#another random scrap

[synthaphone]

my quest for the front facing lenny

i'm expecting this to be less useful than it is entertaining, because there is a good reason why they do not draw lennies from the front: really difficult

these get kind of close?? they look better to me when the beak doesn't break out of the outline of the head, i think, which sucks for me because it means i have to tweak my sculpture lol

this artist was very brave- this is probably the closest thing to a depiction of a front facing modern Lenny

these are kind of unrelated but i'm posting them mostly because i think they look funny as hell, but i appreciate the ambitious concept

and finally, the holy grail:

oh my god

[dykedvonte]

Reading MW takes on Twitter is like reading a summary of the Bible from someone who only watched like a Family Guy family special about it

[zombiepatch]

watching vids of people showing their commonplace journals / general journals and suddenly being hit with an intense wave of sadness because my life feels so dull and pathetic 😭 it's not even over anything major either it's just like... "i threw in some pics i took w/ my friend on this page" and i go... fuuuuck

[ficoandleo]

'It makes sense if you think about it. After whatever happened last year.'

Leo stared blankly into the last frame of the youtube video on his screen, leaning his chair back to balance on two legs. The corner of the library he'd tucked himself into for research was quiet enough, with even the cats rarely poking their heads by to check on him. Technically he wasn't looking into anything restricted that he'd need to hide for, but he didn't want the noise to potentially be a distraction.

'The weird thing is that there clearly aren't many ghosts around here.'

He drops the chair back down and looks through the Clash memorials. It's a lot of people. Mostly human. He tabs back over to the recent memorials made for victims of the anomalous inpatient. For a while after that there were quite a few ghosts around the campus and the ruined hospital. Leo could sometimes hear the airy, echoey whispers of their voices when he passed by. One or two were strong enough to be seen. In the days following it got quieter and quieter until the only sounds were the living. He remembered seeing students from a few different houses going to the area now and then. Kusanagi, too.

One of those students was a friend of one of the Vagastrom students--he remembered him bringing them over, convinced something was haunting the area.

Ex-Clementia then.

Darkwick was just laying damn near any ghost on campus to rest without letting them stick around and resolve their business? Even if they aren't dangerous? Kind of scummy, but probably just a precautionary measure. Spirits were a little unpredictable.

'A video would be a bad idea then. Too much publicity.' He's only cruel for no reason when it's funny. There's not really any humor in double-shotting a guy who doesn't deserve it. 'But it'd still be interesting to know what's going on there. I'd just have to find a covert way to ask. . .they might be monitoring our messages too much for me to go through YouTube.'

In person would have to do. At some point. Just another thing on his eternal to-do list! Leo stretched and groaned, listening to the pop of muscle and crack of bone and every other reaction his body gave to the movement.

If Taro Kirisaki(Zenji Kotodama, rather, using his name would probably attract too much attention) was a ghost that meant ghouls' souls were probably still intact enough to leave spirits behind, even if they weren't very strong spirits. More importantly if his ghost was still hanging out after this long it meant whatever demon he'd made a pact with hadn't come for him. That or something kept demons from coming to Darkwick, which was unlikely considering how little was really known about demons. If pact-makers did, at some point, unconsciously(?) consume their demons after making their pacts then the demons' souls probably didn't integrate with their own. Either they were neutralized(erased? Laid to rest?) or they were housed within the body and released on death. And there were no records of unknown S-class anomalies or demons appearing after the death of Taro Kirisaki. He died at Darkwick General, there would have to be a report somewhere if something like that happened. That or it was kept majorly under wraps.

And of course no one wanted to talk about The Clash so asking would be difficult right now. He needed a better rapport with the third and second years to get them to talk. But even Romeo didn't want to talk about it too much, and Leo was one of the only people Romeo trusted right now!

Leo exhaled sharply through his nose.

Why is it that everything kind of interesting was always just out of reach? It was like being edged on entertainment and knowledge. That was only fun when there was a good payoff.

Maybe Zenji would prove to be a good payoff in the end. He probably wouldn't know anything--or he wouldn't tell him anything--but maybe he would at least be entertaining.

[homunculus-argument]

Looking at urban animals has become a lot more fulfilling after learning to not anthropomorphise them. Like the sparrows in the underground section of Helsinki railway station. I used to look at them mildly saddened, thinking that the poor things must have flown in here by accident and now can't get out. But they aren't trapped, really. They're smart birds, surely if they can find their way in, they could find their way out if they really wanted to. They don't care about human concepts of freedom, or manmade vs. natural environments. They are just as free wherever they are.

Here they are safe from the elements, safe from predators, clearly unbothered by the people. There's plenty of odd random scraps for food, and other sparrows to hang out with, and considering the way they sing, this is a place worth marking as territory. If they were trapped and distressed, I don't think that one would be yelling "THIS IS MY HOUSE. IF YOU'RE ANOTHER MAN AND YOU'RE IN MY HOUSE, FUCK YOU FOR BEING IN MY HOUSE."

They're here for the same reason as I am: less noise, wind, and cars, and easier access to deli ham.

[boyfrillish]

What if Aspertia Trio enroll at Blueberry Academy after their adventures and have graduated by the events of SV + Indigo Disk

Super famous alumni. Their classmates being starstruck

(Nate being sad that he can't learn to be a Pokécenter nurse there, but it's okay, he can charm people into multibattling him and Rosa while Hugh cheers them on; and he can found a nurse club or something idk)

Imagining them at the top of the League Club because they're just that good

Adding this to my list of many alternate scenarios to all entertain in parallel

Totally not just sparked because of wanting them to wear the uniforms + school setting :3

[p1llkiss]

the first note appears on your fridge.

"don't forget to eat today. or i'll cry. seriously. i'm very sensitive." it's signed with a doodle of satoru's sunglasses and a dramatic stick figure with tears.

you roll your eyes, toss it in the junk drawer, and forget about it.

but then you find another one. this time it’s on your bathroom mirror.

"you look hot today. but also brush your teeth please." there’s a tiny cartoon of you with... vampire fangs?

you groan internally, "gojo…"

it escalates fast.

within days, you’re finding sticky notes in increasingly stupid places. inside your cereal box "good morning, cereal thief 🥣^_^" on your shampoo bottle "your hair smells really good, but i promise i'm not a weirdo about it", on the ceiling above your bed "dream of me or else >:("

you confront him the next time he pops by unannounced, which is basically every day.

"why," you demand, shoving a handful of neon sticky squares at his face, "are you turning my apartment into a scrapbook?"

he feigns innocence, pushing his sunglasses up dramatically. "aw! you found them all? you’re so diligent. hot."

"i'm serious!" you sputter. "one of these was inside my shoe. shoe."

"hah- oh yeah, that one said, ‘don't step on my heart.’ cute, right?"

you threaten to throw him out. he refuses to stop.

but you start saving them.

you tell yourself it’s just because they’re funny, who wouldn’t keep a note that says "drink water or you’ll shrivel up like a sad raisin💧" next to a crude drawing of a raisin with your face?

but some start to get weirdly sweet.

"hope today’s nice for you, even if i'm not there to annoy you." or, "if you’re sad, open the freezer." (inside your freezer was a note that said, "there, now your sadness is frozen.")

then one night, you find the motherlode.

you drop your phone behind your tv stand and when you drag it out, there’s a single sticky note stuck to the back of the screen. different handwriting. rushed, messier than usual.

"if you ever get bored, piece them together."

you spend the whole next day on your floor, surrounded by neon scraps of satoru's idiocy. it's like building a conspiracy board. arrows, tape, strings of doodles.

it hits you- numbers hidden in the corner of some notes, a doodle that matches another, words that line up when you overlap them.

hours later, your living room looks like a detective’s office and you’re staring at a single final message, pieced together from a dozen random half jokes.

"hey dummy. i love you. don't throw this one out, okay?"

you sit there for a minute, cheeks burning, surrounded by all his stupid doodles, and for once, you can’t even find it in yourself to be mad about the mess.

you hear your door unlock (he made himself a spare key), he pokes his head in, grinning.

"so?" he calls out. "did you figure out my puzzle, sherlock?"

you launch a sticky note at his face. he catches it in his mouth.

"you’re an idiot," you say, heart hammering in your chest.

he crosses the room in two strides, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, and spins you around until you squeal.

"yeah," he almost purrs, burying his face in your neck, "but i'm your idiot, huh?"

on your wall, the final note stays up for good.

even satoru doesn’t dare peel that one down.

[seven-thewanderer]

This is something I did not expect to actually achieve

…but I’m about to get Shrimpo’s vintage skin

[osachiyo]

" LEMME HIT YOU WITH THAT DUMB DICK ! "

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — dazai, chuuya, jouno (+ tecchou), oda, sigma x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — [n]sfw content, somnophilia, these are random scenarios ok don't come at me, degradation, humiliation, doggystyle, rough, getting caught, pussy slapping, s.ex at work, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, piv, unprotected s.ex (be careful babes), praise, creampie + etc • this was originally supposed to be their fav places to fuck but i had to scrap that bc i lost motivation :') anyway, happy reading and i hope you enjoy !! not proofread soz babes

ps. reblog to show your favorite writers support, they're greatly appreciated ! <3

⁰¹ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — fucking you in a storage room of the agency

This man is a sex fiend, so of course he would love to fuck you literally anywhere anytime. Though he can't lie, being balls deep in your juicy little cunt at work — risking both of your dignities and possibly your jobs has him harder than a fucking rock.

"Osamu— what if we g-get caugh— mmh-!" you let out a muffled moan as dazai delivered a particularly harsh thrust into your cunt, effectively shutting you up. "Relaaaax, sweet thing — almost no one c-comes here — fuck, you're so damn tight," Dazai panted into your ear, hot breath making a chill run down your spine — back arching even further against his chest.

"God, you're so good f'me — so warm 'n right, fuck!" each word was rushed, dripping with lust — the desperation in his voice made you wanna look at his pretty face, pussy clenching just from imagining how good he'd look with his hair disheveled — his usual doe eyes narrowed and a deep blush covering his skin, sweat dripping down his forehead and making his hair stick to his forehead —

Your train of thought got cut off abruptly when Dazai slapped his hand over your mouth, before his hushed voice reached your ears, "shh, stay still f'me, sweetheart."

You were about to question it when you heard the president's voice from just behind the door. The door of the room you were currently getting your back blown out in.

"Yes, I keep hearing strange noises from this one room in particular," you heard fukuzawa's muffled voice — the thought of your boss catching you in the act made your pussy flutter around Dazai’s length, making the brunette grunt in response.

"Are you trying to get us caught, darl'?" Dazai hissed into your ear — oops, you unintentionally clenched down again upon hearing the keys jingle from the other side of the door. Luckily Dazai was ready for it this time, and managed to bite down on your shoulder before he could get a sound out.

"W-what do we do, 'samu? He’s gonna come in!" you whisper-yelled, panic settling in your bones when you saw the doorknob rattle — but before he could unlock the door fully, you heard the high pitched voice of another worker, "president! an important client has come to personally see you."

"Hm, alright. looks like i'll have to tell someone else to take a look in this room later. Let’s go,"

You let out a breath of relief once the footsteps faded away, leaving you both in complete silence until dazai decided to speak up —

"You clenched reaaal hard when he was about to open the door — don't tell me you actually wanted us to get caught, did you, naughty girl?"

⁰² 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 — having you suck him off in his office

Chuuya's job as an executive of the mafia is stressful, to say the least. Not to mention some of the idiotic workers not doing their job right never fails to make his blood pressure go especially high — his anger issues doesn't help his case at all. But what does help is his sweet sweet girlfriend giving him some... 'under the table service' at work.

Chuuya's fist slammed against the hardwood desk, a loud 'thwack!' echoing in the room,

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" he sneered at the poor man in front of him — who couldn't help but flinch at seeing his boss so angry at him failing to complete a simple report.

Truth be told, Chuuya wasn’t really that mad at the worker, for the report at least — he was just.. super on edge from you deep-throating his cock under the goddamn table. He struggled to think properly, and the poor worker interrupting his private moment with you really ticked him off. Can you really blame him though?

How could he think straight with your skilled tongue swirling around his glossy tip so sinfully — fucking tease. Oh and the way you peered up at him through lowered lashes, your eyes glazed with a dreamy haze.

It all made his head spin like crazy.

“-ir, I can re-do it if you would like me to..” Chuuya’s train of thought unfortunate got cut off short, blue eyes snapping back to the man before him — right, the report.

“A-ahem — alright. Have it finished by 6 pm.”

Chuuya hated the way his voice cracked, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as he tried not to moan out loud when you fully took him nose deep in that right, sweet little throat— shamelessly rutting your hips into his crazy expensive slacks, rubbing your juices all over the smooth, polished material.

You felt Chuuya’s fingers entangle themselves in your hair immediately after hearing the ‘click’ of the door shutting — the guy must’ve finally left.

You couldn’t help but gasp as you were pulled up from the cold, hard floor — and being shoved onto the desk instead.

You felt your pussy throb in your lacy panties as Chuuya spread your legs open — two fingers pressing and prodding at your cunt before sliding the flimsy material to the side,

“Now, let’s get into the real fun, shall we darl’?”

⁰³ 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐎 — teaching tecchou how to eat you out properly

Jouno was a good friend. Even though he might've had a tendency to be a little harsh and.. sadistic at times, he wasn't a bad person. I mean, he had to be atleast a decent person for teaching his inexperienced co-worker how to eat pussy — specifically, his own girlfriend's.

"No, not like that you fucking idiot —" Jouno grumbled, pulling Tecchou's head off of your cunt as he blinked in confusion like a lost puppy, sticky strings of your arousal still attached to his lips. "What do you mean? She's clearly enjoying it.."

"I mean that you can do better. You do want to make her feel fuckin' amazing, don't you?" Jouno raised a questioning brow. "Well, of cour—" "Then start acting like it."

A gasp left your honeyed lips when Tecchou's face was pushed back against your cunt — hot tongue working with even more fervor as he ate you out like he had been starving for days.

"Oh fuck — feels so g-good, sai," you whimpered out — head thrown back and your tongue threatening to loll out from the sheer pleasure the man between your legs was giving you. "Yeah, baby? Feels good when Tecchou eats that sweet cunt out reaaaaal good, huh?" Jouno's tone was condescending — his lips curled up into a cocky smirk.

“Y’smell so sweet - taste so sweet -” Tecchou's voice was low and dripping with need — your pussy throbbed from just how desperate he sounded.

"A-ah shit - can feel you throbbin' on my tongue, princess —" he groaned, tongue flattening against your clit as he shook his head side to side.

You babbled out Jouno’s name like a prayer — all while the man between your legs worshipped your cunt like it was his god, pink tongue repeatedly flicking your clit, making you see stars as your hole stretched around two of his slim fingers.

“Please — wanna c-cum s’ba- mmh!- ,” you let out a strangled noise as a harsh slap landed on your soaked pussy, clit throbbing as you threw your head back once more. “Fuckin’ slut, so damn eager to cum on another man’s tongue in front of your boyfriend, hmm?”

“Don’t — ah fuck, squeezin’ so tight ‘round my fingers, baby - don’t be so mean, Jouno,” Tecchou threw a side glare to the man next to him, which only earned a shrug from said man, “quit talking and enjoy the meal, dumbass. She’s close.”

And enjoy the meal he did — lapping up every single drop of your sweet juices so enthusiastically you’d think that he hadn’t eaten in days.

⁰⁴ 𝐎𝐃𝐀 — morning sex with him

Mornings with your husband, Oda Sakunosuke, were sweet, blissful and filled with love. Sometimes he'd surprise you with breakfast in bed, it's the least he can do considering everything that you do for him, is what he says. But sometimes — you crave him instead of the delicious food.

“My pretty girl,” Oda smiled sleepily, moving some of your hair out of your face to admire your effortless beauty — blissfully unaware to how his deep morning voice made your heart flutter in your chest, and your pussy throb with need.

You grinned back, scooting closer into his arms as you gazed into his deep brown eyes, “pretty enough to fuck?”

Oda raised a questioning eyebrow, full lips curling into a grin, "oh? that's the game we're playing, love?" Strong arms wrapped around your bare figure, the marks of last night still fresh on your skin — a reminder to how he fucked you dumb on his cock only a few hours prior.

You felt your face burn from the memories of last night rushing back into you — god, you two were insatiable - you're sure Oda fucked you in every single position in the book, and it did nothing but make you crave him more.

"Still with me, darling?" he lightly tapped your cheek, snapping you back to the present. You nodded, a gasp falling from your lips as big, calloused hands found themselves groping at your tits, pinching at your cute nipples as he pressed open mouthed kisses on your neck — his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there.

"O-oda—"

"shhh, baby — lemme do all the work, yeah?"

And that's how you ended up with your face pressed into the pillows — silken bedsheets tangled around your bodies as Oda fucked his fat girth into your sopping cunt nice 'n deep.

A large hand was pressing your back into the meanest arch ever — strong hips slamming against the fat of your plush ass with each deep thrust, thick mushroom tip prodding at your g-spot - making you bleat out your husband's name pitifully. Oda only pushed your head deeper into the soft pillows — clearly too lost in the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around him.

He watched his cock slipped in and out of your pussy so easily — your slick covering his balls down to his thighs. Oda groaned deeply in his throat as he watched a creamy ring form around the base of his cock — your cunt sucking him in so eagerly that he almost thought it hurt for you to let him go.

You let out a particularly loud moan as Oda's cock hit that one spot in you — you could only bite down on the pillow as your eyes shut closed, pussy slobbering shamelessly all over his length.

"Oh? Did you like— argh! - t-that spot, sweet girl?"

⁰⁵ 𝐒𝐈𝐆���𝐀 — fucking you in your sleep

Sigma was a busy man — with running the sky casino and being part of the decay of angels didn't leave too much alone time with just him and you — especially for some.. intimacy. You knew he needed to relieve himself someway — all that workload while being pent up as fuck certainly wasn't good for him. Plus, you have been craving him as well.. so you came up with an easy solution.

The door to your shared bedroom clicked open — your beloved boyfriend, Sigma, letting himself in as his eyes racked over the entire room, searching for anything out of the ordinary — you did tell him that you had a surprise for him, after all.

Upon finding nothing, he stalked over to the bed, confusion lacing his features as he glanced over at your sleeping form. Slender hands slowly slipped the soft blanket off of you and oh —

It all clicked suddenly.

The lavender coloured lace suited your complexion so perfectly, the expensive material hugging your features like it was made for you. Sigma gulped, eyes fixating on the way your tits were practically spilling out of the flimsy fabric — your stiff nipples very much visible to his hungry gaze.

It wasn't long before he had his face buried between your plush thighs — Sigma was so desperate, not even bothering to take the lingerie off your body. Besides, why would he when you just looked way too good in it?

He was practically eating you out through the thin lace — nose bumping against your clothed clit as his tongue tried to push deeper into your cunt. You had him in a chokehold — but he couldn't care less.

Sigma's slim hips were rutting into the expensive sheets — precum leaking from his sensitive tip as he tried his best not to cum untouched just from tasting your sweet pussy, but fuck, you were making it so hard for him.

He felt his cock throb in his pants when you started letting out soft moans and sighs in your sleep — or were you even asleep anymore? He didn't know and neither did he care — mind too focused on making you cum on his pretty face.

"ohh s-shit — best surprise - sluurrp - e-ever—" he whined into your cunt, spitting directly into your sticky hole before slurping it all back up.

Safe to say, he definitely enjoyed your little surprise.

© 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ do not copy/translate/repost and/or recommend any of my works on different platfroms under any circumstances. reblogs greatly appreciated !

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Now I can ENTHUSIASTICLLY demand a part 2 to the Slasher yandere.

Ya can't just leave me hanging there!

Slasher x Reader

Part one

Weeks passed in a haze of silence, rot, and routine.

Time became strange in that place. It bled together like rain on ink, each day a distorted copy of the last. Morning came as a dim, gray light that filtered through grime-choked windows. Night brought deeper darkness, colder silence, and the sound of him just beyond the thin, cracked walls.

You stopped keeping track of the days after the first ten. It only made it worse.

At some point—maybe the third or fourth week—you gave up trying to resist the food. He brought it charred now, sometimes overcooked roots, sometimes strips of meat that were tough but not raw. The water, stale and cloudy, came in the same dented metal cup. He was never far from you when you drank or ate, always crouched nearby like a dog waiting for scraps.

He began watching you longer. Sitting across the room when he wasn’t feeding you, his legs folded awkwardly beneath him. He didn’t speak. He never spoke. You began to think he didn’t know how.

You talked sometimes, just to fill the void. Whispered questions into the dark: "Why are you doing this?" "What do you want from me?" "What happened to you?" But silence always answered.

Sometimes he brought things from the outside world—small, random things. A cracked mirror. A hairbrush with only half its bristles. A stuffed rabbit missing an eye and half its stuffing, which he placed beside you like a child presenting a gift to their mother. You didn’t know if it was meant to comfort you or unsettle you further.

Both, maybe.

And then, one night, everything shifted.

You were curled up against the wall, the rusted chain looped around your ankle keeping you in place, though the skin beneath had grown sore and raw. You’d wrapped the flannel shirt he brought around your shoulders, not for comfort, but because the cold was unbearable, and you’d run out of pride.

You were drifting, exhaustion making your body heavy, eyes half-lidded. You heard the door open and didn’t react. You no longer flinched. You barely cared.

He stepped inside, his boots scraping against the warped floorboards, then the soft creak as he crouched beside you. You expected food. Or water. Or one of his bizarre tokens.

But instead, he sat.

And then, slowly, wordlessly laid his head down in your lap.

Your body went stiff with disbelief, muscles locking tight as a board. His mask tilted slightly against you, the sharp edge pressing into your leg through the fabric. You didn’t dare move. You hardly breathed.

His body was immense—too large, too solid—and you could feel the heat of him even through the layers of grime on his skin. His breath was loud and hot, fogging against your thigh in slow, steady bursts. His arms hung loose at his sides, but he was close enough now that if he decided to grab you again, it would take no effort.

At first, you didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your hands hovered uncertainly in your lap, just above the tangled mess of hair that peeked from beneath the battered mask now resting against your thigh. Your every nerve screamed to recoil, to shove him off, to scream.

But you didn’t.

Because the stillness was fragile.

You stared at him—at the slumped curve of his back, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. He made no move to hurt you. No attempt to touch. Just rested there, heavy and monstrous and strangely quiet.

Then, as the minutes bled by, a low, rough sound rumbled from his chest.

At first, you thought it was a growl. You tensed, hands curling tight in your lap.

But then it came again. Grrmm. Not anger. Not warning. More searching. Restless.

Another minute. Then another.

Grmm.

It came again, a little louder this time. His shoulders shifted slightly. His head nudged against your leg. Not violently. Not with the force of someone who wanted to hurt.

It was a plea.

You stared down, breath caught in your throat, and watched him huff softly against your thigh. The sound came again—guttural, needy. Almost pathetic.

You hesitated.

Slowly, cautiously. You lifted your hand and touched his hair.

It was coarse. Dirty. Matted in places with sweat and blood. But it was human beneath your fingers. Real.

He stilled instantly.

Like a feral thing lulled by a lullaby.

You swallowed and, with trembling fingers, began to move your hand just a little. A stroke down the back of his head. Then again. And again.

The noise he made this time was softer, lower. Like a sigh. His shoulders sank, the tension leaking out of his enormous frame as he pressed in closer, nestling the side of his face into your lap with a strange, childlike gentleness.

He made another sound. Almost a murmur of contentment, if someone like him could ever feel such a thing.

You kept going, your hand moving in a slow rhythm through the grime-clumped strands of his hair. You didn’t know why. Maybe because it was the only control you had. Maybe because you were terrified of what would happen if you stopped.

Or maybe. Maybe. It was something worse. Something deeper.

Maybe you just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

You didn’t speak. The silence between you remained thick and still. But something changed in that moment. The air shifted. The cage of your captivity warped into something harder to define.

Not safety. Not comfort.

Familiarity.

Each night after that, it became the ritual.

He would come in, silent as ever. He’d crouch at your side. And then lower himself, wordless and slow, until his head rested against you again. Always with the same heavy care, like he thought he might break something.

And always, after a few minutes, the low grunts would start.

You learned to recognize them. One meant impatience. Two meant he was trying to get your attention. Three…well, three meant you weren’t moving fast enough.

So you’d reach for him again. Stroke his tangled hair. Run your fingers just beneath the edge of the mask. He always relaxed under your touch. Not just physically, but in a way you could feel beneath your skin—as though the pressure in the room deflated, as though something in him was soothed by you.

Like a beast that only knew violence but had found the one thing it didn’t want to hurt.

One night, after what felt like months, he didn’t lay down right away.

He stood in the doorway longer than usual, watching you with that unreadable gaze. You didn’t flinch anymore. You didn’t even look away.

He approached slowly. Then crouched. But instead of settling in immediately, he reached into his jacket and pulled something out.

A comb.

Old. Plastic. The teeth cracked on one end.

He offered it to you, holding it out with two blood-streaked fingers, his head slightly bowed. Like an offering.

You took it.

And without a word, you began to comb through the snarled tangles in his hair.

He made those sounds again—low, grumbling, somewhere between a purr and a groan. You didn’t know if you were comforting him or training him. But either way, it worked.

He melted into you.

Eventually, he started staying longer. His breathing would slow to a gentle rhythm. Once or twice, you thought he’d fallen asleep. You dared not move to check.

----

It began with a brush of his fingers.

One night, long after the usual ritual—after you had combed his hair in long, gentle strokes until the worst of the knots gave way, after he had sighed into your lap like some great hound finally at rest—he shifted.

His hand came up slowly, not toward your face, not to grab or hold, but to your hand. Where it rested in his hair.

His fingers were thick, scarred, clumsy. They hovered for a moment, uncertain, and then touched the back of your hand. You froze, heart knocking against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

He didn’t grip you. He didn’t force your hand away. Instead, he just explored.

He ran his fingertips down your knuckles, tracing the curve of each one like he was studying them. Mapping them.

You held your breath.

And then he took your hand in both of his.

Carefully.

He turned your hand palm-up. A quiet grunt escaped him. Low and wondering. He brushed one finger down the lifeline etched into your skin, then circled your palm.

His hand was monstrous. Long fingers, wide palm. Scarred and calloused to hell, with thick patches of skin that looked burned, torn, stitched. There were traces of old blood under his fingernails—some his, some not. But it was warm. Alive. His thumb pressed into your palm. Not hard. Just enough to feel the tiny beat of your pulse. He seemed to linger there, eyes hidden behind the crude mask, head tilted in that now-familiar way that meant he was listening.

He ran his fingers over each of yours—slowly. Obsessively. He pinched the tip of each one between his thumb and forefinger, like counting them. Measuring them. Committing them to memory.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Because the way he looked at your hand—touched it—wasn’t just fixation. It was almost worship. As if your hand held answers, or power, or some sacred thing he wasn’t worthy of but needed to touch anyway.

He traced a vein along your wrist. Followed it down with the pad of his finger, then up again. He hummed. A low, gravelly sound that didn’t quite form into a word.

You swallowed thickly, your voice a whisper before you realized it had slipped out: “…Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t.

But he paused. Just for a breath.

Then, without speaking, he turned your hand and pressed it to his chest.

Right over his heart.

His skin was hot through the layers of fabric. His ribs rose and fell in deep, uneven waves. And beneath it all—steady, hammering, alive—you felt it.

His heartbeat.

Thundering.

Erratic.

Fast.

He held your hand there for a long moment, as if he wanted you to feel it. As if that pulse, so wild and trembling, could explain what his mouth could not.

Then he leaned down, mask grazing your wrist, and let his forehead rest against the hand he’d just studied like scripture.

And for a long while, he stayed that way.

Not moving. Not making a sound.

Just breathing against you.

Clinging to your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to something human.

From that night on, he began inspecting your hands regularly. After meals. Before sleep. Sometimes in the half-light of dawn when he thought you weren’t fully awake.

He’d take them gently, one by one. Turn them. Touch them. Hold them in his lap as he knelt beside you. Sometimes he’d murmur something under his breath—guttural and broken. Nothing you could understand. Not language, exactly.

But it always came with a kind of awe.

Masterlist

[yeyinde]

stalker!Simon decides to have a little fun with his favourite camgirl.

the message comes up halfway into your "show."

it's a boring night. slow. you wear a lingerie set one of your viewers sent in beneath a silk robe, all in a pretty pastel pink—cliche, but it works; an uncomfortably disgusting version of hair theory unfolding in front of your eyes—and discreetly chug wine when you twist away to grab a new toy. a series of pale pink vibrators, nipple clamps. mundane depravity for what's shaping up to be a lacklustre night.

but the money that pours in from these little shows (adult version of classic party games—hide and seek, would you rather, truth or dare) is one step closer to erasing your debts. student loans. car payments. rent. you smile so wide it aches, and put your best face on when you blink, coquettish and coy, at the camera where nameless, faceless men throw money in a ring for a scrap of your attention.

tonight's game is Simon Says. and it's supposed to be normal. boring.

but a message from a viewer named Simon (in a sea of many who cheekily changed their usernames to match the theme of the game) stands out.

Simon says... go lock your door.

you blink. between all of the Simon Says touch yourself for me baby, pull your shirt down, lemme fuck you for real it sticks out. a change in the routine.

you huff, pouting. "already did that, Simon. c'mon, gimme something else to do, honey."

another one pops up. Simon says... you shouldda got a dog.

your brows furrow. "that's not part of the game, Simon. i'm gonna move on—"

Simon says... open your door.

he's paying you handsomely. dropping coins, large amounts of money, for each message to shoot to the top. little superchats. why he isn't taking advantage of it and paying you to do something sexy, something lewd, unnerves you. your heart starts to race, thudding against your ribs almost painfully.

it's fine, you think. he's just a creep. a loser. "uh huh, not part of the game, Simon. i'm afraid i'm gonna have to cut you off—"

you block him. they don't normally get under your skin like this. ever. at all. even when they throw random names in your dms, hoping one of them happens to be yours, and try to blackmail you to your fake friends and family. it doesn't bother you as much as this. as him. get a dog. how absurd.

the next series of chats pass without the same odd comments. take your bra off, but leave the robe on. act coy, like you don't want to—

creeps, you think, in their own right. but. paying ones. so, you smile. stiff. uncomfortable. grinning so wide it hurts. pretending to ignore the strange unease growing in your guts. your eyes sliding back to the superchats saved in a glowing log. let me in. a troll. whatever. it's nothing. nothing. you'll drink wine after this, scrub your skin raw in the shower and buy yourself something pretty with the money these greasy losers threw your way—

Simon says... let me in.

you feel your heart in your throat. it can't be him. you blocked him. you have mods to keep trolls out of your chats, but wonder—hopefully—if maybe it failed. maybe they found your stream are just being weird. strange. but when you check, the filters are on. he's a registered user. paid the premium to watch you. to get an invite to your special game nights. it makes it worse, you think, that he paid to be here. to do this.

your hand shakes. you block this user, too, ignoring the discomfort churning inside your chest. the fear spiking along the nape of your neck. hair raising. there's a prickle on your skin. the feeling of being watched

no. it's fine. you're fine—

"ah, what else should i do, Simon?" you ask your viewers, pulling on another smile. one that hurts. aches. wobbles around the edges. you'll end the stream in a few minutes. order Thai food. drink yourself stupid. take the day off tomorrow. use this creeps money and waste it. blow it on something stupid. dumb. laugh about it with your friends.

your shoulders dip. the tension easing. you're fine. you're at home. the door—

you locked it. right? you definitely, absolutely, locked it when you brought in the package from the delivery driver. the massive, hulking man who loomed in your doorway, too wide, even, to fit inside, and growled out in a low, brassy timbre: sign 'ere. you took the pen, pretending he wasn't drilling holes into you with his gaze, eyes liquid in the dark. intense. wanting. and then scurried inside—

back pressed against the door, hands wrapped around the lingerie set.

you glance at the chat. "which Simon bought me this cute set? i'd like to thank them personally," you murmur, forcing your shoulders to drop. it's fine. you live in the middle of nowhere. no one is coming to your door.

there's no takers in the chat. you shift on the chair, licking your lips. "it's really cute, Simon. a perfect size, too, and i just—"

something catches your eye in the corner of the monitor. a movement. a slight shift. a whisper of fabric. you tilt your chin, peering into the hazy black reflection.

what you're looking at doesn't make any sense. your bedroom door is open. a curtain of black drapes over the wall where the pale strip of light doesn't reach.

the washroom light is still on, a yellow spill illuminating the hallway, but nothing is there. no one is in the hall. but you know you closed your door. you always do when you stream. your heart trips over itself. leaps to your throat. you almost choke on it—

another bubble pops up. Simon says... hey. uh, who is that guy behind you?

there's a ringing in your ears. your hair stands on end. something moves again. the black mass wasn't a shadow. it moves. takes shape. the covered head nearly reaches your ceiling, body filling the entirely of your room. massive. a mountain you remember thinking. a fucking mountain, you texted your friend. thighs the size of tree trunks—

a hand reaches out, grabs hold of your power bar. thick gloved fingers curling over the button. in the bluegreen glow of your computer screen, a man steps out.

"glad y'liked it, pet." the deep, brassy drawl sends shivers down your spine. you try to scream, mouth opening wide to choke it out, yell for help—

your chat bubbles up, feverish in their excitement. you skin through the messages, stomaching churning as it clicks in your head. their rabidness isn't about saving you, but—

(omg he's gonna fuck her pron??? we're getting pron????? no fucking wayyyyy god i wish it were me—)

this isn't a fucking bit, you morons, you want to howl. call the fucking police—

but he gets there first. two strides. it happens in a blink. the screen goes back and he's on you in seconds.

you're not even sure how someone so big, so heavy, could move that quietly—

"ah-ah, none o'tha' now," his hand curls around your neck, tight. choking. you try to fight but he just huffs, breathing in deep, chest expanding across your spine as his other hand snakes around your waist, trapping you against a corded forearm. he bends down, nuzzles his jaw into your crown. coos:

"Simon says... turn around for me pretty girl, an' be good, now. went through all this trouble t'find you. think i deserve a little reward—"

[piastrisun]

the one with the new year’s kiss.

pairings: lando norris + female fewtrell reader.

summary: after ten months of secretly dating, you and lando find yourselves longing for a simple new year’s kiss but needing a little help to take the risk and make it happen.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 1.2k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: little scrap inspired by monica and chandler. also, first one shot of the year!!! i hope you enjoy it and i wish you all the best. <3

the room buzzes with excitement as the countdown to midnight approaches. the annual new year’s eve party hosted by your friend group is in full swing, laughter and chatter weaving through the room like confetti in the air. you’re perched near the drinks table, trying to appear as casual as possible, though your heart races every time your eyes dart to lando. he’s across the room, chatting with a group of friends, his smile easy and his laugh infectious. it’s a sight you’ve admired countless times over the past ten months. but tonight, there’s an ache in your chest because, while everyone else sees him as just another friend in the group, to you, he’s so much more.

dating in secret has been both thrilling and exhausting. the stolen moments, quiet conversations, and late-night drives have kept your relationship alive and safe from prying eyes. but here, at this party, you have to act like you’re just another face in the crowd. the longing to kiss him at midnight grows stronger with every glance, but the fear of being caught feels just as heavy.

earlier in the night, keegan caught you sneaking looks at lando. you pulled him aside into the kitchen, your voice quiet and tinged with frustration. “i just want to kiss him at midnight,” you confessed, leaning against the counter. “for once, i want to feel normal, like we don’t have to hide.”

keegan studies you, his brow lifting as a knowing smile spreads across his face. “you really like him, don’t you?”

you nod, feeling your cheeks warm. “i do. but we can’t let max or anyone else find out. you know how he is about me and his friends.”

keegan crosses his arms, considering your words. after a moment, his grin widens. “alright, i’ve got an idea. just trust me, okay?”

“what are you planning?” you ask, your voice sharp with suspicion as you cross your arms. your eyes narrow, scanning his face for any trace of his usual mischief.

he grins, the kind of grin that’s both infuriating and impossible to ignore. “you’ll see,” he says, his tone teasingly cryptic. his eyes glint with something that makes your heart skip—a mix of confidence and playfulness you’ve seen too many times before.

before you can press him further, he winks, a quick, knowing flick of his eyelid that leaves you bristling with curiosity. then, as if on cue, he steps backward into the crowd, melting seamlessly into the hum of the party, leaving you standing there, a mix of intrigue and exasperation swirling inside you.

now, as the minutes tick closer to midnight, your eyes find lando across the room. there’s a flicker of something unspoken in his gaze—a quiet question that mirrors your own longing. it’s a moment you’ve shared countless times in secret, but tonight, it feels heavier. tonight, you both want more.

keegan sidles up to you, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “i’ve got this all worked out,” he whispers, leaning close so no one overhears. you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “when the countdown hits, everyone’s going to kiss whoever they’ve been paired with. and guess what? i made sure it’s you and lando.”

your breath catches, and you glance at him in surprise. “keegan, are you serious? what if max—”

“relax,” he interrupts, his tone reassuring. “max is fine with it. he thinks i’m just saving his little sister from kissing some random stranger. besides, it’s new year’s—nobody’s going to question it.”

you glance toward max, your older brother, who is deep in conversation with a few friends. keegan claps a hand on your shoulder. “trust me.”

you glance over at max, who’s laughing with a group of friends, completely unaware. relief mixes with nerves as you turn back to keegan. “you’re sure this will work?”

“positive,” he says with a confident nod. “just enjoy it. you deserve this.” he adds before disappearing back into the crowd.

the minutes tick down, and you feel the anticipation building like a wave ready to crest. the room fills with voices shouting the countdown: “ten! nine!” your stomach twists into knots as lando weaves through the crowd, his eyes locking with yours now.

“seven! six!”

“hey,” he says, stopping in front of you just as the voices drop to “five! four!” his voice is low, a little unsure, but the soft curve of his smile reassures you.

“hey,” you manage to reply, your voice almost drowned out by the cheers as the room erupts in celebration. around you, people kiss their partners, the air filling with laughter and clinking glasses.

when he reaches you, his smile is soft but uncertain, like he’s afraid of overstepping. “keegan’s idea?” he asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

you nod, a shy smile tugging at your lips, your heart fluttering in your chest. “yeah. are you okay with this?” the question hangs in the air, tentative, yet filled with quiet anticipation.

his eyes search yours, soft but sure, as he steps closer. “more than okay,” he says, his voice warm and steady, like a promise. there’s a pause, just long enough for the unspoken words to settle between you.

“three! two!”

his hand brushes against yours, the touch sending a jolt of warmth up your arm. “we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” he murmurs, he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but his eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—search yours, offering you the choice.

you shake your head, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “no,” you whisper, shaking your head as your heart pounds. “it’s okay, i want to.”

“happy new year!” the room erupts in cheers, but the noise fades as he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leans in. the moment stretches, your heart pounding in your chest, until his lips finally meet yours. it’s soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that speaks of every secret glance, every stolen moment over the past ten months. for a moment, it’s just the two of you. the secret glances, the stolen moments, the quiet confessions—it’s all there, wrapped up in this single, perfect kiss.

when you pull back, your cheeks are warm, your breath a little unsteady. “happy new year, love” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“happy new year,” you reply, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

from the corner of your eye, you catch keegan giving you a sly thumbs-up, his grin wide with satisfaction. max, thankfully, seems none the wiser, too busy cheering with the others. you glance back at lando, his eyes still locked on you, and in this moment, it feels like the rest of the world has fallen away.

lando’s hand slips from your cheek to rest lightly on your waist, pulling you in a little closer. there’s a quiet intensity between you now, a shared understanding that this moment is more than just a kiss at midnight. you feel a weight lift off your chest—the secret you’ve been holding for so long now feels just a little lighter.

“i can’t believe we just did that,” you whisper, your voice soft, but your heart racing.

lando chuckles, his nose brushing gently against yours as he lets out a breath. “you’re telling me. i thought for sure keegan was going to screw it up somehow.”

you laugh softly, the sound warm between you. “i never would’ve guessed he’d pull this off.”

lando’s smile deepens, but there’s something different in it now—something a little more vulnerable, a little more real. “he knows what’s important.” he pauses, his hand still on your waist as his thumb draws slow, soothing circles on your skin. “and he knows we’re more than just friends, doesn’t he?”

you nod slowly, your heart swelling as the realization hits you in full force. “yeah. he’s known for a while now.”

lando’s gaze softens, and his thumb stills against your skin. “good,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “because i don’t think i can hide this from anyone else for much longer.”

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.

[girlinterupptedsblog]

Walk Him Like a Dog

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Being Rafe Cameron’s girlfriend comes with its challenges—his arrogance, his temper, and the way he always thinks he’s in charge. But you know better. You know exactly how to put him in his place when he steps out of line. And the best part? He lets you. Even if he won’t admit it. You walk Rafe Cameron like a dog, and he loves every second of it.

Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, heavy power play, bratty Rafe, degradation, possessiveness, jealousy, rough treatment, explicit language, slight dom/sub themes, unhealthy behavior, manipulation, and general chaos.

---

The night air is thick with summer heat, and the party at Tannyhill is in full swing. Music pulses through the house, bass rattling the expensive glass windows, but your attention is solely on the boy beside you.

Rafe Cameron, the supposed king of the Outer Banks. The golden boy with a devil’s heart and an ego too big for his own good. Your boyfriend, if that’s what you’d call him. Because most of the time, it feels like you own him, not the other way around.

You lean against the railing of the balcony, watching him smirk as he talks to some girl you don’t recognize. She’s giggling, touching his arm, and Rafe is lapping it up like a dog begging for scraps. He thinks he’s slick, thinks you don’t see, but you see everything. He’s testing you.

So you decide to test him right back.

Sauntering down the stairs, you brush past groups of drunken Pogues and Kooks alike, making your way to the kitchen. You don’t even have to try. Guys turn their heads as you pass, eyes dragging over your body, hungry and intrigued. It’s almost too easy. You spot Topper and Kelce, but they’re not who you want. Instead, you find some random guy—a Kook, tall, broad, handsome in an effortless way—and strike up a conversation.

It takes less than five minutes for Rafe to snap.

You hear the shuffle of movement behind you, the low grumble of his voice. "The fuck you think you’re doing?"

A smirk tugs at your lips, but you keep it hidden as you turn to face him. "Talking. What’s it look like?"

Rafe’s jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring as he stares down at the guy, who suddenly looks a lot less confident. Without another word, Rafe grabs your wrist, dragging you away from the scene before anyone can react. He’s practically seething as he pulls you through the house, shoving open the door to his bedroom and slamming it shut behind you.

"You think you’re funny?" he growls, backing you up against the wall. His hands are on your waist, gripping tight, but you’re not scared. You never are.

You tilt your chin up, daring him. "I think I’m in charge."

Something dark flickers in his eyes. His lips part like he wants to argue, but you press a finger to them, shutting him up before he can.

"You act like a dog," you purr, dragging your nails down his chest, "so I treat you like one."

Rafe swallows hard. You can feel the tension radiating off him, the barely restrained frustration mixing with something else—something needier, more desperate. He wants to fight back, but he won’t. You both know it.

"Get on your knees," you murmur, and for a split second, he hesitates. Just a split second.

Then, with a slow exhale, Rafe sinks to the floor, looking up at you with a storm in his eyes.

And just like that, the king of the Outer Banks becomes nothing more than your pet.

[weyounthevorta]

Custom Dammers Plush!!

From the last of my fabric scraps I have created one final plushie before I move on to another art medium, and there’s a chance he could be your new little cuddle buddy!

REBLOG FOR A CHANCE TO TAKE THIS LITTLE GUY HOME!

REBLOG ENTRIES ARE NOW CLOSED

Read more below about reblogging to win him!

How Do I Win Little Dammers?

Reblog this post as many times as you want over the next seven days to be entered to win. Each reblog is an entry! At the end of the week, I’ll put every reblog into a random generator and select a winner.

Are There Any Restrictions?

I’m located in the USA mainland, so if you win, you must have a reasonable shipping address. If you’re in a country that’s difficult to ship to for any reason, I’ll randomly select another winner.

You must have a SAFE shipping address. If Dammers is lost in the mail, I won’t be making a new one, so if you win, you must provide an address that isn’t in danger of porch pirates or other forms of mail loss/destruction and be there to receive him.

He’s not for little ones! There are custom details glued onto his body that can be pulled off and become a choking hazard, so keep Dammers out of the reach of children.

Do I have to pay anything?

Nope! I love the Cult of Combs and have so much fun interacting with you all that this is my little way of bringing some surprise and delight to one of you fellow Jeffrey Combs fans.

I’ll pack him up with loving care and ship him to any address within reason, free of charge to the winner.

[miizuyu]

Hi! I saw your ddvau watercolor drawings and the look so pretty <3<3<3<3

I was wondering if you could share your art process when it can to those pieces? (Like what order you did stuff in, what materials, ect.)

Hihi!! First off TYSMM and Im more than glad to show the process (≧∇≦)!! Sorry if it's a bit long or if im over explaining, I struggle with this, but oh well.. (ㆀ˘･з･˘)

1~ have your sketch on a separate piece of paper, I don't use watercolor paper-purely drawing paper and sometimes mixed media. I then clean up the sketch, make sure any parts you don't plan on going over are lightly erased(??) especially parts that are lighter (like skin or white clothes!)

(Btw, I recommend using lighter lead like 2H/4H)

2~I use the 36 pack of "twistable bear crayons" (if you search it up they're the first thing that show up!) and on another piece of paper (I usually just use any scrap paper) make a little blotch with the crayon and go over it with your brush (I use a random round point brush..)

I love these crayons especially for the fact they dry so fast, they're so easy to blend and use as water color (*´∀｀*)

No idea how to explain the way I color, but I start from the lighter color to darker ones. I don't think it makes any difference from the other way around! I also mix the colors a lot, like with grian I mix this yellow brown with a more reddish brown and for Scar I add green undertones to his skin!

3~After the colors are layed down, I line it with ZSCM dual brush pens. Althoughhh I plan on finding a new brand since there's not the biggest variety of colors-at least not with the pack I have..

I add little bits of hatching purely for texture, and I go over the outside lines multiple times so they're bolder (just a style preference (￣∇￣))

Also! If you do use these markers make sure not to go over them with water, and make sure your paper isn't wet as it will runoff ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡ I've also noticed that while all the other colors don't smudge, black does if you don't let it sit before touching up!

4-Cut it out! I like to leave a little white boarder since it's hard to cut around such tiny lines, and obviously after that I just glue it in :3

I like to add later to the drawings, adding other little bits, like for example the jellyfish tank in the background ^^

That's it though, I hope this helps!! Sorry if I didn't answer any questions ITS SO HARD TO EXPLAIN WAAH

[bet-on-me-13]

What Happened to GIW Site-13

So! One day, in the middle of a random field in Illinois, there is a Spacial Anomaly that is picked up by the Watchtower's Sensors.

They send a team to investigate, and find a strange facility having suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The Terrain around the Facility seems displaced, like it was dragged along by whatever dropped the Facility there, but the Flora around the Facility matched its surroundings so it couldn't have come from too far away? Where did it come from?

The Justice League doesn't pay too much mind to it at first, busy dealing with their usual mess of problems to do more than contact the local government and send a few Heroes to help with the investigation. It didn't seem to be an active threat at the moment, so sending a few superpowered Heroes are a precaution was seen as a good enough response for the time.

When the first Expedition Team went missing, they took a bigger interest.

They made contact with the Agency that was leading the investigation, a smaller agency known as the GIW that was focused on studying Supernatural Anomalies. They usually wouldn't have been the first choice, given their niche focus, but this was a special circumstance.

The Facility that had been discovered both markings stating that it was "GIW Research Site 13", however the Records they had stated that this Facility was never actually built. There were Plans to build it, but the Agency was hit with Budget Cuts after they failed to provide adequate evidence of the Supernatural, and it was scrapped. They had no explanation for how a Facility that never existed suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

They decided to send in another Team as Investigation and Rescue, this time equipped with the latest technology they GIW had developed called "Ecto-Tech", as well as a Magic User from Justice League Dark for insurance. They managed to maintain Video Contact with the Team thanks to the Ecto-Tech Cameras they had, and what they saw did not sit right with any of them.

The entire Facility was built like a Prison.

Prison Cells, or to be more accurate, Cages, lined the Walls of the section they had entered. Evidence of previous inhabitants Littered the Cells, scratches on the metal and green glowing blood staining the floors were just some of the things they found in those Cages. One of the Technicians on the Team identified the Cages as having been built with Ecto-Tech, despite the fact that the Ecto-Tech they had spent years developing was nowhere near as advanced as this.

As they continued they found Walls covered in more Glowing Green Blood, spelling out haunting messages. "They never wanted to Investigate", "Guys In White", and the most common "What F̷E̴N̸T̴O̸N̷ happened to Site 13"

Delving deeper into the Facility, they eventually found a working Computer Terminal and downloaded as much information as they could, sending it back up to the surface wirelessly, before turning around to begin searching for the other Expedition Team. But when they tried to follow they path back to their starting location, they found that it had changed. The Hallways they had just passed were missing, there were new branches in the path that never existed, and their equipment suddenly told them that they halls they were standing in didn't exist according to the Blueprints they had.

The Camera's didn't last long after that, and the last images sent through the feed were of a glowing green figure slowly approaching the Team from down a dark hallway. It seemed to be dripping with blood. Non-Green Blood.

Of course some of the League wanted to immediately rush in to save them, but it would be too dangerous without knowing more about the situation. They looked at the files they had received from the Team before they disappeared.

From there, they formed a timeline of events.

It seemed that the Facility came from an Alternate History, or another Dimension, similar to their own but with a few changes.

By all accounts it seemed like the timeline of its Original Dimension followed their very closely, until one day in the 80's when the first major discrepancy appeared. On Febuary 12th, 1989 that Universes version of the GIW reported "A True Emergence of multiple Ectoplasmic Entities reported in Amity Park, Illinois, 2:31 PM".

Apparently in that universe, the GIW had been successful in locating evidence of the Supernatural. It seemed like this event allowed them to avoid the budget cuts they had experienced in their own Universe, which was the first major change from their own Timeline. Without the Budget Cut, the GIW managed to build their Facility near where they first spotted the Entity, and from there the timeline continued to diverge.

In that same small town, multiple more sightings of Ectoplasmic Entities were reported, all witnessed to be attacking the civilian population using their abilities. It was also reported that a single Ectoplasmic Entity, thereafter known as "Designation Phantom", was defending the civilain population for unknown reasons.

Eventually the source of these Sightings was tracked down to a pair of Scientists living in Amity Park, who were decades ahead in terms of the study of Ectoplasm and Ecto-Tech, who had managed to open a Portal into another Dimension they called the "Ghost Zone". The GIW Approached them for their research, and eventually hired them on as Scientists. Their names were Dr's Jack and Madeline Fenton.

A quick investigation revealed that Jack Fenton and Maddie Walker did exist in their universe, but Jack Fenton went into Mechanical Engineering while Maddie Walker went into Theoritical Physics. They had never met in the current universe.

According to the Doctors, Ectoplasmic Entities lack the ability to have Sentience, and held a malicious rage to all living beings. They stated that "Ghosts" were simply imprinted memories on Ectoplasm that acted as if it was a thinking entity, and that "Ghosts" should be eradicated at all costs.

Unfortunately, the GIW believed them to be Geniuses ahead of their time and accepted every word that came out of their mouths as absolute fact. Any researchers that protested their claims were quickly fired as to not upset their new Golden geese, and the GIW began to follow their new Mission of eradicating all "Ghosts".

From there was a series of files detailing multiple raids into the Ghost Zone, the capture and detainment of hundreds of Ghosts and "Ecto-Infected Humans", and the gruesomely detailed Experimentation logs of the Dr's Fenton as they studied their Captured specimens.

Many of the people being debriefed later on had to leave the room when they got to that point.

It seemed like the Dr's Fenton were the most proud of the Noteworthy Specimens they had managed to capture and dissect, those which evidence showed were much older and more powerful than the typical ghosts rhey captured. These were collectively designated as the "Ancients" by the Logs.

A Yeti-Entity with Ice Powers. A Shadow-Like Humanoid with Phobokinesis. A Female Humanoid with Draconification abilities. A Four Armed Female Humanoid with Extreme Strength. A Strange Entity with Chronokineses.

But what they were most proud of was one of the first Ghosts ever reported. Designation Phantom.

They particular File was completely corrupted beyond saving, but from the notes surrounding it, it had been a very exciting time for the Doctors.

But now, better informed on the situation and what they may encounter, the Justice League decided on a new plan of action. They still didn't know how the Facility had been ripped out of its Original Universe and into theirs, but for now their objective was simply a rescue mission for both expedition teams while Justice League Dark worked with the GIW on countermeasure for Ghosts. From the Files their Universes GIW had on Ghosts, they were certainly still dangerous, and allowing them to escape the facility would be a problem. So they needed containment measures.

The Justice League prepared for their Rescue Operation, unknowing of the eyes watching their every move.

He had dragged that accursed Facility into this world in an attempt to get help, and now all he could hope for was that this version of the Justice League would act better than their own. And if they didn't, he could always try a different universe.

All would be as it should be. Eventually.