notenoughcaffiene-blog

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Hey there~! Starters will be written and replied to soon! I apologize for the wait! Work got in the way. 

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Open Starter Call~!

Hit me up in IMs for some plotting~! I seriously wanna get more going with Andy in a bunch of different settings~ I’ll also get some replies done today after work~<333

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outlasted.

     ❛ That’s not a half bad idea. ❜

     What have you done, Andy. As if the world needed more lunatics hell bent on murder.

      "Of course it's not. Why the fuck do you think I said it? I've got you, see?"

      No, Andy; no. Miles, please don’t take her advice. Someone stop these two before they start burning others.

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outlasted.

     ❛ Try hands. That fucker took to making sure I needed to use a god damned fucking plural. ❜

     His camera is put down, and his second hand is shown, where his index finger happens to be missing. Hell, he couldn’t care less anymore. The pain is becoming secondary to the buzzing he’s able to hear. He has to wonder if she can hear it too. Of course, Miles is not about to ask her. He doesn’t need to look crazy. He’s had enough of crazy. 

     The journalist doesn’t flinch as she’s patching him up. He finally falls silent, no longer wishing to give off a smart ass comment. He’s even taken to biting his tongue, as if assuming it would hurt. Stupid, really. After the intensive pain of having them fucking sheared off? This was minor. 

     God help me, I’m getting used to the abuse of this fucking place. 

     Her words after her introduction attract his attention. She described Trager there. The very dead Trager now. Miles had even wrote a step-by-step how-to on making Trager Juice. Squeeze. His lips curved upward at the thought, a dark justice served for him (as hollow as it was without his fucking fingers). He gave a shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders.

     ❛ What, Trager? He’s been made into juice. Serves the fucking sick bastard right for taking my god damned fingers. I wanted those. ❜ He still does, but then again, who wouldn’t want what gets taken from them? He takes a moment to compose himself before pulling out his camera and quickly checking the battery life. Might need more soon. 

       ❛ There should be a moments peace to be had. Until the fucking psychos figure it out and have a field day. So relax for a minute. I bought the time to do so. Might as well use it. God knows there’s no mercy in this fucked up shithole other than what you carve with your own two hands. Or, what’s left of your hands anyways. ❜

      ' Fucking hell. . . '

      The thought was written all over Andy's face as she looked at Miles' other hand. What fresh hell was this place? Not certain of what he had been though, the female ward was likely not much better. She shook her head, scowling a little more as she continued to tend to him while they both had time. Of course what she heard next surprised her.

      The man with the large scissors was dead? Didn't she see him just a moment ago. Her gaze met his briefly, a serious expression setting in. So it really had to come to that in this place didn't it? Hopefully their involvement with the asylum didn't have them behind bars in a different hell later on. She had gone to jail enough for breaking and entering. Murder on the other hand? Yeah, no.

      "No shit? Well fuck; good for you. As you said, bastard deserved it. I would have likely done the same in your shoes. No fucking offense though, yeah? I don't want to be in them."

      The raven-haired woman couldn't blame him though. This Trager person; the name seemed familiar? God, she was horrible with names though. Andy had probably seen it on some files somewhere however. Sighing, she nodded in agreement with Miles, taking his other hand to start bandaging that as well.

      "Well hey, it's not fucking much but at least you're upright and breathing, able to move around this god forsaken madhouse." The photographer wasn't the best at comforting others but it was an attempt at least. "Hey, you need anything? You rest a bit more and I can go see if I can find anything you need."

      "Oh and sorry about the fucking obvious questions. It was just a relief to see someone. . . well, sane."

      ' Though at the rate this is going? Sane isn't going to be an option anymore. . . Ugh, I need a fucking cigarette or coffee. . . This place is bullshit. . . '

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when someone calls you heartless

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outlasted.

     ❛ The jokes might not. But the psychopaths with them just fucking might. This is real mental fucking trauma, Andy. ❜

      "Okay, okay. You win, Miles. Just, I don't know, set them on fucking fire for god's sake. Do whatever you have to, then."

      That's. . . not good advice, Andy. . .

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outlasted.

     ❛ Andy for the love of god. ❜

      "What? It's funny. Jesus fucking Christ, Miles. Lighten up, would you? A laugh here and there about a dick or two isn't gonna kill you."

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      "I realize I shouldn't be laughing at the shit Miles has gotten himself into. . . but I am and it's fucking hilarious."

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outlasted.

     Thank fuck someone sane was in this place. Thank fuck she didn’t run, scream or otherwise attack him. He was getting fed up with running, fending off insane people. He was already starting to decline, he knew it. He could hear things he shouldn’t. Saw shadows where there wasn’t anything. He wasn’t losing sanity; he was just getting driven to his edges. 

     She was real, that much he could tell. He didn’t need much other convincing. The clothing, the camera, the way she spoke to him instead of attacking him. No muttering, no insults. The human concern she showed. Miles eased himself up to a standing position. Despite the fact her concern was a kindness this place had not shown him, the scowl dragged across his face anyways. 

     ❛ Christ, what the fuck do you think? ❜ He raises one of his hands to her, showing the complete lack of a ring finger.❛ I’m coated in blood, half of it isn’t even my own. I’ve been thrown through fucking glass, taken a fucking sedative, been hit by various fucking blunt objects wielded by blood thirsty psychos, and I’ve had my fucking fingers cut off by one of Murkoff’s own that this place fucking twisted. ❜

     Miles gives a pause, lowering his hand and taking a good look around the corridor they were in. Lucky that little outburst hadn’t attracted attention. Hell, he was lucky he’d escaped from Trager. Right. Trager. That might give some leeway here. Patients aren’t likely around near where the crazed ‘doctor’ was. He turns his full attention back to the woman standing before him. 

     ❛ So my short answer? No I’m not o-fucking-kay. ❜ A sigh.❛ My name is Miles Upshur. I’m an independent investigative reporter, sent here by an anonymous tip. I doubt ‘is’ will be applicable for much longer in this god forsaken shit hole. Should just burn the fucking place down at this rate. Fuck. ❜

      "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop the fun bus of bashing someone who's asking you if you're goddamn okay. I didn't ask to be run the fuck over, alright?"

      Andy's eyebrow twitched in irritation as the other reporter went a mile a minute. Not that she could blame him however. After hearing what little he mentioned, seeing the bloodied stump of where his finger had been, she concluded that she probably would have been the same in his shoes. That didn't give him the right, however.

      "I can clearly see you're not okay now. Christ on a fucking cracker. We can burn down the place on the way out. But first, that hand of yours needs some attention."

      Sighing, the dark-haired female turned off her camera and tucked it into her back pocket before grabbing Miles' hand. If something didn't at least cover that soon, it would get infected for sure. Eyes wandering in the dark, she noticed the shimmer of light reflecting of some glass on a medicinal cabinet. The girl wasn't good at first aid but she knew some basics like how to use gauze. If there was some inside, she could at least help out the person in here with her who was the one chance at having an ally in this god forsaken place.

      Andy left his side, moving over to the cabinet to start rummaging through it. Papers, some empty dosage bottles, a few broken syringes- aha! A roll of gauze. She snatched it as soon as she found it, moving back over to Miles only to start getting to work. It wouldn't look pretty but it would at least prevent anything else from getting in the wound.

      "My name's Andrea Damiano; Andy. Like you, I'm a free-lance photographer. I got some lead that I should come here and well, yeah. Sounds like we're in the same fucking boat." As she introduced herself, a tug was given to make sure the cloth bandaging was secure enough. "Hey, you said your name was Miles, right? Let's go before anyone else comes along like the guy I saw go down the hall with a pair of ridiculous fucking scissors."

      Little had she known that she had narrowly avoided Trager herself.

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outlasted.

      ❛ Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. ❜

     The words are hissed through clenched teeth as the investigative reporter crouches around a corner, waiting as the sound of footsteps draws closer. Pass him by. Just pass him by. Don’t see him cowering. His hand tightens around his camera, night vision on. He can’t miss the chance to be sure whatever variant was after him had passed. This place was a nightmare he was going to escape alive from. 

     When the body approached, Miles got the shock of his night. It wasn’t a variant. or a Murkoff executive, or even someone from Murkoff Tactical. It was a woman, dressed in clothing similar to his own. She carried a camera, much like his own. More than one journalist? It made sense. He couldn’t be the only one that the email was sent to. From his position, he kept his voice low, but he made the effort to catch her attention.

      ❛ Hey! Down here! ❜

      This place was horrible. Whoever thought it was fucking hilarious to send her here was an absolute piece of shit. So what if this was for some stupid web journalism? Nothing was worth the legit horrific trouble she had already been through. If she made it out of there, there was a severely high chance she was going to strangle the person she had been hired by for her free-lance work. Not even kidding either; full-blown, legit homicide for this shit.

      Holding the camera of her own in front of her face, Andy had been rather quietly shuffling down the hall when someone crying out for her attention made her jump. She took a sharp inhale, raised her foot to kick at whatever insane thing it was until she realized it was another person just like her. What? Did her employer send him too? God. This was some perverted game, wasn't it?

      "Who the hell are you? Have you been here long?"

      Andy kept her voice low, quickly and quietly making her way over to the male with a mild scowl on her face. Yeah, it was a relief to see someone remotely sane in a place like Mount Massive, but this was likely going to be short-lived. It was bad enough just trying to survive on her own. Add another to the mix? That probably cut her chances in half.

      "Jesus. . . You're covered in blood. What happened here? Are you okay?"

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out:// Mind passing this around if you would roleplay with an indie Miles Upshur / Walrider Miles from Outlast?

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Hey there~! I’ll be working on an open starter call tonight when I get home but feel free to spread the promo around or give this a like~! Anyone that likes this will get a more personalized starter. Oh and if it was missed, this is a sideblog for me so I will be following as @electiveamnesia <3

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If you are an active fnaf ask/RP blog please reblog this!

I’m pretty sure half of the blogs I follow are dead, I’m also pretty sure OUT of the the 900+ followers I have only 200+ are actually active…

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reblog if you are a fnaf rp blog? or at least okay with rping with one

“Come on…”

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Active FNAF RP blogs?

[Any active FNAF RP blogs out there? I need to follow some people.]

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      She said, "Darlin', you know             How the w i n e plays tricks on my tongue                   But you don't seem to c h a n g e                         When you stuff all of your feelings with drugs"                                                    You can set yourself on f i r e but you're n e v e r gonna burn

                                                                                     notenoughcaffiene 

                                                                   indie security guard oc for fnaf - sideblog to electiveamnesia