#i need to have my throat scraped like those bucket scraping videos

[outfoxt]

cw this is kinda gross ig

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE Commission - A Claim Of Belonging

Summary: Commission for @jacksinsanity. Anti lures Jameson to an unusual meeting place, though not for the reasons the gentleman may expect.

A/N: Warning for violence.

Although Jameson had been introduced to vast amounts of knowledge about the world every single day for the past year, he still couldn’t help but retain the same awe and wonder at all of these new contraptions that made modern life so easy. The coffee pot was no exception. Jameson still vividly remembered the day Schneep had showed him all of its unique parts and their functions.

“Is a very simple little process, Jamie, one I do every day! You let the good doctor show you,” he urged, his voice reflecting so much warmth and eagerness to teach as he gestured for Jameson to lean down beside him. “The first electrical drip brewer was created by one of my proud people, Gottlob Widmann, in 1954! They replaced those bitter old coffee percolators in the 70’s!”

To Jameson, those bitter old percolators had been a staple, but he couldn’t help but smile at the doctor’s enthusiasm—and frankly it was astonishing at how quickly the coffee spilled into the mug once he pressed the button. The warm brew he was sipping now tasted positively delightful, even if he would have preferred tea, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he realized there was foam lingering in his mustache. It was too bad that he had no one to share the laugh with, though; all of the others were gone for the day. Jameson expected Schneep would be sneaking home for lunch, despite hospital policies. Maybe they could share a cup then.

Once the steaming mug was only half full, he set it aside, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on his knees as he considered what he could do to entertain himself. The television was dark and silent before him, but the last time he had tried to use it on his own, he had set all of the channels to French. He had already tended the garden this morning and he’d read his favorite book at least three times over by now.

Perhaps he should put more time into learning how to use his phone. Chase had tried to introduce him to so many new thingamajigs all at once (“A wristwatch? By golly, I’ve got a pocket watch that serves just fine!” “Why on earth would I need a contraption to track my number of steps? I should hope I can count ’em myself!” “I know precisely when I need to wake in the morning, Da, I don’t need any ol’ radio clock screaming at me; that’s not a device to be fond of!”) until at long last the overwhelmed gentleman had insisted that he pick just one. Chase had opted for what he called a “smart phone”.

I don’t see why the intelligence of the mechanism matters; I’m the intelligence making use of all its bells and whistles! That said, he’d become a bit more accustomed to all of the clicking and swiping, and it was nice to be able to keep in contact with the others through text. To that end, he sent a brief “Miss you!” message to Chase. Less than a minute later he was a little taken aback by a ping and a vibration in response. Chase rarely ever responded that quickly!

As soon as he reopened it, he saw that his hunch was correct. It wasn’t Chase who had texted; it was a number he didn’t recognize. Since when were telephone numbers so long? It trailed off the screen: 010011010110000101110011011101000110010101110010…Brows furrowing, he took one more sip of his coffee before opening it.

?: Jem! Are you free to come to the northeast district? Warehouse 31. There’s something all of us want you to be a part of!

The northeast was a rather unseemly side of town. Why on earth would they want him there after warning him against it so many times? His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the longer he stared at the message the more uncertain he became. He couldn’t think of any reason why—A sudden prickle of pain down the nape of his neck made his ears pop and he startled, pressing a hand to the source with a wince.

Chase wants to film a haunted video in one of the northeast warehouses this year. He’s been excited about making it for months. Of course you remember that.

“Oh! Confound it all, how could I have forgotten Chase’s video? He’s only spoken of it for months now!” he scolded himself, shaking his head and typing hurriedly back.

JJ: Indeed! I’ll order an Uber and be there soon!

?: :)

The thirty-first warehouse was in a ghastly state, Jameson mused, tsking in disbelief as he peered through the Uber window up at the large structure. Rust and decay riddled its surface; who knew what it must look like inside? Even the driver seemed skeptical, but he was more than willing to accept Jameson’s money for it.

“Be careful out there,” he cautioned as goodbye. Jameson merely tipped his hat as he drove away. Chase and the crew would probably be setting up their equipment inside; his mind was wrapped up in what part the older Ego might ask him to play in it.

On impulse he brought himself to knock on the large doors, coughing and waving in annoyance at the cloud of rust that was blown off by the motion. Oddly, it didn’t look like they had been opened in some time! It took a bit of force from his shoulder to widen them enough that he could slip inside. Intimidated by the length of the shadows within, however, he slowed, resisting the urge to wring his hands in his nervousness.

“Da?” he called out gingerly. “If you attempt to spook me now, I’m going to be very cross!”

“On̵ t͞h͘e ͞contra̧ry, b͝o͟y͝… I҉ d͢o̢n’t̶ n̛e̢ęd ̧t͢o̵ try,” a gleeful, chillingly familiar voice echoed somewhere before him.

The moment of paralyzed, terrified realization was a moment too long. Gasping, Jameson lunged back toward the doors—safety, freedom, help—but the Glitch was there behind him, seizing him by the throat with a vice grip that tore right through his collar and flinging him deeper into the darkness. He landed hard, somersaulting to a stop in a cloud of dust that made him choke and wheeze as all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

“I’m so ̡gl͡a͠d ͠y̧o͟u c̡am̵e̛ wheń ̢I͢ ̡c͢a̶llèd you, pup͞pet͟. I͡t͠ ̶wo͟u͝ld h̢àve been i͞nc̡o͟nven͘ie͢nt if I ͞ha̛d needed ͝t͟o͏ come for y͡óu mys̶el͝f…A m͝ast͡ęr ͠s͠h͟ould ̡n͡ev͢er be f͠or͘c͜ed̡ to f̀et́ch thȩi͞r pet.”

Mouth dry, heart galloping dizzily in his chest, Jameson struggled to scramble back on his elbows and then onto his trembling legs, keeping the Glitch in his field of vision. “I’m no one’s pet!” he gasped. “Certainly not one of yours, you madcap! W-Why’ve you brought me here?!”

Head twisting grotesquely, Anti beamed, spreading his arms out in a mockingly inviting gesture. “T̷o͟ ͘c͞e͝l̢eb̶r͘a̵te.͟ Your͠ birt̢hda̧y͟ is͠ ͘approaching,͜ ̛li͡t̢t̷l̛é ́o͟n͜e…th͜e àn͝ńìver҉sary of͡ the͝ ̵day̨ I͞ c̷a̧me ̨t͠o͝ ow̴n ͞you̵.”

Shaking his head violently, Jameson blinked in fearful disbelief. It was a mistake; as soon as he looked again, mouth open to deny it, Anti was out of sight, and without warning a pair of large, invasive hands clamped onto his shoulders from behind. He barely had a chance to register them before he was being hauled off his feet and thrown back first into one of the roof’s massive support pillars. Something in his abdomen fractured on impact, drawing a soundless scream of agony as he landed and curled into himself.

Anti cackled at the sight, his form spitting and buzzing like a cloud of enraged bees as he lunged on top of him, seizing twin handfuls of the younger Ego’s vest and shirt and ripping them away in a few effortless tugs. Yelping in alarm at the violation, JJ tried fruitlessly to struggle, but a resounding fist to his face sent stars through his vision and ended most of his struggle.

The next thing he knew, Anti was dragging him across the coarse, icy floor, the rust and seams in the floor panels scraping painfully at his bare back and waist. Spitting blood from his split lip, he thrashed sideways as much as he was able and then lifted aching arms to scratch at the hand fisted into his hair. The Glitch seemed unaffected.

“Stop! Agh! Antisepticeye, s-stop!”

“No̵t̴ ̧u͠nt͠i͢l͜ ̶yo͠u’vę be̸en͡ gi͟ven ̴y͢ou͞r͜ ̡gift!” With one more wrench to his puppet’s mane that set his scalp on fire, Anti tossed him forward. Jameson braced himself for a third thunderous landing, but as he tumbled head over heels he was shocked to discover that there was a soft heap of unknown padding underneath him. Straining to sit up, he wrapped his arms around his throbbing stomach and wheezed, the harsh breath disturbing the strange pile of feathers. He didn’t have a chance to ask what they were for. Anti glitched once more, violently and abruptly, and then he was lifting a steaming industrial bucket over his head.

“Y̡our gif̴t, J͝a͡mes͠o̢n Jac҉k̀son̡—We’re ͢goín͟g͡ to̡ ta̷ke ̷p̡ar̶t̴ in a good o͜ld-fashiơn͢ed҉ ͝tr͝a͡di̢ti̧oņ. It’s o͡nę ̕I'm ́s̡ure yo҉u’ll bȩ f͟a͝mil̶iar ͜w̛it͞h͜,” he hissed, heaving the bucket and its contents down with a resounding splash. Jameson screamed as the hot tar made contact, scalding every inch of him as it poured down in waves. Thrashing and flailing, aura storming wildly with the agony no one could hear, he blindly tried to dive somewhere, away, but Anti’s voice and his fists and his heavy boots bombarded him.

“Yo҉u’r̢e͠ w̡͜o̴r̵̡͟thl҉͜ess̛! Y̛͡o͠͞u’r̡̛̛e̴ ̧̛͝n̢̕ot̵͜hi̴̢n̵͠ģ̛! My̕͢͢ ̀͘p̢e͢t̡! H̡ous̸̶͡e̢bŗ̷o̵k̵̶e̷n̨̧! T͢his ͟is̨ ̢w̡h̷e͝r̴e ͠you belo͟ng͡!”

The feathers caught in the tar, sharp and endless and smothering as they clung to his burning skin, choked him and caught in his streaming eyes. In the end the excruciating barrage was too much, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think—Then there was darkness.

When he woke, his bruised and burning body was struck with the bitter chill of the fifty-degree night air. His hands were bound behind him, sticky back plastered to a pole of some kind—a streetlamp. Its light sputtered disorientingly over his head, so he ducked it, letting his eyes close and coughing to dislodge the ugly taste of blood and tar from his mouth. Within moments, the coughs became strangled sobs that tore at every wound. “Hh…help me…p-please, please, s-someone help me…”

“Jamie?! Jamie!” That voice and the footsteps approaching from across the asphalt forced his tear- and tar-streaked face up, causing Schneep to falter, his own face transforming in horror. “Oh—oh, no—” He didn’t waste any more time than that, kneeling hurriedly behind him and drawing out his scalpel to tear through his bonds. “Is okay, little one, is okay, the good doctor’s got you!”

A few days later, Jameson lay silent and tearful in his medical bed, picking at a loose thread on the blanket that served to hide the vast swathes of bandaging over his legs. Schneep was perched beside him, brushing practiced fingers through his tangled hair, intending to soothe. The morphine and diazepam hadn’t been as kind to him as either of them had hoped during the endless icing and stripping of the tar; neither of them would forget anytime soon how he’d rocked his raw, blistered forehead into his seared knees and cried at the bottom of the bathtub.

“Jameson…” Schneep spoke up softly, luring the gentleman out of his pained thoughts. When JJ’s eyes met his, he paused to swallow before knitting his brows and continuing. “This is going to be the first birthday I celebrate with you. You…you know where I was this time last year. I feel a lot back then like you do now, but I—I am not going to let you stay in this place.”

Jameson perked up at that, a lump already forming in his throat, and Schneep shifted closer.

“I will protect you this Halloween, and we will celebrate you,” he whispered with a trying smile, shaky yet earnest. “Marvin and I will bake you a cake—three tiers, four—and we decorate it with candy corn. Chase will get you your very favorite ice cream, raspberry ripple, and Jackieboy will make all the balloon animals you want. We will sing for you, ‘He’s A Jolly Good Fellow’, and we will make you feel loved!”

Fresh moisture was already welling in Jameson’s eyes, though he wasn’t sure what it was for, the ache in his body or the longing in his heart. Schneep was quick to cup his cheeks, thumbing the tears away.

“Because you are loved, Jamie. You don’t belong to him. None of us do or ever will. We belong with each other, and that’s where you are staying, okay?”

With a shuddery breath Jameson managed a nod, letting his battered face rest there in the older Ego’s kind hands. “…Okay.”

[baugette-boui]

You Get What You Pay For (Chapter One)-Improv Surgery

(Writen by Vaughn/Carrot) Out of all the ways to wake up, having his chest spread open further than a pair of hooker’s legs was definitely strange. As his fierce, glowing yellow eyes came into focus like a camera lense, the blurred surroundings started to clear up. With a lazy turn of his head from side to side, the man with hair bluer than the sky with one tiny lock of brown protruding out from the gelled back lock, recognized the pristine surroundings. “You could’ve taken me to dinner first,” he commented towards the man who was elbow-deep in his chest. All he did was chuckle before continuing his work, prying his chest further apart. “And, Talos,” the man’s educated, relaxed voice gave the same tone as a mocking friend. “I owe you about five dinners now.” While the joke made both of them laugh, the man yanked something out of his chest. “How many times have I told you to stop storing books in here?” “I don't know,” Talos brushed off with his charismatic smile. “Four, maybe six-” “Twelve,” the brown-haired man pointed out, adjusting his thick, black-framed glasses with his wrist. He then fixed his latex gloves, a fluorescent liquid blotted his fingertips. “But you never listen,” the man wasn't scornful, rather he carried a joking attitude. Talos merely waved the lab-coat wearing man’s comment off like a piece of lint. “You worry too much.” “And you don't worry enough,” he adjusted his glasses a final time. There was a tiny sigh before either one spoke, the man continuing to pull books out of Talos’s chest. “Lincoln,” Talos started, him not responding for a moment. “Something’s bugging you,” Talos noted, Lincoln’s sharp blue eyes catching his own. “You don't worry now, why start?” His rhetorical statement made Talos frown. With a tiny grunt, Talos sat up, all the junk that was in his chest spilling out onto the table. “C’mon,” Talos dragged out with his radiating smile. “I worry about my favorite engineer.” “Favorite?” Lincoln only laughed. “I’m the only engineer who will repair you.” He paused for a moment, rolling his eyes at Talos, ignoring the junk on the table. “Alright,” he sighed. His voice lowered to a whisper, his eyes not leaving the camera in the corner of the room. “I think Darius is getting close to figuring out.” Talos looked confused for a moment, his blue eyebrows knitted together for a minute. “Figured out what?” The bug-eyed look Lincoln gave him for a moment made Talos think. It was the same intense look a friend would give another if they were talking about something involving the person in front of them, Talos finding humor in it. “Oh!” He exclaimed as a thought dawned on him like a bell toll. “Listen, I take one pen from his desk,” Talos seemed agitated by this memory, Lincoln not having enough time to speak before Talos did. “But what happens when he steals half my paycheck, hm?” Talis narrowed his eyes before clicking his tongue, commenting again. “Nothing, that's what happens. So I’ll take all his pens if I feel like it!” Lincoln could only blink for a moment, not sure what Talos was ranting about, nor how to register the useless information. He shook his head to regain his focus before speaking. “No, not that!” He hissed, Talos huffing and crossing his arms over his chest, it still agape. “I'm talking about--” Before he could finish, the gentle of the cloudy glass door sliding open made him go silent. Lincoln turned on the balls of his heels, a woman standing in the doorway. "Am I interrupting?” Her silk voice questioned, both men exchanging a look. “Hey Betty,” Talos replied to the tan woman, her waving in return. Her figure was frail and tiny, but the two didn't pay too much attention to her body shape, or the yellow jumpsuit she wore. “We were just finishing up,” Lincoln explained. Her eyes glanced over Talos’s open chest, Betty taking the sight like anything else. She walked around the sanitary lab, her gray, metal skin scraping against the edge of the cleaning bucket she carried. Talos got up and walked over to Betty, his own skin looking paler in comparison to hers. “We’ll clean up in here,” he assured her, Betty not refusing as she shuffled out. “She was quick to leave.” Talos stated, Lincoln chuckling at the tall man. He stood as tall as a young tree, his limbs being the same thickness, it resulting in a rather lanky looking man. “Why’d you do that?” Lincoln asked, walking over and pointing at his open chest. “Might want to close that,” he paused when Talos shrugged, his voice quieter but piercing the air in a calm tone. “Might catch a fly.” This resulted in something resembling the cackle a witch would have, soon followed by an ungodly snort like a pig. The laugh proved to be contagious, Lincoln’s collected, slow and methodical laugh chiming in. Talos, once he caught his breath, dumped the few things remaining inside onto the floor. He closed the four panels on the inside, the thin sheets of metal covered by metal and synthetic muscles overlaying each other like pages in a stack of paper. Once he got all of them in place, it taking a few minutes, Talos glanced around. “Where is…” Lincoln picked up the cover from the table, handing it to Talos, the piece of synthetic flesh feeling like a stiff piece of metal in his hand. Placing it over the opening, it spanning from his collarbone down to his navel, the clamps on the inside clicked together with a sharp snap. Just like that, his chest was closed and it was impossible to see where the cover was apart from the rest of him, even with a microscope. “Thanks.” Lincoln shrugged at his comment. “What would you do if I wasn't here?” Lincoln joked, Talos smiling again. "I'd be a pile of scrap." They both exchanged a fit of laughter again, careful to stay away from all the computers and hulking machines, the laboratory belonging to Lincoln. However, as their fit of laughter came to an end in the sterile room that stunk of bleach and glass cleaner, a tiny three chord jingle came over the monitors. "Oh great," Talis drew out, his false enthusiasm only making Lincoln smile. "Good morning Fast Crab employees!" The overly joyous man chimed. His voice dripped with power, the blue crab logo coming onto the screen for a few seconds. "Today is another bright and beautiful day for business, right?" Talos looked at Lincoln, neither of them paying attention to it except for the moving film. "'Here at Fast Crab, we like to keep a clean and friendly workspace'." Talos mocked in a nasally, horrendous voice, it making Lincoln grin. Talos's attention returned to the screen, the man sitting in his big, luxurious blue office chair making his eyes roll back into his skull. “Remember,” the man’s face was on screen for a few seconds in silence, Talos not needing to look at him to know who it was, but regardless he watched. His thick brown hair mimicked Talos’s hair, the style and of it being identical; the only thing different being that Talos’s was parted to the right (and his hair color), while the other was parted to the left. Talos looked into those happy turquoise eyes, a repulsive knot forming in his stomach. The man spoke again, drawing Talos out of his close examination of the tanned man. “A happy employee means a happy customer!” With that, the two looked away, going back to their conversation. Lincoln looked at his silver watch, adjusting his coat as he read the time. “Listen, it's getting late.” He looked at Talis for a moment. “Think you can collect your things and lock the door?” “Sure thing,” Talos replied, already collecting his books from the white tile floor, it so clean he could see his own reflection. “Oh, another thing,” Lincoln began, Talos already having three books in his stringy arms. “If you want me to remove those marks from your face, that offer is still on the table.” Talos shook his head, thanking him but refusing the act once again. Lincoln shrugged, tossing the keys in his direction before leaving, the door closing and leaving Talos alone. He looked at his reflection in the floor, his glowing eyes catching him first before the so called ‘marks’. The glowing line, it the same color as his hair, went from the tip of his nose, following the bump on his nose and up towards the middle of his forehead before branching off to his left and right temples. The only other markings on his face was three neon, glowing green circles, the tiniest one being the size of a dime and located on his full bottom lip. The second one was the size of a nickel, followed by the third one being the size of a quarter and placed on his chin. He looked at himself for a bit longer before the sound of the jingle caught his attention again, the man showing up in another business video. “Work complete!” He chimed in, his feet up on his glass and wooden desk, Talos standing up to watch the screen. “Time for all employees to return to their quarters and get ready for tomorrow.” There was a tiny moment of silence, the screen going dim for a second, too quick for Talos to see. “This is Arno, saying goodnight Timera!” He waved towards the plant out of the window on the screen, Talos turning to look at the planet from the thick glass wall of windows in the lab. He stood up, his books in hand, as he walked towards the window, the green and purple planet being gigantic with a few moons circling it. There was a few moments of eerie silence, Talos clearing his throat as he closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the planet. Before the image behind his eyes could begin, he turned when he heard a voice speak. “Even you, pumpkin.” The voice was a venomous hiss, it sounding familiar, but not enough to be placed as it died off before he could place it. Turning his back to the planet, Talos scurried out of the lab, locking the door in the hallway as the only source of slight, aside from himself, was the tiny blinking green lights on the security cameras