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[winstonindia01]

Integrating technology into our customer's personal care routine, Winston take pride in creating high-quality grooming products for both men and women.

[billybob598]

Everything is Going to Be Okay (Sydney Lohmann x Reader)

Well hello there! Here is the long awaited (not really) part 2 to How Many People. On a completely unrelated note, school is kicking my ass. But whatever. Also, I just want to note that I am NOT a medical professional. I have no idea if what happens in this fic is actually possible or medically correct. Either way, any feedback good or bad is welcomed! Enjoy!

Part 1 here

Word Count: 5K (can we all just pause and acknowledge this? like guys come on now)

1 Year Ago

“She’s stable, for now. We’re going to be monitoring her carefully for the next few days. Again, we’re confident she’ll recover as much as she can.” You can hear a voice coming from above you, but your mind seems hazy, almost like a fog clouding your thoughts. Something wet lands on your exposed wrist, it feels like water but who would pour water on your arm? 

“Okay, thank you, doctor,” a German accent breaks your line of thinking. Wait, you know that voice, Sydney? What was she doing here? What were you doing here? The last thing you remember you were sitting in the middle of the track, about to switch the car off and get out. Now that you think about it, it did sound as if something was getting closer to you. Oh God, had you been hit by another car? Well, that’s not good. A door closed shut, presumably the doctor, leaving just you and Sydney alone. She started to cry, like full-on sobbing. How badly you wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but you couldn’t. Your body was betraying you. Luckily, Sydney slipped her hand into yours and squeezed tightly. “You scared me for a sec, Y/N/N. Wake up, please. Then, everything will be okay, liebe.” Her voice was cracking as she begged you to open your eyes. You couldn’t. You couldn’t reach up and tuck the hair behind her ear, you couldn’t open your mouth and tell her everything was going to be okay. You were useless. Well, you could just try and squeeze her hand. What’s the harm in trying? So, you focused completely on getting your fingers to tighten around hers. Sydney’s head shoots up. The sadness she was previously feeling almost disappeared altogether. “Y/N? Can you hear me?” She gets a squeeze in response, “Oh my God, oh my God.” She clings onto your hand as if it were a lifeline, “I’m going to go get the doctor, okay?” Another squeeze.

9 Months Ago

You had fully woken up four or five hours ago. For a couple of weeks you were just squeezing your girlfriend's hand, today was the day you were finally able to open your eyes. When you woke, Sydney immediately pulled you into a hug, being mindful of your injuries. The nurses did a few checks on you such as checking if you remembered what happened, who you were, and who Sydney was. They were happy to confirm you didn’t suffer any memory loss despite your head trauma. They then left you alone to rest for a couple of hours. Sydney telling you everything that has occurred over the last month. It shook you, how much you had missed and how long you’d been unconscious for. Around six o’clock the doctor came in. He watched the numbers on the machines you were hooked up to, occasionally writing something down on his clipboard. When he was satisfied, he walked to the foot of your bed and carefully removed the bed sheets covering your legs.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I’m not sure if anyone has told you yet, but during your accident, you suffered damage to your spinal cord. I just want to make sure that everything is okay down here,” he explains. He takes out a pen from his pocket and gently pushes it into your foot, “Can you feel this?” You shake your head no. He hums quietly then, he moves it onto your shin, “This?” Nothing. You unknowingly tense, this wasn’t good. He continues to move it further and further up your legs until he gets to just above your hip. Poking it softly he raises his eyebrows to you in question. Finally, you can feel the tip of the pen dig into your skin, 

“Yeah, yeah, I can feel that.” He nods curtly.

“Could you try wiggling your toes for me?” Focusing your entire body on getting just one of your toes to move, you groan when you can’t. The doctor mumbles something to himself. He then asks Sydney if he could talk to her outside. Sydney gets up, squeezing your shoulder as she walks past you. You watch them carefully, trying to see if you can lip-read. Spoiler alert: you can’t. As they walk back into the room, Sydney has a sombre look on her face. When she sees you staring she tries to force a smile, but you already knew what was coming. 

“So, Y/N-”

“I’m paralyzed, right?” Your question catches both of them off guard. They share a look before Sydney turns to you with a sad look in her eyes. That’s all the confirmation you need. The tears start to flow thick and fast. In an instant Sydney is beside you, comforting you in whatever way she can. She whispers sweet nothings into your ear, trying her best to calm you and reassure you.

“I know it seems like the end of the world, meine liebe. But, you’ll come back better than ever. Everything will be okay,” she whispers sweetly as the sobs coming out of your mouth begin to slow.

7 Months Ago

“Seriously, Y/N?” Sydney’s voice sounds incredulous. She harshly spins your wheelchair around, taking you by surprise. When you meet her eyes you're taken aback to see such fury and frustration in them. 

“What? What I’d do?” You ask, not liking the way Sydney looks like she could tear you apart limb by limb.

She scoffs, “Oh please, you know what you did.” It’s when she says those words that you realize what she’s talking about. A frown forms on your face, preparing to defend yourself, but she cuts you off, “Like, seriously, Y/N? What the fuck? You don’t get to say or decide those things.” Her words set you off.

“Oh, I don’t get to make those decisions? Of course, I do! You know who doesn’t get to decide those things? Someone who has no fucking clue what it’s like!” Your voice rises word by word. 

Sydney, however, refuses to give up, “Maybe I don’t get to make the decisions, but I get a say in it. They affect me as well. Not everything in this world revolves around you!” At this point, tears are starting to form in her eyes, your fists are clenched, and the words being said are much harsher than originally intended.

“Whatever. I’m a grown fucking adult and I’ll do what I want.” Any hope either of you had for a civil, calm conversation had been thrown out of the window a while ago. The German’s hands fly to her hair, tugging at it. 

“Really? Cause right now you’re acting like a child. God, you’re so frustrating! I’ve been doing everything I possibly can for you these last three or four months. I understand that you’re frustrated and that you’re heartbroken, but that doesn’t mean you get to shut me out, okay? I’ve tried to show that I’m here if you need someone to talk to, but what do you do? You bottle it up and then it makes you make stupid decisions like telling your therapist to piss off when she asks about Formula 1 and saying that you don’t ever want to see her again!” She releases a deep breath after her mini-ramble. All of her worries and frustrations from the past few months let out. You stare at her in shock and regret. 

With a look of concession you speak quietly, “You’re right, Syd. I shouldn’t have done that, I’ll call her and apologize. I’m sorry, I am, babe.” Blinking, Sydney couldn’t believe it, you had apologized. 

“And?” She prompts.

“And I promise I’ll try to talk to you more about those things,” a smile appears across your girlfriend's face. 

“See? Wasn’t that hard was it?” You roll your eyes, a playful grin etching itself on your face, “Everything will be okay, right?”

“Yeah, everything will be okay.”

6 Months Ago

“Fuck!” Your swear startles Sydney out of an email she was writing.

“Everything okay, schatz?” She asks, peering out of the office. You had moved to Germany so she could help you with your recovery. Your trainer and physiotherapist had both moved as well. That way everyone you needed to help you was right there. Sydney hated to leave you alone, especially in your current state. So, whenever she had to leave for away games or international duty she would get her mom and dad to come over and watch you. No matter how many times you insisted you were fine alone, they stayed however long they needed to and helped you do everything. Dinner? They made it. Shower? Momma Lohmann is helping you. It embarrassed you to no end. To have your girlfriend's parents look after you as if you were a toddler. It was the topic of many arguments with her, she just never understood why you were so stubborn to the offer of help. To be honest, you didn’t know either. There was just something degrading about it. You were once a role model, a trailblazer in motorsport, a standard for those to come. Now, you couldn’t even make it up one flight of stairs by yourself. 

“I spilled my tea. Don’t worry I’ll clean it up,” you call back from the living room.

“No, don’t. It’s okay, you’ve got physio soon. I’ll clean it up when I get back,” your girlfriend walks into the room. You huff slightly and mumble a quiet “okay.”

 Arriving at your physio, Sydney waves you goodbye as one of the desk ladies wheels you through the doors and into the main lobby. Your physiotherapist, Emma, smiles at you and takes over pushing your wheelchair towards the back.

“So, how are you feeling today?” She asks happily.

“Same as two days ago,”

“Woah there grumpy pants. It was just a question,” she jokes. Sighing heavily, you give her a more honest answer,

“Em, come on. It’s been what three months? I’m still nowhere near being able to walk again,” Now it’s her turn to sigh,

“Don’t say that. You are making progress. You may not see it, but I can. And I think you’re closer to walking again than you think.” She ignores your scoff and parks you near a massage bed. After a few warm-up exercises, (What you were warming up you had no idea. You couldn’t feel shit.) you maneuver onto the treadmill. However, on this treadmill, there was a harness with two braces that wrapped around your legs. This forces them to move. Emma helps you put the harness on, she turns the treadmill on, starting at an extremely slow speed. Slowly, she increases the speed little by little. When she feels you’ve had enough she stops it and sits you back in your wheelchair. The two of you continue to plow through exercises, everything seems to be going decent until you try to walk by yourself. You had been left unsupervised for no more than two minutes, but your impatient self decided to try and go get your wheelchair that was situated only six feet away from you. You willed your right leg to move forward and take a step, leaning forward slightly, instead, you toppled over face first having to break your fall with your arms. Emma and others had rushed over when they heard you thump against the floor. She, with the assistance of others, helped you into the wheelchair, the chain of curse words that left your mouth conveying just how pissed you were. What was shaping up to be a rare positive session ended instead with you being inconsolably furious. You weren’t mad at anyone, no, you were mad with yourself. In your mind, you were pathetic. How could you not even take one stupid step? You continued to mentally bash yourself, not realizing that Sydney and Emma had sat you in the car. Now, they stood behind the vehicle, Emma filling your girlfriend in on everything. After bidding your friend and physiotherapist goodbye, Sydney got into the car and started the drive home. When she took a peek at you she could tell how in your head you were. Doing the only thing she could think of, she reached across the centre console and intertwined her hand with yours. Your head snapped in her direction, you were confused but you didn’t move your hand away. Stopping at a red light, Sydney turned her head towards you. She spoke quietly,

“I know you’re frustrated, liebe. I would be too. But you have to try and be patient with yourself. It’s a long road and I’m almost positive that one day you’ll reap the rewards.” You smiled at her words, a genuine smile, something Syndey hadn’t seen in a long time. You brought your interlocked hands towards your mouth and planted a kiss on her hand. “Everything will be okay, okay?”

 5 Months Ago

“Come on Y/N! You got this!” Emma’s words spur you on. In the past month, you had made significant progress and today was the day you were going to try taking a step. So here you were, on your fourth attempt and while you were beginning to lose confidence, Emma was determined not to let you give up. Taking a deep breath, you will your leg forward. To your and Emma’s amazement, you take a step. 

“Holy shit I did it!” You exclaim happily.

“You did it!” Emma screams, bringing you into a tight hug. Before Sydney comes to pick you up you make Emma promise not to tell your girlfriend about your progress, stating that you wanted to surprise her when you can walk more. 

Two weeks later, you texted Sydney asking her to come inside because Emma wanted to show her something. So, as the two of them talk about God knows what, you slowly but surely make your way over to her. Emma looks excitedly over your girlfriend's shoulder, continuing to talk to keep her distracted. When you finally get close enough, you reach out and lay your hand on her shoulder. Sydney turns around, her jaw drops when she sees you standing there, your wheelchair far behind you. 

“Di-Did you…?” She stutters, extending her hand to hold you. You nod with a stupid grin on your face. 

“I did,” you say tears appearing in your eyes. Sydney pulls you into a hug, crying into your neck. 

“I’m so, so proud of you, Y/N,” she mutters, still against your neck. 

“Thank you, love. And thank you for staying with me,” you say before pulling her into a soft kiss. After a few seconds, you pull away. 

“Everything is going to be okay, liebe,” she says into your ear.

3 Months Ago

“You nervous?” You can practically hear the grin on Alex’s face as he speaks up from behind you. His hand lands on your shoulder, bringing a sense of comfort to you. Alex had always been one of your best friends, a friendship that only got stronger when you became teammates. Both of you had done your best to keep in touch throughout your recovery, something that proved difficult. Mostly due to you not wanting anything to do with F1. Some might see it as a terrible coping system, but you saw it as a well-deserved break to mentally reset. Now, after months and months of rehab and hard work, you were finally back where you belonged, in an F1 garage. Williams’ was giving you a test day around Silverstone. On one hand, you were ecstatic to be back, on the other, you and Syndey were scared as hell. While the conditions were perfect, the sun predicted all day with no clouds, and there were no other cars on track, It’s hard to get past those types of things, especially when they hurt you and everyone close to you. One of the main things you were concerned about was Syndey. You weren’t sure if you could, God forbid anything similar happened to you, put her through that again. She was your rock and you had no idea if she could take something as emotionally and physically taxing as that ever again.

“Nah, mate. I’m not nervous at all,” you say sarcastically before moving away from him.

As you walk around the garage you take a good long look at your car. God, your car. Something you hadn’t been able to say in forever. Someone walks up from behind you and snakes their arms around your waist. You lean back into your girlfriend's arms as she leans forward slightly and talks into your ear,

“You’re gonna do great, I just know it.” Turning around so you’re facing her, the bright smile that Syndey and the world love so much tugs at your lips. 

“Yeah I know, I’m more worried about you,” you joke lightly. She feigns offence at your words.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m always as cool as a cucumber when you’re racing.” A laugh escapes from you and you kiss the underside of her jaw sweetly. 

“Y/L/N! We’re ready, wanna get in?” An engineer shouts at you, breaking the two of you out of your trance. You nod, the soft look you had instantly replaced with one of pure determination. Pulling away from your girlfriend, you look at her,

“Everything will be okay, Syd.” She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she presses one last kiss on your forehead and moves to put some headphones on, leaving you alone. Taking a deep breath, you begin to put your earplugs in, then you tuck your hair in as you put your balaclava on. Finally, you slip the custom-designed crash helmet over your head and connect the HANS device to your neck. Approaching your car, a few of the mechanics give you fist bumps and words of encouragement. There are a few cameras located inside and outside of the garage, one of them being the social media manager. You give a thumbs up and wink at her, something that you’re sure will end up all over TikTok and Instagram later, but whatever. You step over the halo, your eyes squint due to the big smile under your helmet. After taking a few breaths in and out, you slide down into the cockpit. Someone helps you with the seatbelts and headrest, they give you a quick thumbs up before retracting their hand from the cockpit. Your engineer gives you the go-ahead to start the engine, and when you switch it on the entire car rumbles to life. It’s a surreal feeling, the way your entire world vibrates with its power. The front jackman signals for you to pull out of the garage. When you press the throttle, everything goes silent. As you pull out of the pit lane and head onto the actual track, the rest of the world falls away, It’s just you and your car. Nothing else in the world matters right now. For the first time in months, you’re doing what you do best, driving at crazy speeds like a madman. When you come across the start/finish line to complete your first lap in an F1 car in over nine months the entire garage breaks out in applause. Sydney can feel the tears flowing down her cheeks, but unlike the last time you were in an F1 car, they were happy tears. The world and your lives were somewhat going back to normal. Finally.

2 Weeks Ago

“Here we are for the 2024 Hungarian Grand Prix! And Martin, the biggest story of the week, Y/N Y/L/N is making her long-awaited return to Formula 1 after her horrific accident last year in Spa,” Crofty’s cheery voice crackles through the TV speakers in your driver room. 

“That’s right, Crofty. She has had to endure one of the most challenging journeys we’ve ever seen. And I think everyone inside of the F1 community is rooting for her this weekend. So far, everything has been smooth sailing for her. She put in a mighty performance in qualifying, only three spots back from her teammate, Alex Albon, who qualified a magnificent P2. And that Williams has looked quite speedy around this track and I’m sure both drivers are hoping to make the podium, at least.” 

“How are you feeling?” Your girlfriend's sweet voice brings you back to reality. 

“Good, yeah great, good,” you say very unconvincingly. She just laughs at you, but before she can say anything in response, a series of loud splats hitting the window makes you both look at it. To both your dismay and worry, the heavens decide to open up there and then. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry about that. You’ve been doing so well, a little rain isn’t going to change that,” Sydney takes a seat beside you and cradles your face in her hands. 

“I can’t do it, Syd. I can’t,” You feel yourself start to hyperventilate. Your mind races, thinking about all the bad outcomes, thinking about what happened last time.

“Look at me, liebe. You can do it and you will. I know you, nothing ever stops you and this definitely won’t. You’ve worked so frickin’ hard for this. I’ve watched it, I’ve watched how you never gave up. This is your time. Show them just how amazing you are, schatz. Show them.” Her pep talk has its desired effect, it eases your worries and helps you prepare for the race. 

Walking around the grid, you take it all in. A year of pain and hard work finally paid off. Multiple people come up to you before the race and wish you luck, something you appreciate but don’t care for. As you sit inside the car with your helmet on, everything seems quiet. All weekend everyone wanted to talk to you and they always asked the same questions. At first, you didn’t mind it, just happy to be back. But, after a bit, it got annoying having someone try to follow you every minute. Inside your car, however, it was just you, you couldn’t hear anyone else, everyone just left you alone. 

“Thirty seconds until the green light,” your engineer, Gaetan, spoke through your earpiece. You run through your final preparations before the formation lap was started. When the green light is given, you weave around the track attempting to warm up your tyres while Gaetan confirms the race strategy. Parking in your grid spot, you ready yourself with the clutch. 

“It’s five red lights and away we go for the Hungarian Grand Prix!”

At the end of lap 1, you’re up to P4 after starting fifth. Alex had dropped down to P3, putting you right behind him. A few more laps pass by and you begin to get frustrated behind your teammate,

“Guys, come on. I’m faster than him.” Sydney and Lily watch anxiously from the garage.

“We’ll give it one more lap, Y/N. If he doesn’t improve we will switch the cars,” Gaetan responds. When Alex doesn’t improve the next lap, he lets you by and sets you free. Now, you had clean air and lots of time to make up. Over the next twenty laps, you gradually close the gap between you and the top two, Carlos Sainz and Max Verstappen. When the three of you come in for your pit stops, you were just under two seconds back from them. Alex had pitted a few laps before, trying to pull off the undercut on you guys.

“And what’s this? Oh no, Martin, Sainz has had a slow stop! Oh goodness, the tyres weren’t ready! This might just play into Y/N Y/L/N and Williams’ hands.” After a smooth stop from your guys, you rejoin the track ahead of Sainz and into P2. 

“So we’re P2 and Alex is P3,” your engineer tells you.

“Really? Oh, wow. Good job guys,” your surprised tone makes a few people chuckle. The race progresses and try as you might, you just can’t get close enough to get by Verstappen. By the time the second pit stops comes around you are 1.2 seconds behind him, only getting near enough to attempt one or two overtakes. With less than twenty laps to go, a sense of urgency overcomes you. You start to push a little harder. Eventually, you get DRS on Max, you draw closer and closer on the main straight, but not quite close enough to make a dive bomb. After a few more laps of getting closer but still being too far, on lap sixty-one of seventy you stick close to his gearbox the entire lap. Following close through the corners and gaining the slipstream on the limited straights around the Hungaroring. When the two of you arrive on the main straight you open your rear wing and tuck in behind him for the slipstream. Getting closer and closer, you pull to the inside and draw alongside him. Heading into the first turn, you have the inside line, but leave enough room for him on the outside. He keeps his foot in and stays level with you then, heading into turn two, the sweeping left-hander, you keep your nose in front of him. And you hit the throttle quicker letting you pull in front of him. Verstappen has to concede the position and you take the lead of the Grand Prix. The Williams garage erupts, everyone is losing their shit. For the first time in forever, one of their cars is leading a race. Sydney has the biggest grin on her face, she has no chance of hiding how proud she is. For the last nine laps you defend like your life depends on it. Max throws everything at you, but each time you turn him away skillfully.

“As she rounds the final bend, it’s a fairytale story for Y/N Y/L/N and Williams. Almost a year since one of the worst accidents the F1 community has seen, she returns and in her first race back, 

Y/N Y/L/N WINS THE HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX!”

When you cross the line you put your head in your hands and cry. The darkest time of your life had ended and you had come through, better than ever. 

“Oh my God, mate! You did it! You’ve won a Grand Prix, congratulations!” Gaetan sounds elated over the radio and you can’t blame him. 

“Holy shit, guys. I’m crying, stop. Thank you everyone so, so much for all your hard work and for supporting me throughout everything. I couldn’t ask for a more amazing team, thank you.” Your stifled sobs break up your words, but the words still get out. Stopping in front of the first place sign, you take a moment inside of the cockpit to just calm down. Unbuckling and removing the headrest, you step out of the car and stand on top of it raising your arms in triumph. Everyone cheers for you as you wave at the crowd. You rush to your team and jump into they’re awaiting arms. After celebrating with your team for a few seconds, you look for your girlfriend. She waves to get your attention, you grin and make your way over to her. She pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. Pulling away, she tilts her forehead against your helmet-covered one. 

“Everything’s okay,” she mumbles to you. A stupid smile appears on your face as you reply,

“Yeah, everything is okay, love.”

Present Day

“Liebe? Are you sure you want to do this?” Your girlfriend appears in front of you, a concern clear upon her features. Sighing, your hand runs over the scar on the side of your head, a nervous habit you developed during your recovery. Sydney gently takes your hand and interlocks your fingers with hers. Her heart breaks when she looks into your eyes and finds them glossed over with tears. “You know you don’t have to do this, Tom will understand if you back out,” she tries to reassure you. You shake your head,

“No, no. I want to do this. It’s time.” She looks at you warily before releasing your hand from hers. Tom Clarkson, the host of the F1: Beyond the Grid podcast, had come to you a few weeks ago asking if you would like to come onto the podcast and share your story. You, of course, had said yes, not hesitating much about it, Sydney on the other hand was much more cautious about it. It took you months and months before you were able to express your feelings to her, now you were just supposed to share your insane story to the entire world? She was praying that everything would go smoothly and that you wouldn’t close off after. As you sat down and adjusted the mic on the desk to sit closer to you, Tom quickly ran through some of the topics he was going to question you about. While most of them were touch subjects, you felt comfortable enough to talk about them. Especially with Sydney sitting not too far away. 

“After one of the most terrifying incidents the F1 world has seen in recent memory, she’s completed one of the most outstanding comebacks we’ve ever seen,” Tom introduces you into the podcast and you guys fall into a relaxed conversation for a few minutes. “Now, Y/N, today marks exactly one year since your accident. How are you feeling about that?” You gulp. It was odd to think that it only happened a year ago.

“Um, yeah, definitely crazy. I feel I’ve come so far and had to overcome so many obstacles. I don’t think I would’ve been able to return if not for the many people around me who helped me during my recovery.” 

He nods, “Anyone specifically who made a big difference?”

“My girlfriend. She was and is my rock, looking back at it I realize how much of an asshole I was to her and how much she looked out for me when she didn’t have to,” you explain, a love-struck smile on your face. Tom chuckles at your expression before asking the next question,

“So, was there any mantra or saying that inspired you over the last year?” Your smile gets wider and you nod excitedly. “There was? What was it?” You look over at Sydney before answering.

“Everything is going to be okay.”

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Top Spies Part 7/8

It's so good 😭

Ruben and Reader are super spies, who have to pretend to be a married couple on vacation as a co-signed mission. A enemies to lovers fic, very sweet and funny!

Enjoy!

You and Ruben got dressed and headed straight to the golf course on foot. The night was quiet. Too quiet for your liking.

Ruben made sure that Andrés Fierro's body would not be found by anyone. But it was most likely that Alejandro already knew that his partner in crime was missing.

"Careful." Ruben said, thinking of your wounded shoulder.

"I'm fine Ruben."

You entered the golf course through the main gates and continued in the direction of the ranch. The golfballs should be right....

"Gone." You gasped. The piles of golfballs had all been removed from the ranch, every last one of them.

"What do we do now?"

Unlike you, Ruben did not look ready to leave empty handed, especially since the two of you had come up empty with the submarine.

"Let's check the machine." He said and led the way towards the golfball vendor.

"I don't have my card." You whispered. It was back at the villa.

Ruben went around the machine looking for stray balls that may have rolled under it.

"Found one!"

He returned to you, the golfball in his hand.

"It feels and looks like a normal golfball. Should I crack it open?"

"No."

You turned your head. The silhouette of the country club was lit up ahead of you. "There is a fountain." You said, unhanding Ruben the golfball.

You remberd the conversation you had with Alejandro earlier that day, about your suggestion to add more obstacles to his golf course, like a pond. He stated that the golfballs ending up in water would be too much of a hastle. It never hit you what he actually meant by that.

You went over to the grand water fountain that decorated the entrance to the country club and dropped the golfball into the depths of it. You and Ruben watched it sink to the bottom of the pool, hoping that the answers would come to you just as easy as the ball had plumit into the clear water.

"Look!" You pointed. Not much happned at first, you were looking at a perfectly normal golfball, white in its shade and round in its shape. But as minutes went by, you found it difficult to spot the white dot. The water surrounding it became murky as if a fist full of sand had been tossed into it.

"It's desolving." Ruben said, confirming what you were witnessing.

In a few minutes time the golfball had desolved into a white powder that coated the surface of the water.

Ruben dipped his finger to feel its consistency. He then looked at you, nodding his head. "We'll have to run some test, but I bet that this is what we've been looking for. The drugs have been constructed into golf balls, disguised for mass importation. If we report back to the agency tonight we can have a warrant for Alejandro Martinez arrest by tomorrow morning."

"Not so fast."

Both you and Ruben flinched at the sound of a sharp voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr and Mrs Moreno."

You and Ruben turned around slowly, confirming that it was indeed Alejandro Martinez who stood behind you, as well as two goons, each with a pointing gun in hand.

"Or should I say, Miss Y/L/N?"

A sharp sensation swept your stomach as Alejandro spoke your name, your real last name.

Ruben was already looking at you once you turned to look at him. You shook your head. "I didn't tell him, I swear."

"But you almost did, didn't you?" Alejandro smiled as he dared take a step forward. "Just this morning, you almost let it slip, didn't you?"

You said nothing.

"Well I had to do some research of my own. I thought you were simply too good of a golf player not to have come across me before. Turns out I was right, Y/N." He smirked complecently.

He dared take another step forward but paused as Ruben flinched beside you.

"Hold up now." He raised a warning finger. His goons behind him had also shifted their weapons, both of them now aming at Ruben.

"I have shown you my hospitality, the least thing you can do is show me yours."

"What do you want?" Ruben said, through gritted teeth.

Alejandro smiled. "How about a headstart?"

Ruben frowned. Alejandro looked to you. "You are federal agents, no? Here to do what many others has attempted to do but all failed miserably. You have come to arrest me, no? To put an end to my golden empire?"

You and Ruben said nothing, you were to busy eyeing the goons that had gun's pointing at you. But then Alejandro started laughing, in the midst of all seriousness.

"I say catch me of you can." He chuckled, a hand to his stomach. "How stupid do you think I am? I knew you two were trouble right from the beginning, although I invited you to stay at my villa with my sincerest gratitude for saving my dear nephew."

Alejandro took another step forward and didn't stop until Ruben took a large step towards you, grabbing your hand. Seeing your hands interwine clearly startled the man.

"You are not the first ones who have attempted to arrest me in my own home." He said, although he spoke to the both of you he only had eyes for you. "Nor the first ones who have made it as far as to locate my submarine. However, you are the first federal agents to kill one of my men and the first to discover my cleaver secret."

Again, you felt a sharp pain through your gut as Alejandro's narrowed gaze only seemed to target you. Ruben must have noticed this because he was squeezing your hand to the point of hurting.

"Oh how I wished the best of you." Alejandro said. "But you were right, you are a complete waste of talent."

"Grab her!"

It all happened so fast, one of the goons lunging forwards, throwing his arms around you, capturing you. The other goon fired his weapon, his weapon that was pointed at Ruben.

"No, please!"

Ruben fell to the ground, squirming in pain. He had been shot in the leg.

"Tell your captain that unless the Portuguese federals get off my back, more blood will be shed tonight, this time the blood of one of your own."

As Alejandro's goon held you down, the other one came running with tape to drape around your head and mouth. You gagged with how tight he wrapped it.

"Y/N!"

Ruben heard you and tried to get to you, but the blood gushing out if his wound prevented him.

"Here." Alejandro said, tossing Ruben an old cell phone. "Call your captain, however I get a 24 hour headstart to leave the Island. Unless this is respected prepare to find your wife at the bottom of the ocean."

You squirmimed and fought as Alejandro's goons escorted you away towards the parking lot and into the backseat of a black Range Rover. They slammed the door on you to the sound of Ruben's painful cry, his cry for you.

[brinkworth]

I heard it was your birthday @heartofspells, so I wrote you a little crack fic as a gift. (curse?) Featuring Remus, who is just trying to print his smutty fanfiction and runs into printer trouble. Happy Birthday!

Tech Support

Remus can pinpoint the exact moment his bad luck started. He’d been working on a project, printing some of his favourite fanfiction. He liked the story so much that he wanted to put a physical copy on his shelf.

It was all going smoothly at first, his printer churning out pages, all with perfectly crisp black letters printed neatly in rows. He clapped his hands in celebration. At this rate, this project would be done in record time.

That’s exactly when the bad luck starts. The printer makes an alarming noise; the paper caught half in the printer and half out. After several angry beeps, the screen reads ‘Error - printer jammed. Please clear printer and try again.’

When he opens the machine, it’s full of paper jammed into every nook and cranny. Places he didn’t know paper could even go in a printer. The printer seems to fight him as he removes it. He has to press a foot against the desk for leverage to pull out a particularly stubborn piece and the printer makes an awful grinding noise. It’s later that he sees the warning message that says, ‘Do not remove paper by pulling in this direction.’

“Oops.”

Several hours later, he’s sitting next to a printer that no longer feeds paper at all as tech support tells him they’ll mail him a new one. It should be there in 7-10 business days.

This just won’t do. Remus doesn’t want to wait that long, so he makes a trek to the store and buys a new printer. Now he’ll have two, but they’re different. And he prints a lot, so it’s worth it. Only upon getting it home, the printer won’t print anything legibly. It all comes out looking like a copy of a copy of a copy. Remus spends hours adjusting settings and test printing.

In the end, he’s sitting next to a stack of badly printed pages of his favourite smutty fanfiction when he’s back on the phone with tech support.

“Hello, thank you for calling The Printer Company. My name is Sirius. How can I help you?”

“Er- yes, hello, I just purchased a new printer and I’m having trouble with the quality.”

Sirius is very nice and seems committed to fixing the problem. He has Remus test different settings and try again several times. After 45 minutes on the phone, though, they’ve accomplished nothing. It all looks the same, and Sirius is now just as frustrated as Remus.

“Will you send me a few photos of your printed pages? One good one from your old printer and one from your new printer,” Sirius asks. “It will help me see what the problem is, and I can share them with my supervisor, who might have an idea.”

“Oh - er - sure, yeah.” Remus replies, kicking himself immediately. He should have just hung up.

He suddenly feels too hot. He begins to root frantically through his stack of papers, to find ones that might be appropriate to send.

“Oh God, definitely not that one.” He thinks, more than once.

A few awkward minutes later, he’s found two pages that look fairly clean, though by the character names, it will be clear what this is, if Sirius has ever read one of the most popular book series ever written. WHY couldn’t these characters be named something normal? Like George and Henry…

He sends the photos and chews on his thumbnail as he waits for Sirius’ response.

“Oh, I see them right here,” Sirius says eventually. There’s a shuffling noise and Remus thinks he hears Sirius snort.

Sirius hums as if he’s studying them carefully. “I’m afraid I’m having a hard time telling these two apart...”

How is that possible? Remus wonders. They are so starkly different.

“I’m just going to read these out loud to verify which is which,” Sirius says. And Remus swears he can hear the man smirk through the phone.

Remus’ eyes widen. “Oh, of course, sure,” he blurts out and then kicks himself again.

As Sirius reads, Remus wants to crawl into a hole and die. The man takes his time, drawing it out, and reading more than must be necessary for what he needs.

“Yes, yeah, you’ve got that right,” Remus says in the end, just ready to be done with this.

Another 30 minutes later, Sirius has walked him through how to fix the printer and Remus is anxious to hang up before he can embarrass himself further.

“Thanks so much,” Remus says, his finger hovering over the end call button.

“Happy to help,” Sirius says. “And you have good taste, Remus.”

Remus’ head jerks back in surprise. “Sorry?”

“I’m partial to Heartofspells’ work myself, but this is good too.”

Remus is stunned into silence for a few moments before replying weakly. “Oh.”

“Have a good day, and feel free to ask for me personally if you need help again in the future.”

Remus bit back a smile. Maybe his luck wasn’t so bad after all.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 24 - Drive

Another one of those chapters which should never have existed but a few little snapshots just blossomed out of my control and before I knew it I loved them and they became Vital For Plot Reasons. Ah well, enjoy the meandering anyway :D

(What went before)

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Estera’s boot hit a loose patch of stones and she skidded slightly, putting out a protective arm just in case she was about to face plant the ground. Almost immediately a hand caught that arm and lifted her square on to her feet. She turned to see her friend alongside her on the narrow path, eyes full of concern. The edge of the cliff crumbled a little under his foot and her heart stopped for a moment.

“Scott! It’s not wide enough!”

He hopped back in line behind her and she regained the ability to breathe.

Mostly.

Eventually.

That particular flavour of adrenaline was not one she craved but she was beginning to wonder whether it was one she might have to get used to.

The group finally reached the car park to meet Gary on the quad bike who had towed the kit trailer up the long way from the beach. They all set to unloading and eventually Scott and three others lifted the quad itself into the back of van.

He walked over to where Estera was doling out the last bottles of sugary carbonated beverages to the rest of the group. He wiped the grease from his hands on to his trousers before selecting a bottle of water and draining it. Then swiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Well that’s one way to warm up after freezing your butt off in the Arctic Ocean.”

“As I’ve already told you, Mr Remedial-Geography, The English Channel is very much temperate.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He removed his warm jumper and Estera nearly choked on her cherry cola as she realised Scott hadn’t just turned up in randomly fancy trousers.

“A silk waistcoat? Really?!”

He pouted. “I was here for a Board Meeting! SOMEBODY didn’t mention the nature of their “commitment” when inviting me along!”

“In fairness Dawn didn’t give me a lot of time to explain.”

“Ah, yeah… sorry about Dawn… she…”

“She was lovely.” Estera said firmly, not wanting to get the enthusiastic young person into any trouble.

She looked again at the trousers which had clearly suffered from being drowned in salt water earlier and were drying into a faded mess of wrinkles.

“That is not a cheap machine washable suit from the high street is it?”

He coughed. “I don’t recall Jennifer mentioning that as a feature, err, no.”

Her curiosity must have showed as he hurried to explain. “My EA at TI. Apparently the selection of ‘business attire appropriate to my position’” the air quotes were heavy “is not one of my strengths so I just let her get on with it.”

“She’s not going to be happy with you.”

“Hmm… I’ve done worse. And hey, the pants might be a lost cause but the shirt will wash, I cleverly left the jacket in the car and the vest is spotless, look!” He held the edges of the waistcoat out for her approval, much as a small child might show off how tidily they had eaten their dinner. Estera was about to wittily point this out when she was arrested by an ominous “whoopsadaisy!” and an unmistakable fizzing sound as the person standing behind Scott clearly forgot about what happened to cola bottles on quad bikes. A fine spray of sugary drink settled over both of them and Scott looked up from his now-slightly-less spotless clothing to catch her eye. She bit her lip and snorted slightly. There was a beat and then both of them dissolved into giggles.

“Tez! A word?!”

Gary underlined his sharp summons with a frantic waving of his iPad. Scott elbowed her gleefully:

“Oooooh, what did you do now, huh, Tez?

“Argh, please don’t adopt that one” she gasped, trying to compose herself “I haven’t the heart to tell them it’s awful… but… it’s awful!”

Scott’s eyes sparkled mischievously as Gary repeated his call with a desperate, slightly cracked edge to his voice so she had mercy and went to see what was bothering him.

Gary gesticulated wildly with the tablet, nearly taking her eye out.

“DID YOU KNOW?” he hissed.

“Did I know what?”

He stabbed his index finger at the screen which showed what appeared to be Scott Tracy’s Wikipedia page.

“Ah. Um, so… err… yes?”

“Are you telling me I made the Chief Thunderbird… the guy with the jet pack and all the… the insane stunts… I made HIM do the BEGINNER’S E-LEARNING?” Gary’s voice had risen to a barely audible squeak.

“I don’t think he minded?”

“I was giving him tips on judging the windspeed at the top, Tez.” Gary looked as if he was going to cry “What if they were bad tips? He flies a rocket plane… my kids have posters of him on their wall…” he whacked the iPad repeatedly into his forehead and groaned “They are gonna disown me.”

Estera tried to prise the tablet from his hands before he cracked the screen with his face.

“Everything ok over here?” Scott materialised behind Gary and the poor man froze, all colour immediately vanishing from his face.

“Gary was just telling me that his kids are huge fans of yours.”

The slightest frown crossed Scott’s face before he closed his eyes and chuckled “I forgot to use the pseudonym didn’t I? Oops. Sorry to have caused any alarm!”

Gary shook his head mutely and gave a double thumbs up, losing his grip on the iPad as he did so. Scott shot out a hand and caught it.

“May I borrow this for a second?”

Gary nodded furiously then covered his face with his hands. Scott tapped the screen a couple of times before raising his eyebrows in surprise. He hurriedly straightened his hair then cleared his throat and said:

“Scott Tracy here, reporting from the breathtaking Beer Head in Devonshire UK. I’ve been refreshing my skills today with this incredible instructor” he dragged Gary into shot “who is an absolute legend and if he ever told me to clean my room or get my homework done I would absolutely do that. Straight away. Thunderbird One out.”

He finished with a wink and handed the tablet back and clapped Gary on the shoulder. “Been a pleasure to meet you, Gary, thanks for letting me take part this afternoon. Hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”

“You’re welcome” came the slightly breathy response. Estera noted the starry eyes and felt they’d best get out of there before Gary did something drastic… like propose.

“Coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

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They made it to the cafe as the barista was putting the chairs up on the tables. Without looking round she informed them it was still too early in the season to expect late opening and her shift had finished 10 mins ago. Scott, already trying to remember whether there’d been any other likely places he’d passed on the drive down, smiled kindly as the harassed-looking woman looked up and he thanked her anyway.

“Wait! I guess I could do you something to take away?”

Estera seemed most entertained by the sudden change of heart but Scott couldn’t quite figure out why. Maybe it was a local thing.

Two triple shot cappuccinos (and a “Really? Triple? Are you sure?”) later, they were stood at the bus stop trying to establish whether it was running late, or Estera had just missed it. The wind had got up and she was now shivering in her damp clothes despite him insisting she wear his big coat.

“I could always drop you back home or… or near home?” He offered tentatively, not wanting to overstep given how upset she’d been before. “Or anywhere you like really.”

“Oh, but it would be a long way out of your way…”

“Not really. I’m not in a rush. And it is my fault you got soaked earlier.”

“That may be true…” she seemed to ponder and looked over at the digital tracker which was now displaying 55 minutes. She shivered and lifted her jaw. “Um, yes please, if you really don’t mind?”

“Come on then. Hope I picked the model with heated seats!”

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Scott hummed to himself quietly as he drove. Estera watched the hedges fly by and wondered how long it had been since she’d accepted a lift from someone like this. She generally felt safer taking the bus so this was… different. Not that she felt in any way unsafe, now. Just, exposed. What was one meant to do as a passenger? Talk about frivolous subjects to pass the time but not distract the driver too much, she reasoned. All small talk fled from her head and she suddenly felt inadequate and a little dizzy. Her hands tightened reflexively around the coffee cup.

“You doing ok?”

Just as before when he’d asked that simple question in that same disarmingly soft voice, she was unable to quickly formulate a convincing lie and the truth leaked out before she realised it.

“Just a sudden giddy moment.”

“I’m not making you motion sick, am I? I’ll slow down.”

“You’re fine, honestly. I just… let my thoughts get away from me. Please don’t let me distract you.”

“You’re not distracting me.”

She noticed he’d slowed down anyway.

She watched him out the corner of her eye and realised with a jolt how much better he looked than the last time she’d seen him in the flesh. Or rather, perhaps, how ill he had looked before. Whereas on the day the cave collapsed on them she’d guessed he was in his 40s, he now seemed no older than she was, possibly a little younger. Aside from the scattered silver at his temple, slightly darker shadowed eyes and a certain leanness to his jawline, he really didn’t seem much different now to the young man who had saved her life the first time. Which was slightly eerie. She knew she’d aged a lot in the intervening period.

She found herself wondering again what it was he’d been recovering from, what illness could have hit him so hard. He’d not volunteered the information, in fact he’d very obviously skated around naming it so it would be rude to ask. It was gnawing at her for some reason though. Definitely not light hearted car conversation anyway so she cast about for something else.

They came out of the trees and for a moment the early evening light highlighted the edge of the fading yellow bruise across the left side of his cheek and head. In the absence of any other ideas, she said:

“It must have been a very impressive black eye you had there?”

“Ugh can you still tell? It seems to have taken an age to fade this time. Maybe I’m getting old” he chuckled.

“This time? It happens a lot?”

“Heh… occupational hazard. I think Virgil’s broken more bones but I’ve probably got the concussion record.”

“Goodness that’s a bit worrying. Don’t you have helmets to help prevent that?”

“Yeeees. Sometimes even with it on if something heavy hits you…”

“Or you fall 20 storeys?”

“Yeah… they can only do so much.”

There was a little pause before he carried on.

“To be fair to our engineer I didn’t actually get concussed this time round so it did a pretty great job.” He looked slightly guilty “Actually to be one hundred percent fair to our engineer, who is a literal genius, it mostly happens when I take it off. Because sometimes it’s easier to talk to people that way, you know? But then of course I end up leaving it somewhere and so obviously then it’s not handy when I need to dive back into something which has… very occasionally proved to be an error.” He glanced over at her and did that schoolboy-been-caught-out cringe again. “Hence the concussion scorecard.” Scott refocused on the road and gave a wry half-smile “Virg is constantly telling me off for it.”

“I don’t blame him! You should listen to him and keep your helmet on, Scott!”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I’m serious! What would you say to Alan?”

“He’s still a child.”

“Ok, Virgil then?”

Scott was quiet for a minute as he approached a junction and indicated left before accelerating away again a little more aggressively than before. He sighed.

“It’s different.”

“How’s it different? Given the concussion record your head doesn’t seem to be any harder? Why are you taking less care of yourself than of your brothers?”

“I’m not. I just react in the way that seems best at the time. Sometimes that involves taking risks to help people.” He sat up a little straighter in the driver’s seat. “That’s my job.”

She frowned, the odd moment from earlier suddenly sharpening into focus.

“When I skidded on the gravelly bit on the cliff path… you nearly overbalanced yourself trying to catch me but I didn’t need catching. I was nowhere near the edge. Worst that could have happened to me there was a grazed knee. You could have gone over!”

His voice changed and became firmer, more authoritative. “You might have been injured. I couldn’t take that chance.”

“Of a minor injury versus potentially something serious happening to you?” She could hear her voice starting to rise a little and wrestled to keep it calm and conceal the sudden sense of horror that was bubbling under the surface.

“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me, Scott. Not… not…”

The next word wouldn’t come out. But he’d clearly heard it anyway and twitched irritably, staring silently ahead, eyebrows furrowed. Well she’d put her foot in it now, might as well finish making the point.

“It’s not your job to keep me safe.”

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[0hbunny]

🫧Washing Plush Dolls🫧

NOTE:

I am VERY new to collecting these kinds of dolls. The doll shown above is literally the only one I have (as of right now…). That said please take everything I say with a grain of salt! This blog post is more of a log of my experience with washing my doll for the first time than a tutorial :)

Material List:

wash cloth (2x)

toothbrush (not used duh)

dawn dish soap

micellar water

tide to go stick/non bleach stain remover

blow dryer/fan

Prepping:

Before bath time there are some things I did to prep.

I started by taking off any stains on my doll. In this case mine had one on their embroidered paw on their foot. I used a “TideToGo” stick to get rid of it and it work wonders. I also heard great things about “Grandma’s Secret Spot Remover” too! Though as long as your stain remover doesn’t have bleach in it I THINK it will be fine, though I’m no expert.

After that I removed my doll’s blush. I did this by putting a little bit of micellar water onto a wash cloth and gently rubbing away where the blush was on my doll. When it comes to this please keep in mind a little goes a long way! Though I will say, I did asked some experienced plush doll collectors if I needed to remove the blush before a bath because I was scared of the blush getting moved around and staining the doll or embroidering. They told me it probably didn’t matter but it wouldn’t hurt. Do with that information what you will.

Bath Time:

Now for the actual bath I started by filling up a container with cold water and about 3 drops of dawn dish soap. (Please make sure it’s cold water because warm water makes things bleed!) Once everything was mixed together I took my toothbrush and dipped it into the mixture.

With the soapy mix I started scrubbing away at my doll. I was sure to be gentle over the embroidery in fear of loosening/damaging it if I was to rough with it. I made sure really get into all of the cracks and crevices too.

Once washed with soap I replaced the soapy water with just plain cold water. Then I scrubbed my doll again but this time with just the water. I made sure to dip my brush back into the water very frequently during this process. On my last scrub I brushed everything up in the same direction with my bruh.

Aftermath:

I placed my wet doll on a dry wash cloth and started to pat them dry with it. I was able to get the longer pieces of fabric (like the hair) pretty much dry with just the cloth but I can’t say that about the other parts.

For the other parts I used a mini fan to help the process go a little faster. (⤵️)

A blow dryer on the cold setting should also work for this if you’re impatient like me lolol. Good old fashion air drying should also work fine too but make sure it’s in a well lit room just to be careful of mold! I have also heard of people putting their dolls in pillowcases and throwing them into the drying machine along with a towel to cushion them more on a low setting. I have never tried this though personally so I’m not sure how well that would work and I’m to nervous to find out.

Also not going to lie I did not enjoy the smell of the “TideToGo” stick very much and I couldn’t get the smell to go away with just the soap and water so I did spray my doll with a bit of perfume. I’m not sure how safe/good this is for dolls but personally for me my doll turned out fine and now smells really good!

Conclusion:

This method worked very well for me I think! My doll is all clean and their hair feels so soft just like when I first got them which is very exciting. If anyone has any tips or thinks I should have done anything differently let me know! Also I’m here to answer questions too🫡 This is my first time making a blog post like this so I hope it was helpful and easy to understand!🙂

[star-1111]

could you write something about enderian gender neutral reader being besties with c!quackity and working at the casino:0 maybe something like something happens and reader gets upset so he tells him it’s gonna be ok

You got it! Sorry for the late response!

~

warnings: language, smoking/drugs, mentions of insecurity

~

You wandered through the crowds of people, who stood around machines and tables, gambling their money and life away.

The clicks of glasses and objects hitting the tables filled the air, alongside people laughing and cheering.

This was what you heard on a daily, since you not only lived, but worked in Las Nevadas.

You were somewhat envious of these people. They were able to live their life without worries. Partying, drinking, getting high..

You sighed, adjusting your suit and tie, feeling eyes on you.

You had a bad habit of always trying your best to make others think only the best of you, and this habit really developed when your life begun in Las Nevadas.

You instinctively looked behind and all around you, people around looking away immediately.

You flushed in embarrassment, looking down as you begun to wring your hands.

You figured that people were looking at you, due to the fact that you were around 7-8 foot tall enderman. The people around you were human, and were nowhere as tall as you.

You continued walking around, your tail swaying with delight at the neon colors that shone down on you.

"Watch where you're swinging that fuckin' thing, freak!" Someone shouted, people glancing at you with disgust again.

You looked aside in shame, running to a gender neutral bathroom. You locked yourself in a stall, taking deep breaths. When you regained yourself, you trudged over to see someone- someone who always made you feel better.

And who could that be? No one else, but the leader of this casino- Quackity.

You entered his office, the lights inside dimmed as Quackity himself gazed longingly out the window, a long cloud of smoke emerging from his mouth and nose. He toyed with rings that hung from his neck, directly placed over his heart.

He glanced over at you, forcing a smile. "Whats up, y/n? Are you enjoying yourself? Wanna hit this fucking joint with me?" You politely shook your head, sitting down across from him.

The duck-winged man tilted his head to the side, lazily looking at you. He sat up, cracking his knuckles as he inhaled in his drug again. He exhaled slowly, forming shapes with the smoke.

"Whats the matter?" He asked, removing the joint from between his teeth. You eyed his scar, the red splotched cut going through his eye.

"Im just...y'know...here, I guess." Quackity rolled his eyes. "You can tell me, dollface. Friends can tell each other things." You sighed. running a hand through your hair. "People...people have been judging me again."

You noticed his posture change, and when you looked he looked directly at you, a serious expression on his face.

"Who?" He asked, his tone demanding. You glanced at the wall. "Just...some gamblers here and there." He stood, fixing his tie. "I'll handle it." He quickly gave you a hug, patting your back. "You should never listen to those fucking scumbags. You are amazing, just the way you are. I have some candy in my drawer, help yourself. I'll be back, and then we can do whatever you want. We could pop some fireworks, we could go for a ride around Las Nevadas, we could gamble the night away- oh, and I'll make sure you win, toots."

He winked at you, a sly smile pulling on his face, before he left you alone in his office.

Yep, you thought to yourself. People like him make my work enjoyable.

~

[winstonindia01]

Hey there, fellow grooming enthusiasts! At Winston, we're all about keeping your body hair game strong. You must have wondered at times which  hair removal machine or method to use. Today, we're diving deep into the age-old debate: Trimming vs. Shaving. Buckle up as we uncover the pros and cons of shaving  and trimming along the way. 

[raventroll80]

A Beast on Mars

Chapter One: Rip and Tear

After a millennia asleep the Doom Slayer wakes to find himself in a situation all too familiar, with demons around every corner the Slayer must find out what caused this invasion and put a stop to it. Should be easy for an 18 foot troll, right?

Also thanks to @horseyneigh2002 for helping me pick a name for the fic!

The Doom Slayer had been wandering in this desolate snowstorm for longer than he could remember. Was this death? Had they finally managed to kill him? God, he hoped not. All he could see was endless white and grey swirling endlessly around him, the cold biting at him like and endless onslaught of Imps. God, he so cold.

The cold was the least of his problems though, he’d constantly catch glimpses of things out of the corner of his eyes. Sometimes it was people, sometimes it was demons, and other times it was objects. Most of the time the things he saw would get swallowed by the storm when he turned to look but the objects stayed.

Sometimes he’d recognize the things he saw, or at least he thought so. Obviously, he knew what the demons looked like, but it was the people who threw him off. Sometimes they spoke, their words garbled by the howling wind. There were a few he recognized, though he wished he didn’t. He’d try to ignore them when he could, it hurt less.

The objects however felt foreign yet familiar, he knew they were from Earth, from his old life. Rarely were they things from D’Nur. The Slayer was fairly certain they were memories, or fragments at least. When he had found control panel half buried in the snow, when he touched it the violent sensation of electricity running through him, maybe some memories where best left buried.

The Slayer had finally begun to resign himself to the endless storm, the cold seeping into his very bones, when he smelt something… he smelt smoke. Smoke and brimstone, he smelt Hell.

Following the sent snow became stone, and the cold melted away as the Slayer found himself climbing great stone steps in Kadingir. Atop the steps behind great stone doors, he found a massive sarcophagus. A voice echoed in his mind as the world around him faded into darkness.

“They are rage, brutal, without mercy. But you… You will be worse. Rip and tear, until it is done.”

The room reeked of smoke and gore; emergency lights flashed overhead, bathing the room in dim red light. The Slayer tried to sit up but something stopped him, a possessed corpse snarled to his right drawing his attention. The restraint snapped as the Slayer grabbed the zombie and crushed it in his hand, its blood staining the stone. The remaining restraint was removed with ease, finally he was free.

The Slayer rolled out of the sarcophagus and stood up; joints popped with a sickening crack alerting a small group of zombies feeding on the pile of gore that was once their coworker. The Slayer snarled at the living corpses before they too became gore as he tore into them. Now the room was quiet save for the blaring alarm, the Slayer could look around.

The room was fairly large with his sarcophagus on a raised platform in the center, its lid suspended from the ceiling by numerous mechanical arms, with more holding various tools. A lab, great. The Slayer flicked his tail in annoyance and made his way to the doors, but before he could leave something beeped overhead and a hologram began to play.

An older woman walked towards the sarcophagus which was surrounded by people knelt around it seemingly worshiping it, the Slayer snorted in annoyance. He hated when people acted like this, like he something to be worshiped. The Slayer crouched to leave when the hologram of the woman spoke.

“We have to contain this…”

The images flicked before disappearing completely. A low growl began emanating from the Slayer, what did she mean we have to contain this. The Slayer exited the room and was greeted by a familiar sight in the next, his Praetor suit. It was embedded in stone and surrounded by machines and gore, if the possessed hadn’t clued him, he was certain Hell had something to do with what was going on.

As the Slayer donned his armour hellish visions flooded his mind, a tower, a door, hellish energy being placed into an open ribcage, and finally an artifact of great power. The visions ended as he held his helmet, brushing his thumb against the familiar symbol painted above the visor.

Air hissed as the Slayer put the helmet on, it’s machinery calibrating after god knows how long of disuse. Glancing at the screen next to the slab of stone the Slayer’s suspicions were confirmed, DEMONIC INVASION IN PROGRESS it read. Gently the Slayer slid his finger across the screen, he wanted to get an idea of how bad the situation was so he could start damage control.

The scans came back incomplete. Apparently one of the arrays were down, which was preventing him form knowing how bad the situation was. “It’s Hell, everyone is probably already dead,” he thought, “even if there were survivors why would they ever trust something like you.”

 A map appeared on the screen showing the location of the offline array, it was close. Good, he thought he’d fix the array, know if he should be wary of survivors. If there weren’t, he’d kill anything that moved.

As the screen was showing him the diagnostics on the satellite the Slayer was notified of an incoming call. Surprised, the Slayer let the call come through. A deep reverberating voice came through the comms, they sounded almost robotic.

“Welcome. I’m Dr. Samuel Hayden. I’m the head of this facility.”

 “Oh,” the Slayer thought, “So, you’re the one to blame for this…”

“I we can work together and resolve this problem in a way that would benefit us both.” The man continued in that strange robotic voice.

The Slayer growled and much less gently grabbed the monitor and threw it across the room. He didn’t have time for excuses, Hell was here and demons needed to be killed. The Slayer left the room and was forced into a much smaller hallway, sure it was wide enough to fit him, but the metal catwalk beneath him creaked and groaned beneath his weight, threatening to give out at a moments notice.

The hallway was filled with crates and canisters, some of which were labeled DM1-5 Samples, the Slayer didn’t know what they contained nor was he interested in knowing. A smattering of zombies shambled about the corridor aimlessly, with the kick of his foot three went careening into the chasm below and the last was crushed as the Slayer rammed into the door.

The catwalk collapsed behind him and a massive boom shook the room he had entered. As the Slayer got his bearings straight something shrieked above him, the something skittered across the grating overhead before dropping down at the end of the hall. The Imp shrieked at the Slayer in defiance, a wicked grin crept across his face before bellowing out a roar and charging down the hall. The Imp didn’t stand a chance before it was crushed against the glass behind it which shattered as the Slayer kept charging.

More Possessed were crushed beneath his feet as the Slayer entered the room, the rich stench of gore permeated his nostrils. Looking up the Slayer was greeted to the sight of a gore nest; thick meaty webbing suspended a mass of flesh and bone, yellow pustules littered throughout the structure and a gaping maw clasped a sphere of demonic energy. The Slayer sunk his hand into the largest pustule and ripped out the gore nest’s heart, a hellish scream of pain filled the room as the nest summoned demons to it’s aid before exploding into a shower of blood and flesh.

Within seconds the room was filled with the lesser Imps, who wall screamed at the Slayer before they begun to attack. The Slayer roared once again before he began to tear though the Imps. Blood and gore were scattered across the room as the Slayer attacked, one Imp landed a shot while the Slayer was busy dismembering one of its comrades, but the Imps luck ran out as the Slayer swung his spiked tail towards it, impaling the demon instantly. The Slayer flicked the corpse off before continuing his carnage.

Another boom shook the room and a demonic roar echoed from behind the blast door. The last Imp was struggling in the Slayers grasp let out a final howl before the Slayer crushed it, another roar called out and something began slamming into the door. Still itching for a fight, the Slayer decided to give this unseen opponent a hand, and with some effort was able to pry open the blast door, only to be tackled by a much larger Imp. Ah so that’s what it was, a Brute.

The Slayer kicked off the large demon and let out yet another bellowing roar. The Brute lunged towards the Slayer who dodged out of the way causing the massive Imp to collide with the wall. Before it had time to recover the Slayer kicked the demon in the ribs before grabbing one of the many spikes protruding form its back and pulled it up. The Brute hissed at him before he punched in the face, the demon swung its arms down on the Slayer in a haymaker.

The Slayer stumbled back a few steps before the Brute jumped on top of him. While still being smaller than the Slayer the Brute was similar in size to him as a chimpanzee would be to a human with the strength to match, meaning the Brute was more capable at holding its own against an unarmed Doom Slayer.

The Brute screamed at the Slayer before it began to claw at his face trying to get the helmet off. The Slayer stabbed his tail into the Brutes side, the demon howled in pain giving him the perfect opportunity to grab it by the jaw and rip it out. The massive Imp stumbled back gurgling in agony as blood poured from its exposed throat, which the Slayer gladly tore open. The Brutes corpse fell to the ground, bright red blood pooling around it on the gray metal floor.

“Demonic presence eliminated. Lockdown disengaged.” An automated voice chimed overhead as the red emergency lights finally stopped. The door the Brute had entered from slowly opened with a mechanical groan. Behind him another blast door opened leading to another room in the lab. Curiosity got the better of him and the Slayer went to investigate.

And lucky he did as in the room he found a familiar sight. There on the wall was his beloved shotgun. Countless hours of work went into making the weapon, days of collecting resources, and many, many sleepless nights spent making sure his schematics were right, until finally it was completed. The look of fear on everyone’s face when he blew the head off the Brute, was one of the few fond memories he had of fighting the legions of Hell.

The Slayer reclaimed his shotgun and grabbed the ammo packs he had and equipped them to his belt before making his way to the elevator. Another hologram flickered to life; it was the old woman again. She had a determined scowl on her face as she spoke.

“He cannot be allowed to leave this place. He would ruin everything”

The Slayer growled as he heard this, she had something to do with this he was sure of it.

Entering the elevator, the Slayer heard Dr. Hayden’s voice crackle through the monitor on the control panel as it began to leave the lab. Hearing his voice only made the Slayer angrier.

“I’m willing to take full responsibility for the horrible events of the last 24 hours but you must understand; our interest in their world was purely for the betterment of mankind.” The Slayer glanced down at a corpse slumped against the railing of the elevator, their blood was smeared across the glass in an attempt to escape, and growled.

“Everything has clearly gotten out of hand now, yes, but it was worth the risk. I assure you-” the Dr. was cut off as the Slayer ripped out the control panel and threw it off the elevator. He unslung his shotgun from his back, and as the hydraulics of the elevator hissed to a stop, he pumped the shotgun and stepped out into the Martian landscape.

[mintmatcha]

tw: hospital setting, injury, trauma, ANGST, suicide implication

The nurses tell him where to go before he can even ask. With a tragic recognition, they guide him down the halls, past onlookers who whisper to each other knowingly. There’s surprisingly little commotion outside the room and Bakugo is forced to listen to his boots squeak and grit against the pristine linoleum as he forces himself to open the door.

You’re there, tucked into a chair by the bed, whispering to your husband as he lays there. Bakugo can't bring his eyes off the ground; it's a safe spot, where he can pretend he isn't here, that the steady beat and whir of the machines aren’t in the room with him. He debates turning down his hearing aids to soften the sound, but he doubts it would soften the ache that's building in his chest.

"Is he--?"

It would just be like a bandaid when he needs a fucking tourniquet.

You nod, the movement self-soothing. From your position next to the bed, you reach forward and brush a bit of hair from your husband's forehead and Bakugo pretends not to notice how your hand trembles when it lingers, "He's unresponsive. No reflexes."

"Fuck."

Bakugo isn't sure what else to say. Every question he came up with in the past 24 hours is sinking into the vast, empty pit of tar that's forming in his brain. It's a messy, impossible amalgamation of emotions he just can't find the way to slog through, so it stays, sticking in the sides of his lungs and pulling back every breath, clogging his throat until speaking feels impossible.

Bakugo takes a step further into the room and finally looks up.

It's Kirishima but in none of the ways that matter. It's his body, with the same thick frame and the same red hair, partially removed and covered by tape and gauze, but there's no presence. His body lacks the slight rigidity that comes with sleep, the reflexive self-protection bodies carry intrinsically; it's like he's a shell, held up by IVs and breathing tubes.

Bakugo's seen death up close-- he's felt it too-- but seeing his friend like this, bruised and cut, beaten and defeated, is gruesome.

Bile rises in his throat. "Is he going to be okay?"

There's a long silence, filled with only the whir of the machine that seems to be breathing for Kirishima.

"There’s a lot of swelling in his brain. It’s hard to say.” You look at Kirishima the same way you always do, with love and warmth. “He could have a full recovery, but there’s a higher chance that-”

You almost break. The corners of your lips quiver as you speak, matching the cracking, watery tone of your voice.  “That he won’t.”

Sitting in the sound of your misery, the labored breaths sucked through your teeth, Bakugo feels like he’s watching you drown. And just like a real drowning victim, you drag him down too.

The last time Bakugo cried was in high school when someone he barely remembers broke his heart, and he sat in the lonely dark of his dorm room, pillow pressed into his face so no image or sound could possibly escape. Today, he lets the tears fall openly. He’s not sure if he considers this growth or a weakness.

He wipes away his tears with the bony part of his palm and a thorny stem catches against his cheek, pulling a cat scratch line. Until now he had forgotten there was even anything in his hands.

“Here,” The flower bouquet is half wilted, damaged from the train ride here and the kiss of snow that still hangs from them. Bakugo lifts it up higher-- an offering. “For him. And you.”

The machine whirs.

“Mostly you, I think.”

You take the flowers in the crook of your arm and walk back over to the other side of the room. With your foot, you press open the garbage can’s lid and let it slam against the wall, the sound echoing down the hall. For the first time, you look down at the blooms, examining them with an unreadable expression. Your lips part into a smile, then fall completely as you unceremoniously dump them into the trash.

"I don't want you here, Katsuki." With red-rimmed eyes, you tilt your chin up to look down at him, broken and yet still strong.

Annoyance is Bakugo's first response. Anger has been trained into him, teased out of him so many times it's now his first and only line of defense.

"Hey, I-" He stops himself, “I have every right to be here.”

"Do you?" You ease your foot off of the step and let the lid fall closed again with an equally loud clatter, eyes never breaking away from his.

The accusation isn’t spoken, but he understands it. Stomping forward, he jabs a gloved finger into your chest, letting the hurt bubble into anger, "I did my best in a no-win situation. I did everything I could-"

"Did you?" The evenness in your voice is what really scares him. That calculated tone reflects thought; it’s not spur-of-the-moment anger or reflexive pain that he feels. You’ve thought about this. "I saw the news.”

The machine whirs. Bakugo’s shoulders go slack.

“I saw you freeze."

The memory of the accident comes in pieces. Somehow, it happened slowly and all too fast, marred by the bite of frozen rain like film eaten by time, spinning a bit too slowly to feel real. Each step, every moment happened, but it felt like a dream.

Battles are decided by split-second decisions, by taking advantage of momentary lapses in defense.

Kirishima slipped on a patch of ice. It was nothing. He never even truly lost his footing.

Slip, catch. Simple. It happens to people all the time.

But it was followed by the sickening, wet crack of a villain’s quirk catching Kirishima squarely on the back of his head and Kirishima folding over himself, like a puppet with his strings cut.

It’s a blur and it’s so vividly carved into his brain he can see it everything time he blinks.

"I'm sure they've already told you it's not your fault." you say, tears rimming your eyes once again, "Your little girlfriends, the public, the police, your fucking therapist that you think no one knows about: everyone's going to try and protect your fragile ego."

Thirty minutes ago he was home, curled up in the dark just like he was in high school, pretending to listen to his therapist’s advice over the phone. You did everything you could in a no-win situation, she told him and Bakugo repeated those words like gospel.

“But me and you?” you gesture between you, “We know the truth."

And just like gospel, Bakugo only pretended to believe.

Bakugo stands in front of you, bare of injury, as your husband, his friend, dies and there’s no one to blame but himself.

You step away and return to your spot by the bed, weaving your hand into your husband’s. Your hand squeezes, but nothing holds you back. "This is your fault."

Bakugo offers you the only thing he has left. "I'm sorry."

The machine whirs.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice breaking and true. In sorrow, he feels so small.

"I heard you.” You don’t look up. “I just don't forgive you."

Bakugo wipes his face again. There’s a bit of blood where the roses cut him, staining his fingers just like Kiri’s did less than a day ago. "I didn’t want this. I-- I wish it was me instead.”

“Me too,” you say, no hesitation, all spite. “I wish you were dead.”

The machine whirs.

“Me too.”

[quotemenevervore]

Hey Gremlin Anon, it turns out all I need to push myself through slight writer’s block is to work on a dynamic with a character I haven’t explored yet! Enjoy : )

Content warnings: soft, safe, full sized vore, slight panic but no real fear on either side. Mentions of an injury but no actual injury.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Hey, Sam!” The Creepertaur looked over his shoulder, offering a nod to the admin standing behind him. “How’s work on the prison?” “It’s going.” He sighed through his mask, messing with the redstone wiring of the wing he was in more. He’d done a test of it, and something was off somewhere in the wiring and it did not put the security measures in place. That wouldn’t do. He’d been so focused on it, he hadn’t taken into account the fact that he’d neglected his own health, not having eaten throughout the day. That was likely why Dream was ‘checking in’: to make him stop and take care of himself.

And he would, after he got done redoing all of the wiring. “Would you be interested in walking with me somewhere?” “Where do you wanna go?” He placed more redstone down, realizing that one of the repeaters had malfunctioned and shut off the other machines that needed the repeated energy. With a huff, he removed the defective piece, moving to a chest to pull a new one out. The blonde moved into his path, sidestepping to continue blocking his path as he tried to move around. “Somewhere. Anywhere that’ll get you outta this building site and somewhere where you’ll take a break.” “Not gonna happen. I need to finish this first.” Dream stepped into his path again, and a frustrated growl escaped him.

“Dream, if you don’t move-“ “What exactly are you planning on doing if I don’t? You can’t keep ignoring your own health, Sam. I can hear your stomach growling from here.” His eye twitched as he begrudgingly accepted that his friend was right, but this was such an easy fix. “I just need to put one more piece down.” “And it can wait until you come back.”

“Dream.” “Sam.” Sam managed to sidestep him, moving to open the chest before Dream jumped onto it, crossing his arms. “You’re taking a break one way or another.” “That a threat?” He quirked a brow at the blonde, who simply smiled despite the other not being able to see his face. “It’s a promise.” Sam undid the latches on his mask, letting it fall around his throat and blowing the smoke out of his mouth before he suffocated on it. That was a part of his biology he couldn’t stand; When he became frustrated or angry, or even panicked, his body started emitting smoke like it was a defense mechanism. Which, technically was as it was usually accompanied with a hiss that had most players jumping or sprinting away. But he didn’t have a need for it, which was why it frustrated him, which only led to more smoke.

With the smoke now expelled from his lungs, he grabbed the admin’s legs, yanking him off of the chest and throwing him over his back. “Sam!” “I told you to move.” He responded to the flailing form, opening the chest and grabbing a redstone repeater as the other righted himself on his back. With a huff, he reached around the other’s body, snatching the piece out of his hands before leaping off and sprinting away. “Dream!” He roared, giving chase.

He wasn’t sure how it had ended like this.

One minute he was catching up to Dream, who’s foot suddenly caught on a loose piece of cobblestone, and the next the other’s arms were down his throat and his friend giving him a nervous look from his cracked mask. Wait, no, he knew exactly how it had happened. He’d gotten lost in the chase, the prey drive in his body enjoying it and then his other instincts kicking in when the other had slammed into the ground face first. Though, he wasn’t sure how Dream had wound up so close to him that he had the chance to shove his hands- wait no, now torso, down his throat. To his surprise, the other wasn’t screaming or squirming to get free, and he couldn’t figure out if he just didn’t care or didn’t want to lose face. It wasn’t like he could hide his fear; Sam could feel his heart fluttering against his tongue. He tried to stop, tried to pull him out, but his instincts still had a good grasp on his movements, and before long the other’s legs had slipped completely down his throat, settling his prey- no, his friend, into his first stomach. Gasping for breath, he hesitantly pressed against the lump at his front, only feeling slight relief when the other pushed back. “Sam?” His voice was muffled, but it didn’t sound scared from what he could tell. Nervous of course, but not scared. The creepertaur prayed he could fix this.

“You’re okay, Dream. This- I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen-“ “Is this safe?” “You’re safe, you’re safe. You’re in my first stomach, it can’t digest anything.” The other fell limp at the reassurance, and he worried that he’d passed out before he could feel him pat at the stomach walls around him, chuckling. “What brought this on? Were you really that hungry?” Relief flooded his system, and his shoulders dropped. “I- no, it’s instincts, kind of. I saw you trip and they just flared up, saying to get you safe. Which, I still haven’t figured out how creepers have instincts like that but-“ “Interesting. I never would have pegged you as the type.” “Huh?” What the heck was he on about? “Sorry, it’s just, I’m realizing I have a lot of friends that have instincts and stuff thanks to being hybrids. Next George is gonna say he’s not human and has some kind of kid or clan related instincts too.” He chuckled at that, picking up the piece of redstone equipment before making his way back to the wiring. They went silent for a while, before it occurred to Sam that ‘oh fuck, I should probably let him out.’ “Hey Sam?” “Hang on, I’ll get you out-“ “Oh you don’t have to do that! I was gonna ask if you were good with me taking a nap in here. Or is that gonna be distracting?” He paused, considering the options before shaking his head. “Maybe another time, Dream, but I haven’t had anything to eat today. If you stay there you might wind up slipping into my second stomach and I’m not willing to risk that.” “I understand. Does this mean you’ll finally come get some food with me?” He sighed, giving a soft chuckle as he tossed the redstone repeater into the chest once more. “I guess it does.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Hey, Sam!” “Hey, Dream.” He set down his trident as the speedrunner walked towards him, turning to walk with him and match his pace. “What’re you doing today?” “Not much. Finished most of the stuff I planned on, so I guess I’m just wandering.” “Oh nice! Wanna come to my base and chill?”

By chill, Sam should have known he meant he’d be swallowing the other down again. It’s far from the first time, at this point, but he’s never understood why Dream liked it so much. Though, it would be hypocritical to shame the other for it, when he enjoyed the presence of his friend in his stomach just as much as he enjoyed being in there. At that point, George knew as well, so when he saw Dream walk in with the creepertaur following him, he rolled his eyes. “Do you need me to leave?” “You don’t have to.” Dream replied, standing behind his sofa. “Nah, I should probably go, actually. Make sure Sapnap and Karl’s got things taken care of in Kinoko Kingdom. I’ll see you later, Sam.” He gave a curt nod, still nervous about the other knowing.

“Does it make him nervous?” He asked once the other had left. “What, the storing thing?” “Yeah. He always acts off whenever he sees me and you together because he knows what we’re doing.” “Nah, he doesn’t mind it. He probably just wants to go take a nap.” “But how would you know that for certain?” “I’ve known George for years. Besides, I know he’s fine with it because-“ and then he cut himself off, clearing his throat and trying again. “Because of something that’s sworn to secrecy.” And didn’t that just raise more questions? But he didn’t get a chance to piece any of them together to ask, because Dream had already removed his mask and tugged his hoodie off, offering the other his arms. With an eye roll at the other’s eagerness, he undid his mask and set it aside, stepping up to the other and allowing him to put his hands into his mouth.

Something he’d never been able to do when storing anyone was look at them. And Dream had a bad habit of just watching his face as he worked his arms in, so he closed his eyes before continuing to bring his arms in, taking a deep breath in to hopefully get him through before swallowing his hands, tugging his arms further into his maw. The other’s face was so close, he could feel his breath against his throat, and he quickly swallowed again to rid himself of that weird sensation. And just like every other time, he remained limp, letting the other manipulate his body in a way to make the process easy on both of them as he swallowed and brought his torso in.

Soon enough, the other’s legs were all that remained in his throat, and even they were nearing the end of their journey. Dream had already made himself comfortable, positioning himself in a way that wouldn’t require too much adjusting when his feet joined him. Sam had already lowered himself down to the ground, resting on his legs as he felt Dream make the small adjustments he needed to before patting at the stomach walls. “Can a take a nap?” “Yeah. I’ll probably take one too. I ate earlier, so you should be fine.” With a soft okay, Dream closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds around him. The other’s heart didn’t beat as quickly as Sapnap’s did, and he’d even considered Sapnap’s heartbeat a regular rhythm. It was easier to focus on the other noises that relaxed him, rather than his heart; it just felt strange, though it wasn’t Sam’s fault. The stomach below him was releasing soft gurgles as it processed whatever the creepertaur had eaten previously, and his breathing had begun to even out. He wasn’t as warm as Sapnap, but Dream still found the same comfort in it, drifting off easily.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So… Sapnap, huh?” “Yeah.” He responded, rubbing gently at his surroundings as the other worked on a book and quill. He’d found the other in Las Nevadas this time, and despite the risk he ran by getting caught there, he knew Sam wasn’t doing guard work that day and was in his office. So he took the chance and it paid off. “That’s how you know George isn’t bothered by it, isn’t it? Because he does it with Sapnap?” “Oh, we both do. And his fiancés, too. His instincts aren’t the only reason he does it, but he definitely doesn’t have to worry about them.” “Yeah, I can tell. I don’t know how you get anything done bouncing between me and Sapnap constantly like this though.” “I don’t spend all my time in someone’s stomach, Sam.”

He thought he was going to get a response, but he hadn’t. At least, not at first. “Quackity.” Dream froze, pulling his hand from the wall and attempting to make himself seem like he wasn’t in there. But it didn’t matter, because the other gave a short answer and suddenly he could hear the avian’s voice. He had to have come close to Sam. “Go to sleep, Dream. I need to talk to Sam about a build he and Foolish are working on.” “Well that ruins the fun.” “Every time we’ve done this all you’ve done is sleep.” Sam retorted. Well, he didn’t have a snarky reply for that. With a huff, he relaxed himself, trying to tune out what the two above him were saying as he finally began to doze off.

And when he’d wake up, he knew he’d be in his base with a pair of dry clothes waiting for him along with a meal for having missed one while indulging the other for a while.

[blueiscoool]

A 160-Year-Old Cézanne Painting Hid a Secret

Cincinnati Art Museum's chief conservator Serena Urry was conducting a routine inspection of the institution's prized Paul Cézanne painting "Still Life with Bread and Eggs" when she noticed something "odd."

For an artwork dating back to 1865, the appearance of small cracks was no surprise. But they were concentrated in two specific areas, rather than distributed evenly across the canvas. What's more, they revealed tiny flashes of white that stood out in contrast to the brooding palette of the French painter's so-called "dark" period.

"I thought there might be something underneath that we should look at," Urry said in a video interview.

The conservator asked a local medical company to bring a portable X-ray machine to the museum, where a technician scanned the 2.5-foot-wide oil painting in several parts. As Urry stitched the series of images together digitally using Photoshop, she saw "blotches of white" that indicated the presence of more white lead pigment.

"I was trying to figure out what the heck they were... then I just turned it (90 degrees)," she recalled. "I was all alone but I think I said 'wow' out loud." When the scan was rotated vertically, an image of a man emerged, his eyes, hairline and shoulders appearing as dark patches. Given the figure's body position, Urry and her museum colleagues believe it to be Cézanne himself.

"I think everyone's opinion is that it's a self-portrait ... He's posed in the way a self-portrait would be: in other words, he's looking at us, but his body is turned.

"If it were a portrait of someone other than himself, it would probably be full frontal," she added.

Should that be the case, it would be among the earliest recorded depictions of the painter, who was in his mid-20s when the still life was completed. Cézanne is known to have produced more than two dozen self-portraits, though almost all of them were completed after the 1860s and were largely executed in pencil.

"We are at the outset of the process of discovering as much as we can about the portrait," said Peter Jonathan Bell, the museum's curator of European paintings, sculpture and drawings, over email. "This will include collaborating with Cézanne experts around the world to identify the sitter, and undertaking further imaging and technical analysis to help us understand what the portrait would have looked like and how it was made.

"Stitched together, this information may add to our understanding of a formative moment in the early career of this great artist."

Unanswered questions

Part of the Cincinnati Art Museum's collection since 1955, "Still Life with Bread and Eggs" was painted in a realist style — inspired by the Spanish and Flemish Baroque periods — that Cézanne deployed early in his career. He later developed a more colorful aesthetic under the guidance of Impressionist painter Camille Pissarro, before spearheading the more structured style of the post-Impressionist movement.

In the mid-1860s, Cézanne was developing a new coarse painting technique, often using a palette knife to apply color. But whether his hidden portrait was an experiment gone wrong, or whether he simply reused an old canvas to save money, remains a matter of speculation.

Another possibility, Urry ventured, is that the painter suddenly felt inspired and "needed a canvas" — a theory supported by the fact that he appears not to have removed much paint before starting work.

"It's pretty clear that he didn't scrape it down," Urry explained.

Many other questions remain, including the colors Cézanne used and how complete his original portrait was. Museum experts hope to analyze the painting using advanced scanning processes like multispectral imaging, which might reveal the underlying brushwork by assessing textures invisible to the human eye. X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy, meanwhile, could reveal which chemical elements are present and, thus, what colored pigments were used by the artist.

"We're hoping to reach out to colleagues in the conservation and curatorial worlds to see if we can get access to other equipment," said Urry.

For now, however, the museum is looking forward to putting "Still Life with Bread and Eggs" back on display. Since making the discovery in May, Urry has cleaned the painting and thinned the varnish on its surface. It returns to public view, alongside an image of the X-ray, from Dec. 20.

Further scans and analysis could entail transporting the artwork to another institution, presenting logistical challenges and meaning visitors to the museum might miss out on a chance to see one of only two — or arguably, now, three — Cézannes in its collection. "You can't just pop it in your car and drive it to Chicago," Urry said.

"The portrait has been there since he painted it, and it's been there since (we acquired it in) 1955," she added, "so there's no rush."

By Oscar Holland.

[ali-annals]

summer's a knife (it's a cruel summer)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Rating: T | Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ao3 | WC: 2.2k | TW: mentions of blood, cleaning wounds

A/N: This is part of a series called The Eras Tour (Jasonette’s Version), a collection of Jasonette-centric fics I wrote for the Maribat discord server Maribat? Get In!’s 2024 Civil War event. Not beta’d.

“So, wanna tell me what happened that you’re halfway to swiss cheese?” “Not really.” “Fair enough.” She peered at the wound. “You’re lucky–seems you shouldn’t need stitches.” “Oh goodie,” he deadpanned. “Want to tell me why you’re in a place like this, then?” “Awfully chatty for a nurse, aren’t you?” “Awfully grumpy for someone getting free healthcare, aren’t you? Besides, you seem like you’d grumble about my lack of bedside manner if I didn’t talk. Excuse me if I can only think about things related to what I’m currently doing.” To her surprise, he threw his head back with a laugh. “I like you.”

The neon lights of the vending machine cast a colourful glow on the person in front of it, probably a male based on height and body type. His face was covered by the red hoodie he was wearing, but Marinette could tell he was aware of her presence behind him. 

Something was off about him. He’d immediately shifted to a defensive stance when he sensed her behind him (it was very rare for someone to notice her when she’d been walking as softly as she had been), there was an awfully clean rip through the side of his hoodie–almost as if it had been made with a knife, and he was almost going out of his way to appear unsuspicious–which was of course the most suspicious thing. 

“Are you going to buy anything?” she asked, moving a little closer.

His head turned and she made out dark hair and a strong jawline, teal eyes glowing from the depths of the hooded shadows. 

“Go ahead.” He shuffled out of the way.

His voice was a little raspy, but she liked it. He turned on his heel, obviously about to leave, but paused when her voice reached him.

“Wait.”

He waited, something she hadn’t actually expected him to do. 

“You look hurt. I’ve got first-aid training, if you want help.”

Those glowing teal eyes met hers, sizing her up as a predator might. She felt judged, but not unsafe, something that should have been strange, given their size difference and the general aura of danger that he exuded. 

“Why?” he asked.

“Why not?” she returned. “I have the ability to help someone who looks like they need it. Side wounds are a pain in…well, the literal side to deal with. It’s awkward. And we’ll likely never cross paths once we check out of this skeevy motel; we’re obviously here because we can keep secrets.”

A small smile cracked the lower half of his face. 

“If you’re so insistent on helping, be my guest,” he shrugged. “My room’s just down the hall.”

~~~

“I don’t usually go to men’s rooms without even knowing their names, but I’ll make an exception tonight, I guess,” she joked, sensing his nervousness.

Which she found strange–what did he have to be nervous about? Sure, he was wounded, but she was way smaller than him and as far as he knew posed no threat to him; their roles should be reversed. She’d retrieved the first-aid kit from her room, one she’d packed herself before she went on the run. 

He half-sat, half-collapsed on the creaky twin bed, a foot too short for his tall frame, while she removed her rings and placed them in her bag, washed her hands, and laid out what she thought she’d need.

“Shirt off, please.” She sat on the edge of the bed, beside him, rolling up her hoodie sleeves.

“Awfully forward to guys you don’t know,” he snarked, pulling the hoodie off, revealing a stained white t-shirt that he pulled off one-handed. She really envied that guys could do that.

“Like I said, you’re an exception,” she retorted primly, snapping the wrist of the glove against her skin. “Ooh, that looks painful.”

He hissed as she prodded carefully at the slowly bleeding stab wound just under his ribcage. “Ow!”

“You can call me Mari, if you decide to curse me out in a minute,” she informed him, using his already-ruined t-shirt to wipe away the worst of the blood, which was already crusting over in places. 

“You can call me Jay,” he offered in return.

“So, wanna tell me what happened that you’re halfway to swiss cheese?”

“Not really.”

“Fair enough.” She peered at the wound. “You’re lucky–seems you shouldn’t need stitches.”

“Oh goodie,” he deadpanned.

“Want to tell me why you’re in a place like this, then?”

“Awfully chatty for a nurse, aren’t you?”

“Awfully grumpy for someone getting free healthcare, aren’t you? Besides, you seem like you’d grumble about my lack of bedside manner if I didn’t talk. Excuse me if I can only think about things related to what I’m currently doing.”

To her surprise, he threw his head back with a laugh. “I like you.”

She tapped the adhesive of the bandage down gently. “I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“You sound like my father,” he groaned, covering his face with his forearm. It was a very nice forearm, and the pose really showed off his non-bloodied muscles. It wasn’t a bad view at all.

With a sigh he answered. “I came here looking for a friend. They’d told me they knew something about a thing that could fix something that I have. I couldn’t find my friend at the spot we agreed to meet up, so I went out looking, and then I got attacked.”

“Wow, so specific,” she said dryly, gathering up her things. “I guess that’s safer.”

“You have no idea. Care to share why you’re here? Let me guess…secret lover?”

She snorted, balling up her gloves and tossing them neatly into the garbage can across the room. “No. I don’t do romance anymore, and I have standards, anyways. If I have to sneak around to meet him…big nope from me.”

“Then…you’re on the run from your billionaire father who’s threatened to marry you off to an acquaintance for his business?”

She laughed outright at that, unrolling her hoodie sleeves until they hung at her wrists again and slid on her rings. “Do they do that in this day and age? No, my dad’s a baker, not a billionaire. I’m here because I’m hiding from a group of magical ninjas after me for my jewelry.” She laughed, flashing her beringed hands in his face.

His hand grasped her wrist, observing the silver bands circling her fingers. His touch was warm, gentle, the rough calluses on his fingers providing a strange stimulation that headed straight to her nerves, but his eyes were sharp, wary as he scanned the metal.

“Thank you for looking after me,” he said sincerely, gaze meeting her own.

She remembered to take a breath. “You’re welcome. I’m glad it wasn’t worse. It seems like you’ve experience with injuries of this style, so I’ll assume you know how to take care.”

He grinned ruefully down at his scarred arms and torso. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Great,” she said briskly, dusting off her jeans as she stood up, snapping her kit closed. “Stay safe out there, and I hope you find your friend okay.”

“You’re just leaving?”

“Yep. I’ve done what I can.”

She thought he’d protest, but he only waved. “Thank you. Take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she smiled, stepping out of the room. She heard the click of the automatic lock and leaned against it with a sigh. 

It was dangerous, but she was going to stick around here a little longer. She had to, for his sake.

~~~

Noire slipped into the shadows as Jay slipped out of his motel window. He wore a black t-shirt instead of his old white one, but still wore the charcoal-grey cargo pants from that evening. 

The last ultramarine tinges of the sunset lingered in the sky, providing just enough light for Noire’s enhanced eyesight to track Jay’s path from the window to the ground, to the streets behind the motel.

Noire easily ran over the rooftops as he made his way through the winding streets of the city, probably looking for that friend he’d mentioned. So much for resting like he should after that wound, but going by the number of scars she’d counted on him, he didn’t live the most restful life. He talked to the girls on the street, a couple street kids that hadn’t hidden at his approach, and one abuela closing up her restaurant for the evening. They didn’t appear to give him anything.

He seemed to sense someone was following him, often turning as if to catch them in the act, or taking deliberately obscure paths that only a stalker would follow him through.

She’d gradually grown closer as the night deepened and the shadows hid her more fully, and she ducked behind a dumpster when he seemed like he might turn around again.

Then she saw them, five of them. All in black, like her; armed, like her; stalking Jay, like her.

Jay saw them, too. She was mildly impressed by that.

“What do you want this time,” he asked one, exasperated.

So they’d done this to him. She recalled what he’d told her before. He was looking for something to fix something he had. 

Taking a chance, she stepped out, drawing the ninjas’ attention to her. 

“I believe I’m what you’re all looking for,” she said.

~~~

Whoever was knocking on her door before noon should be Cataclysmed, Marinette decided, getting out of bed with a loud groan.

“What?” she snapped, answering the door with all the grace sleep-deprived Mari contained, which was about a thimbleful.

“Mari.”

“Oh. Jay. Got another stab wound for me to fix?”

“Thankfully, no. You’re the person I was looking for?”

“I dunno, am I?” she opened the door wider in silent invitation.

He sauntered in, settling into the rickety chair across from her bed. For her part, she dove under the blankets, relishing the small bit of retained warmth.

“So, I’ve been looking for you because I’ve been told you have a cure for Pit Madness.”

She tsked. “No wonder they’re after me. I wondered why, after all this time.”

“Why do you know the League of Assassins?”

She opened her eyes, sitting up to read his facial expressions. “Wait, those were League ninjas?”

He stared at her. “Who did you think they were?!”

“Uh. Ninjas from my magical sect? They don’t think I’m fit to…know the cure, so they tried to get me to give it up, but I convinced them I was fine with it. Why was the League after me, then?!”

“That might be my fault,” he offered sheepishly. “Ra’s doesn’t want to lose his last thread of control over me, so he was either going to get rid of me after I was cured or both of us if I hadn’t been fixed by the time his assassins caught up to us.”

“I’m going to push him into his precious Pits and then cataclysm them one day, I swear,” she mumbled, collapsing against her lumpy pillows. 

She sat up again. “Okay, cure. It’s not that bad in you, so it shouldn’t take long. Plagg, Tikki!”

The kwami appeared at her summons, inspecting the startled Jay. 

With a flash of their combined magics, Jay slumped in his chair.

“He should be good as new when he wakes up. It’s best to let him come to naturally,” Tikki warned her. 

“Thank you.” She handed over their snacks, twisting Plagg’s ring absentmindedly on her finger as she watched Jay sleep.

~~~

The summer passed far too quickly, Jay and Mari floating along in the haze of budding love. They spent their time together practicing spars, magic, and getting to know each other. They were surprised to find how similar they were in many areas, their compatibility lending ease to their relationship. But one day Jay told her he’d left his responsibilities far too long, and he had to get back to them. With those words, their breakable heaven shattered into pieces.

“I’d ask you to come, but…”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t work out,” she agreed.

“It’s better this way.”

“Yep. Stay safe, Jay.”

“Stay safe, Mari.”

I love you, she thought, but bit her lip instead.

~~~

I love you, she thought, flicking through the photos they’d taken together, the nights she let herself be maudlin.

I love you, she thought, seeing a man in a red hoodie laughing as he played soccer in the street with a few kids.

I love you, she thought, seeing the return of Bruce Wayne’s son, Jason Todd, from the dead, which had apparently been a cover for WITSEC. 

I love you, she thought, following the Red Hood to the Batcave, conveniently under Wayne Manor.

I love you, she thought, dressing to the nines in a type of outfit she’d never thought she’d wear.

I love you, she thought, watching Jason’s eyes flash with annoyance as a girl tried to flirt with him while he got a drink from the bartender at the gala they were both at.

“I love you,” she said, gliding up to him in rescue. She’d meant to say Hello, but it was too late now, so she smiled. “Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

A slow smile took over his face as he looked up and saw her. 

“Only if you agree that the worst thing you’ve ever heard is this: I. Love. You.”

“Looks like we’re in agreement, then.”

“All the best agreements are sealed-”

“-With a kiss?”

“We’re in agreement again, it seems.”

And then they agreed for a third time to stop talking and instead tell each other in a different way how much they’d missed the other. 

[corvidaenightcrawler]

Hello, all. I have been reminded of the JOYS of ask blogs, and I do have 80 or so ocs lying around that the likes of you have yet to experience..... There wouldn't be visuals, I haven't got the time nor energy for that, but... As a way to introduce you to my original characters, I bring you an opportunity. You may ask anything to my ocs, anything at all. Not all will be available, but there are some I'm particularly curious as to what your impression of them is.

So, here are your options:

Story 1: Machinations. In this universe, humanity is long dead. Their shadows live on after them using the knowledge collected of their lives attached to humans, creating deathless robotic vessels for their consciousness on a scorched, crumbling earth devoid of most life. Hordes of brainless vessels with no continuum of their own travel on foot to swarm the tower of their former prince by the mesa shore. I have a whole document typed up for the lore of this story, so if you're interested, throw me an ask or a dm!

Characters available in Machinations to talk to:

Overclock: A shadow man with many secrets about the dwellings and doings of his human years. He's now a gruff and morally spineless bounty hunter, employed by an unknown individual to kill the very prince residing in the tower he stalks. He's basically against the horde to get to him first before the whole place topples down.

Noonwraith: When the rapture happened and humanity succumbed, the shadows of a mass grave became one, creating a singular, massive hivemind being called Noonwraith. Typically, they reside beneath the ocean or squished into the cracks of the Earth, but just for you, they are cooperating to speak to you. Friend of Overclock, they can remove pieces of themself to create smaller, easy-to-transport shadow beings in any shape. They're not very happy with society. Total emo. You can specify whether you'd like to speak to the hivemind or an active fragment in the world.

Seraph and Maven: Maven, a mere shadowling who's been lucky enough to escape death or persecution, and his "brother" Seraph are a package deal. Only problem is, Seraph is nothing like the world has seen before: a being of pure light in the shape of a child, who's been here since the rapture and is quite unimpressed with the fools among them. They never leave eachother's side and know EVERYBODY'S secrets, kinda just following Overclock around.

Dreamcast: The best friend of the Prince. At least, he used to be. A long time ago, he and the Prince were sent to the gallows to join the many robotic vessels. The Prince went into this new life joyously, whereas Dreamcast did not. He's resentful, horrified, and wasn't ready for the curse of immortality. He's still stuck in the tower, and not happy about it. He claims to have prophetic dreams.

Harbour: The prince himself. Figuring him out is a mystery. His motives, his life, everything. He's just a guy who doesn't see the wrong in plunging millions into immortality with no experience. One thing is for certain, he wants to keep Dreamcast around. But for what?

The Host: A robotic and definitely evil game show host residing on an island just offshore from the mesa! For sure my favorite character. He seems to have some unusual grasp on time... Nobody leaves the island unless he lets them, and yet, the bodies pile up. They all look so similar. His motivations and past are, well, unclear. The hordes sure do love him.

Player: The Host's favorite little plaything. Boy, do they have a history!

Story 2: Rendezvous. Follow the tale of a traveling punk band of Nymphs and humans alike. Drama within the band and within the area surrounding them are rich, and you might just uncover more characters to talk to as time goes on.

Chomps: Adoptive brother of Hora. He's the main character, a total stoner, and the band's drummer. He's a real tired dramaqueen that can hold a grudge, but he's got a good heart. He had a crush on the band's bass player a while ago, but that didn't go too well... He's also a Dark Nymph.

Hora: Little brother of Chomps and the official stagehand of the band. He's a shy 16 year old boy with a lot of issues and a pretty cloudy past. He was found by Chomps after fleeing his abusive parents, and now, after all this time, Chomps has full custody.

Kris: The bass player's asshole boyfriend, and the lead singer of the band. He's got some gripes with our main character. He's also the only human of the band. Good luck getting anything but complaints out of him.

Berry: The bass player and multitalented girlfriend of Kris. She's a Dark Nymph. She's got a lot of insight on the town, workings of the band, and where they've been. She's the backbone of the band and the designated driver. Responsible!

Carlotta: Hora's girlfriend, responsible for helping Hora out of his shell. She's a Light Nymph, and the piano player. Her head can become any shape she wants, usually an orb. She's mostly mute, but typing is no issue.

And, of course, some unknowns you will meet later.

Story 3: Hyde Serum Fever. An estranged scientist working for an old hospital accidentally creates something awful, a serum capable of bringing a human's worst sins to life. She drinks the serum, and at once, she is contorted, horribly twisting into an abomination! Oh, no! Rather than creating a method to confront sin, she made the sins take over. Now, as separate ego states, the monster may take over her body at any time.

Characters for Hyde Serum Fever:

Dr. Suzanne Enfield: The aforementioned scientist, an exhausted and overworked woman. She's now living with the malicious actions and physical strain of harboring a Contort, aka the monster of sin. She's terribly sick with Serum Fever, and looking for a cure. Meanwhile, her Contort stirs trouble and she's left to run the Institution. The Institution is the hospital, reformed to treat and house Contorts and their hosts.

Pride Edwards: The Contort of Suzanne, the embodiment of Pride. Due to the sheer concentration of serum that Suzanne consumed, he is hardly human. He's not only the main character, but the villain. He's a twisted abomination with no regard for anybody but himself. He peddles the serum as a drug in order to spread the Contorts. Truly a twisted, sadistic fellow. He has some interesting powers

Wrath: A Contort suffering from a condition called Inner Rot, where the physical damage done by contortion causes his insides to rot, essentially killing the human part of him and keeping him trapped as a Contort. He's got a huge temper, but a soft spot for Pride. His actions can be fiery, but all things considered, he's anything but evil.

Fritz: The embodiment of Envy, also suffering Inner Rot. They are nosy, and probably the worst enemy of Pride. Their screams and whines echo through the Institution. Often throwing tantrums and complaining about not having what other have, oddly, they refuse help, and make their own life miserable. They snoop around and know a lot of secrets, especially about Pride.

Blair: The embodiment of Lust. There's a human in there, somewhere. Living their life as a drag Queen, they cause minor problems throughout the Institution and lurk in the shadows at night... They're mostly just horny.

Fredrickson: The director and financial guardian of the entire Institution operation. They're an older man with some old fashioned ideas, and a penchant for dancing with Suzanne. They handle keeping the patients and Contorts healthy. They've seen firsthand some of Pride's doings.

Alright, and that's about it! Later on I might introduce more stories and characters. All asks and posts about this project will be put under the tag #Koro oc asks. I do hope people actually interact with this. It'll take a while to pick up the story, but for now, ask them anything.

[nickleback-fan]

Short Story - "Tom"

Writing prompt: Write a story in which a characters position as an outsider has a major effect on the story.

Shh... Shh... Shh...

Those were the shrill sounds which I awoke to.

After a moment I stirred, and while at first disorientated, I made the attempt to examine my surroundings. The source of this strident noise which still filled my ears I soon discovered, a machine. It stood in the corner of the room, Imposing, almost evil. From it emanated innumerous tubings, each impossible to follow with the eye for more than a second - it's inconceivably tangled mass fooling my vision. An artificial diaphragm working insessently at its head, the culprit which produced the maddening drone. One of these tubes led to a mask, tightly secured to my face, undoubtedly administering some dreadful miasma, to which I owe my current state

For how long I remained in that position I cannot tell you, both mesmerised and terrified by the machine's repetitive motions. I pondered my next move, orchestrating hundreds of plans, yet I did not budge. I'm not sure what possessed me, what inspired me to finally act, but eventually i stuck out at it. It groaned - as if begging for mercy, before giving out. It was then I removed the mask, and surveyed the room. I venture out of the safety of my bedsheets and wander around the space. It is a strange place, although I cannot articulate why. It almost seemed as if it was examining me as thoroughly as I was it, peering from cracks and shadows. There was some distressing familiarity in it, while still feeling truly alien to me. I had seen many like it, it's drab walls, antiquated furnishing, giving a sense of archaic mystery to it. Despite trying my best to avoid doing so, it was at this point I accidentally caught sight of the machine once more. Menacingly, it stared back at me. Redolent of some cacodaemonic cosmic horror, tenticles reaching out in every direction; desperately searching for its next victim. This time however, I had no chance to lose myself in this vile mechanical contrivance, as I was interupted. It was then that the first rhythmic thud sounded at my door. I readied myself for what was to come.

My heart raced as the door opened. The click of the latch, squeak of the unoiled hinges, all building up to the entrance of this visitor. This suspenseful moment shattered as a rather innocuous figure came through the door. Saying nothing, giving no indication of what his intentions are apart from a short grimace towards the machine. He turns, and beckons me to follow. I obey, what choice do I have? With that, I step out into the unknown.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, from the dimly lit bedroom - it's only source of light being what little could pass through the curtains - to the blinding white LEDs of the hallway I had just set foot in. I tried to absorb as much as I could, without falling behind. This place felt unnatural. An endless passage, lined with doors identical to one another; no windows to speak of. The white linoleum floor squeaked beneath my companions feet. Air conditioning whirred, providing the soundtrack to this oppressive scene. After what felt like hours, an end was in sight. An overwhelming sense of dread filled me as we approached the end of the corridor. My imagination ran wild in those seconds, what "they" would do to me, whatever malevolent monster was behind this facility, what inconceivable horrors waited past this ingress.

What I saw was, in ways, worse than anything I had anticipated. Initially, I felt a sense of relief; I saw others. Regular people, like me. Joy washed over me, as for the first time in this terrible ordeal, I wasn't alone. This feeling however, was fleeting. Upon further examination, there was something wrong with these people. At first glance, yes, they seemed perfectly normal, but after a full inspection there was something missing. After my guides indifference towards what I did - so long as I remained in the room - was made clear by his general dismissal of me, I attempted to speak to the others. My greatest fears were realised; my queries were met with confused looks and half answers, as if they themselves couldn't understand what I was saying. I collapsed in a heap of despair. I was lost. Any hope of others like me, of company, lost. Surrounded by people, I was more alone then when I first awoke. An outsider.

I felt a hand on my back. Another, dressed like the man who arrived at my door what now felt like an age ago. He offered his hand, helped me up. Words of sympathy, how he heard I had s mishap this morning (undoubtedly referencing my destruction of the Machine). They felt rehersed, like he had done this one thousand times before. I did not know this man, nor did I trust him and his honeyed words. Nonetheless I did not make a scene, merely remained silent. He rambled about "doctors orders" and "that time of day" but I payed no heed. I saw what he was hiding. In his hands he brandished, beneath a light blue cloth, a syringe. Undoubtedly sedation, what else? What better way to deal with a troublemaker then to nullify the problem. I knew I had to act fast, no time for idle contemplation. I lashed out at him, like I had to the Machine hours before, disarming him momentarily. I felt my bones ache as I slowly attempted to flee. This small triumph however, was quickly thwarted, as my opponent seemed relitivley unphased at my outburst. He easily caught me, and escorted me back to the hall without difficulty. The entire journey, he chastised me, as if I was some misbehaving child who didn't know better. I was a young boy, refusing to eat his greens. I was confused, and disorientated. Why am I being met with such a response? Was I not, for those moments, dangerous assaultant, worthy of sedation? Does he see me as so little?

He ushered me into the bedroom, calling out to me as he shut the door "We will have a chat and try again later, alright Tom?". Upon hearing my own name, I froze. For the first time that day I looked down, and saw my withered hands. I approached the glass of water on my bedside table, and saw one of "them" staring back in my reflection. The lost expression, those empty eyes. I saw myself for who I was. I cross the room, and open the drawer beneath the wardrobe. My muscles ached as I bent - the strain of a long life - as I fished out the photograph. I looked at the stranger in the photo. The man whose memories came back to me occasionally. He is surrounded by people, loved ones, no doubt. I gaze longingly at the image. How I wish I could go back. But he is a stranger to me now, lost to the cruelty of age. I knew, deep down, that this wasn't the first time. And worst of all, I knew it wouldn't be the last. In my anguish, I carefully placed the frame back, and I wept. I wept for what I had lost. I wept for the life I had forgotten, but most of all, I wept for tomorrow. For the days of lethargy, misery and boredom. An outsider in my own mind.

[the-drunk-game-master]

Alright I gotta tell you guys how hilarious Spider-Man 2099 is!

Okay, so to set it up, Miguel O’Hara is part Irish, part Latino. Very progressive for 1992, but it’s set in the cyberpunk dystopia future, so take it as you will.  He’s the head of the genetics division of the Umbrella/Weyland Yutani megacorp company, Alchemax, but he lives alone with a hologram waifu, just like in Blade Runner 2045. 

He’s a big fan on the original spider-man, and when the big wigs ask him to make a super soldier gene sequence, he writes up some DNA code to give a human spider powers, but then he realizes that the megacorp is evil as hell, and quits his job.

Then his boss is like “Haha no you don’t” and puts some super scifi heroine in his drink at the company christmas party. it instantly makes him physically dependant. the drug binds itself to his very DNA, making it so if he doesn’t regularly take the drug, he’ll die. The evil buisiness man tells him that he can either continue to work for him, or he can kiss his ass goodbye.

Miguel says fuck that, and writes up a program to remove the drug from his DNA. but when he goes into the DNA pod, a jealous coworker shows up and hits randomize on the DNA machine to try and kill him. just because.

Miguel gets the spider DNA he was experimenting on. He’s no longer addicted to super heroine, but now he’s got fangs, monster eyes, and spider claws on his fingers. The jealous coworker tries to kill him with a gun when he realizes that Miguel survived, but shoots a compressed air tank instead, and the whole lab explodes. Miguel tries to save the guy who tried to kill him, but his new super strength and talons break the guy’s hand right off.

Miguel runs from the cops, and sees a guy dressed as thor, riding a hang glider and shouting through a megaphone that Ragnarok is coming. He’s like a Thor worshipper, but in a creepy cult way.Miguel hitches a ride on the flying thor cosplayer to get away from the cops, then crashes in his bed at home.

Meanwhile, big bad buisinessman wants to know who blew up his gene lab, so he sends a fuckin cyborg bounty hunter to track the guy down. Like this guy looks like he’s cosplaying Cad Bane, Cowboy hat and all. 

Miguel wakes up when his brother comes over to ask if he’s still addicted to space crack, then sees the cade bane cosplayer walking down the street from his window. His spider sense lets him know that this guy is the real deal, so he tells his brother to get lost and searches his closet for a disguise. He figures that Cade Bane has his scent, but he doesn’t know his name or face, so he finds an actual halloween costume in his closet.

The costume is made to look like across between spider-man and a Day of the Dead skeleton man, and it’s made from Unstable Molecules, because the party he wore it was a real banger. For those who don’t know, Unstable Molecules are what the Fantastic Four wear. it’s what lets Reed Richards stretch out his arms, or Johnny Blaze not need to go find new pants every time he Flames On.

so he literally had a halloween spider-man costume made of super space kevlar just laying around, and it’s the sickest spider-man costume ever drawn. 

  Miguel then dives out the window. His own window. Even though he doesn’t want the bounty hunter to know where the new Spider-Man lives. Then he falls at least a hundred feet, hoping that the spider-web cape on his back will work as a parachute. It doesn’t, but he sticks out his foot and the bounty hunter’s face break’s his fall. 

So after Miguel kicks this guys ass, he goes ahead and becomes a superhero, because the Dystopia Nueva York is full of freaky gangs and corrupt cops. It was set in the future, so comic writers could get away with showing how nasty the NYPD really could be. He’s also set out to take revenge against the guy who tried to kill him with super crack, which is just what you do in a cyberpunk dystopia.