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where’s my oscar for acting like i’m not falling apart 

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"I hate the basement. I'm just putting that out there."

Ghost Adventures Starter

Lucas knew the basement, just as he knew the rest of his house, just as nimble fingers and tired eyes had worked relentlessly to make it his: hinges for each door, passageways large enough for him to slip through, cracks and catches of hidden goodies. All of it mapped in Lucas’ mind, only a few images were worth it to be scribbled and littered about as help; rewards between the cracks of porcelain or jammed into the slick throat of a pig; beyond that the cards fell into Ethan’s hand, his journey to navigate, to fold and play the way he wished– Lucas could only manipulate the exterior, Ethan’s mind seemed harder than the rest to crack.

Lucas folded his hands over one another, catching dust between his fingertips, sprinkling it on his lap absently; a fine layer of dust coated nearly everything, gentle blows and quick swiping of the hand only revealed another layer of grime and decay. He kicked his legs out, relaxing, sending a scattering of dust bunnies underneath his desk.

“Now there ain’t nothing wrong with a basement,” Lucas commented, tip of the tongue smacking against the roof of his mouth before snaking its way across his lips; through brass filters the wet smack of saliva became a greater offense to the ears. A low, guttural purr of breath followed, idly tracing his finger along the push-to-talk button, shaking ever slightly as he did so. Blue eyes flickered to the monitors: watching, waiting.

Breath catching in his throat, each hollow step into his domain became an orgasmic wave of pleasure shivered along his spine that nearly threw him from his seat; he stayed firmly planted, twisting half back and forth as he studied Ethan. “It ain’t all bad, you thinkin’ all those horror movies make the basement out to be some bad place an– an all?” He hummed, making it seem that Ethan wasn’t living in a horror movie himself; even some part of Lucas deluded himself.

Persistent itching, growing mold became hard to ignore; ripping nails could only have suppressed himself when her eyes were focused elsewhere. There was little left for Lucas to do than wallow in a role of puckered flesh and rotten teeth.  

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Try to seduce my Muse.

Then they will respond and rate you:

Never been less turned on | Ugh no | I’d give you a try | Yes, yes, YES | I’M READY NOW DAMMIT

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ask-ethan-winters

He sighed “No, and I’m not even the slightest at a point to where I’m pissed.”

“So you’a the opposite of upset then, ain’tcha?” Lucas purred, running fingers across his cheek. “Come on, Daddy, what do I gotta’ do to be spanked?” 

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If there’s one thing I want to clarify, is that Lucas is not a cannibal. At least, he is not portrayed as a cannibal. Rather, he lives off eating usual food, albeit it’s more rotten than fresh. As frequent as supply drops can be for him, it’s difficult to cook a pizza and not reveal to the crazed little engineered girl that you are, in fact, not under her control. He is not a cannibal, but the meals he eat are little better than human bits. 

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me, unable to determine what’s a rp blog and whats a person blog notification my activity: well fuck me hard, lucas

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my jam

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I think manipulation is the greatest art of them all

(via mecixan)

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"Let me take care of you." -flashofyellowlight (( .> ))

concern

Deep, shaking breaths, counted each slowly on with every exhale; one, two, three. With each breath, fingers twitched at his side, becoming a spastic tapping as his breathing turned shallow; copper tang flooding the mouth, thickly coating the linings of his mouth. Overwhelming was the tang, with it the aroma of decay wafted into the room, burning nostrils; seeping from each glass caged facility, with vent shafts programmed to open and close, each gust of cool air against his cheeks was nothing but a gentle kiss of death, turning wetness to crusted red.

The erratic rise and fall of his chest was accompanied by a symphony of gentle grunting of which derived from the force it took to take a breath of stinging air into his lungs; not worth it with the pain. Blue eyes slipped shut, Lucas would rather have himself stop breathing than deal with the burn; he would rather will it to happen, yet breathing would continue to happen as his body reformed.

In all aspects, the very thought was terrifying, that below the torso there was nothing and that he would have to be conscious during each pulsating, convulsion of reconstruction.  Convulsing, shaking, he was nothing but a torso and the piece of a shattered leg. Mutilated, fragmented bone decorated his flesh alongside spooling intestines across his lower half; where twitching, cold fingers would slip between each blood soaked loop and attempt to push it back. They were too slippery, coated in blood and human matter, falling between his fingers, each one more sludge than it was solid flesh.

Attempting to hold on, but ultimately failing. Lucas pushed blood through pulsating organs, coating his fingers and arms the more he attempted to stop.

It was her fingers, her voice, all of it became a sweetness that wrapped and warped in ears and mind; she brought a shiver along his spine– the remainder of his spine at least– and the very thought of compassion made him want to shove her away. Stab her, explode her, bring the sharpened end of a plunger into her chest until she sputtered blood like a broken sprinkler. “It … It ain’t– ain’t happenin’,” He croaked, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth; thick, rotten, and blackened like tar against his pale flesh.

He pushed at her, fingers curling into her shoulders, arms shaking but were not weak; her clothes tainted with decay. Beneath his skin veins pulsated, Lucas focused on the feeling. A sickening feeling, a pleasurable one as well; focusing on that rather than the way his bone was grinding against the cold facility floors, the metal embedded within his flesh that had ripped him.

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goldenpathkyrati

Frozen. That was how Ajmal could describe the day. Snow didn’t always travel this far down, but there were times where it’d slip through; it covered the normally green hills with layers of white. It had forced Ajmal into wearing thicker clothes, heavier boots, and gloves to keep the frostbite away, should it try.

His normal trip through the scenery had been interrupted. A tall spindly man who was obviously not from here was standing along the top of a hill overlooking the smallest towns. What brought someone like him here to a war-torn country like this?

Crouching down into the snow of the treeline, Ajmal lets his hand raise to pat at the fur along Kumar’s spine. The wolfdog’s eyes zeroed in on the man, and with the grin, he sent the dog out. Tail wagging slowly, the massive dog trotted up from behind the man carefully, fur along his spine raising and teeth baring in a small growl.

The stench of wet, snow soaked fur was heavy, burned his nostrils worse than the cold; raising his own hackles, his shoulders stiffened, cheeks twitched against the cold whipping wind. Sniffing, narrowed slits of blue focused on the approaching beast; he knew it to be domesticated in a fraction of the sense, a quick sweeping gaze of his surroundings in search for the tamer.

Lucas made no motion to step away, holding his ground with the very gentle sway of decaying bones and rotting flesh, rocking back and forth on his heels as if -- if only for the moment -- he would force himself backwards off the mountain and disappear into the vast amount of snow. Into the cold, enveloped in white, lost.

Sniffing, tongue snaked out over pale and thin lips -- the bottom of which always a touch thicker than the top-- and snarled his own decayed, rotten teeth back at the beast. “Ain’ this little bitch ... cute.”

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Some Ethan doodles 

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📱/it me babe casually using my main for this./

📱 Lucas’ phone.

( This Bitch)( last text )

( MSG: This Bitch ) She’s a big booby nurse

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Khalid - Location

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ask-ethan-winters

He sighed “Okay then.” Its not like he’s done with about everything now.

“Come on, Daddy. You ain’ upset, are ya’?” Lucas asked, head cocked to the side. “Your pretty little wife ever call you Daddy?”  

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Ethan, language!

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flashofyellowlight

Cont. With @elaboratetraps From [X]

She watched him, folded hands covering her mouth in an almost bored manner, eyes reading him for any specific concerning actions. There were quite a few, and it seemed that her voice was irritating enough to him on the occasion. With a sigh through the nose, Angela’s eyes lowered to the ground around them, trying to kill a few heavy seconds before giving him a little bit of an eyebrow raise. He seemed to be attempting a verbal assault on the doctor, using name calling and as a tactic to strike her emotions. Not that it was going to work, of course. But it was a shot taken by him.

The most she could do was comment on his language.

“You have… Quite the colorful vocabulary.”

Her foot taps on the floor, trying to create a little bit of noise to break the tension. He was more than off at the time being. In fact, one could say he was mentally gone.Which was not entirely wrong, but still far from right.

Perhaps it was time she actually did stop talking. It didn’t seem to get her anywhere with this guy. And while there were many things she could say to him upon the matter, the doctor bit her tongue, swallowing the snarky comments of her own. It was her job to help to best of her ability, not bicker with those who are childish under authority.

A few minutes passed. Or… At least, it felt like minutes. There was no clock to tell. After boredom had set in, Angela spoke once more, this time attempting to change the subject and possibly encourage him to open up a little bit. To her, at least.

“So… Mr. Baker, I noticed you have quite the fidgeting problem. Are you used to tinkering with items? Or are you nervous? Do not be afraid to tell me.”

“Fear is only as deep as the mind allows it to be.” Lucas commented, a slap from the tongue as quick and sharp as his mind, dulled down by a proverbial mold that had latched to the mind beforehand and studied with gentle tsks before moving on to the next; where his fingers tapped endlessly against a book, the chicken scratch of sketches turned then into marvelous inventions, soon traded for the flash of fingers on a keyboard and the blinding light of examination. Yet still he made the time for reading, as his body quaked and quivered in agony, as pink matter slipped and sloshed in the confines of a cranium only to be pushed together with palms and bleeding nails.

Reading, studying. Blazing blue eyes committed each word to a memory untainted by the trifles of pain; regardless if he agreed or disagreed.

Very same blue eyes, colder and bugged from hollowed cheeks and sharp bones, of countless hours of needles and the squirm of mold beneath flesh, looked right at the woman. Narrowed and scrutinizing her, pale tongue snaking between his lips, the bottom always a touch thicker, to moisten them. Her question fell upon deaf ears, neck craned away, brilliant blue haze focused on anything but his imprisonment.

Fingers folded over the skin of his arm, a ghostly shiver from the tickle of blonde hairs, tracing the gentle curves of pink puckered flesh. A breath, letting his eyes slip closed, remembering a moment of panicked resignation-- a repeating process, the outcome certain, ‘not again dammit!’. With that, too, hope that his annoyance would vanish with a steady exhale but found that it had a will of his own. “No, no, no!” Starting, folding his fingers over one another, he popped them out of place to lay on display; painful quick snaps, crooked fingers wavering from side to side, the limp display to be found in a horror movie rather than on a man. Then, with little less than a grunt and pale lips pulling over teeth, he popped them back into place.

“Tinkerin’? I ain’t … I don’t fuckin’ tinker.” Watching himself, closed lips, he had no anger directed to Talon or Overwatch but he was loose. Put back together, the stitching he had done to his own seams hardly worked, bursting out  in a fit of violent laughter when he tried. Taking more control to steady himself than before, Lucas leaned back in the chair, fingers digging deep into the side of his knees.

“I invent, an’ I ain’t much to appreciate the lack of inventin’ you’all make me do. Not do.” He waved a hand, an absent roll of the wrist. “Where’s that famous Over’watch hospitality?”

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