#septic slime

[eridanidreams]

Fiction Friday

This past week has been kind of crazy for me, but I do have something I can post. This one's a quiet moment in a future arc for Adam and Sloane...

Sloane came out of the bathroom, vigorously toweling her hair, as Adam came through the door. His eyes widened a little at the sight of her in her sports bra. “Hey,” she said, managing a reasonably normal tone, determined to ignore any potential awkwardness. “Give me just a minute.” Her hair was dry enough, so she pivoted to toss the towel back into the bathroom.

Behind her, Adam inhaled sharply and growled, “Who did that to you?”

“What?” She looked back at him, confused.

“Your back. Who did that?” He sounded angrier with every word, and Sloane finally realized what he was talking about. There was that one particular scar—

“Easy,” she said calmly, and turned to face him; he was flexing his hands, like he wanted to punch someone. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? Because I think someone put out about half a dozen cigarettes on you,” he retorted.

“Nope,” she said, trying to stay calm. “Honest. Nothing like that—though now that I think about it, it is my first ‘no shit, there I was’ story.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Sloane—” His voice was full of exasperation, although his eyes were sad. Had he only now realized what the various scars on her skin meant? Was he re-thinking what he’d said last night? She should have been relieved at the thought; instead, she was disappointed.

“They’re just scars, Adam,” she said, matter-of-factly, pulling her t-shirt over her head. “They didn’t kill me. Obviously.” He’d been staring at the line that ran from the point of her right hip to just under her left breast, the one that was still faintly pink; he jerked his eyes up to hers as she tugged the shirt down. “Chechnya,” she answered his unspoken question. “I’d rather not talk about that one. If you have coffee, though, I’ll tell you about the burn scar.”

He did not, in fact, have coffee in his room, but it was a short walk to a café that did. She wondered if it was a mistake to reveal herself to him; this was a story she’d told to a very select group, all of them fellow medics. She wasn’t sure how Adam would take it, but she’d promised.

Sloane turned the coffee cup around in her hands. As a drink, it was decidedly inferior; as something to do with her hands, it served perfectly. “I was halfway through medic training when the Vilama caldera blew in ’14.” Adam’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “The Army was part of the disaster relief mobilization. They stripped everyone that had a medical MOS and wasn’t on critical duty elsewhere—Walter Reed, BAMC, even us trainees at Bragg—and sent us down there.”

“All I know is what I saw on the news,” he said. “It looked terrible.”

“It was.” The experience was branded into her memory. “The stink—you wouldn’t believe the stink. Sulfur, mostly. Charred pork, from all the burns—it was a year before I could even think about eating bacon again. And rot—burns went septic like you wouldn’t believe. There was a lot of gangrene. We couldn’t keep sterile conditions—the ash got everywhere. If you tried to shower it off, it turned into this gritty slime. We had to change out dust masks three times a day. The color was leached out of everything; even our clothes turned grey. And quiet. Everything for a hundred square miles was dead. No birds. No insects. No trees or plants. It may not have been hell, but you could damn sure see it from there.” She sipped at her coffee; it hadn’t improved. “A few days in, the volcanologists said the magma had diverted unexpectedly and was going to vent in one of the clear zones, so they sent four of us—me, my squadmate, and a couple from Médecins Sans Frontières that knew the area—to evac the nearby village.

“Either the science guys were wrong or we were too slow, ‘cause one minute we were getting the last few stragglers, the next...” She shook her head. “The temperature jumped thirty degrees in just a few seconds. The wind kicked up hard; my skin got all dry and tight—like right before a sunburn. And the ground… you never know how much you expect the ground to be stable and reliable until it isn’t.” She put her cup down with a clink. “So there I was, a month shy of my nineteenth birthday, green as grass, in the middle of a fucking volcanic eruption.”

Adam’s hand wrapped around her wrist and gave it a brief, gently supportive squeeze. Oddly—she didn’t usually invite physical contact—it helped. “What did you do?”

“We ran.” Sloane said simply. “All the smoke and ash pouring into the air, was like the sun went out. We could barely see, barely breathe, even through the masks. And if that had been all, we’d have made it out easy. But these things started landing around us. Lava bombs. Same color as the sky; you couldn’t see them until they hit, and then it was nothing but red.” She took a deep breath. “My squadmate was helping one of the MSF doctors, she was having trouble. Lava bomb caught them both right in the head. Splashed all over her husband—arms, chest, face. I got lucky; just caught a little backsplash.” She shrugged the shoulder in question.

Adam sounded horrified. “That’s from lava?”

“About a thousand degrees Celsius,” she confirmed. “Would have burned to the bone if I hadn’t ripped my shirt off fast.” She rubbed her hand down her face. “Not much more to tell. The doc was still breathing, and we were dead if we stayed, so I grabbed him and hauled ass to where we’d left the jeep. It lasted long enough to get us out of the red zone, and I called for a medevac.” She finished off the coffee just for the welcome hit of caffeine. “He got sent off to one of the big hospitals in Buenos Aires, and I got a hydrogel patch and some spray-on sealant and went back to doing field amputations and burn treatments.” She looked up at Adam. “Lot of firsts there.”

“Like what?” He looked genuinely curious.

Sloane started listing them on her fingers. “First time I thought I was going to die. Hell, first time I really, truly understood that I could die. I’d never been that scared.” It was strange—she usually remembered only the grim determination to escape, to live—but telling Adam the story today, the remembered fear was vivid in her mind. “First decoration for valor; not that I think I deserved it, but someone did.” She sighed. “First time I had to make the choice to save myself or take the risk and save someone else.”

“If the guy’s injuries were that bad,” Adam said in a thoughtful tone, “no one would have blamed you for just getting yourself out.” She could see the warmth of a not-quite-smile in his eyes. “Probably why someone thought you deserved the medal.”

“I would have blamed me,” she said with a sigh. “I couldn’t blame myself for getting the others out, but I knew I could get the doc out as long as we didn’t get hit again.” She spread both hands open. “And that’s it. I don’t tell that story often.” She smiled, a little wryly. “Most ‘no shit there I was’ stories end in ‘and that’s how my badassery saved the day’. This is more ‘there but for the grace of God go I’.”

“So why tell me?” He tilted his head in inquiry.

“You asked.”

[franklyshipping]

Sticky Situation ~ A Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

WOOP NEXT ANON PROMPT! Here we have a fabulous Septic trio getting up to some fun, so LET'S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @anti-switch-glitch and @jameson-lee-jackson

The doctor was focused, very nearly unblinking. It was perfection he was striving for in this experiment, and so concentration was essential for success. His tongue was poking out through his teeth as he hovered the dropper over the little mound of lime green slime, a residue courtesy of Gooper (just… don’t ask which bit of Gooper it came out of… long story short he has his own toilet now). With his free hand, Dr Schneeplestein dimmed the lights in his office, causing the liquid in his dropper to reveal its properties – it was a glow in the dark solution. He allowed three drops to fall upon the mound of slime, before he kneaded it gently with a gloved hand. He waited five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. Then… it happened. The glow.

‘How magnificent! I think we have the correct concentration of the luminescent solution Gooper!’

The doctor said, turning to Gooper who was perched on his shoulder. The glob wiggled with a quiet, happy gurgle in response… but Gooper’s joy was not at the great volume it usually was. All day he’d been watching Schneeple toil and work on hundreds of versions of this slime experiment, with the goal of making the best glow in the dark ectoplasmic substance in time for Halloween, as a surprise feature for all the egos to play with. And, as often happened with the dear doctor, he was so caught up in his work that he hadn’t rested. Not once. As he focused on his next batch, Gooper subtly slid down the doctor’s back and onto the ground, before wibbling his way out of the room. He knew if Schneeple was going to get any rest, he was going to need the right help. So, with an agility that often evades our gooey friend, he rushed through the manor looking for potential compatriots.

Despite how densely populated the manor was at this point, Gooper spent a good half an hour rolling and blopping through the place before he found anyone, but lucky for him they were the perfect duo for what he needed. Anti and Jamie had just finished decorating the main living room with tons of ghost-shaped lights, and the former spotted Gooper with a grin.

‘Well if it ain’t my favourite slimy guy, what’s up?’

Jamie gasped happily when he saw Gooper, giving him a little wave. Gooper cooed, then hopped up and down in an agitated way, before morphing part of his form into tiny hands – this was one of the rare occasions where he needed to communicate actual human sentences. A few minutes of wobbly sign language and accompanying gurgles later, Anti and Jamie were wide eyed as they looked at each other. Anti tossed the remaining LEDs he was holding onto the couch, and got a determined look in his eye.

‘Right, our décor mission is officially on hold. As of now we’re on Operation Get-Schneep-The-Fuck-To-Sleep, agreed?’

Jamie nodded enthusiastically, and after Gooper was scooped onto Anti’s shoulder, the trio headed to the lab, and when they arrived they didn’t bother knocking. As they entered Schneeple’s eyes widened, and he immediately used his body to try and hide his surprise project from them.

‘Woah- hey no no you cannot be in here! I am doing work things!’

However his attempt to hide is too late, and Anti sighs at him with a grin as Jamie sends Schneeple a fond look. Anti folds his arms at the doc, raising an eyebrow.

‘As awesome as your project thingy probably is, we heard a rumour that you’ve not been resting.’

Schneeple gaped for a second, and then noticed Gooper resting on the glitch’s shoulder. He grumbled and muttered.

‘You gooey little snitch…’

Gooper made a raspberry sound at him, and Jamie sent Schneeple the kind of look parents reserved for when their kids were being difficult.

‘Come on Henrik, you promised us you’d rest more!’

He signed, his expression turning pout-like – the expression made Henrik want to melt, as it tended to do with all the egos. All of a sudden, Henrik was pouting back like a little kid who didn’t want his bedtime.

‘I know I know but this ectoplasm is going to be so cool! It’s going to glow and make the manor look spooky!’

‘That won’t matter if you end up sleeping through the spooky season because of exhaustion!’

Anti retorted, before he and Jamie shared a look. They knew that the only way they were going to get Schneeple to see reason… was by force. So they each darted forward, grabbed an arm each, and started just trying to pull Schneeple out of the lab. It was entirely childish, but it was their only option!

‘AH! Hey, you let me go hey–this lab coat is new!’

‘And you look great in it, now come on!’

Anti said, causing a little blush to appear on the doctor’s cheeks as he struggled… but what none of them noticed was the stray bit of slime stuck on the linoleum floor. Slime which, unfortunately, Schneeple ended up slipping on. In an instant the three of them tumbled to the ground in the most clichéd, comedic fashion, and to make it ever better an entire jug of prototype slime got caught by Schneeple’s elbow, and tumbled with them. Anti and Jamie landed less hard whilst Schneeple landed on his back with a loud squelch, the slime cushioning his fall. Jamie’s eyes immediately went wide as his hands moved frantically.

‘Oh my golly are you okay, are you hurt?!’

‘Holy shit that’s a fuckton of slime! I think that coat’ll need dry cleaning.’

Anti snorted, spurring Jamie to elbow him with a pout – but the gentleman was quickly relieved when Schneeple laughed up at them.

‘I’m okay I’m okay it cushioned my fall… but now I am screwed.’

‘Why?’

Jamie asked, but his question was answered as he watched Schneeple try, and fail, to get up. A side effect of this particular slime batch was this it worked as a marvellous adhesive, keeping Schneeple stuck to the ground by his coat and his bare hands, so there was no way he could even escape by wriggling out of his coat. Schneeple sighed.

‘Ah, it’s one of my earlier batches with a sticky side effect… and it will take twenty minutes for it to become malleable enough to remove.’

‘Oh damn, you don’t need to pee do you?’

Anti said, making Schneeple snort and roll his eyes fondly.

‘No Anti I do not need to pee.’

‘Good because we are not close enough for me to be cleaning up your pi–ow!’

Jamie whacked Anti’s arm reproachfully, making the glitch snicker even more. Schneeple let out another quiet sigh as Jamie tilted his head down at him, giving him a sympathetic look. Meanwhile… Anti’s expression turned suddenly, and unnervingly, mischievous.

‘Y’know JJ… I think this is a great opportunity for us.’

Jamie blinked at Anti curiously, and Schneeple got nervous flutters in his stomach when Anti grinned wickedly.

‘I think this is the perfect chance for us to punish our friend here for not resting like he promised.’

Anto cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers playfully in the air, allowing Jamie and Schneeple to cotton on instantly. Schneeple went bright pink as Jamie gasped with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he clapped his hands.

‘Oh what a top idea! I like it!’

‘I don’t!’

‘Hush, promise-breakers don’t get a vote.’

Anti retorted to Schneeple’s little outburst, before he and Jamie knelt over him with delighted looks on their faces… and Schneeple knew he was screwed. Anti hummed and tapped his chin for a moment, before he pushed up the doctor’s sweater vest and shirt to reveal his tummy. Before Schneeple could say another word Jamie’s deft fingers were dancing at his tummy, tickling him with such speed that he shrieked and burst into cackles of varying pitch.

‘AHH! Nononohoho nahahat the tihihickling nohoho plehehease!’

Schneeple tried to wriggle, but it was no use. He was stuck… and he realised it was going to be a long twenty minutes.

‘Aww, must be even worse not being able to move.’

Anti teased, making Schneeple cackle and snort with embarrassment as he wriggled helplessly amidst the resilient slime keeping him on the ground. Jamie giggled and let his fingers tap and wiggle as if he were playing the piano, toying with Schneeple’s soft tummy pouch under his navel. He didn’t stop to sign, but he gave Schneeple a bright grin with his tongue poking out.

‘Guhuhuys plehehehease Ihihi ahaham sohohohorry!’

‘Too late for that, you better get ready to squeal.’

Anti’s grin broadened, showing off his sharp, pearly white teeth as he allowed his eyes to glow a spookier hue of green – he knew when he showed off his scarier side it really made Schneeple more flustered. The doctor trembled as Anti loomed over him, letting out a shy giggle as Anti wriggled his fingers near his armpits.

‘Nonono wahahahait wahaha–EEEEE!’

Anti shoved his blunt nails into Schneeple’s hollows, sliding them against his bare skin under his shirt so he could scratch away at the sensitive area. Having twenty fingers dancing against his ticklish skin, scratching and tweaking relentlessly, had the poor doctor almost incoherent as his voice switched back and forth between countless octaves. At the same time Jamie was letting out soft little giggles, enjoying the way Schneeple’s tummy trembled from the tickles. He leant down and nuzzled it as he used his hands to sign.

‘You have the best tummy for tickles!’

Schneeple went even redder, looking away from Jamie as the comment about his tummy gave him lots of extra flutters.

‘Ihihihi dohoho nahahat!’

Anti bit back a snicker, and grinned at Jamie playfully.

‘I think he’s right, honestly his armpits are just way better!’

Schneeple let out a yelp when Anti pinched his hollows, and Jamie giggled at Anti and narrowed his eyes.

‘No way, his tummy is the best!’

He leant down and pointedly blew a loud raspberry against it, making Schneeple shriek and arch his back.

‘AHA-dohohon’t dohoho thahat!’

Schneeple’s words went entirely ignored as Anti laughed at Jamie, cracking his knuckles playfully.

‘Oh yeah? How about now?’

Anti pressed his thumbs into Schneeple’s armpits and vibrated them nice and deep into the muscles, making Schneeple howl with wide eyes as he tried to tug at his arms – alas, his hands were still stuck in the resilient slime, keeping him helpless to the (now very competitive) tickling Anti and Jamie were giving him.

‘OHOHO MY GAHAHAHA!’

For the next fifteen or so minutes Schneeple’s babbles and shrieks went entirely unheard and Jamie and Anti competed to see who could get the biggest reaction, with Jamie at the doctor’s belly as Anti stuck with his armpits. One minute Anti would scribble with his nails, and Jamie would nibble to make Schneeple’s squeals get louder. Anti would then blow raspberries into Schneeple’s hollows to made him cackle, to which Jamie would flutter his fingers at the edges of Schneeple’s navel to make him snort and kick his legs. It was a wondrous myriad of tickles, and Schneeple felt like he was going mad!

‘OHOHO MY GAHAHAD YOHOHOU AHAHASSHOHOLES STAHAHAP STAHAHAAAP!’

Anti and Jamie couldn’t help but burst into giggles, and Anti let out a thoughtful hum as he stopped his tickling at Schneeple’s armpits.

‘Hmm, you know these two tickle spots look pretty evenly matched… there’s gotta be a special spot around here somewhere, don’t you think?’

Jamie nodded, and Schneeple was left panting as he too had mercy on him. Jamie’s eyes then flicked to where Schneeple’s legs had been kicking… and his face lit up with a cheeky grin.

‘His legs look like they want to join in on the fun!’

‘Ooh you’re so right!’

‘NO DON’T YOU DARE!’

Schneeple exclaimed, his eyes going wide as Anti and Jamie shared a giddy, knowing look. Before Schneeple knew it they’d descended onto his legs, each of them targeting a kneecap each – even though he was wearing jeans, they did nothing to dull the sensations of fingertips pinching and wiggling relentlessly.

‘Oooh you like it here doc?’

Anti teased, using his fingertips to mime the egg-cracking sensation against Schneeple’s right kneecap, causing his leg to jolt as he tossed his head back and forth.

‘YOHOHOU DEHEVIL STAHAHAPPIHIT! NAHAHAT FAHAHAIR!’

Anti snickered, and grinned as he glanced at Jamie. He’s decided to initially skitter over the kneecap before him, but now had slid his fingers to the back of Schneeple’s knee. The flutters kept adorable squeaks and squeals bursting out amidst Schneeple’s main bouts of laughter, and Jamie took a moment to meet Schneeple’s gaze and give him a playful wink. Anti laughed, his eyes twinkling.

‘Oh we gotta do this more often!’

What followed for Schneeple was three minutes that felt like three years, the tickling seeming to slow down time as he laughed and laughed, enduring coos and grins from Anti and Jamie as they went to town on his hypersensitive knees. The jolts and tingles shot all the way up and down his legs as he got the tickling of his life – needless to say, he was definitely wishing he’d invested in more lids for his slime prototypes. Eventually however, Schneeple’s struggles increased and he managed to roll himself out of the, no longer adhesive, slime. Jamie and Anti ceased their tickles as Schneeple lay on his stomach, panting and giggling residually.

‘Thahahat was… sohoho unfahair…’

‘You should’ve got that rest like you promised.’

Anti retorted as Schneeple slid out of his slime-covered coat, sighing as he looked at the glitch with a wry smile.

‘Yeah yeah I know…’

Schneeple fiddled with his fingers as he bowed his head. He did try to rest, really he did, but sometimes he just got so caught up and excited with his projects that all sense of self-preservation took a back-seat in his head. Jamie shifted forward then, and pecked a kiss to the doctor’s cheek as he signed.

‘We only try and make you promise because we love you, you know that right?’

Schneeple smiled, a little of his blush returning at the affection as he nodded.

‘Yeah… I love you too.’

Jamie beamed and wrapped his arms around him, not even caring that he got slime residue on his tailored sleeves. As Schneeple hugged him back, the pair heard a sound halfway between a groan and a retch as Anti grinned at them.

‘You’re so sappy it makes me sick.’

‘Yeah yeah, love you too.’

Schneeple retorted with a snicker as he and Jamie parted… but curiously, Jamie’s smile had fallen. Before Anti or Schneeple could ask what was wrong, he frantically signed.

‘Where’s Gooper?!’

Anti and Schneeple’s eyes widened as the three of them suddenly searched around, particularly on the pile of slime… and then spotted a lump amongst it. Anti hurriedly scooped at the lump, and Gooper was in his hands. The trio felt like their hearts were in their mouths… but then Gooper exhibited a tired squirm, and let out the most colossal burp known to goop-kind. Schneeple looked down at the spilled slime, and realised about half of it had been eaten!

‘Gooper, that is not for eating!’

He admonished with a fond sigh, to which Gooper merely let out a giggly gurgle as he snuggled more into Anti’s hands. Anti petted Gooper softly as Jamie giggled, before signing with a grin.

‘I think we all need a rest now.’

Schneeple rolled his eyes and nodded, and in the space of ten minutes a mound of blankets and pillows was compiled. Schneeple was instantly snoring between Jamie and Anti, whilst Gooper napped at his chest. After rest was had the slime project was resumed, but this time Schneeple had the most enthusiastic assistants possible. Before long they had created the most epic Halloween-vibe ectoplasm the manor had ever seen… and out of a sticky situation had come sweet rest, with even sweeter rewards.

AHHH THANK YOU ALL SOMUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE, I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DOOO! LUV YOUS!!

[fruitcakebro]

Can't post on Reddit right now, bc mod strike solidarity. But this would normally go on R/MaliciousCompliance.

So, my family moved into our current house about four years ago now. When we first saw it, it immediately jumped out at us as perfect. It had a number of bedrooms where nobody would have to share, but not so much space that it would be impossible to clean. Nice view, garden space, seemingly all you could want.

We bought the house, but not a week after we had moved in there started to be some pretty glaring problems.

1: The water heater didn't work, and we had to have it repaired.

2: Water leakage which was damaging the structure of the house, and causing black slime mould in the walls.

3: Some weird shit going on with lights that only sometimes worked (we saw the house in person, but only in full daylight where this would not be obvious).

4: A septic tank they hadn't had serviced in five fucking years.

5(And this was perhaps the most immediately relevant to us at the time): The heat didn't work. And we moved in at the start of winter.

And of course, we had not been informed of any of these things when we bought it. We were told that everything was fine, and they'd literally JUST gotten some things fixed to sell it. Nevermind that those 'repairs' were as slap-dash as they could possibly be done.

Based on this, I expect you get the impression that we absolutely fucking despise the family that lived in our house before us.

And on top of everything, they didn't even fix their mailing address, so we still got their mail. And after calling them about it, and re-directing their mail for an entire bloody year, we were told to 'just stop bothering them about it'.

You want us to stop telling you when we get your mail? Well ok then.

Shortly after we were told that, we received one of their phone bills, and since we were told not to, we politely did not tell them about it.

We're still getting overdue notices on it, and we get to watch in smug, petty, spiteful joy as their credit score is slowly but surely destroyed by a piece of paper they told us not to tell them about.

Fuck you, lying jackasses. Here's the sweet, sweet consequences of your actions.

[yellowfingcr]

-- ' ' Can I spend the night here with you ?- ' ' It's a quiet , almost sheepish question , half drawn out by the squeaking of an old office chair's wheels that she is now pulling closer . It's way past visiting hours , so to speak - the lights half dimmed and it's only the quiet , monotone whirring of certain background equipment that keeps things under control - There is a strong 50 / 50 chance , that she shouldn't be here either - this facility has military employed for a reason , there's no need for another night watchman . But She takes a seat , less than a meter or so away from the septic tank , her smile although gentle & reassuring as ever , has overwhelming exhaustion written all over it - with her eyes just barely able to be kept open . A voice almost groggy , a bit pained - but the bandages are finally off , so there's the clean slate that is her neck - with such a lengthy wound across still so early into healing . -- ' ' I need to fill in extra hours-- & I don't want y' lonely . ' ' a lie , but that comforting kind . The Thing - that is Heysel , needs no knowledge of the fact that you have no home to return to . -- ' ' Hope i'm not botherin' you . ' ' -- from @viskozen :) you know <3

The thing that is Heysel smiles well before Annie sets herself before the tank, then shivers- full-bodied but asymmetrical across the limbs, as if the excitement had sparked first in some parts of its overripe self than others, like an inward laugh ricocheting strange trajectories around its many soft edges.

It still can’t see past the glass but it still can detect. It still can’t raise thought above the slime-thick blackness its cogitation seems to trudge through like a drowning fly inside honey, but it can piece together the silent flares in the dark it picks up. A night fisherman’s perception of the world, made only of sound and faraway winking lights. It suffices, for now.

The flare-language says: there is Annie. There is something slightly different about Annie. A synaptic snap somewhere whispers wound, suffering, scar, tired, tired, tired. Interruption and recovery of your own shape is a concept that the molded finds truly indifferent to its existence but it half-recalls this not being the same for other beings, beings like Annie. 

“Nnnooot. Bothering,” it replies, muffled by its container. Its tone bobs, up and down, a buoy in the marsh. “Should. Visitmore- visiiit moore. Often. Hmmm.”

Deceitful little thing it might be, this statement is only the truth. It likes Annie. Others come and see and prod and giggle in awed bafflement but Annie, oh, it sparks constellations in the sky of this night fisherman, intuitions of kindness, notions of warmth, sieved through the ghost of the woman whose biomass was undone to create it that haunts still its being like an unerupted molar, the Heysel predating Heysel; and the sounds Annie makes tell it that she is likewise happy to see it; and the sounds she makes tell it that she is, most likely, likewise lonely. Maybe they’re both creatures in a tank. Two individuals, and not one escape.

“Hhhhggg… Are you. Hurttinnngg?”

A mournful gurgle. It tilts its big head to one side, as if it could better observe. Then lifts a claw, and carefully, carefully presses the meat of its fingertip against the glass, to draw: 

And then, just as slowly, an addition:

“Sorryyy. Iam heeeree, Annieee. Heereee.”

[lizadale]

I'm 👀 pretty hard at your choice of characters and roles.

Not gonna lie Cool ImpMentio is a genius, he is cute enough to pull a good imp And flighty and convinced enough for the cool trait to fit. I choose mage as because my thought process is he likes fire and explosions and power ans stuff. But he said "I CaST LiGhtiNg" instead >:C and when he does cast explosion it's against the goddamn apple slimes.

I had to take it out of my system. sorry.

I've made Mario cool though, because backflips and extra hard hits.

, ahem. here's the...

Tales of the Fae Retreat

Mario was on the way to Luigi's house to bug him, as it is his obligation as Luigi's brother, got called by God right before knocking on the door. When he got there he went to the closest building to maybe learn what the hell is happening. He rang the bell and was immediately answered by the tini cartoon duck.

She got scared on how much he looked like her friend that got captured but still answered all his questions and tried to recruit him to her party. Because he shouldn't walk around without something to defend himself either way, she handled him the only spare "weapon" she had. A frying pan her friend choose to hold onto because he would eventually, when they got time, give it back, even if he thinks it was going to be trashed.

He's septic but accepts. He thinks is not a good idea to go against the being who talks directly to the one who can bring him there out of nowhere.

(Mario Does deserve three paragraphs, fight mii if you think otherwise.) (Chef because him and Luigi has to have the same job)

Peach was working on her usual princess things and Timpani was chilling, having a day to herself, when they got summoned.

Peach had her fan in her dress, Timpani found herself besides a tank and thought "why not?"

Mario, being the gentleman that he is, immediately compliments Peach when we got her in the party. Like she got in, we head out, Lena one shot a twerky and he does it.

He's the only person who escorts her to safety, he heals her every turn (EVERY TURN. When a monster gets a turn she's the target), they keep showing off mostly for eachother I'm kind of scared of them. I think by this point they have the most friendship out everyone. (Besides Luigi and Dimentio, but i grinded with the first party to not get bodied when getting them back. )

When we were at the citrus cave, Peach drank from a puddle. Idk why that's on the notes :v she turned invisible. Lena drank later, turned into a monster.

And this time, after making an friend, Lena the cartoon duck the cat made a effort to be extra nice to her new party. She brought Peach perfume and castanets to Mario. Peach liked her present, Mario? Not so much ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Timpani is a very good glass tank. She only used human cannon ball two times and each with different people. And she didn't hit the party with Wild shot, expect in karkaton, where she hit O'Chunks once but that's another day's tale.

For some reason with her the prep from being cautious trigger in the same turn instead of waiting for her next. it's instant double dmg. Idk why. but I'm not complaining either.

BUT she's using cardboard as armour and it doesn't hold against pretty much anything. If she isn't at the safe space when the enemy attacks she instantly dies, and she hates all the defense food available atm, i backtracked and tested :/

Btw did you know that the voices of the Miis who sing in the title screen in the switch version are from your party?

See ya when you unlock the quests. Good luck.

let me start off by saying that when i started playing this game i knew nothing about the plot or the roles. didn't know about my party getting replaced twice or new jobs cropping up, but MAN i'm so lucky i waited to put Dimentio in the game until Neksdor because the Imp class is BUILT FOR HIM:

incredible. it's like i wrote this role.

(Mario knows better than to defy a duck-cat who communes with God)

Peach and Mario also immediately hit it off in my party lmao. by the time I added Luigi into the party they were already like level 7 together. Timpani SHOULD get to be a tank. it's what she deserves.

anyway, i got my party back. Mr L and Luigi are very confused by each other's presence. O'Chunks keeps sticking bananas in everyone's pockets, and I can't keep Timpani away from the damn horse - lucky for Blumiere he's too busy being possessed to know his wife is cheating on him.

Mr L is generally being the nuisance he's designed to be - he keeps "getting sick" but it's pretty obvious he's faking because eventually someone will check on him and he'll go "ehhh i'm done resting"

because i have 0 restraint, my current party is a dimigi sandwich. somehow, Dimentio is the most emotionally stable of all of us. (i switched Luigi to a cook because the flower class was annoying me. now he's OP)

notice everyone hates my husband, Mr L. he needs to stop being a lazy dick.

they chose the next castle to start a terrible love triangle, and then the above chart happened. Luigi also keeps finding unidentified bottles on the floor and drinking from them, and Dimentio keeps falling through holes in the floor.

Mr L is still surprisingly reliable, even if also terribly infuriating

hey there, gorgeous.

[willtasker]

It is September 2007, and the Big Bang Theory has begun. I take the Sig Sauer out of my mouth, but the taste of gun oil lingers. I realize that suicide is not the answer because this show would only follow me into Hell. Something like this does not descend from the afterlife but rises up out of open graves. It is populated by the unwilling, amusing only to the already deceased.

Now: The nerdy roommate who’s not a doctor is made fun of because he’s not a doctor while the other nerds make bad jokes about science that are also not accurate. It is not enough to hate a thing, but those things often do not die by death. They exist because Death is too afraid of its touch; that the soft grace would somehow kill Death its self by inventing a new dying. Death squared. The sort of fate people should wish on Ronald Reagan or anyone who explains details of last night’s dream.

It is September 2010. I am having rough sex with my girlfriend. I look up in the middle of the act, her voice cresting, when I hear the television we left on in the next room. The show is in repeats, and becoming unavoidable. A character I cannot identify but will never forget makes a reference to the physics of Warp Speed. I lose my erection immediately. She asks me what is wrong. I produce a pack of Indian Spirits from the dresser and begin to smoke, the first one I’ve had in 10 years. My hands are shaking. I look at them and think about strangling the writer’s room of The Big Bang Theory, one in each hand, a fury so passionate that the rest realize it is better to wait their turn than to try and flee.

“NO MORE!” is what I scream at the television. “DEAR GOD NO MORE!” But the episodes keep coming, marching like soldiers to the sea. An endless, undulating wave of dullness. Sunlight crushed behind rolling grey clouds. References to 80s movies and science and POP CULTURE ACTORS who are probably paid $10,000 to show up and say HONK IF YOU LOVE WILLIAM SHATNER and then have a weird punchline about particle physics. It is endless. The show’s broadcast signal goes off into the horizon and out into space, following Hitler’s hosting of the Olympics in 1936. An endless fucking current of the slime from a billion emptied septic tanks. It is not shit but what is left over from literal shit. The culmination caked to the inside of the tank walls.

“PLEASE JESUS GOD HOLY FATHER KILL ME AND TAKE ME AWAY” is what I cry into the night sky, and in reply, God looks down and in His mighty mercy says

BAZINGA.

It is September 2012. I stare blankly at a drop ceiling in a downtown hotel. I have not spoken to another person in days. The television is off but I hear it through the walls from the next room. BAZINGA. Again, that meaningless word. Trichottillomania rears it’s self, and I slowly begin pulling hair out of my head in handfuls. I feel nothing. There is no pain anymore. Nothing compared to that fucking word. And the laugh track that follows.

I remember I had a gun in my mouth when the TV series started and that I was afraid of the Hell that produced this show, would perpetuate this show. This THING. And now I am afraid that there is no Hell, and that if there was Satan couldn’t keep it away from his own doors. The characters enter the archway of the eternal Abyss, studio audience laughing.

BAZINGA says the awkward man who makes an attempt at a joke about Brownian Motion that’s actually fucking incorrect but haha he’s a nerd and there’s a STAR WARS reference in there and remember that time when the hot neighbor didn’t have money so he was like I HAVE MONEY IN MY SUPERMAN MODEL and holy fucking shit I’ve seen footage of inmates in blackout solitary for weeks on end that come out covered in cockroach bites that is more humane than the humor in that show.

Instead of an eternal lake of fire, or chained to a boiling floor, or forced to watch The Smurfs Presented by The Icecapades - there is BAZINGA. That word that both saturates my brain with an incommunicable suffering and emits a kidney stone’s discomfort from my very soul. The fact I have to share a time and place with The Big Bang Theory makes me want to consider bear hugging JJ Abrams, so I can do the one great good of a doomed life by dragging him into into the 8th Circle Of Hell with me.

I realize I am damned. The freedom of this is that I can now do what needs to be done.

It is now August 11, 1971. I’ve made a time machine and traveled ten years prior from my date of birth to murder my father so I won’t ever exist and hear that FUCKING WORD Bazinga. I’ve decided to use a woodman’s axe to blunt my rage across time because my soul will not be satisfied unless I cease to exist in the most sure way possible. The blows land, a dull thud made wetter with each hit. I must make sure. This isn’t personal. This is just what must be done so I can undo that which cannot be undone.

I can feel myself fading from existence. This post will be my last. Everything is fading. All will be well. I smile in relief at a sky so blue it’s all you can do but wonder at it. Peace lovingly brushes past my cheek with a mother’s pity.

On the horizon, glowing in a blue outline, I see a pale man with a bad hairline wearing a fucking DC comics tshirt, smilingly thinly at me because - you see - he’s pleasantly awkward and doesn’t understand humor and his girlfriend is named Penny. ITS BEEN 45 SECONDS - HERE COMES ANOTHER TOLKIEN REFERENCE FOR THE PEOPLE AT HOME.

I scream. I cover my eyes but cannot unsee the truth shimmering between my locked fingers. My soul launches through the fire of time. Nothing can stop him. He follows me, smiling that trademark smile: only with his teeth but without moving his mouth. His skin stretches taught, his eyes afire. The studio audience, now and forever a chorus of faceless harpies, wings beating, their laughter wounds me like swallowing a box of straight razors fresh with grease.

I do not exist now. I do not remember my name. My parents never met and my soul is scattered on the winds beyond winds, to an everlasting personal horizon that no one will ever know. I do not remember who I was, what I was, or what I did to end up here. I am a ghost without a grave, a soul without an afterlife to turn to. But I do remember him. And I do remember…

BAZINGA.

[cleanservice23]

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[crackspinewornpages]

Les Misérables 340/365 -Victor Hugo

331 

The police fulfilled their duties in the sewers, the revolt was no excuse to allow malefactors to take their bit, ordinary service along with extraordinary. (well that’s something at least) The bank of the Siene beyond the Pont de Invalides isn't there anymore but now two men watch and avoid each other, the latter was trying to overtake the one in front. No one saw them, the shore was deserted, the first man in tatters the other in a coat of authority. (wonder who they could be) The second man had a coach follow as the first man made an escape into Champs-Elysee further along the shore, what was he doing if not throwing himself in the Siene. The man climbed a wall of rubbish and was out of sight, when the authority caught up the man was gone. Where the water began there was an iron grating opened by a government key, so the authority stood watch over it. 

332 

Valjean marched on laboriously through the tunnels, his strength decreased little by age began to give way by fatigue. After three hours he reached the belt sewer, and he picked the broadest tunnel descending. Extremely weary, he set down Marius, his limbs were cold and he was covered in blood, but his heart was still beating. Valjean used his shirt as bandages and he gazed at him with hatred, he found Marius’s letter on where to take his body. Valjean picked him back up and carried him on no longer under central Paris and in terrible darkness. 

333 

Now there was only mud under his feet, like a man on a deserted shore doesn’t know the danger of quicksand until it’s too late, before the work of 1833 Paris’s drains were like this. Can you picture a death of being swallowed by a cesspool, (there have been deaths of people drowning in septic tanks historically look up the Erfurt Latrine Disaster) here death is a filthy humiliation. (that disaster gives a whole new meaning to filthy rich) The law of safety is to get rid of every load, sewer men and scavengers alike weren't cautious and were lost. 

334 

Valjean was in this quagmire in 1836, the stone sewer beneath Foubourg Saint-Honore that Valjean was in was demolished and formed a quicksand that lasted six months. What Valjean was in was covered by the downpour the day before, he had no choice but to pass through even deeper to his waist, the mud couldn’t hold two. He advanced but he was sinking up to his head still holding Marius. (let’s be real in real life Marius would be dead you live in a time without strong antibiotics or vaccines and you take a man who was shot and drag him through neck deep sewage he’d get like twenty types of diseases and infections) His feet felt something solid, and he rooted himself back up on by another watershed at the end of the quagmire. On stone he fell to his knees and stayed there for some time addressing God. “He rose to his feet, shivering, chilled, foul-smelling, bowed beneath the dying man whom he was dragging after him, all dripping with slime, and his soul filled with strange light.”p.823  

335 

While he hadn't lost his life, he lost his strength, pausing for breath every few steps, but he still had energy to keep going. A hundred paces later he came to a wall, above the vault was daylight. Valjean he no longer felt tired or Marius’s weight he ran to the outlet and stopped, he couldn’t get out, the grating was locked. He laid Marius down and took hold of the bars, they didn’t move. What to do he couldn’t go back even if he got through the quagmire again where to go, every other outlet was most likely closed too. He escaped into a prison, what had he done was useless, (he escaped from one prison to be on the run to escape into another later in life the irony) in anguish he thought of Cosette. 

336 

In the gloom he felt a hand on his shoulder the man said half shares it was Thenardier. (the bitch returns) Valjean was covered in so much filth Thenardier didn’t recognize him. Thenardier assumes he killed Marius and he so happens to have a key to the grate give him half of what he robbed and he’ll free him and throw in a rope to sling the stiff into the river. Valjean stayed silent and Thenardier talks and so Valjean took the rope and dug in his pockets and realized he forgot his pocketbook and only had a few coins to Thenaerdier’s disgust. While searching Marius’s jacket Thenardier tore off a strip to turn the identity to the police later. He took the coins and threw Valjean the key and had him follow outside before turning back in. 

337 

They were in open air, evening was unfolding, Valjean was serene for a moment. He returned to duty with Marius, he still breathed, he dipped his hands in the river when he sensed someone behind him, Javert. (this bitch also returns) He had pursued the Thenardier affair, after his release he went to the Prefect and went on duty again. Thenardier had sensed he was being watched and had thrown an assassin in his path so he would be forgotten and escape. Javert didn’t recognize Valjean either until Valjean told him, Javert seized him and Valjean asks only one favor but Javert released him demanding to know why he is here and who this man is. Valjean only wants to get Marius home Javert knows he was at the barricade and calls him a dead man, not yet. Valjean pulls out the note with his address, Javert calls the coachman and they are all driven. “every time that it passed in front of a street lantern, appeared to be turned lividly wan, as by an intermittent flash of lightening, chance had united and seemed to be bringing face to face the three forms of tragic immobility, the corpse, the spectre, and the statue.”p.830 

338 

The old quarter was already asleep terrified of Revolutions when it stopped Valjean took Marius out of the carriage helped by the coachman as Javert informed the porter that they bring Gillenormand’s son. They refused Mademoiselle Gillenormand and let the old man sleep and took Marius to the first floor. Valjean left with Javert doing another favor to be taken home. 

339 

Valjean was going to tell Cosette what happened to Marius and give her information to take final measures. Any other man would have made use of the rope in his cell but the Bishop made a lasting impression on him. Javert paid the coachman for the rides and ruined interior before following Valjean to his home and stood waiting for him to return. Valjean was surprised Javert didn’t have haughty confidence in catching him when he looked out the window on the first floor Javert was gone. (where do you think he went) 

340 

Marius was laid on a sofa in the drawing room and a doctor was sent for, he found no mortal wounds and he was still alive. (he might not have mortal wounds but he’s covered in shit) They cleaned him up and treated his injuries, when wiping his face a figure entered the drawing room, Gillenormand. The two-day revolt left him agitated and the noise in the room next to his woke him. Gillenormand trembled at the sight of him believing he’s dead, got himself killed out of hatred for him, (no it’s for an even stupider reason) this is how he returns. He had his room arranged and his childhood portrait at his own bed, he knew he was waiting for him, and he killed himself for revenge. (no it was for a few month love affair over a girl he obsessed over and stalked for a year) He went on that he raised him, but no fault of his he took after his father, but all children are innocent of their father’s crimes. He remembered when he was small, those brats take hold of you. He went off to fight and got himself shot down for why, the Republic, (they weren’t even his friends) instead of being young he is dead, and he will die too, and angry says he won't grieve him. It was then Marius opened his eyes Gillenormand cries out in relief for him to look at him before fainting. 

NEXT

[gentlemossworld]

Samuel Hindolo Lip and Neck

REPLACEMENT Last night, I gave your name to the breath of a smoking marigold, I fixed a lapsang sugar to feed the yard, ate candied orange rind in the street backwards, dreamed a weeping dream from under which you crawled unlike yourself but whole. I gave your name to 1000 sitting, lullabied on behalf of 1000 children, riddled against 1000 otherwise who might wish harm— it’s a gamble relying on flesh, a wrist charm thieved from a crypt will make gossip to the soul of the burglary: Symbiosis: someone tells someone, Someone shows up, we feast & the object found must be hidden again, sewn into the throat of a black ewe & buried not an hour past three. Kissing, as we did, round back of the pastry shop, the smells of bread always pleasing to the body of a clay-oven, the male shaped gods boasting about the kitchen making drink while I, a little more complicated & desiring of brine, go shoreside where the slime will come some many years from now but today: sea pangolin going inland, a whole nother feeling to soil, the septic taunting of wetlands & birdlands grown strong in the epoch of prophecy, the end of the pesticide stag more probable as the island shrinks into itself a Man-made’s dream, that his life will become treasure at the bottom of the lake: a pair of neverfound arrows heads housed in amber, in the river two toys bound together by petrified rope. - Gabrielle Octavia Rucker.

[anytimesepticoke]

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[justintimesepticpumpingus]

Septic tank pumping services' importance

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[abgurekha]

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[outrealms-filth-factory]

Oh no, what if Junko gets into the septic system of the school? Or just finds the fatter, slobbier students and keeps feeding on their expulsions?

Then the shit-slime she's been reduced to will grow and grow, probably making her appear obese even in such a form. And the more of her there is, the more creative she can get with this form.

[xluxsolarisx]

they got flushed out in the septic tank but some of their slime remained and now whenever you turn on a faucet there's a 9.7 percent chance a mini slimegirl comes out instead of water

slime girl spends too much time on the toilet and and falls in. gets flushed down

slime girl has a nice hot shower and gets too relaxed. accidentally slips down the drain

slime girl walking on the roof of her house and trips. slides down the gutter

and other such cases

[petiteechorizon]

I’m not used to this style at all but who cares, I wanted to draw a little Septic Slime… I hope it turned out well!

[yourdemonoverlordtaxi]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I’m so glad @therealjacksepticeye is playing Slime Rancher again! I like this game way too much, to the point where I’ve wasted over 60 hrs of my life playing it. Is that bad? Probably. But anyway, I’ve had this sketch lying around ever since Jack’s original playthrough and thought this would be the perfect time to finish it up! Hope you like it dude!