#like photoshop the padlock oh

[muxas-world2]

NOW THE MOST IMPORTANT PRICE IN THE MOTOGPBLR COMUNITY WHO IS THE BEST DOGY ON THE GRID THIS YEAR THE STAR THE IT BOY ??????

[aceofwhump]

15 Questions, 15 Mutuals

Thanks for the tag @hold-him-down!!!

1. Are you named for anyone?: I am actually! My real first name is the feminized version of my fathers.

2. When was the last time you cried?: The day I watched The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies I sobbed my heart out. That was, what, 4 days ago I think? I'm now about to watch LOTR: Return of the King and I suspect I'll be crying then too. Nearly cried multiple times two days while watching Fellowship and any allusion and mention to the events of the hobbit gave me feels. BUT! I did not cry. I'm quite proud of myself for that. Oh wait. No I lied. I definitely cried when they found Balin's tomb in Moria and Oris skeleton was there next to the tomb.

3. Do you have kids?: Nope. Not at all and I don't want kids. I'm never going to have children. I've got my cat: Sable. She's my baby. For now and forever all my children will be cats.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?: Lol yeah I do. Far too often. I need to tune it down sometimes lol.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?: Oh interesting. Umm... I guess either their tone of voice is they speak first. I'm very conscious of people's tone of voice. If they don't speak I'm usually noticing style of clothing.

6. What’s your eye color?: Blue

7. Scary movies or happy endings?: Happy endings definitely. But I love scary movies and so many of them don't necessarily end happily. Although now that I think of it a lot of my favorite scary movies do end on a positive/happy note (as happy as a horror movie can be lol). So yeah happy ending. I love me a happy ending. Don't enjoy movies that end sadly.

8. Any special talents?: Uhhh yes? Let me see...I can play the trumpet and the bugle (pretty much the same instrument just a bugle has no valves). I can crochet. I can pick a padlock. I can operate a 1940s era switchboard and field phones. I can untie any knot you give me no matter how complicated (my sister uses this weird super power of mine all the time when her box of necklaces get tangled together. I've never not been able to untie a knot). Do photoshop skills count as special talents?

9. Where were you born?: Ohio in the USA. Not getting more specific than that sorry.

10. What are your hobbies?: My main hobbies are crocheting and historical reenacting. That's where I put all my time and money. Some other things I enjoy as a hobby are photoshop editing, writing, reading fanfic, watch tv/movies, and seeing musicals at the theater.

11. Have you any pets?: Yup! Got a cat named Sable, my weird little rescue baby. And I've got a dachshund/jack russell mix named Penny. She's 13 years old and still a spitfire.

12. What sports do you play/have played?: I don't play anything now because I'm super lazy and poor and all the leagues around me cost like $200 to play but I played softball and volleyball in high school. Volleyball is my favorite sport. I miss it terribly. I was a libero. Did basketball for a year but ended up hating it. And on occasion I'd play touch football with the neighborhood guys. I couldn't pass for shit but I'd catch anything thrown at me. Also, and I'll fight you on this, but marching is a sport and I was in marching band all throughout high school and college. I consider that my main sport.

13. How tall are you?: 5′7″

14. Favorite subject in school?: History!!! I loved that subject so much I took two history classes at once in senior year and then went on to get two degrees in it.

15. Dream job?: I'm gonna be really borng here for a second but I don't think I have a dream job anymore. Mainly cause I really don't want to work. I want to have enough money in my life to never have to work at all. But since that's not the case, my dream job is something related to history. Something where I can sit all day surrounded by historical objects. Spending the day by myself, only having to talk to someone on occasion, where I just get to sit at a desk and look at historical stuff. My dream job is quiet and peaceful but has fun times with a few coworkers. I get to do something that gives me a sense of purpose and fulfillment. And pays really well so I can afford to travel and buy all the stuff I don't need but so desperately want.

tagging: Anyone who wants to do it!!!!

[callboxkat]

Just Your Average Ghost Hunt

Author’s note: I felt like writing a one-shot today, taking a break from my longer WIPs, and here’s the result! I hope you all enjoy.

Summary: Virgil has a YouTube channel where he talks about cryptids and conspiracy theories. Tonight, he sets out with his friend Roman on a ghost hunt. 

Warnings: ghosts, talk of death and murder, some crude humor, fear, Remus

Word Count: 1818

Writing Masterpost!

...

“You remembered the camera, right?”

“Wha—of course I remembered the camera! Come on, give me a little credit.”

“And it’s charged?”

Roman pouted at him, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Virgil smirked, hopping out of the car. “Just checking.”

“It’s your camera, isn’t charging it your job?”

“Knowing you, you’d happily run down the battery before we even got here, with all those selfies you take.”

“That’s what my phone’s for,” Roman claimed, jutting out his chin. He slung the camera strap around his neck, double checking that it was secure.

“Oh, I see.”

“We’re not going to get in trouble for coming here, are we?” Roman asked, following after his friend and staring up the road.

“What, are you scared, Princey?”

“No, I just—”

“Because if you’re scared,” Virgil sighed dramatically, “we can go, I guess, but you have to be the one to tell Logan we still haven’t gotten his proof of ghosts. It’s your fault if he thinks we just couldn’t find it.”

Roman huffed. “What is it with you and proving to him that ghosts are real, anyway, Winnie the Boo? Isn’t talking about cryptids and conspiracies more your usual gig?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Is that really the best nickname you can come up with? Wow, you really must be scared.”

“What, we’re on a ghost hunt, aren’t we? And don’t avoid the question!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, closing the car door. He took out a flashlight and switched it on, casting their surroundings in high relief. “I wasn’t, calm down. I just want to see the look on the dude’s face when we show him actual video of a ghost.”

The pair’s boots crunched on gravel, twigs, and assorted debris as they began the trek up the long-disused road towards their destination. “So,” Roman asked as they clambered over a fallen tree, “what are you going to do if we can’t find one?”

“I have Photoshop.”

“Well—then why are we even out here? Just photoshop yourself up a ghost and be done with it, Wail-E!”

“That nickname was even worse. And besides—” Virgil hopped down, reaching up to help Roman, whose jacket had gotten caught on a snapped branch— “this is way more fun.”

“Speak for yourself,” Roman grumbled, inspecting his coat for damage.

“Come on, it’s not that far now.” Virgil started forward, flashlight held high. Roman scrambled after, not about to be left behind.

“I don’t like this.” Roman peered around at the surrounding trees, whose shapes and shadows seemed to warp as they passed, reaching towards the pair like spindly arms ready to drag them into the dark.

“I didn’t ask you to come. I’ve done plenty of these without you.”

“You’ve done plenty of these with Janus,” Roman corrected. “In our friends’ houses. Not in the middle of nowhere.”

“I wasn’t going to put this off just because he’s got a stomach bug. It’s supposed to rain all next week.”

Roman swallowed. “And I wasn’t about to let you come to some old abandoned house alone.”

Virgil turned, putting a hand on his chest and grinning. “My hero. Now turn on the camera, I see the house up there.”

Roman squinted, and saw that, in fact, he could make out the shape of some kind of structure ahead. It looked like it was practically part of the forest now, trees grown around it and nearly obscuring the shape in the darkness.

“Welcome to Virgil and Roman’s final moments,” Roman said, turning on the camera slung around his neck, “documented for all those who want to see us torn apart by crazy woods people, or bears, or wolves, or, possibly, ghosts.”

“Very funny,” Virgil said.

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Roman said. “I don’t know, set the scene.”

“Kind of hard to do that when you keep talking, isn’t it?”

Roman stuck his tongue out.

Virgil turned to face the camera. “My name is Virgil, and the lug behind the camera is my friend Roman. Tonight, we’ve got a treat. We’re visiting an abandoned house, deep in the woods.”

Roman silently shook his head, amused at the exaggeration. The nearest major road was only a ten minute walk away.

“Legend says it’s been abandoned since the 50’s—”

“Is Wikipedia where you heard this “legend”?”

“Shut up, Princey. And no, it’s not, actually. Will you let me continue?”

Roman held up his free hand in surrender.

“Legend says it’s been abandoned since the 50’s, but no one had been able to stay in the house for more than a few months at a time even before that. Apparently, there was a murder here decades earlier, and the ghost of that person has haunted the place ever since.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Roman and I are here to get the first solid proof of this ghost, and share its existence with all of you.”

“I’m sure YouTube will love it.”

“I am so glad I can edit out all your dumb comments.”

“You know you love them, Count Woe-laf.”

“You’re going to make me wish I’d waited to come with J, I just know it. Just make sure you’re holding the camera steady.”

Roman smiled innocently, then turned the camera up to focus on the house.

“We’ve just arrived,” Virgil said, “And are about to head inside. Wish us luck.”

“Virge, you know this isn’t live, right?”

“Yes, Roman, I know that,” Virgil said. “Let me put in a little flair, okay?”

“I must be rubbing off on you.”

Virgil ignored this comment and approached the house, peering around the crumbling façade of the dilapidated structure. “It looks like the front door is padlocked, but this window is broken. We can put one of our jackets on the sill and climb in.”

“Wait—whose jacket, Virge?” Roman stepped back, clutching his own protectively.

“Oh, relax,” he said, rolling his eyes as he shrugged off his own jacket.. “Some of us thought better than to bring our favorite jacket on a ghost hunt.”

“If that roof collapses on us, I don’t want cheap plastic all that’s protecting me.”

“I’m pretty sure a jacket won’t save you if the roof collapses; but go off, I guess.”

“Thank you; I will.”

Virgil laid his jacket over the window sill and hopped inside. Roman climbed in after him, turning on his own smaller flashlight and looking around warily.

Dust motes hung in the air, which smelled of mildew. A few pieces of furniture remained in the house, each covered in a sheet that might have once been white. The space had not been spared from the elements. Weeds even grew between some of the rotting floor boards.

“I know this is where I’d want to live, if I were a ghost,” Roman commented dryly, eyeing a grimy puddle that had collected in a fold of one of the sheets.

“Ghosts are tied to places where they died, or to objects that were important to them. Or their body. Odds are, this ghost has no choice but to live here.”

Roman sighed. “Okay, anyway. How are we proving there’s a ghost here?”

Virgil slung off his backpack and pulled out a wooden board. “We’ll start with this. It’s a Ouija board.”

“A Ouija board?”

“Yeah. It channels spiritual energy and lets them talk to us.”

“I know what a Ouija board is,” Roman sighed. “I was just… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you brought one.”

Virgil sat down on the floor, beginning to set up the board. “Set up the tripod, so it can see both of us and the board. You sit across from me.”

Roman did as Virgil asked, then sat across from him. Each perched his fingertips atop the small, triangular piece of wood with a hole in it, which Virgil said was called a planchette. They slowly brought the planchette around in a circle, with Virgil narrating what they were doing and why, probably for the less supernatural-versed Youtube fans. Then Virgil said some mumbo-jumbo words about positive energy and communication, whatever; and then they finally they got to the questions.

“Is there a spirit with us in this house?”

There was a long pause, long enough that Roman started to think that maybe Logan had the right idea, before the planchette slid over to Yes.

That was you, wasn’t it, Virgil?

Virgil was trying to hide a grin. “How many spirits are here with us?”

1.

“What’s your name?”

The planchette slid over to B.

“Brandon? Bethany? Bella? Benjamin?”

U.

“…Buford? Bucky?”

T.

Virgil frowned. “Butler?”

T.

Roman bit his lip to keep from laughing.

S.

“Roman, stop messing with the planchette,” Virgil snapped.

Roman made an indignant noise. “I didn’t!”

“Spirit, I apologize for my friend. What is your name?”

B-U-T-T-H-O-L-E.

“Maybe it doesn’t want to tell us,” Roman said, shrugging and trying not to laugh.

Virgil was starting to look exasperated.

“Maybe it’s a kid. How old are you?” he asked.

6.

“You’re six years old?” Virgil’s mouth opened. “That’s so y…”

The planchette moved again, interrupting him.

9.

“69,” Virgil repeated. “Okay, maybe not a kid.” He glanced at Roman, looking suspicious, as if wondering whether he’d changed the results again. Roman pouted at him in response.

“How did you die?”

“Wow, that’s pretty personal, isn’t it?” Roman asked. “Ask it how it’s doing, at least.”

Virgil sighed. “They don’t usually stick around for long, Roman.” Then seemingly deciding to humor him, he asked, “Spirit, how are you?”

Yes.

“Well, that’s… an answer,” Roman said. Maybe the Ouija board was broken or something.

“How did you die?” Virgil asked, repeating his earlier question.

The planchette hovered for a few seconds.

K-N-I-V-E-S.

Roman swallowed.

“Oh.” Virgil shifted. “What year did that happen?”

4-2-0.

“Roman, seriously, stop.”

“I swear, it’s not me.”

“Fine, then let’s try again. What year did you die?”

D-E-A-D.

“Yes, you died,” Virgil said. “Do you remember what year that happened?”

Y-O-U A-R-E D-E-A-D.

Roman’s eyes widened. Virgil wouldn’t have done that, would he? “Um, Virge? I think maybe we should leave.”

“Are… are you a good spirit?” Virgil asked, his voice uncertain.

No.

The lights above flared into life, far, far too bright, like small suns. They shouldn’t have worked, even if they were still connected to power, or had the bulbs replaced in the past decade. Wind rushed through the room from an invisible source, the temperature dropping.

POP!

The light above them burst, sending sparks falling around them. The rest of the lights followed in rapid succession. The tripod fell over as if pushed, crashing to the ground between the pair and sending up a cloud of dust.

Roman and Virgil screamed, scrambling for the exit, pushing each other through the window, back into the woods. They raced back towards the car, both the camera and Virgil’s jacket forgotten.

Hysterical, cackling laughter followed them through the trees.

[dead-inside-mcgee]

Beyond that Door Chapter 4

A ladder

Yes I do write stuffs

Summary: On one hand, free clothing sounded great. On the other hand, Chase’s growing romantic feelings did not muffle his paranoia at all. On the third hand, this sounded kind of like charity, and Chase didn’t need or want any of that, nor did he really feel like he deserved it. And on the fourth hand, which at this point there are far too many hands, if this man could just offer to do something like that, without a hint of anxiety, then that probably meant he was fairly financially stable. And financial stability was on Chase’s top ten for most attractive traits.

Warnings: implied sexual content, mentions of murder

Taglist: @rabbitsartcorner @caori-azarath @murder-schmurder

Chase blinked his eyes open, trying to remember where he was. He was watching a movie, the parents were looking over old pictures and discovered that their daughter's ghost was actually in some of the pictures, other than the ones the son photoshopped her in.

  Chase smiled to himself. He’d have to watch that movie again when he wasn’t on a not-date with a criminal. What happened after that? 

  The credits rolled. He was about to make some excuse to leave. Anti was talking about something. He started pouring a glass of wine....

  The bathroom door opened, flooding the room with light and steam as Anti stepped out in just a towel. 

  ”Oh!” he said with a bright smile. “I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up. I suppose I can’t blame you considering the work out you gave me.” He chuckles lightheartedly.

  Chase blushed, suddenly aware of the fact that he didn’t have a shirt on. Last night came flashing back to him in a series of images, like someone made a shitty PowerPoint presentation about it. He covers his face in the blanket in embarrassment, earning another light chuckle from Anti. 

  Chase couldn’t help but peak out while Anti was dressing. Despite all the paranoia and suspension he had surrounding the man, he did find him quite attractive. And if last night was anything to go off of, the feeling was mutual. 

  Maybe Anti wasn’t the weird supervillain in Chase’s mind. Maybe the strange man he saw at the building was someone else, he only really got a glimpse...

  Chase’s wandering thoughts of possible romance were torn from him by the malicious hands of capitalism. 

  “Oh fuck I’m late for work!” 

  “Actually-” Anti started, grabbing Chase’s arm before he could bolt out the door in just his slipping pants “-a pipe burst, flooding a large part of the first few floors in sewage. Work is closed for a few days for repairs.” He led him over to his laptop, showing him the email explaining that in forty times the word count. 

  Chase sighed in relief. “Oh, thank god.” 

  “So. Since we have a couple of days free, how would you like to go shopping with me? I will pay for everything, and not to be rude, but you really need more clothing. I’ve noticed you’ve worn the same grey shirt ten times in a row.” 

  “Actually, I bought a pack of twelve grey shirts.” He said, putting grey shirt number eleven back on. “It was on sale.” 

  “I honestly feel like that makes it worse.” 

  On one hand, free clothing sounded great. On the other hand, Chase’s growing romantic feelings did not muffle his paranoia at all. On the third hand, this sounded kind of like charity, and Chase didn’t need or want any of that, nor did he really feel like he deserved it. And on the fourth hand, which at this point there are far too many hands, if this man could just offer to do something like that, without a hint of anxiety, then that probably meant he was fairly financially stable. And financial stability was on Chase’s top ten for most attractive traits. 

  He whimpered, talking a step back. It felt like he was between a rock and a hard place, and Chase’s claustrophobia made him want to panic. And then a fifth hand popped up to ask a question. What about Marvin?

  In the pure anxiety of last night and the confusing morning, Marvin had completely slipped his mind. The poor witch was probably worried sick.

  “I’m sorry!” He made his way for the front door. “I promised a friend I would hang out with them last night and they’re probably worried sick that I never showed up.” He didn’t wait for a response from Anti, simply running out.

  Panic set in. He should turn around. No, keep running. He didn’t think he could even face Marvin in this state. 

  He ran into his apartment, not even wondering why his front door was unlocked. 

***

Under every town there are tunnels. Whether they are made by animals like worms, moles, or crawfish. Or they’re made by time, like undiscovered caves. Or they’re made by secret organizations that use them to get around fast and to watch our every move. There are tunnels.

  Marvin discovered his own set of tunnels when he first came to this town, and later sealed off a certain part of it later to act as his base. 

  He used to enjoy wandering through the tunnels, drawing graffiti on the walls, and listening in to private conversations. He felt free in the tunnels. But tonight the tunnels felt suffocating. 

  “Where are we going?” Henrik asked timidly. He stumbled every few steps.

  “If they’ve captured Chase, then they probably know we’re looking into this conspiracy, which means my home isn’t safe.”

  “That does not quite answer my question.”

  Marvin didn’t have a good answer. 

  After an hour of walking and quietly swearing from Henrik, Marvin stopped and squeezed him through a small space that opened up into a large, musty room. It looked like a church. There were rows of pews, and the walls were lined with stained glass, which was odd because behind the stained glass windows was layers upon layers of dirt and rock. Like someone built a church in a giant pit, buried it, and forgot about it. 

  Neither of them could quite tell what the windows were depicting, and there were no recognizable religious symbols.

  “This place feels less safe.” Henrik squeaked. 

  “Don’t worry. I’ve never seen or heard anyone here. I’m not sure what this place is, but it’s abandoned.” Marvin laid down on a pew and curled up. 

  “How long do you plan on staying here?” 

  “A week at least. If they check my home, that might see I’m not there and it’ll be safe to return.” 

  There were holes in that plan, but Henrik wasn’t in the right headspace to nitpick it. He did not like it here. He really didn’t like it here. This place felt familiar, and that scared him more than anything.

  Exhaustion hit him hard. He curled up on the ground, which was only slightly more uncomfortable than the pews, and slept. 

  He had a dream. No not a dream. He remembered something.

 ***

It was Tuesday. He remembered that fact cearly. Tuesday the sixteenth, in September. Yesterday was his birthday. He was twenty-four now. 

  He was going shopping. He bought a new lab coat for work. He was a doctor, both of medical and of science. He also still struggled with English despite living in America for several years by now. 

  He meets a man with bright green hair and a smile that felt like the sun on earth. He introduces himself as Sèan, but tells him he goes by Jack.

  “How do you get Jack from Sèan?” he remembers asking. 

  “You don’t!” Jack said, patting him on the back. 

  Then it was evening, they were snuggled up on Jack’s couch, both wasted.

  “I wanna be someone someday!” Jack said loudly. “I want to be the person whose face appears on a billboard, and people can point at my face and say, “‘Hey, I know that guy!’”

  “You could be a model. You’ve got the face for it.” 

  “There’s no honor in being a model, though. I want to save people, not kill their self esteem.”

  “A cop then.”

  “No one likes cops, Henrik.” Jack said firmly, sounding sober for a moment. 

  “True…” He yawned, starting to feel tired. 

  “I want to be something bigger than that. Like a superhero. Maybe I could get into witchcraft.” 

  “You know witchcraft is illegal right?” 

  “Being a vigilante is illegal too, and people love vigilantes. Hey, maybe if I’m big enough and loud enough, I can get rid of the ban on witchcraft!” 

  Henrik giggled, nuzzling his hand. “I believe in you.”

  Jack nodded happily. Suddenly he jolted upright and almost knocked Henrik onto the floor. “Hey! Want to see something cool!”

  Jack led him to a manhole cover that had a thick numerical padlock on it. Jack put in the code 1010 and it popped off. 

  “Not a very secure code.” Henrik commented as Jack dragged him into the sewer. 

  “It’s so dumb that no one would guess it.” 

  “It smells like shit down here.” Henrik groaned. 

  “Yeah, that’d be the shit.” 

  Jack led him to an area where part of the wall seemed to be slightly broken. 

  “Look through the crack in the wall.” 

  Henik did so and he could faintly see a ladder going down. 

  Jack pulled on the wall slightly, making enough space for someone to squeeze in if they really tried. “I’ve never been brave enough to go see where it leads.” 

  Henrik was amazed. This was super cool. It may have been the alcohol clouding his judgement, but he squeezed past the wall and looked down. “Want to find out?” 

  Climbing a ladder drunk is not a smart thing to do, especially if you had no idea where said ladder leads. 

  After a few minutes of climbing, somehow Henrik and Jack made it to the ground without dying. The ladder led to a pair of large doors that looked like the entrance to a church. 

  The two glanced at each other before working together to push open the doors. Inside was eerily like a church. 

  “I don’t like it here.” Jack said, but continued walking into the church anyway. 

  Henrik stepped in and a wave of nausea washed over him. He fell forward, blacking out. That was the last thing Henrik remembered, but the dream continued. 

  Jack spun around, running to go check on him, but some invisible wall seemed to block him from getting any closer. 

  A voice cackled. It was raspy and sounded broken almost. A man appeared. He looked exactly like Jack but wrong. Like someone tried to draw him from memory. There was also a giant cut on this person’s neck. 

  Jack stumbled back and leaned on the invisible wall. “Don't come any closer!” 

  “I won’t, I won’t.” The demon, Jack decided it was a demon, said calmly. “I want to help you friend.” 

  “Help me!? What could you possibly do to help me?” 

  “You want to be a hero, am I correct? I seem to remember that.” 

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Well who doesn’t want to be a hero!? I can help you, for a small price.” 

  “What price?”

  “It’s only something small. I wish the feast on the blood of the wicked. That shouldn’t be much trouble. What’s the lives of millions of good people compared to a few assholes?” 

  Jack thought it over. “How much blood?” 

  “A body every two weeks. If you choose the right people, no one will miss them anyway.” 

  The worst part is that, that sounded like an amazing deal. He glanced back at Henrik. There was a little pool of blood by his face from where he hit his head on the floor. 

  “Is there any other catch to this thing you’re offering me?” 

  “Yes.” The demon waved his hand up and Henrik stood, except it wasn’t Henrik exactly. Something about his eyes was off. 

  “Every superhero needs a villain to defeat, and your boyfriend here will do the trick nicely.”

  Jack grimaced, backing away from “Henrik.” 

  “That doesn’t even have to be a catch. I can erase any memories and feelings you have connected to him. Just shake my hand.” He held a hand out with a big, toothy smile. 

  Jack glanced at the demon, and then at Henrik, and he decided to take his hand. There was a bright flash of light and Henrik woke up. 

  He was about to get up to tell Marvin what he had remembered, but he found himself and Marvin tied up. 

***

Chase fidgeted with part of his robotic arm. It made a nice clicking noise when he twisted one of the fingers in the right way. 

  The mask was starting to wear off, he had enough of the potion left to last him a while, but it still made him kind of sad. 

  There was a knock at the door. Chase groaned and hid under the blanket. It was probably Mrs. Wood, asking if Chase had seen her missing cat.  

  The knocking continued for a few more minutes and then Chase heard a soft creak like someone opened his front door. His stomach dropped. 

  He grabbed a large flashlight, prepared to whack someone. He slowly walked out of his room only to see Anti in his living room. 

  Anti held up his hands. “Hey. You left your keys at my place.” He dropped the keys on the counter. “I know I shouldn’t have busted in, but I assumed you weren’t here.” 

  Chase sighed, putting the flashlight down. Anything Chase wanted to say got caught in his throat. He sat down and covered his face. “Just go away please.” 

  “I also wanted to say I’m sorry. I came on too strongly and I should’ve checked to see if I was crossing any boundaries. I just want this to work.” 

   Anti’s heart shattered. He stepped out into the hallway and got a phone call. 

  “What is it?” He growled. 

  “Fresh blood is here.” Jackie said on the other end.

[guardiantempest]

FGO: Abigail Williams redesign concept

My creative process relies too much on randomly coming up with the right ideas at the right times, and potentially the alignment of celestial bodies. This is one of those occasions as my mind has immediately started nudging its thoughts towards a particular direction in regards to changing Abigail without actually "censoring” her too much.

Inspirations: Bloodborne, Mazeran’s Persona-esque Touhou designs, whatever chimeric monsters made using photoshop and butchered photos (primarily this unholy abomination),  Madoka.

Let’s start with the face, simplest thing to scramble. Abigail’s eyes are mouths with sharp teeth and occasional grinning. Her normal mouth is replaced with a metal gate/portcullis/prison door that doesn’t even conceal the inside: the infinite, twinkling cosmos. Once in a while you would see a planet of the solar system passing by. I can’t come up with anything neat for the nose, so just replace it with a single, old suture, that’ll do the trick. On her forehead is the sole remnant of her original design: a keyhole with an eye inside it.

In the 3rd and 4th ascensions, Abby’s hair almost matches her skin. Let’s take it further and actually make it be an extension of her skin. Like Artemis’ flesh dress but turned into bacon, or better yet: a very tattered “umbrella” of a vampire squid, complete with toothy tentacles. That giant hat is replaced with a giant brain or a tumor Wait no let’s replace it with a mutant gulper eel Actually her hat is a giant crooked cornucopia, with the ribbons replaced by actual flowers and leaves. Leaning too hard into the body horror might not fit, but if it does then I’ll save the Xanthous Jeremiah-esque brain tumor as a backup plan.

Her body’s general form is youthful and slender. Nah. Look at the Orphan of Kos. You see that? Let’s use it as our base. Alright, emaciated grotesque humanoid with excess scraps of flesh. What’s next? Hmmm, let’s add some trypophobia in there. Small keyholes on the shoulders and thighs, medium sized ones on her back. Going with the lock-and-key submotif, the abdomen would have that combination lock decorated with profane symbols. Those ribbons around her neck? Replaced with padlocks, with the flowing ribbons replaced with ethereal chains.

Each arm is replaced by two huge keys (one for the upper/lower arm) covered in thick strands of flesh. The strands of flesh transition into knotted wrists tied to oversized mannequin hands. I’ll be honest I completely ran dry around here. There’s not much I could come up with in terms of hands but I’m sure dozens of people out there could come up with something better.

Those legs of hers go backwards, with the lower legs fading off halfway into thin tentacles that resemble gray demon pillars. The cross-like eyes are replaced with the spiraling patterns on Abby’s “teddy bear” faces. Alternatively, the lower legs transition into stilt-like walking canes. Point is, Abby can float at this point so her feet are irrelevant.

So what are we left with here? Well, it’s definitely a bipedal creature. The objective is to change Abigail's form into something so inhuman that the resulting...creature is Abby in name only. Still naked, just no longer a recognizable humanoid. more like Sut-Typhon’s 3d shadow puppet, really. Unfortunately I made this on a haste, it’s not monstrous/unnatural/eldritch/definitely-not-a-child enough. Oh well. The only truly-creepy things about this version are the mouth eyes and backwards bow legs.

Look at this

[creatures-that-wont-die]

You Came Back

so i had to write a scary story for english class and i had to make it angsty. heres a rick and morty au for ya enjoy

“Where am I?” Morty sat up and looked around. It was pitch black so he sat there for a minute, letting his eyes adjust. After a few minutes of trying to slow his breathing down, he opened his eyes to see the faintest outline of a door not two feet in front of him. Lurching forward, he threw his hands out to reach for the door but fell flat on his face. Looking down to see what caused this, he discovered his ankles were shackled together. Feeling his breathing speed back up, he frantically swept his gaze across the room, looking for anything to help him. To his right was a table with a rod and a book sitting on top of it. He stood up and shuffled as close to the table as he could. Picking up the book and examining it, he found it was blank. All pages. The cover had a weird R shaped symbol on it.

Next, he looked at the rod. As soon as he held it in his hands he knew what it was. Getting excited, he cracked, snapped, and shook the rod until it lit up. It was a green glow stick. Sweeping it across the room, Morty found a pile of what looked like… raccoons? His chains left him three feet short of the pile standing up, so he laid down and reached out with the glow stick, cautiously poking the raccoon closest to him. It fell down the pile and landed next to him with a sickening thump, and a tinkling sound. Curious, he held the glow stick closer to the raccoon. Seeing a glint of metal, he put the stick in between his teeth and pushed open the mouth with his hands. Sure enough, there was a key in the raccoon’s mouth. Finding it strange he found a key on his first try, he bumped the pile of raccoons and heard multiple tinkling noises. “Oh great,” Morty thought.

Five minutes later, he acquired all the keys. “Ok, I got the keys, now what,” he said to himself. “Well, I- I can’t reach the door from here so how am I supposed to get out? Wait- my chains!” Morty swept the glow stick over his shackles, looking for a key hole. Not finding one, he sighed in exasperation and buried his face in his hands. “I give up. I’m done.”

“That didn't last very long,” someone said.

Morty sat straight up, and whispered, “Who’s there? Please don’t kill me.” The mysterious voice chuckled. Morty pointed his glow stick in front of him like a sword, but didn’t see anything. He couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. It seemed to be coming from… everywhere?

“I’m not going to kill you, kid. You’re worth way more alive, but I must say you disappointed me with giving up that early.” The voice sighed. “Well, I just wanted to check in and tell you not to give up unless you want to rot in here.” “Can you give me a hint of what these keys are for?” Morty asked tentatively, crossing his fingers. The voice was silent for a few seconds, and Morty was worried he had left. “You already know, Morty. Y-y-you’re smarter than you think.” The voice paused, thinking. “If you need me, just call my name. I’m Rick.”

“How- how did you know my name?” Morty asked. He was met with silence. “Rick?” Still silence. Morty started to cry. He didn’t want to rot in here, he was too young to die! “Get yourself together.” Morty grabbed the glow stick and stuck it in his mouth. Picking up the shackles in his hands, he ran his fingers over it. There, in the middle, on the back- was a keyhole. “Yes!” Morty did a happy dance for a few seconds then grabbed his pile of keys. He had twelve keys, so he tried the smallest first. That didn’t work, so he made his way up through the keys until the eighth one fit. The shackles came off his ankles with a clang. Morty stood up and ran to the door. Trying the knob, he found it was unlocked. He could hardly believe his luck.

“Congratulations, Morty. You made past the first room. Which actually isn’t that big of a deal, I made it super easy,” Rick said. Lights flashed on, temporarily blinding Morty. When he could see again, he looked around and saw a camera in the corner. He stuck his tongue out at the camera and opened the door. Rick laughed.

“Y- you know, it’s rude to kidnap someone and put them in a Saw enviroment and watch them on cameras,” Morty complained. Rick said nothing, so Morty walked into the next room. Not watching where he was going, he tripped over some box thing and fell on his elbows. “Owww,” Morty groaned. He rolled over onto his back and layed there for a second, trying to catch his breath. Once he did, he sat up and saw the box he tripped over. It was a metal box, that opened at the middle. It had a metal padlock on it, that required a four digit code. Morty tried to pick up the box, but it seemed to be stuck to the floor. He stood up and looked around. His eyes stretched wide after he realized he was in a literal padded room.

“W- what the hell, Rick?” Morty muttered. The only part of the room that wasn't padded was the floor, which was hardwood. He walked to the wall across from the door he came through and started to inspect it. Running his hands across it, he found a split in the padding. It stayed put when he tried pulling on it, so he hit it with his palm and it swung open. “Bingo.” He pulled it all the way open. Behind it was a door. “Well that was easy,” Morty said triumphantly. “You sure about that?” Rick said ominously. Morty narrowed his eyes at the camera in the padded room and tried the doorknob. Locked. He walked to the center of the room and looked around again. The floorboards creaked with every step he took. It was a small room, and the metal box was directly in front of the door. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock. Morty could have sworn he heard a clock. He strained his ears to see where the ticking was coming from, and it sounded like it was coming from… above him. Looking up at the ceiling, he saw a large digital clock counting down, and the words “Lights out” underneath the time, which read 00:03:41.

“Rick!” Morty yelled.

“Jeez Morty, you don’t have to yell. What is it?” “What’s this clock for?” Morty said, pointing up to the clock.

“Well if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a puzzle, now would it? Hurry up, you’re wasting time by talking to me.”

Morty sighed and went to the left wall. “Maybe there’s another hidden thing?” he said to himself. He hit the wall every half foot. Once he got to the middle, another panel popped open. He looked inside of it and found four numbers. 5, 1, 9, 2. Morty ran back to the box and quickly put the numbers in the combination lock. It popped open and inside was a pen. “A pen? Really? How is this supposed to help me?” “You’ll find out in… one minute and tw- twenty eight seconds.” Rick said. Morty looked up at the clock, and it read the same time Rick had named. “It’s not going to kill me is it?” Morty asked.

“Does it say ‘death’? No, it says ‘lights out’,” Rick said impatiently. “Besides, I already said you’re worth more to me alive, didn’t I?”

“Yeah…” Morty sat down and examined the pen. There was a button on the side, but when he pushed it, it didn’t do anything. He pushed it again, but it still didn’t do anything. He got up and walked back into the other room. His glow stick lay forgotten on the ground, and the blank book was on the table still. The pile of keys were next to the dead raccoons, and his shackles were… gone?

“ Hey Rick, where did my shackles go?” Morty asked

“W- why do you care Morty, you don’t want me to put them back on you, do you?”

“No!” Morty shouted.

“Ok, ok, calm down Morty, jeez...” Suddenly the lights went off. Morty grabbed his glow stick and the pen and stood up.

“Rick! What am I supposed to do now?” Silence. “Rick?” More silence. Thump. “What was that?” Morty looked around and saw the book had fallen to the floor. He walked over to it and picked it up. The pen almost fell out of his hand so he adjusted his grip and accidently pushed the button. It shined a light that wasn’t visible when the lights were on, and Morty immediately thought, “Invisible ink pen.” He opened up the book and pointed the light at the books blank pages. He flipped through each page, eyes wide. There was pictures of Morty on every page. Pictures of him with his family. Pictures of him at school. Then there were pictures of him with people he’s never even seen before. Pictures of him with a blue haired man in a lab coat. Pictures of him on what looked like alien planets, but he knew that wasn't possible. It must be photoshop. There, on the last page, a letter fell out.

Dear Rick,

It’s been a month since you left. Today’s my fifteenth birthday. I keep hoping you’ll come back. It’s hard to sleep at night, because I stay awake hoping you’ll come drag me out of bed to go on another crazy adventure. But you never do. I go sit in your garage a lot, but it’s not the same. Everything is gone, you’re gone, the garage is empty. It would be so much easier if you never came back in this family’s life to begin with. If I had never met you. Or, if I didn’t remember you. I wish I could forget.

Love, Morty

Morty didn’t know what to think. That letter was in his handwriting. But he had no memory of writing it. He looked at where he knew the camera was, in confusion. “Rick?” Silence. “Rick!” Silence. Morty ran to the locked door and pounded on it until his hands were red. He slid to the floor and felt wetness on his cheeks. He was crying.

“Morty, move out of the way so I can open the door.” Rick said. Morty stood up and walked to the middle of the room, but kept his back to the door. He heard it swing open, heard footsteps getting closer, felt a hand on his shoulder. “Eat this Morty, if you want that letter and those pictures to make sense.” A gummy bear was put into his hand. “It’s the blue kind. Your favorite.” Morty stared at the gummy bear in his hand. He brought it up to his mouth, but hesitated.

“Will you let me go if I eat it or not?” Morty asked.

“Of course I will.”

Morty thought about it for awhile. He hated being curious, and he wanted to know what this was all about. But at the same time, what if all this was fake and that gummy bear was poisoned? After all, he was kidnapped by this man. “C’mon morty, you can do it. 3… 2… 1…” He popped the gummy bear in his mouth and started chewing.

“Morty, this is your grandpa Rick. He’s going to be staying with us for awhile.”

He shut his eyes.

“M- morty, come on, we have to go on an adventure.” “What the hell Rick, it's like three in the morning and I have school tomorrow.” “School can wait Morty, this is more important.”

He felt his knees hit the floor.

“Look, I want to leave now. You win the bet, okay? Just give me the portal gun and let's go, please. Please, I just want to go home.” Morty grabbed onto Rick's lab coat and started crying. Rick looked past Morty to see the king walking out of the restaurant bathroom, face badly beaten up. “Okay. Listen, Morty. I just won a bunch of shmeckels. Why don't we use 25 of them to pay slippery stair here for a ride back to the village, and then we'll give the rest of the shmeckels to the villagers, huh?” Morty looked up at him and smiled. “Really?” “Sure, Morty. Yeah. You know, a good adventure needs a good ending.”

A hand rubbed his back comfortingly.

“Hey Grandpa Ri-” The garage was empty. “R- Rick?” “Hey mom have you seen Rick?” “No sweetie, but I’m sure he will be back in time for supper.” Supper time came, and he still wasn’t home.

Morty slowly slid open his eyes and looked behind him to see Rick standing there, looking the same as he did when he left. Morty jumped up and hugged Rick as tight as he could.

“You came back...”