead in your mouth. With your teeth, you rip off a piece and start chewing. Its flesh has a gummy consistency, almost like eating an octopus-flavored marshmallow. The aforementioned black liquid is a mixture of blood and squid ink, it adds a salty taste to your meal.

Truly, a delicacy you wish to have discovered earlier. And to think you resorted to feed on Wall Dwellers until now…

You see the lights flicker, the well-known sign something’s coming towards you. You spot a door, the kind that leads to side office rooms and hide you away from your enemies. You quickly enter and sit behind a desk: you are going to finish your meal in peace, and no giant angler fish shall dare to interrupt you.

Perhaps, someday… the angler will become the meal itself.

7 notes · View notes

new-hampshire · 2 months ago

Text

dungeon meshi vibes

@arabidp0ssum

The Birth of a Monster

Fandom: Pressure

Summary: The endless cycle of dying and salvaging crystals is changing you... And for the worse

WARNING: THIS FIC CONTAINS (ALTHOUGH NOT GRAPHICAL) CRUEL KILLING OF A BABY SQUIDDLE! DO NOT GET MAD AT ME IF YOU GET DISTURBED, I WARNED YOU!!!

Look at you… Standing in the empty hallway of an underwater containment facility.

You’ve been staring at the door in front of you for quite a while now.

You’re supposed to go forward, to carry out your task.

But you don’t feel like it. You’ve been doing this for so long. You know you’ll probably do this until the end of time.

From a long time ago, you came to realize that you are trapped.

Death. Death is pretty much meaningless in this sisyphean hell you’re in. Death, here in the Hadal Blacksite, is not an escape.

Even if you’ve been told to “forgive them, for they are only animals”, you’ve been harboring nothing but hatred for them. Yes, your “friend” Sebastian too.

Your unbreakable saṃsāra does not foresee an end to your loneliness, at least in a way that can let you have friends.

By now, your frozen heart is filled with resentment and a desire for retaliation. You can feel it’s…

…It’s rotting away who you once were

Yes. It’s consuming you.

You barely remember who you were before the arrest, what you enjoyed, who loved and cherished you.

Your name… You forgot your name, haven’t you? Or is that string of letters and numbers on your jumpsuit your only name now?

I wonder how fine of a meal it could make, how tender its pitch black flesh could be… And you? You don’t also wish to find out what a Squiddle tastes like?

Go on, open those jaws wide…

Truly, a delicacy you wish to have discovered earlier. And to think you resorted to feed on Wall Dwellers until now…

Perhaps, someday… the angler will become the meal itself.

7 notes · View notes