#I looked where Outlast takes place and yeah!

[theoutlastboys]

Stolen Cars, Stolen lives || @desolationtrial

Miles sighed as he patted down his dishevelled clothes, so his life could be going better but the stares was something he could do without. It was bad enough he had a headache from the ringing static in his head but combined with the rain and the people talking, it was almost enough to drive him mad. Almost. Sighing he walked into the building, a police station. He wouldn’t be here on a normal occasion, God knows if these guys worked for Murkoff but for now there was one thing on his mind and it was simple enough without leaking who he was just in case anything was to happen. Even if they did, it wasn’t like Murkoff could kill him… Well kill him again that was but he didn’t want to kill more people himself, Miles liked being in control of himself thank you very much. 

He stood around, hands in his pockets to avoid as much attention and then walked in. After talking to the receptionist he sat down until someone came to view. A man in a suit, well didn’t he look formal. Miles didn’t trust him one bit. His eyes darted around the reception to ensure no one else was present and then stood up, looking back at the man. Miles took a deep breath to compose himself and try to ease the static in his head, raising a hand out of his pocket to rub his temples, this was starting to annoy him. 

“My name is John, I’m here to report a stolen car.” Yeah no way was he giving his real name yet. Hell, even trying to get his Jeep back was risky as it could lead Murkoff to him and expose his identity but it was either that or continue to walk and he was already exhausted from being on the road for days. He had no idea how he managed to get from Colorado to Philadelphia mostly on foot but he suspected the Walrider was thanks to it due to blank spots in his memory, but it was a rough journey even with those moments and the occasional hitchhike. With being on the path and staying in motels with what little money he had left over, getting his car back or at least somewhere he can actually properly rest was very much needed. 

[moondirti]

simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

[seravphs]

棠 —

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo has something to tell you. Megumi is unfortunately still a member of the male species. Tsumiki just wants to watch the sunset. 

wc — 1.5k

cw — interlude between tried to live in a softer way and stockholm (coming soon), 棠 means "wild plums", Megumi’s a good boy but he’s still a boy (gross), part of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together, I lowkey forgot Tsumiki existed when I first started writing Teen Dad! Gojo so now I have to retcon her in 

Megumi’s mouth is smeared with purple pulp. 

“You better have washed that,” you warn him as you carefully cut Tsumiki’s fruit for her. Your knives drip juice onto the ground, requiring careful attention to make sure the sugar won’t rust them. 

Some cursed weapons are durable, outlasting generation after generation of the sorcerers that wielded them. Yours are more delicate. Like flowers, they require great care.

Tsumiki takes the slice you hand her with gratitude and pops it into her mouth with a little shiver of happiness. Her fingertips are turning purple to match Megumi’s lips. You pour a little water from your bottle over them, and place another slice into her mouth yourself. 

“A little dirt is good for him,” Gojo calls from where he’s wedged halfway inside the trunk, fighting for the folding chairs he threw in haphazardly. Now they’re stuck. You told him they would be, and he hadn’t listened. 

You make an unconvinced noise in the back of your throat, pursing your lips. He can’t see you, of course. 

“Germs are gonna make his immune system stronger. Eat up, Megumi!” 

Megumi wrinkles his nose and unhappily swallows his bite. The next time Tsumiki hands him a slice of her (washed) plums, he takes it. Nothing ever works as well on him like Gojo and inadvertent reverse psychology. 

After another minute of letting Gojo struggle to prove a point, you reach over and tug on a latch. The chair Gojo is struggling with snaps shut so you can effortlessly pull it out of the trunk. Gojo smiles sheepishly. 

“What did we learn from this?”

“Wife is always right?” He says cheekily. 

“Can I help?” Tsumiki pops up underneath your elbow. 

“It’s okay,” Gojo ruffles her hair. “We got it.” 

He pushes you gently away when you try to take a chair, carrying three singlehandedly to the spot where Megumi and Tsumiki are waiting with the picnic basket. You know he wants you to gush over him, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

You purposefully turn away to start setting out the food, only for him to saunter over as soon as Tsumiki and Megumi are sitting in their newly placed chairs. 

“Did you see that?” 

“You are the strongest, Satoru.” This is easy work for him. 

“Okay, but it’s still cool, right?” 

Sometimes you want to ignore him and sometimes you want to give in. Gojo, like Megumi is predictable. He needs the carrot and the stick. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “It was cool. You know what would be cooler?” 

He’s setting out the dishes before you even have to ask. 

You’re not fooled even though Gojo’s acting completely normal. As lighthearted and nonchalant as he is, anyone who didn’t know better would think there’s nothing in the world that could phase him, but you do know better. 

He’s not the type to share his issues, especially not when he thinks he can solve them on his own, which is what you think is going on here. It’s fine. 

You don’t press. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. 

“Someone’s coming,” Megumi announces. 

Gojo raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?” 

He looks away, eyes shifty. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be summoning your dogs in public!” You scold him. 

Technically, he’s not supposed to know anything about his technique yet. Young sorcerers aren’t allowed to use their technique if they’re not enrolled at Jujutsu High. Of course, it’s different for clans, especially big clans. None of the elders who sit on the council are going to punish one of their own for getting ahead of the game. In fact, they’re quite willing to turn a blind eye to anything that makes their clan more powerful, even if it means starting their young off early. Too early, in your opinion. 

Gojo disagrees with this judgement, as he disagrees with everything the elders say. He’s been training Megumi in secret, slowly getting him used to the Ten Shadows. The dogs, which Megumi’s manifested since he was young, were the first to become tamed. They’re the easiest for him to control, so he looses them more often than he should. Regardless of what Gojo thinks, it’s simply not safe. You don’t want to give the Zenins any reason to take Megumi and Tsumiki. 

Megumi calls his shikigami back. They evaporate into shadow just as an old couple hobble up the dirt path. 

“Oy, granny!” Gojo calls, ignoring you as you smack his arm. “You need a hand?” 

“I’m okay,” she calls back. “Don’t worry about me! Just taking my daily walk.” 

Gojo gives you an aghast look. 

“Why are they hiking up here? One of them is going to break a leg,” he hisses. 

“Are you sure?” You ask them hesitantly. 

“My, aren’t you sweet! I’m alright, hon. The fresh air will do these old bones some good.” 

Beside her, her husband nods in agreement. He seems like the silent type to her extrovert. 

“What’re you two doing up here?” She says, picking her way over. 

Tsumiki holds up her plate. “Picnicking!” 

“How cute,” the old woman coos as she pinches her cheek. 

“And you! Why, I could just eat you up,” she tells Megumi, who looks mildly alarmed, not at her words, but at her attention. He squirms in his seat. 

“Your little brother?” The couple smiles as you stiffen. It’s not their fault. They have no idea. 

“My son,” Gojo says, his own smile turning unpleasant. 

“Oh!” She seems to sense she’s made a mistake of some sort, taking her husband’s arm once more. “I’m sorry, you seemed so young. Well, I’m sure you want to get back to your picnic without these old folk. Be careful not to stay out too late! I hear there’s a storm brewing.” 

Her husband helps her carefully over the grass back on to the dirt path. She turns back to wave, just once. 

“That wasn’t nice,” you say, watching them leave. “They didn’t know.” 

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“Look!” Tsumiki jostles Megumi, who’s still focused on his food instead of the sky. “The sun is setting!”

Gojo picked a good spot. No trees obstruct your view of a sky stretching as far as the eye can see. As someone who’s lived in the city for so long, it’s almost a miracle to witness. 

The sky is awash in floral hues. Burnt orange, ashy lavender, and muted links spread throughout the clouds. You’re smiling, awestruck at the sight, when you hear a click. You turn back just in time to see Gojo shove his phone in his pocket. 

“Did you just take a picture of me?” 

“Nope! Why don’t you sit tight while I repack everything?” 

Even when you try to help, Gojo pushes you back in your chair. His little helpers dash back and forth from the makeshift campsite to the car until everything is safely packed away. 

When you finally get up and brush your lap off, Gojo offers you his arm. 

You laugh at him. “Come on, I don’t need that.” 

He pushes his arm in your direction again, insistent. He’s being such a baby today, but you can’t help spoiling him. You take it as he escorts you to the car and opens the door for you with a flourish. 

The kids don’t want to go home, but Gojo distracts them with promises of McDonald’s on the long, winding trip down the mountain. Megumi’s at that age where he knew better than to trust the strange white haired sixteen year old who offered to take him in but still gullible enough not to understand there are no McDonald’s on mountains. 

He and Tsumiki fall asleep in the back seat as the rain patters rhythmically on the windows. All around you, the earth is lush and verdant. You’re in Eden before the fall. It’s hard to stay mad when the forest is putting on such a show for you outside. The earth is blooming, beckoning. 

Gojo rolls down the sun roof so the warmth of weak sun beams shines into the car. If you look up, the rain beads on the glass like crystals on a backdrop of dove grey storm clouds. 

It’s still raining when you get home. 

Gojo carries Megumi and Tsumiki inside, one in each arm. It’s a testament to their sleepiness that neither protest. You drop a kiss on each cherubic little cheek as you tuck them into bed, pressing the covers down around them. 

Gojo’s waiting in the kitchen when you quietly close their bedroom door. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says almost half-heartedly, looking out the window. “But you have to promise not to be mad.” 

You knew it. 

Whatever it is, you’re sure you can take it. You and Gojo have been through the worst of everything together, from a bullet in the shoulder to whiney, feverish children. There’s nothing you can’t handle to keep your little family together. 

“The Zenins want to take Megumi away,” he blurts out. 

Okay, maybe that wasn’t what you were expecting, but it’s fine. You can make it work. 

“They’re coming tomorrow.” 

You’re going to kill him.

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (II) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Getting acquainted with Regulus was inevitable, but your relationship only continues to grow as you figure out a way for your friendship to outlast the closing summer break.

Part I / Part III / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Harry's arrival. Regulus is warming up to Y/N. Little cliffhanger at the end.

It was an ingenious idea.

"That is certainly an idea."

Regulus was very much trying to be supportive of your plans, but you could see the veiled apprehension in his gaze.

Over the summer, you were able to bond with him over the traumas of your life. You were proudly on day 34 of friendship.

In a way, he had become your closest acquaintance in the absence of Harry.

Regulus was endlessly fascinated by Harry when you had explained the lore of the poor boy's life. You would pay a good sum of your inheritance to see the gobsmacked look on his face again after you told him Harry was famous for surviving the Killing Curse.

"Calm your horses, Reg. It will be fine. I wouldn't risk such a thing if I weren't confident."

"Oh, it's not your confidence I doubt," his curls bounced ever so slightly as he shook his head, "I'm just hoping that you aren't in over your head here."

"It will be fine. I have this thing where I am averse to killing friends."

"Friends?-"

Before Regulus could finish, you whipped out your wand and murmured a firm reducio.

His painting gave the faintest quake before quickly shrinking on the floor.

"Reg? Are you okay?"

"Fine. Everything is just humongous now. But I'm no more cramped than I was before."

You pick up the small frame, brushing your thumb over the gold edge. Regulus‘ painting was now quaint enough to fit in the palm of your hand, his shrunken figure gazing up at you in relief.

"See, I told you. Everything's fine. Now I can take you with me everywhere I go."

His eyes glimmer in pleasure at the prospect of actually be able to see the outside world.

"I concede, you were right. However, in the event that you die, what will happen to me? Merlin forbid they bury me with you."

Regulus made it a point to bring up your almost imminent demise at every chance he could, strongly disapproving of your close association with the Dark Lord's current greatest adversary.

It was funny to think the greatest threat to the Dark Lord's reign was a group of teenagers struggling in Arithmancy.

"Don't worry, I'll look up some kind of rune to transport you to a safe place in the event that I am slaughtered. Though, you should have more faith in me, Harry and I have managed to survive a lot of unimaginable things."

"None of which even scratch the surface of the Dark Lord's power."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm less concerned about the Dark Lord and more concerned about the Ministry. They're completely defaming Harry and I have half the mind to march on in to Fudge's office and slap him."

Regulus let out a noise of amusement and you began to fiddle with your wand in contemplation.

"Hey Reg, do you know anything that could allow you to communicate with me without giving away your whole predicament? I think I'll be shipped off on the first carriage to St. Mungo's if someone catches me talking to myself."

You were hesitant to tell anyone about your summer discovery, but Regulus was vehemently against it. He told you that telling others of his existence would only give him a headache, and you had a creeping suspicion he wasn't on the best of terms with the Dark Lord and his followers or his brother.

"There might be something in my room. I was researching various concealment charms before I died. For now, I'll just remain silent until you address me first."

A warm feeling beat at your chest. Regulus had never outright told you, but you knew that he trusted you and even liked you enough to agree to stick around.

It was probably due to your unrelenting honesty and efforts to make it clear that you didn't hate him for his past juvenile decisions.

Though, he was still quite secretive about his past.

"Well, off we go then. And Reg?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." For trusting me and for being my friend.

"Think nothing of it."

Brushing Reg's frame one last time, you slip the small item into a wide pocket inside your jacket.

You huff out a heavy sigh and make your way out of the room, slowly cracking the door open. As you peered out into the hall, you let relief wash over you as you realized the coast was clear.

Slowly shutting the door behind you, letting it warp and disappear, you bound down the staircase and towards the end of the hall on the second floor.

You stopped a few paces away from your destination, taking in the sight of the worn door. It felt almost like you were about to cross the threshold into somewhere sacred.

"Y/N! There you are, we've been looking for you! What are you doing?" You curse silently under your breath, spinning on your heel and away from Regulus‘ bedroom door.

Hermione and Ron were looking at you expectantly, confusion flitting in their eyes at your recent reclusiveness and secrecy.

"I was just exploring."

"Near that door?" Ron's voice was coated in a mixture of disbelief and pride, approving of your sudden mischievous nature.

"Yeah, I mean I've always liked a good mystery. Though...keep it a secret for me? I don't want to sit through Sirius‘ lecturing."

This time it was Hermione who spoke, a sudden glint of excitement sharpening in her gaze, "No matter about that! We heard from the adults that Harry should be arriving soon!"

You broke out into a grin at the news, though your eyebrows began to furrow as you let the information stew in your head.

"Wait. Why now? Did something happen? Dumbledore would never allow it unless something urgent occurred."

Hermione and Ron exchange a serious look and a sinking feeling drags down your middle.

It is not until they drag you into your shared room that you're informed of the news, and you honestly could not be less surprised.

Chaos followed Harry everywhere, and a Dementor attack happened to fall into the ‘shit that only happens to Harry‘ category of life.

Harry arrived less than an hour after you received the news, and you could see the relief flood into his eyes as he realized you were all there waiting for him.

You let Hermione and Ron smother him in their hugs before you're up on your feet and gently patting his back, his face shoved into your shoulder as his whole body sagged.

"I'm glad you're here now, Harry. Dumbledore forbade all methods of communication with you, and he's unfortunately methodical. I tried just about everything to reach you."

The tired boy nods at your explanation, clearly still in shock at the events that unfolded to properly react.

You were beginning to relax against Harry until a sudden pop had you gripping your chest painfully.

The bloody twins and their bloody apparition.

"Fred! George! I swear I'm going to castrate you one of these days!"

You were still quite irked with the twins even after they apologized to you and formulated a plan to make up for the scare.

They thought it would be lightwork to use an extendable ear product of theirs to listen in on the meeting going on in the kitchen downstairs.

"As lovely as that sounds, I have to finish reading up for the summer."

"Blimey, Y/N. Don't tell me you're turning into Hermione."

"Well I think that's great, Y/N. And if you bothered to do what we were doing, Ronald, maybe you wouldn't have to ask for our notes every year."

You quickly flee the scene as the others were distracted, shutting the door quietly and striding towards Regulus‘ room down the hall.

Without hesitating like last time, you hurriedly twist the creaky knob and fling yourself into the room, not giving anyone the opportunity to catch you sneaking around.

"Okay, Reg. We're alone now. Sorry I couldn't leave sooner, I'm sure it was a bore for you."

You fetch the portrait from the inside of your jacket, grinning down at the pretty boy who was looking back at you passively.

"It was quite entertaining. It's better than the usual empty silence I'm used to."

"Right...I'm glad. Well, where do you keep your charms books at?"

"Left trunk underneath the bed. The green one."

You place the small painting down on the tableside next to his bed, propping it up against a dust-coated lamp. You heave the trunk out and let out a small exhale from the effort, nimbly unclasping it and flipping it open.

The sight of rows of books greeted you and you had to hold in a gasp at the wide collection and their near pristine quality.

Advanced Charm Casting

Chadwick's Charms Vol. III

Charms and Their Origins

The Dark Forces: Praesidium Carmina and Spells

"Wow. You have quite the selection. Praesidium Carmina?"

"It's latin for protection charms. There should be a few handy charms in there, but I didn't get to finish it so you'll have to read it thoroughly yourself."

You run a finger down the spine of the book appreciatively, grinning at the boy like a child finding a chest of candy.

"Reg, you are truly amazing."

"You can keep it. You can take all of them if you wish."

Your mouth falls open at his words, a pleased expression falling over your face. Regulus, for the most part, looked unaffected by your touched demeanor, but you could see a self-satisfied smile tug at his lips.

"Are you sure, Reg? These look precious."

"They are. But I have no use for them nor does Sirius. Besides, I can trust that you'll use them well."

"Wow. This is the first gift you've given me. You know this means that our friendship has entered the next level, right?"

Regulus shakes his head in amusement, smiling at your enthusiasm.

"And how would you define this new level of friendship, dear Y/N?"

"Well, we're like a couple secrets away from being best friends. Sorry though, I don't really know how I could give you an actual gift."

Regulus seems to consider this for a few moments, merely opting to shake his head in response.

"Getting me out of that room is already a debt I'm unable to repay."

"I'm glad you said that because now you're really stuck with me forever."

And it could have been the trick of the light, but you swear he didn't look totally bothered by the idea.

After shrinking down Regulus‘ trunk and a small pouch he insisted on you taking as well, you made your way down towards the kitchen, pockets full and feeling satisfied from your mission.

As you entered the kitchen, you stop in your tracks as everyone's attention darts to you.

Isn't that fun.

Suddenly, Sirius stands up and gestures for you to come sit, his mouth set in a firm line instead of his usual playful smirk.

"Y/N, there you are. We need to have a talk."

Relax. There's no way he knows anything.

Was what you would have thought, but Hermione and Ron couldn't quite look you in the eyes. You were superbly fucked.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl

[storm-and-starlight]

Legacies

I was bored and couldn't think of anything to write so @heronfem gave me the prompt "1000 word cap, no more than four characters, must include the word "aspen"", and this is what came out! Takes place after Final Crisis but just before Dick becomes Batman (and I'm ignoring Battle for the Cowl bc I don't like it lmao)

here's an aspen stand on the grounds of Wayne Manor.

Far up in the back north corner, where the woods have been left to grow wide and dark and wild -- Bruce gets - got - Alfred has always arranged for a crew to come in and tame the nearer trees every other year or so, and the gardens have been tended by an array of incurious hired hands and adopted sons since Thomas's death, but the back woods have been there since the property lines were drawn and have been ignored for nearly as long as that. They've been there since Dick was a child and came fleeing to them in the darkness from locked doors and stifling rooms and the weight of the wealth of centuries, and when he was older and yet no less used to loss, and they're still here now, trunks like thin white columns in the grey autumn light.

The fading leaves whisper to one another, a steady shimmering rustle. Bruce had come for him, every time but the last, to carry him drowsy and still tear-stained back to his room in the Manor, or to fetch him for patrol, or to tell him that the Titans were waiting at the door, and he's no longer a child or Robin or even a Titan but he half-wishes he were, still, just so he might hear Bruce's voice calling for him through the trees.

Overhead, the wind roars on and the aspens quake and shiver but do not bend.

"Master Richard."

A voice -- the wrong voice -- and yet the only one he could have imagined, here and now and in this moment. "Alfred," he says, and lets out his breath in a long and silent sigh.

"I thought I might find you here," Alfred says, clear and professional, empty of anything other than the exact meaning of the words. Dick envies him the trick; he can't do it, not while still remaining himself. "As I recall, you came to these trees a great deal as a child."

"Yeah," Dick says, and finally turns to face him, crisply suited and terribly out of place. Alfred belongs with the Manor, in the ancient, elegant hallways and cleanly modern kitchen and the old dark wood of the library. "Haven't been back in a while, though." The last time was-- after Jason. The summer after Jason's death, when the forest was full of cool green light and silver-edged shadows and the steady peace of growing things and he'd come fleeing here for the last time with the cold cutting shape of Batman's grief still echoing behind him. Bruce hadn't come for him, then, and Dick hadn't gone back to the Manor at all for a long, long time.

Bruce isn't coming for him now.

"No," Alfred agrees, quietly, and they watch the leaves flutter, autumn-gold, in silence.

"How long have they been here?" Dick asks, eventually. "Did one of the Waynes..."

"I am afraid I do not know," Alfred says, and Dick looks over at him in surprise. Alfred knows everything about the Manor, he always has-- "This stand was already on the land when the property was expanded in the nineteen-tens, and was quite possibly already several centuries old by then."

"Centuries?" Dick asks, looking at the slender trunks -- none of these trees look like they can be more than fifty years, at the most, though admittedly he doesn't know much about trees.

"Aspen groves are, theoretically, immortal," Alfred says, placing one hand on the white bark. "Each tree is a clone of the original, grown from a single root system, and though the individuals may die the colony carries on. There are groves counted as a single organisms that have lived for thousands of years. This one has been here since long before you or I, and will most likely outlast us both."

Dick breathes, once, twice, and then a harsh exhale and he drops to the ground, back against a trunk and face buried in his knees. There is a hand on his shoulder, thin and cool, and he loves Alfred, he really does, but it's not the hand he wants right now.

"He's gone, Alfie."

"...I know, my boy. I know."

"What'm I supposed to do now?"

Alfred sighs, and says nothing. 

The wind sighs back, and the trees all shiver.

"I am still here," he says eventually. "As are you, and Master Damian. And your friends among the community would let nothing stop them if you asked for aid--"

"They can't be Batman, can they?" Dick interrupts, and then immediately feels bad about interrupting Alfred.

"It isn't unheard of," Alfred says, slowly, "Mister Kent has, in the past, stepped in, and there are plenty with the required skillset, or the ability to imitate it--"

"But they can't be Batman," Dick says, and looks up at the aspens, unbowed even in the roaring wind. Immortal, even though every trunk here will someday fall. "And someone has to be."

"Master Richard..."

"I think I always knew it was going to happen," Dick says, even though that makes no sense, even though there was no way of knowing. "I'm the oldest. It was always going to be me." He shoves himself up to his feet, feeling ten years older already. "Gotham needs a Batman, Alfred."

"...Yes," says Alfred, after Dick's already started to walk away, "I suppose it does."

Behind him, the aspens whisper on.

[positivelybeastly]

Simon says 🎲

7. A romantic kiss.

"So, what's this new form supposed to be?"

Hank blinks, and turns from where he's laying on the Avengers Mansion roof. It's newly completed, and he swears he's just stress testing it, but really he just wanted a moment of respite from the party going on downstairs. It was, as with all things Janet van Dyne, simultaneously very chic, very stylish, and yet all together too much - an excellent time, to be sure, but exhausting.

Hank's spent a lot of the last few years feeling exhausted, if he's honest. Which . . . well. Given the company he's currently keeping, it's hard not to be.

Honest, that is. He was never too exhausted for Simon.

"Simon! I hope I haven't drawn you away from the festivities - there's really no need to concern yourself, I just needed a breath of fresh air."

He's just hovering there, as beautiful as the day Hank first laid eyes on him. Why wouldn't he be? He's ionic. A collection of atoms and molecules so completely and utterly distinct that to call him a Wonder Man is both an absolutely correct appellation and the world's worst misnomer. He'll outlast them all - Hank knows that as surely as he knows the warped, frayed edges of his own genome. They've both been utterly transformed, but while Hank's only made himself look less and less human, Simon just . . . persists. Forever beautiful.

Electrically charged atoms, clustered so tightly and so densely that they form wisps of purple, surround him, and if Hank were feeling more himself, he might tease that there's a charge in the air tonight. Instead, he just smiles. He finds it hard to stop himself from smiling at Simon. He probably looks drunk. He has been drinking a little.

But if Simon thinks so, he doesn't say or show it. Instead, he floats like the proverbial cloud so that he's hovering right above and to the left of Hank, carefully setting himself down by his old buddy, his old pal. A less knowledgeable Simon scholar might think that he'd be easier to read if only he would take off those glasses, but Hank's well aware that if he did, there'd only be the red.

And he's never needed to see his eyes to read Simon.

"Jan's in fine form tonight."

Hank laughs, and immediately the tension he didn't quite realise he was feeling unfurls like a jolly caterpillar. "Isn't she just? I seem to recall the Professor doing something similar, years ago, back after Genosha. A rush of activity, a burst of energy, as if to prove it wasn't all for nothing, that life goes on. Granted, I think we're in a damned better place than we were back then."

Were they? Hank's not so sure. He's teaching at Harvard now, which wouldn't have happened 10 years ago. He knows that from personal, lived experience - after his second successful application to the school, one of the custodians had seen fit to give him his old red maroon suit jacket he'd thrown on the floor of the Dean's office in a fit of pique when his first application had been denied. But for everyone else, well . . .

"Yeah. Yeah, I think we are, actually."

"Optimism, Simon? Your wonders never cease."

Simon sees the punchline coming a mile away, walks into it. They laugh. This is comfortable, isn't it? This is nice.

"I think . . . I think Wanda and I finally broke it off, today. We talked, at the park, and it . . . well, there's more to talk about. But it felt pretty definitive."

Ah. So, that's why Wanda had hugged Hank when she'd seen him.

"I'm truly sorry to hear that. You were good for one another."

Simon snorts. It's a strange noise to hear out of that movie star mouth and filtered through the '40s Transatlantic accent that he always seems to settle on, and it makes Hank start a little.

"No we weren't. She wasn't what I needed, and I wasn't what she wanted. Never has been, and I never have been."

Good use of tenses, Simon. It was all Hank could think as he looks at the other man, rubbing his thumbs together.

". . . Well. Regardless. I always thought you were at least nice together."

"Is that why you turned up on that date all those years back wearing my old safari jacket? Because Wanda and I were nice together?"

Jesus Christ, Simon, go for my damn well jugular, why don't you?! Hank sat up at that, looking momentarily offended, utterly confused, absolutely bamboozled. Now Simon really is unreadable, just sitting there, staring at him. It says a lot about the both of them and the way they've left things, the way they've been skirting around each other's edges, that they both know exactly what Simon's talking about, despite it being one dumb date night Hank had crashed over a decade ago that most people would have just let fade into the annals of forgettable fun.

Well, now. Where in the nine rings of Hell did he go from here?

"It's, ah. It's a combination of a few different simian species - macaque, gorilla, ape, etcetera. The form. My new form. Since you asked. It's a little chimeric, if you want to know the genetic details. It retained my yellow eyes, from my feline mutation, however, I'm not quite sure why."

Simon just looks at him. Hank's answered the question, but not the question.

"It was - funny. I was being funny."

"Like Bugs Bunny."

"Precisely! Precisely like Bugs Bunny."

Simon sighs.

"Look, I know you may have spent a good amount of time dead, Simon, but I know when you were born and I know for fact that you know enough about Bugs Bunny to know that Bugs is - is - "

Where was he going with this?

"Oh, whatever . . ."

He turns away, starting to think that maybe he should head back inside. But . . . that would mean away from Simon, even if that's the reason he thinks maybe he should head back inside. His ears twitch as he hears plastic and metal and glass move, and he realises that Simon's taken off his glasses. The thought doesn't really phase him. All he'd see is the red. And, don't get him wrong, he likes the red, it's a reminder that he's not alone in possessing a body so utterly transformed that the windows to the shreds of his soul are tinted, but, not right now.

"Hank."

Oh, all right, fine, he supposes he'll look at his movie star friend a bit more.

He turns back, and starts a little. Again. How is it that Simon's getting the drop on him so many times tonight? Wasn't that supposed to be his gimmick? But then again, he's one of the few people who knows what it means to glance back at Simon and see his real eyes - or, maybe it was better to say his other eyes. That means he's concentrating, holding back that crackle that usually just comes spilling out of him. That's something he usually only does when he has to do a close-up, or if . . .

If there's something he wants to say but he can't quite say.

What is it that Simon wants to say?

Well.

Quite by instinct, Hank finds himself leaning back towards Simon, and . . . well, yes, that is his hand cupping his jaw a little, and well, maybe that is the tips of his fingers stroking at the immaculately trimmed sideburns that he's certain Simon's had for nigh on 30 years now. And maybe that is his thumb, feeling the cold skin of his best friend's cheek.

It's December in New York, and everyone in the city is cold except for Hank McCoy. It's always the way of things. He's always just that mite uncomfortable every time it's vaguely warm, but touching Simon like that, well . . . it's just nice. Funny, isn't it? Hank's got enough letters after his name to fill several alphabets, but he can't think of a word better than nice right now. It simply is nice. He's cool to the touch. Their temperatures reach a natural equilibrium. He's certain that means something, but what, well . . . it's . . . hard. Don't ask him right now. He's busy.

Busy kissing Simon Williams.

He knows what the man tastes like, of course (oh, hush). He's kissed him before. Bugs Bunny, like he said. But this is . . . undeniably something different. There's a difference between a big, loud, lip smacky, comedy kiss, and . . . this. This, touch, this, embrace, this, this. Hank's kissed a lot of people before, been frankly something of a slut in his time, but this is . . . more, than that. This is . . . charged. The fur on the back of his hand stands on delighted end as he spends just a little more time just, kissing, his best friend, and he can feel the ionic charge rippling along his fur. It's, good. Better than good.

Wonderful, actually.

He opens his eyes, and he realises that Simon's let the crackle flow back out. He's staring into red, pulsating energy again. It's like staring into a supernova, imperious and cold in its power. And he knows his own body well enough to know that Simon's staring into a star of his own, golden yellow, warm and knowing. If he'll allow his inner poet to escape him for a moment, something a little celestial is happening, he thinks.

That's - all, he thinks, actually. His mind's gone a little bit blank. His lips are still tingling with ionic charge as Simon looks at him, clearly expecting him to say something. First thing to come to mind, go.

". . . Better than Bugs Bunny?"

Simon laughs.

"Yeah, better than Bugs Bunny, you goof."

[twisted-oak]

Hi Oakie,

I got three questions in a trench-coat for you

1 & 2 Pressures on storytelling & worldbuilding for storytelling:

Much as Startrek envisions an alternative economic system which outlasts our own in order to give breathing room for other stories to be told... What kinds of stories and challenges within worlds do you personally enjoy the most, and which pressures would you like to see alleviated or amplified for the sake of said storytelling, as a lens -- one of each (amplified and alleviated)?

2. Why I ask this:

I've noticed whatever successful SF speculation features becomes a cultural mould for a potential future... ...And SF which lampshades real things looking forward instead of looking back often ends up creating torture-nexuses which are recreated instead of like, solved or prevented. I'd also like to know your thoughts on this phenomenon too.

Sorry that this is such a big complex question, but you sent me a very lovely message, and I wanted to respond in turn with a nice meaty question :3

Take care

Big one! love this. I'll do my best First I have to just praise trek, the post-money economy is extremely interesting, mostly because of its optimism. thats probably my answer for favorite? in terms of just how revolutionary it was for my worldview. I was into star trek less growing up, thinking it was boring, and i was attracted to things that were cool and badass, like a lil boy. (thats why i liked robots so much, they fill your senses, hard angles of cold bright refecltive surfaces, theyre often loud, with engines and fans and computer tones and servos. and they so visually detailed and interesting and every tiny piece is crafted that just looking at one is like a visual puzzle you can feel how all the pieces fit together. sorry mech tangent) but thats why star trek was kinda boring to me was how simplistic it was, the robot was just a man in makeup. same with the aliens. but as ive gotten older i more appreciate how the very simplistic medium gives the show freedom to do creative stuff. its more cerebral than i was used to, more about ideas but yeah it was revolutionary for me that there was a show, not that i watched but it was in my orbit i was aware of it, where money didn't exist. it was a silly fiction, and i laughed at it and said thats dumb how would that even work? but again as ive gotten older and eventually watched all of TOS, TNG, DS9, ENT, VOY, the movies... like, i love it. i love it so so much. both for philosophical reasons and also its just relaxing to watch. Just to see how someone thought it might be possible to organize things without coercive incentive to work i think thats why im an anticapitalist. because of just the immense mind numbing waste of it all, the waste of resources the waste of potential the waste of everyones waking lives destroying the planet to create worthless goods nobody wants or needs for the enrichment of an increasingly small number of individuals. The sheer volume of effort no longer being put to waste, but put to use, can move mountains. What if we all just cared about eachother ? sorry its gonna be hard to stay on topic lol. but yeah the pressure i love to see alleviated is capitalism, coercive hierarchy, the endless meaningless grind. fiction can be bleak and still be good of course, but i ADORE fictional worlds where everyone is just nice to eachother and gets along and like, there are problems that need to be solved of course, but everyone is coming from a place of earnest compassion and collective self interest. More eloquent people than me have written about why the protagonists of star trek are heroic examples of stable healthy moral people

another fiction very like this is My Little Pony (please dont think im cringe) where they still have money and jobs, and bills to pay, but things are just generally very pleasant and the core of trust and friendship is solid, the government is ruling with the consent and trust of the people, and they all live in harmony with the environment (because there is no natural environment really, the weather is controlled with precise magic administered by the government) and its a system that works. it soothes my autism to see a system that works to change gears a little, Altered Carbon hit me with a ver unique idea, which was taking away the constraints of the link between body and mind. its a world where peoplle can switch bodies at will. as a trans person, err, it hit me lol. i topped watching because it gives me dysphoria. but its such a cool idea that, the idea that what if we were freed from the constraints of our bodies, of aging, of sex and anatomy and biology, of distance (they visit other planets over the itnernet instead of flying there physically by bodyswapping with people who are already there) but NOT relieving us from the constraints of wealth inequality or oppressive government or addiction or abusive relationships. like theyre ostensibly more free, but theyre also more free to be violated by the system

i am also a very technology focused writer and i like stories that focus on the transformative effect of technologies as they branch out and develop. one constraint i always enjoy seeing imposed is a lack of advanced computers. in our world computers have becomes a kind of end-tech, we want to use computer to do everything possible as fast as possible. "computerize it" has become a goal in and of itself, the solution to every problem i got off topic but im just gonna send this and finish my thought later so i dont get distracted and lose it

Problems I like to see overcome? same thing, is the destruction of hierarchy, the abandonment of harmful traditions, the overthrowing of corrupt institutions. revolution stories. star trek also got me interested in the science mystery where characters hvae to use a combination of deductive reasoning, technology, and lateral thinking to figure out a question or solve a puzzle or mystery. As well as the struggle to come to understand a person or creature or scoeity thats very different from you. Exchange from different cultural perspectives. Also, of course, like i said before, i love technology and i love reading about research and development, so i love a story thats about trying to invent or innovate some new advancement. Code Geass was fun because it had mechs, but also there was a big story focus on the arms race of developing faster and better mechs before the other side

The Torment Nexus problem is real. On the one hand i don't think it should stop people from writing. But on the other hand, yeah, its almost inevitable that somebody is going to extract a single fragmentary idea from a story, which should normally have a whole moral context to it, and then apply it to disasterous ends. I dont think its a problem with moral clarity in writing though, i dont think its a matter of "don't they know you're not supposed to create the tormnet nexus?" because thats almost irrelevant. we're dealing with a mass of humanity where maybe millions of people may read a particular work, its going to be interpreted in every possible ways. and the people who have monetary incentive to interpret it in a way where they simply disregard the moral context and imitate the systems of oppression to develop a product they can sell. the invisible third comment in between Sci-Fi Author and Tech Company is the silent, omnipresent profit incentive paying them to make the torment nexus. The problem isn't that Tech Company doesn't KNOW the torment nexus is bad. the book is called Don't Create the Torment Nexus. They know, theyre just paid not to care

[thessalian]

Thess vs Stalker Hunting

I've done my little bits of Horizon Forbidden West the last couple of days. There are issues about spoons, because work's a mess right now, but sometimes you just need to fuck up a bandit camp or two. Maybe dig up some greenshine. OR ... stalk the Stalkers. Literally.

Bandit camp. Poonk. Poonk. POONK. Nobody saw me. Nobody engaged. And again, one guy kept talking about how "she must have gone to lick her wounds" when a) nobody even fired a shot at me and b) EVERYONE ELSE WAS DEAD. Eh well. POONK.

So much climbing. So many near misses, close calls, and running around. But several outright slabs of greenshine so it's entirely worth it.

Ooh, hey, new form of Burrower. Hi, Burrower! ...Bye, Burrower. POONK

The Gouge is still kicking my ass. I got most of it, including the cluster, but the one remaining fucking fragment of greenshine is not worth Outlast-meets-Subnautica with fucking Burrowers. I get why you can't shoot them with an arrow underwater. But why, why can you not just stab them?

Look. Bellowbacks. Even if I am blowing you up, there should be some of your sac webbing intact enough for me to use to upgrade my weapons and armour! But no! Every time I kerboom you with a sac rupture, you deny me Bellowback Sac Webbing AND I AM FED UP WITH IT.

Time to take out my frustrations on another rebel camp. But lemme get some surrounding campfires first.

Yes, thank you, map, for finding me a route to the bandit camp by the paths. I would prefer not stroll through the front gate, thank you. So I will climb this mountain.

Ah. Here we are. Sharpshot booooooooooow ... GO.

I'm sorry. Three people just dropped dead in front of you, and you're now saying it was a false alarm?!? BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! ...Also POONK.

Okay, no one's alerted and I haven't seen anyone but they're still playing the tense music. Maybe because of people inside that bunker?

Definitely people inside that bunker. Oh, this is going to get stupid - shield and melee stupid. Time to improvise.

YOU ARE IN TIME OUT; GO STAND IN THE CORNER. Good! Perfect! Facing the corner like something out of Blair Witch! *WHACKSTABSTABSTAB*

And the other two did not come to your rescue. They will regret that. Shorter range Hunter bow. Poonk-poonk.

(Yeah, my draw speed on that's a little insane too.)

Huh. I guess these are where some of the weapons like the one that destroyed Verbena's forcefield were being developed. ...SYLENS. YOU. LIVING. SHIT.

I mean, I probably could take some of these schematics, but if Boomer ever got hold of them... Yeah, no. I will instead make a boom that she would be PROUD OF.

Okay, and it's still telling me that there's someone in this camp. BUT I SEE NO ONE. Stealthing stealthing stealthing...

...Oh. Right. The front door I avoided like the plague getting here. There is a lone sentry scouting the area, who apparently was not alerted because I cleared the place out so quickly and quietly. Ah well. Charger first, then HEADSHOT.

Okay, I'mma head out and get a few more-- Ooh, that says "unknown settlement", and it's in territory I'm going to need.

Thank you for the news about the rebel camps. At least one in your vicinity will not be a problem anymore, sir. (Kind of wish you had the option to tell them that.)

Right. Lemme do some trading and then see what I can upgrade.

...Not much. Not enough. Guess I'm going to have to go hunting Stalkers again.

Oop. BELLOWBACK CONVOY. DETOUR.

Right. Now lemme see if killing them without hitting the big sac in the back will get me what I need. ...ohthisisgonnahurt...

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK--

(I did get way better at dodge-rolls, though. Just ... not quite better enough. Hence...)

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!

Right. Okay. That's enough for now. Surprisingly, Stalkers are going to be easier. So long as I'm careful about how I hit their stealth generators, since that's the part I'm after.

Approaching from a different angle and ... yeah. They really do climb now, the little fucks. Okay, that one I can see and... GONE. Tree-climbing little shit.

Huh. There's generally at least three in these areas. But the other two aren't coming out. Time to do the usual. Hide in bush ... then shoot proximity flare-mine.

Theeeeeeere you are. My vision is mostly shit but I can see your shimmer surprisingly well. POONK.

Right. Third one. Another proximity mine aaaaaaaaaand...

AW FUCK!

No, I mean, I got the Stalker, but ... there was a duck. I NEED DUCK BITS.

Heeeeeeeeeere ducky ducky ducky...

...fuck.

Well, I can at least upgrade and shop some-- Wait. Is that purple-grade Utaru infiltrator-type gear? GIMME!

Right. To upgrade it, I'm gonna neeeeeeed... Fuck.

Heeeeeeeeere, Stalker Stalker Stalker...

DUCK! Sorry; Duck first, then more Stalkers.

Okay. I can get this a little more upgraded now. For more, I'm going to neeeeeeed... Stalkers. AGAIN. Also ... oh fuck we get Scorchers back?!? AND I HAVE TO HUNT ONE?!? Fuuuuuck.

...However, I do see a Scorcher site not too far from here... And in the same vicinity as some greenshine and a rebel camp--

And I will think about that tomorrow or something.

Look. I know. I know. There is a main quest and I should be getting on with it. However, my play time is limited and my spoons more so. Also I can't decide on whether I want to go for AETHER or DEMETER first. I'm at level ... 49 now, I think? Not 50 but close, anyway. So level isn't an issue.

(See, you might ask how? But ... like ... I hunt constantly when on the move. And when you add up the various XP extras for stealth kills, head shots, weak point shots, etc? I get a lot of XP very quickly.)

Anyway, level's not an issue but what I get out of it is. On the one hand, I figure that DEMETER is probably the quest that will let me deal with those damn metal flowers. On the other hand, @true0neutral informs me that one's reward for dealing with AETHER involves a really spiffy Sharpshot bow? That can also shoot Tear arrows? Aaaaaaand I am conflicted. Heeeeeeelp.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Spare Me." Danny Boy/The Axeman X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Okay! SO! I wasn’t expecting to do this tonight but fuck it. In the movie Final Girl (2015) there is this character, Danny Boy or The Axeman, and fuck it. I like him. I always wanted to do a oneshot of him and I re-watched the movie last night and so I did it! Here it is! Some straight up porn with very little preamble. You don’t need to know the movie, not really. Let’s just go off, hm?

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.1K. Danny Boy/The Axeman X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Chase. Predator Prey. Threat Of Violence. Mentions Of Murder And Gore. Fuck To Survive. Hair Pulling. Rough Treatment. Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Sloppy Blow Job. Grinding. Gagging. Choking. Praise. Pet Names. Dirty Talk. Teasing. Taunting. Cum Eating. 

—

It was a stupid fucking idea. Agreeing to go hang out in the woods with four guys, all alone, and why? Because you had a pathetic fucking crush on one of them and would take any flimsy excuse to spend time with him. You were sure that if you declined the invitation it would look poorly on you and you wanted to think you were fun, so you agreed. Besides, spending time with his friends, showing investment? It would score you some major points.

You show up in the colour of dress that was asked, the boys come around dressed to the nines themselves you all pile into the car and are taken to this point in the woods. Couches and chairs around a game of truth or dare started but it quickly led to this.

Turns out you were asked out here for entertainment of a different kind, they were going to hunt you. 

Your heels were forgotten quickly, you didn’t bother with them, ran barefoot through the woods until your lungs burn and your legs ache. You found a hiding spot, you thought maybe you could be quiet and outlast but sadly, he proved you wrong, he found you. 

It is dark, it is cold, there is no wind and you have your back to a tree trunk, crouched down and listening, trying to see if you could determine where any of them were. You’d heard screaming and calls of your name a while ago, but nothing as of late. So when the axe comes down, lodges in the wood next to your head, it feels like your heart is about to beat out of your chest, you scream, hands up and he laughs. He rips the axe out of the wood and flips it around in his hands before he puts it metal side down, he leans against the wooden end casually.

“There you are lil darlin’! I was actually worried for a minute there you’d made a clean getaway!” 

How does he do that? He’d been running through the woods and didn’t look like he broke a sweat, not a hair out of place, the manic mischief in his eyes, the cock of his head and that fucking smile. 

“Why are you doing this, Danny?” You asked quietly and he hums, “Oh you know, I get bored so easily and this is just fun, that’s all.” 

“That is what this is about? You having fun?” You asked in disbelief. “Hunting girls for sport and killing them is fun?” 

“It’s the besssst.” He sighed, the look shifts to fond, his eyes wander and you know he is recounting God knows how many memories of other nights like this one. How many people as he killed? How much blood spilled in these woods with this axe? You are in the same boat, could meet that same fate if you aren't careful and cunning.

The idea strikes. He wants to have fun, that is the most important thing, so you need to offer up something else that is fun and maybe you can save your own life, maybe he will spare you. 

“What if I have another game in mind?” You asked and he pouts, “But we are already playing a game right now. It’d be rude to cut this one short before it’s done, before we get to the best part.” 

You swallow hard, gain some composure and say, “Yeah, well, we can come back to this one, let’s just uhm, pause it for a minute for this other one. It’s really fun, I promise.”

He stares you down. The silence is a heavy and oppressive blanket weighing on you. Fear curls in your gut, your hair is standing on end, goosebumps are raised everywhere and he finally speaks, “You’re so adamant it’s adorable.”

Standing up straight again he says with a shrug and a grin, “Alright, I can’t say no to you!”

Shit, it worked? “Really?” 

There is that winning smile plastered on his face, he nods, “Really. You’ve convinced me. So what’s this other game you got in mind?”

It did not take much convincing. Particularly when you suggested he could still have the axe involved. 

You are trying your best not to gag too much while on your knees for him, your hands are on his hips, fingers digging gently into creamy skin, able to feel the bones underneath as his hand is in your hair, rocking forward into your eager mouth. Drool is slipping out of your lips, running down your chin, some stray drops have landed on your chest, your tongue flat against the underside of his shaft, you suck deeply and his fingers thread and twist in your locks, he pulls and says harshly, “Look up at me.”

You do so, eyes peek open and look up to see him, his tie is undone, his jacket is off and rested on a stump behind him, pants down and open, suspenders hanging free. 

He is sweating now, a few pieces of his hair had gotten loose, teeth gritted and bared, a harsh inhale escapes him as you push him in deeper, swallowing around the head of his dick. He groans as you repeat the action and once more before he pulls on your hair even harder, fucking forward into your mouth, forcing himself deeper still. His balls are pressed to your chin, he grinds deeply and grunts, “Don’t stop moving those pretty little hips honey.” 

That axe of his was involved, but how was it being utilised? He set it up before you'd gotten to work. He took his weapon of choice and brought it down with great force so the sharp metal was implanted in the ground. It rests now underneath you, he has it placed so the long wooden handle is at a good forty five degree angle, perfect for you to grind on while you suck him off and that is just what he wanted you to do.

A shaky nod, you bob your head up and down, taking him almost totally out before driving him back in as you start to move your hips once more. You are grinding on the polished wood, dragging your soaked and slick cunt along it, you were still clad in the silky underwear you’d put on that night hoping he’d be the one taking them off you. The pleasure sparks, this is filthy, you are in the open night air, any one of his other murderous friends could happen upon you, find him literally balls deep in your throat while you are humping his murder weapon that has caused how many other women in your position to fall. 

It feels much better than it should. You are shivering and not from the temperature outside. “There you go, gooood job.” 

He breaks eye contact, his head tips back, his hand in your hair helping to lead you as you pleasure him, “Fuck, you are right, this is some real fun.” 

The praise as well as him cursing makes you moan against his shaft. You are a wreck, you are being sloppy but he doesn’t seem to mind, seems to like how he is ruining you, getting off on it.

Your breathing is strained and laboured through your nose and he is quick to point that out, “Hard to breath hon?”

Before you can have any kind of response his hand that isn’t in your hair comes down, he pinches your nose, plugs it effectively and starts aggressively fucking into your mouth, deeply, down your throat and you can’t breathe. “Grind it out, don’t you dare fucking stop if you ever wanna breathe again.” 

His voice is strained with pleasure and you listen, your focus is divided in two places, the first one is to stop yourself from gagging and the second is put into frantically working your hips. The pleasure spikes, the sensation jolts up your spine, one of your hands leave his hips and instead lock on the axe’s handle, you rock harder, moaning weakly around him. Your eyes are half lidded and hazy with lust, the lack of air is clouding your mind, your head heavy, you feel drenched, it is staining your thighs and all over the wood. Your clit is throbbing, you find yourself rocketing towards the edge and you whimper.

He asks breathlessly, “Are you close?”

A nod so small he might not have noticed it if he wasn’t stuffed down your throat, he’d slowed, was fucking deep still, hard, but not quickly, he is drawing it out. He holds your nose for a moment more, your vision is getting spotty around the edges, your hand on his hip pushes weakly and he finally lets go. You suck down a deep breath through your nose, greedily gulping down air. His hips had slowed but yours had not, he could see how pleading your gaze was, “Awe I know, you’re welcome. I coulda killed you right there before you got the chance to cum but I’m gonna be nice. How generous am I, huh?”

He cooed it in a condescending tone, saying it teasingly, as if you should be sincerely grateful he hasn’t murdered you yet, not before you had the chance to get off on this instrument of violence. 

“You better hurry up though. I’m close too.” You could tell, he was pulsing on your tongue and you were so, so close. You grip the wooden handle tighter, grind harder, the feeling running through you was intense, you feel delirious with pleasure, a warning hum around him as you are on the very edge. “C’mon I wanna see it, get there, cum on it.” 

The verbal encouragement wasn’t needed but it does help, does make you tip over. Your thighs tremble, you gush, your panties were plastered to you, totally stuck to every fold and contour of your cunt as you find your bliss on smooth wood. You moan loudly, he picks up the pace again, taking advantage of your weakened state, abusing you while you are mid orgasm, he is really giving it to you again. He fucks harder, it’s brutal, you gag yet again and he praises you, voice shaking and loud, “Good girl, there you go.”

You whine and the come down takes a while, you don’t stop, stuttering rolls of your hips drawing out your orgasm, the aftershocks making your body jerk. You gag, fresh spit spills over your chin and he doesn’t pull your hair, his hand pets over you softly instead, “Oh ju-just a liiittle longer, almos' there sweetheart.” 

The praise doesn’t stop there, “So fuck-ing good for me, taking it so well, gonna swallow, fuck, every damn drop-” 

His sentence is cut off with a groan, a final push of his hips, he holds deep and he cums. You do as he thought you would, you swallow over and over, taking every bit of him without issue, welcoming him and managing to choke all of it down. 

He takes his time. He sits in your mouth, enjoys the warmth and the wetness for over a minute as his breathing begins to even out. Slowly he pulls out with a hiss and then you can truly breathe properly. He is totally untangled from you, hands off. 

You let yourself sit back, no longer resting your throbbing slit against the axe, you take a deep breath, eyes falling closed. You had to admit, that was really, really fucking fun game. You think you made a good impression, you think you might have saved yourself. 

Listening to him hum is relaxing even though you can't place the tune, your eyes open back up, he is getting dressed again, fixing his pants back up, shouldering his suspenders, tucking his shirt in. He picks up his jacket and slips it back on, adjusts it and you ask, voice thick from the rough treatment he gave, “Good time?”

“Oh sugar, it was unforgettable.” He sighs and then comes closer once more, his hand grips the end of the axe and he jerks it up out of the ground.

He cradles it in both hands, he tilts it and you wonder what he is doing for a second until it hits, he is looking at the slick you left behind, seeing how your juice catches in the moon and starlight. You weren’t expecting this but maybe you should have. He leans down, his pink tongue darts out and presses to the handle, he licks up the length of it, midway up he meets your gaze, his stare boring into yours as his tongue reaches what he was craving, tastes the mess you left behind. He lets out a pornographic moan, he keeps going, licks over the metal too, you’d made so much it had spilled that far down, he is uncaring over the dirt there as well, much too caught up. 

He stands straight again, licks his lips as he looks down at the axe and he sighs, his hand that isn’t still holding the axe pushes his hair back, “Fuck, you taste good.” 

Looking back down at you, he props the axe on his shoulder, his opposite hand comes down and palms himself through his dress pants, “I wanna keep playin’, I think I got another round in me.”

Eyes wide, you would be fine with that, with fucking him, but you can't cut in before he says, “Only after another round of the first game of course. You make it through that and we can play your game again, sound fair?”

It takes too long for it to register in your lust hazed mind. Your legs were asleep from how long you were on your knees, you are freezing cold, he expects you to get up on your still shaky legs and run through the woods again for your life? Without thought it leaves your mouth, “Wait, what?” 

Both of his hands grip the axe handle, something in his eyes hardens, gearing up to swing and he says, “Unpause.” 

[reddogf13]

Outlast 2: Deliverance CH 5

Also on A03

Status: Incomplete

Rated: M - Dead Dove Do Not Eat This takes place in the Outlast 2 universe after all.

Previous chap: CH: 4 Eucharist

Next chap: CH: 6 Apothecary

_______________

~Ch: 5 Deluge~

The next morning Blake woke to a knock on his door. Grumbling as he got up to answer. “Coming.” Almost falling over before he reached the door in his half awake state.

Meeting Marta standing at the door with a man stood beside her. “I brought you Jacob, the traveler.”

He shrunk under her gesturing toward him looking like a child brought to the principle. He was shorter than most with a completely shaved head. Thin as a twig suffering some sort of jittery tick. One arm randomly flexing its muscle to shut his hand closed. Another twitched half his face to tug his mouth as his eye squinted repeatedly.

“Oh, yeah, very good.” Rubbing his face to wake up faster. “Let's go talk in the hall.” Gesturing in a point for them to head toward the large room. “Okay.” He yawned when they were seated.

“You wanted to s-see me s-s-sir?” His voice stuttered along to his twitches.

“Yes, you used to travel outside? Can you take up the trips again?”

“Sure, but it'll take longer than before. S-s-since the truck broke down.”

“How long?”

“About three and a half days. Here and back. That's if the trail hasn't been r-r-ruined by the storm.”

“How long with a truck?”

“Only two hours.”

“Is the truck fixable?”

“No, since i-i-its axle was shot by hitting a log. Knoth had it stripped for parts. E-e-engines almost gone.”

“Fuckin- “ Blake took a deep breath. “Okay, walking it is. Are you the only traveler left?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you and I need to travel? Food, bandages, rope?”

“Mainly food and space to carry. What w-w-we need most though are weapons. Wildlife isn't the only problem. Heretics took over the east for a reason. I-i-i couldn't get past even if I wanted.”

Waylon felt sick again. “I get that.”

“Heretics are called goats now.” Marta corrected.

Jacobs' extremely confused look cleared by Blake's explanation. “They're not heretics and it seemed wrong to keep calling them that. Goats sounded a lot better and less anxiety inducing. Since they might block our path, what if we bring Marta?”

“That would keep them away, but w-w-what about Temple Gate? Everyone knows the here- goats. Don't come ‘cause of h-h-her.”

“We'll have to take the risk. It's been a month since you've last gone. The generator must be running on fumes by now.”

“Two months. We've only gotten the gas to last this long by disconnecting chunks of Temple Gate. B-b-but like you said, its reaching fumes. Some gallons will buy us a couple days, but to fill it f-f-for even a week we need a truck to haul it back.”

“We got the cash to get a new truck. We get to town and from there we load up on what we need and travel back in a few hours. What do we need to travel?” Returning to the earlier question.

“A few meals each, the money, bandages for emergencies, some rope to climb over anything. Axes to chop firewood for camp. Warm clothing and something to sleep on.”

“Okay. Best if we have James come along. We'll be buying seeds to get farming up and running again. What I also want most are more meds. Knoth's “study aids”, can you still get them?”

“Should be able. Doctor didn't say anything about leaving. He's gotta be w-w-wondering where his favorite patient is.”

“Right, Wait here and I'll gather everything up.” He stood, followed by Marta to fetch supplies and James for the journey.

Spreading the message of the renamed heretics earning Blake looks. like he was the crazy one in this town. Must be if I'm trying to run it. Goats, how fucking stupid. Could've named them something normal. Neighbors would have been easier. Guess the ridiculousness of it is working. Can't be too scared of a man eating group of “goats” on the mountain. Meeting up with James to pass along their plans. Scavenging the pantry for a few “meals” to pack. Rope coiled up in a bag along with bandages packed into Blake's vest. Blake packed as much money as he could into a backpack he found. Gathered back around Jacob he double checked what they packed for approval. Given the go ahead they readied to leave.

“Most of the journeys gonna be rough up and over the mountain. P-p-past that it's easier when we reach flat land.” Jacob pointed in the direction they would head for.

They didn't make it out of town when John came running up. Looking like he had a rough night's sleep. “You're going outside? And you're taking Marta with you? Why, shouldn't she stay here? What about the heretics?! - Ah fuckin'- goats, whatever!”

“We have to reach the outside. Three of us wouldn't last if we're swarmed by them.”

“But the whole town will be swarmed instead. Take me instead.”

“Why?”

“I've traveled all over there to hunt, back around when the goats broke off. I can sneak you by without any trouble and Marta can stay to keep the town safe. Is there really a point to this if you come back to all us strung up?”

Blake didn't have a chance to answer. Marta interrupted with an alert he never wanted to hear. “Val's here.”

“What?!” Looking up at the women tall enough to gaze over the obstructions beside them. “Where?!” After she pointed he ran down the line of blockages to see for himself. Not having the eagle vision Marta had it took him longer to spot Val. Catching the speck of her golden hair at the tree line. Standing to watch the town with her head turning back and forth between its ends. He couldn't see anyone else with her, yet they could have just been hiding back in the thick shrubbery. At the appearance of Marta stepping into the open, Val locked her gaze on her. Stepping back to disappear between the trees.

“See?! She's already looking at how to take this place down!” Shifting his stiff shoulders the more frantic he turned.

Blake heard John shouting, but hardly took in the words. Mind racing on its options. Val would see who left the town. If Marta stayed, Temple Gate would be safe, but he would be an easy target. Despite John's earlier offering to navigate the land by sneaking. Marta may scare them off, but he preferred they all run. Marta's limp coming to the front as a problem causer. Harder to run, defend, and move over rough terrain. If Blake was going to take care of this town he had to make sure everyone stayed safe. “Marta will stay here. We'll sneak by the mountain.”

John looked relieved by his answer. “Thank you, sir.”

Marta stomped on the conversation. “You sure about that? Can he really get you by?”

“Town has to stay safe and you call too much attention. Yeah I'm sure.” Looking to the rest. “Now let's hurry. I rather disappear before Val notices we're leaving.”

One last look given to Temple Gates town sign as they passed. Out of town the sky was filled by gray clouds. Rain falling over them before their journey got anywhere out of Temple Gates view. “Well.” James started. “Gonna be a lot harder to follow our tracks.” Rain filling them with water. Mini streams flowing down hill sweeping away the rest.

“No bears will sniff us out either.” Jacob added.

“There are bears here?” Blake's concern rising.

“N-n-not for a long while. Haven't seen anything bigger than fat raccoon's.”

John grabbed onto a log to help hoist the others up. “If only they were actually fat. Would be a good meal, but it's all fluff.”

“A scrawny meals better than nothin’. Though I'd love to have steak a-a-again. Wouldn't care if I had to chew on it like leather.”

“Best I can do is a squirrel around here. Gotta beat the things to make the stringiness less of a chew.”

James grumbled at the two of them. “Can you both stop talkin' 'bout food. Least not 'till after we've caught some.”

“That's a ways away, old man.” John joked.

Blake after being helped up next glanced back down hill toward the engorged river rushing by. “Hey, we won't have any trouble with the river will we?”

“Shouldn't, we won't be crossing it f-f-from here on. Most we have to worry about is catching a sickness in this weather.”

“Hope it won't rain the entire way.”

“Heh, don't know how good y-y-your luck is. Mine's shit, heh.”

“And you're the one leading?”

“Not at all. That's John's job for the first few miles. If we die you can b-b-blame him. Heh.”

“Fuck off.” John smiled at Jacob. “We won't die long as-” He went quiet at the loud sound of crackling. Head shooting up to watch the tops of distant trees. One by one they sloped down as the loud snapping approached them. Blake, catching movement out of the corner of his eye, turned to see the mountain side sloping away. Whole adult trees that were on their path rode down on moving earth. Those same trees collapsing down on each other to loudly snap themselves to pieces. Grinded down into the earth to make a blended mud sludge. “Run that way!” John pointed toward a more stable land.

Each of them bolted off toward a part not sliding out from under their feet. Clambering over everything that was also on the move. Avoiding trees collapsing in a massive wave of mud. They leapt off a log to a safer part of land, Blake didn't have the same luck. The whole log shoved away by the mudslide he slipped to almost roll off it. He was forced to claw into the log free floating down the mountain. His traveling companions shrank in the distance, unable to keep up. Unable to see them anymore he turned to where the log was going. All the land flying off a cliff edge to slam down into the violent rapids flushed by the heavy rain. He flinched when it was his turn next. When the log hit it spun under the water to toss Blake off into the wild stream. Disoriented, he tried figuring out where the surface was. Spinning uncontrollably in the rapids below the surface. Water pitch black from mud not helped by the many logs rolling around. Bashing into the rocky river bed the air escaped his lungs. Knocked over debris one after another he somehow managed to be knocked to the surface. Clawing into a soaken slick log for dear life. Hacking painfully for air until he was spun back under. Tossed in and out repeatedly he was losing the energy to fight.

Hacking his lungs out on another log while the stream settled. Knocked around more by piling debris rather than rapids at this point. Closing in on a rocky shore line he clawed his way across multiple logs. Reaching land he struggled to get further up on it slipping under him. Its angle extra cruel on his battered body crawling up it to a flat ridge. He laid wheezing in the mud too tired to rise. Shivering soaking wet he shut his eyes meaning to do it briefly. Waking instead what seemed like hours later. Beaten almost to death he was tempted to go back to sleep. Rising enough to wipe his glasses clear he moved to stand. Feeling immense pain from his leg he looked back. A large chunk of a branch speared down the side of his lower leg.

“Fucking, shit. My fucking luck.” Reaching back for it at first then swiftly retracting his hand. “Can't yank it out. Can I keep it in though?” His blood pouring from the wound had him look away. Prepared for the pain he forced himself up. Growling through grit teeth he leaned against a nearby tree to recover. Searching for some-sort of recognizable marker. He couldn't see Temple Gate anymore and the mountains all looked the same. No idea where the others were he was left alone. “Fuck me.” He cursed again. Reaching into his vest for a roll of gauze. “Better than nothing I guess.” Wrapping up his bleeding wound. Trying to at least slow it despite the branch sticking out. Okay. Checking around without a clue on what to do.

“John?” He shouted and waited for an answer. Nothing, he shouted again. Hacking out his stinging lungs he almost vomited. Managing to keep everything down he held off on more shouting. Maybe I can get some place high and find a land marker? Limping forward he forced himself up the steep hillside. A lot farther than what he expected to make on his leg. Resting on a flat area he regretted committing to this. His leg felt both on fire and numb. This is worse than when I was actually on fire. Leaning over to catch up on his energy. Pushing on to make it up a scraggly cliff area he feared slipping off of. One tumble and I might end up back in the river. Or shredded on those rocks. Adjusting his soaken backpack full of cash to stay secure the further up he went.

Resting again at another flat top covered in soaked grass. Patch becoming extremely tempting as a place to fall asleep again. Hearing the underbrush rustling he shot up straight. “John?” Locking up at the sight of a stranger staring wide eyed at Blake's appearance. He was tall and covered by crossing scars. Black Hair cut neatly short parted by more scarring. A big dip marking half his lower jaw like a chunk was ripped away. His vibrant green eyes stood out from the dark circles surrounding them. What was most alarming was his covering of clay and leafage for camouflage. This was definitely a heretic and that meant Val wouldn't be far. The stranger looked away back down his path before finding Blake. Whipping their attention back toward him, locking an intense stare. Body stiffened with both hands tightened to fists. Pure rage filled his eyes moments before he ran out to slam into Blake.

“Fuck! Get off me!” Blake shouted in trying to shove the other off after having the wind knocked out of him. Kicking the other in the gut he fought the stunned other back to their feet. Punches traded between the two until Blake was slammed into a boulder. Swearing he felt something crack his body locked up in pain. Yanked around to be slammed back into the dirt he thrashed to get away. Clawing into the others arms choking him into the dirt. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Was what Blake's mind repeated. Unable to think much else on the lack of air.

“What are you doing?!” He heard a voice shout out of view. It distracted the other enough for Blake to hoist his legs up. Shocked that he managed to throw them both off a cliff edge he didn't realize was so close. Their fall short, down onto the rocks below. Last thing Blake experienced was hearing a thwack at the bottom then darkness.

A pulse in his head drumming along to a thumping migraine was his wake up greeting.

Tuning in on someone roaring a bunch of words. “ -TO STAY ALIVE! NOW LOOK AT HIM!”

Blake squinted an eye open. He was laying on his side at the bottom of the short cliff area. Surrounded by rocks, some coated red in blood. Two blurry forms coming to focus. One had another slammed up against the cliff side.

Verbally ripping into them by their scolding shouts. “ -YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!” He heard them seethe through their teeth. Shoving the other down. “Pick him up, we're taking him to the cave.” When they turned toward Blake his vision cleared enough to see who it was before him.

VAL?! His mind screamed. His eyes shooting open yanked her attention toward him. Caught off guard by him suddenly waking, she didn't have a chance to give orders. He jumped up from his laying position. Someone must've been leaning over him, because when he did he slammed his head into someone's jaw. The clack of their teeth together rattled down through his skull. Knocking whoever it was back into others nearby. Shoving the rest of himself up he ran back down the hillside he worked so hard to climb.

He heard Val shouting orders not far behind him. “Grab him!” Sounds of separating plants catching up behind him.

“Fuck, fuck, shit!” He let out a chain of panicked curses. Coughing again worsened his wheezing. Hating that his leg was burning and now his lungs were too. Can't stop, can't stop! Mind repeating simple thoughts of escape. Half tempted to jump back into the river where Val couldn't follow. He certainly couldn't out run her with how injured he was. Weighing his chances he headed for the river. Prepared to jump in when he heard a familiar terrifying sound. A howling yell from a raging Marta. Blake, out of old reflex, almost fled back. Forcing himself to rush forward in knowing it was now something safe. When they saw her appear up the bank. Blake collapsed down into an exhausted heap past her. Catching sight of Val slamming herself back into the dirt to stop before Marta. Ripping up the loose dirt under her heels in the process. Scrambling back up away from Marta moving in on her. The other heretics scurried away in various directions. When they were out of sight Marta turned to check on Blake.

“Are you well?”

Blake wheezed, unable to answer from his seated position. Everything catching up he hacked until he vomited what liquid was in his stomach. Fighting to not black out as Marta stood guard over him. “How?” He breathed out.

“I was watching you pass the mountain until the mudslide took you away. When those idiots separated to search I didn't trust them to find you. Came upon Val shouting so much he must've caught you.”

He still couldn't speak, merely nodding to show he heard.

“What happened to your leg?”

He looked down, fearful that he messed it up worse in all that sudden running. Taken aback by his leg having been treated. The branch gone, his wound packed over by a dark green poultice then wrapped in clean gauze. Checking his vest he found another bundle of gauze missing. They fixed my leg? Guess they just wanted all of me to make it back. My dead body wouldn't be too fun to keep prisoner. “Mudslide.” Was his best answer for now.

“Blake?” He heard a familiar voice. John approached down along the river. “What happened, are you okay?!”

“Damned goats almost got him.” Marta answered for him.

“Ugh, can we please call them something else.” Mumbling up to the two. “What about his leg?”

“Mudslide.”

“Can you get up at all?”

Blake shook his head. Marta continued to speak for him. “I wouldn't force him up for a few hours. Maybe not 'till tomorrow.”

“Okay, that's for the best just by lookin' at you. I'm gonna go back out and find the boys. If I don't, I'll return to set us up a camp.”

“Watch out for goats.” Marta warned, smirking at the ridiculous label. Blake would've chuckled if he had the spare air to.

“Can we please call them something else.” John whined again.

Blake thought a bit harder for a name. Remembering a certain book he read that fit the heretics' views. Going against religious suppression and wanting freedom. “Voltaire's?” Catching his breath again. “Big author, argued for freedom against church.” He surprisingly wheezed out in one go. Was also a really good band. He thought back to his school days listening to their music.

“Good enough.” John went off to search.

A few hours passed by the time he returned with the others. Able to get up on his feet they walked Blake from the area. Expecting the Voltaire's to make a night visit if they stuck around. A campfire was made with everyone popping open a can of food for dinner.

“Good news is we got far today. We're already on the other side of Voltaire mountain.” John spooned out some more chili.

“Not far enough, still gotta cross the rest of the mountain range. That'll take m-m-most the day for us. We won't make it outside 'till nightfall. We'll have to wait for stores to open next morning if its t-t-too late.”

“If we manage to get a truck the return journey won't be as long at least. You think the doctors still around?”

“Didn't hear anything about him leaving last I was there.”

“Where is he? Down a back alley?”

Jacob shook his head. “He's in a small doctors office. All legally set up, for the most part. When you go in you say you have a prescription and h-h-hand a piece with our symbol scribbled on it.” Flashing a small bit of tanned hide with the cross entwined by circles branded on. “Doctor takes us in back for business.”

Blake continued to ask questions. Wanting to know how everything would go down. How the doctor himself acted. Whether or not he seemed to be a real doctor at all or a scam artist in a white coat. What he was told by Jacob settled his worry's. The doctor has an honest-ish job. A legal place with all the proper paperwork to back it up if inspectors came knocking. He was just greedy for money and saw more business selling pills out back. Done talking for now they rested down against their bags. Marta stayed up to guard until morning.

[maddiem4]

I'm eating potato salad with ghost pepper salt, and breaking into a cute little bottle of sake. The illustrations on the jar are adorable. A geisha in a light mauve kimono enjoying a cup of sake, with her pet cat joining her in various poses. It's very stylized, it's very sweet.

This is a safety measure.

It's delicious, by the way.

You know I always thought, it takes time. The more I look like a woman, and sound like a woman, and more of the time, the easier it would be for everybody. Last night at the Saloon I passed perfectly. Nobody knew that I didn't tell. I've made it. Raise a glass.

But time isn't it. Grandma's had time, quite a decent amount, actually. I swallow it down and pretend it's fine, with the he, the him, the name. If it were actually about looking so girl that nobody called me boy, then I wouldn't be hearing this shit months and months later. Because I've made it and it didn't actually make a difference. It's not about appearance.

And even if it's mostly her, it isn't just her. It's just mostly her.

The one thing I have going for me is my looks, and 48 hours later, I'm already fighting a losing battle against time, my coach turning into a pumpkin, the bristles growing back in. It's just a fight against my body all the time, and it's exhausting. I'm so tired, I briefly consider asking for someone to walk the dog for me. Just in case.

There's always the option.

But I don't want anybody in my real life to know how I'm feeling. Fuck that. I'm fine. I don't need anybody's help. I can go out with the dog just fine, get back perfectly safe, be a responsible mom who lives up to her responsibilities to care for others. Of course I can, it's implicit even. I just need to get out, get back, and get something to drink. Nothing to it. And I do it, easy. I get done and I get back inside.

But there's always the option. And I'm attuned to it tonight.

Because you know what the problem with this road is? It's all these fast cars. They go by at ten-over-limit at all hours of the night, and if you just didn't pay attention and walked right into traffic, it'd be over before you know, you know? You gotta be safe about that kind of thing. You have to always look both ways, and always pay attention, and always wait for the cars to pass.

Or...

Well that's not really worth thinking about, is it? Yeah I'm stuck between a binary of two places where people know my history too well - my childhood identity or my failed marriage - with absolutely no agency which one I live in, adrift in the current. Yeah, I can hang in there for the next however many months without certainty or stability or safety in my life, with no fresh start in sight. Yeah, I can do my time in the waking nightmare, and by force of will project onto reality the fineness of it all. Manifest serenity. Be palatable wherever I'm trapped. And never ever walk into high speed traffic.

Or.

Or.

....

...or.

I mean there's always the option. In fact it's kind of hard to forget or ignore, under the circumstances, that there is always, always the option.

So I sip, and the numbness - the safety - wraps its arms around me. Another day, another dollar, amirite, y'all? It's not forever. I just need to outlast a circumstance again. I've done that. I tune out the thought that came to me at the corner with Connor in my arms - maybe he was right at the time, maybe he should have died a long time ago. Departed in his teens. That's unnecessary. That's an unnecessary thought process.

The sake is already almost gone. And I only feel a little better. It strikes me as so very silly and improbable, the what-if, as in, "what if this is the last thing I ever write?" I mean, that's absolutely insane, and unlikely, and absolutely definitely without a doubt probably not going to be true. Wow, really not a lot left in this glass, huh? That was 200ml? That went by quick.

One sip left. Thankfully I have more booze behind the record player, not so much hidden as "tastefully not on display." I got a little vodka, a little rum, a bit of cheap whiskey. Not a bad lineup honestly. And that's good because now the sake is gone, and I'm definitely going to need to supplement it. No way in hell is this how I go out.

You know I really don't have respect for the idea that "alcohol is never the answer when you're feeling bad - it's to enhance good times, not mollify bad ones." I sympathize with that perspective. I used to have it, in the same way I once approached strangers as a five-year-old and informed them that smoking was bad for their health. But it's very naive and privileged. Good for you, never having to test that theory against the rubber of your life meeting the road. That is so, so nice. What ever would I do without that seasoned, expert life wisdom guarding me from terrible - nay, unthinkable - fates?

I sip some Jim Beam from the bottle and live another day. I'm sure that's just correlation.

You know something? With the Christmas lights up this time of year, you really can see the road from my window 24 hours a day. It's pretty. But it's starting to get distracting, and I know writing helps me, so I close the curtains, and realize what I want to happen next in my novel. Something with fungus, and the dissolution of distinction between human and object, and cemeteries providing a context and destination for a life where heritage is on your side, where a person's fate is woven into one place like skin gradually fusing to a sofa cushion. Yes. That's what I want.

The bottle's half full and the night's still young.

[aether-friskets]

I posted 668 times in 2022

That's 668 more posts than 2021!

203 posts created (30%)

465 posts reblogged (70%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ap0stle

@heather-garland

@carlyraejepsans

@friskibitz

@aether-friskets

I tagged 653 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#fanart - 209 posts

#op's art - 188 posts

#silent hill - 149 posts

#rambles - 134 posts

#undertale - 128 posts

#heather mason - 110 posts

#silent hill 3 - 109 posts

#safeutdr - 105 posts

#silent hill fanart - 99 posts

#frisk - 91 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#and honestly? op's suggestion of him having been a member of the order is way more interesting to me than just 'otherworld manifestation'

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

not the most extravagant piece I've ever made for something like this but. Here's a little drawing I made for Undertale's anniversary!! Like I said I would!

It would've been nice to get a piece with more of the characters but alas

Also I feel like Chara could be better but I always have trouble drawing them quite right >:|

Anyway uhhhh yeah!!

23 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

#4

See the full post

31 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

#3

so I recall this line in outlast 2 when you end up in St. Sybil one of the first times. Blake says somethin like "Great. Back in the Fourth Grade." meaning those the stuff he's reliving must've happened in that grade.

And we know that 4th graders are typically either 9 or 10

(assuming Jess was in the same grade she was only 9 or 10 as well which. damn.)

But we ALSO know what year this takes place in, because there's multiple instances on papers and stuff with the year 1995 (in fact it's December 1995 iirc). I don't have any screenshots on-hand but I could totally go get some at some point lol

MeaninG Blake was 9 or 10 in 1995

We also know that Outlast 2 takes place not all that long after the first game does (due to the Murkoff Account, which, admittedly I haven't read in a while so feel free to correct me there). And we know Outlast happened in 2013.

This mean that our pal Blake is most likely 28 (or 27). Which also makes him the youngest, since Miles and Waylon are both supposedly in their "early to mid 30s" (I couldn't see the cited tweet so for all I know this could be inaccurate but it sounds reasonable enough for me to believe).

Also Waylon has two kids so I'm inclined to believe he's the oldest but like they're all like a few years apart in age anyway lol

Anyway this is probably really obvious stuff but I thought it was interesting for some reason

38 notes - Posted August 6, 2022

#2

random minor thing but I always thought that while Frisk's SAVEs are like normal manual save point saving you'd expect to see, when Flowey steals back control as Omega Flowey, the whole "File x loaded/saved" thing gives the vibes of someone using an emulator. Where you have multiple interchangeable save states that you can save or load to whenever you want, even if the game isn't normally capable of that.

In particular it makes me think back to repeatedly loading a save state in Majora's Mask because of the goddamn town shooting gallery mini game AUGh

Which I guess it kind of makes sense? Omega Flowey is artificially stealing control of the game, sort of like how an emulator gives you an artificial way of accessing a game (in the sense of like I could play a PS1 game on my pc, or a N64 game on my Wii U, for example). So not only does his save system make sense from an in-game stand point, it's kinda cool from a meta standpoint too.

At least, I think it is.

63 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

late night posting of an old-ish drawing

Psychonauts was big on my mind for a short while there and although it's not my current focus, the games are still really great!! And I still like this little drawing I did of Raz.

It was interesting trying to translate his design to my art style, because that game has a very particular look (in a good way).

also hope y'all don't mind my random mish-mash of posting and reblogging various stuff, I cannot be consistent to save my life

Hopefully I'll have some new art to share soon though!! Assuming this funk of mine dies down, anyway.

71 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, Vigilantes 82, Replies Part 2

   (Vigilantes ch 70) 1) “There`s something going on, something I don`t like. He probably already knows where Koichi lives, he has no reason to not go there and kill him in person. While I thought he was another Nomu there was at least the benefit of the doubt of him not being strong enough for a direct confrontation, or at least not truly wanting to kill koichi, but no, McBee has no such excuse, which means that he was really aiming at Pop, and the fact he had no reason to lie to the fantasy boys that he wanted her to like her… This… This is not looking good. He really wanted her to like him, that`s why he infiltrated her workplace.

but why would he want that? What does he gain for liking him?”- He started using her as an ‘in’, but now he’s gotten to know her, he wants to make her a Star… an exploding star that burns out magnificently and fades away quickly.

   (Vigilantes ch 81) 2) “Ah- Now I get the cover page, that`s interesting.

But see, I just don`t feel beelievable Pop saying that out of her will. If it was the parasite saying that he would ruin everything for them out of spite, or that it was really another personality that is not Pop it would be impactful.

But Pop herself? I find it a bit absurd that those could ever be her darkest thoughts.”- But if it’s Nomura putting those thoughts in her head through the parasite somehow, so she can fit into the ‘tragic villain’ of his self-imagined ‘heroic narrative’ then it makes more since. Exploiting Pop’s insecurities to force her into a role she doesn’t actually fit just to tear Knuckle’s protégée down whilst propping himself up as the ‘superior’ version does fit with his focus on ‘directing’ events like they were a big production, as well as soothing his damaged ego after Knuckle shut him down cold in favour of Koichi.    (Vigilantes ch 81) 3) “huh- Wait- now I realized it

the bee is going to blow herself up?

The parasite is just going to fucking kill itself? HUH?

WHAT?

Why? Fucking why? I thought it would do anything to survive, they even said that the bees would just mess her up and flee if a Hero got her, when did that translated to “all the bees are just going to commit auto-kill”?”- Presumably Nomura overwrite whatever survival instincts it had to ensure it’ll follow the script he had in mind for it and Pop together, turning them both into a massive blast that’ll launch his hero career sky-high 4) “Honestly, from what we saw so far, nobody, because a hero that can`t save people isn`t that good in the first place. Even if you actually proved yourself later, if you decided to use this as the focal point of your story everybody would be like “yeah, O`clock two is kinda cool, but he`s not that good as a hero, his first deployment ended up a failure.””-  Koichi never really thought through his vigilante career himself, or considered how unfeasible it was to do it long-term despite the joy it brought him. Likewise, Nomura has put a lot of planning into starting his hero career, but his arrogant over-estimation of his own capabilities means that he thinks he’ll take to the role like a duck to water, so he also hasn’t thought through all the problems with would come with being a hero, and in fact comes off as more immature and unprepared than Koichi because of it, despite being more ‘serious’ about it. 5) “Yeah yeah, you`re fast, but can you keep up with the Crawler? I know you only work in short bursts, I doubt you`ll manage to catch him.”- He has the advantage in a short exchange, But Koichi can outlast him with his trained-up stamina and Quirk handling. In a way, it’s almost like an Inversion of where Midoiria and Shigaraki were after Kamino Ward, Izuku having the advantage of being able to instantly pulverise enemies with a massive attack and having to learn how to dial that back down, Tomura actually being weakened and held back by his repressed memories and lack of motivation until he lost his master and realised his own convictions. And whilst Izuku’s trained himself into being a bona-fide powerful hero without the massive attack as a fullback now, Tomura trained himself way harder, and is definitely the stronger one in a prolonged fight between them now.

6) “I bet Koichi is going to move away from him. I seem to recall something about this quirk being short bursts and sort of a “point and shoot” ability, you can`t change courses when you`re on the move, you need to stop and point again before shooting the other way, but Koichi doesn`t have this problem, he can travel all directions, including the 4th one, as Endeavor found out the hard way.”- Well, you sorta can, but you need a point of traction to move in a different direction from. Leaping mid-air at Koichi like that gives Nomura no options to push himself off of again to launch another attack, which is why Koichi can gain some distance once he dodges.

7) “Also, it seems like it wasn`t only Endeavor, but you also forgot that heroes don`t kill Villains, like, ever, even though sometimes it would be safer to do that. That ain`t gonna look good on your record if you managed to take down the mastermind by killing him.”-The killing of a villain is frowned upon unless in extreme circumstances where not taking such action leads to the death of innocents, and is generally seen as a judgement call left up to the hero themselves to make on the spot. Though dire, the situation is not so extreme as to warrant that kind of lethal violence, and Nomura would be bringing himself under a lot of scrutiny  if he actually siceeded in it- something that would be bad for him with his ties to the Villain Factory. 8) “oh that`s even better! He didn`t even side-stepped, he`s just naturally faster! McBee put his all into getting him, and Koichi just looked back and said “nope” before continuing his way”- Nomura’s faster than a car, but he’s still running to keep up, whereas Koichi isn’t even using his own muscles to go this fast, just the raw force of his own Quirk finely compressed and controlled to suit his needs, which again ties into him being able to outlast Nomura’s pursuit over a lengthy period of time, should he dodge long enough. “Oh ho ho… Hell yeah my boy is gonna show him the real meaning of speed. Time to see the lightning in action”-Nomura brings the lightning, but Koichi’s got the thunder, and he’s ready to rumble! 9) “HOLY SHIT KOICHI YES!

THAT`S WHAT I WANTED TO SEE

SHOW THAT FUCKER WHO`S THE REAL SPEEDSTER OF NARUHATA “- Running on a prior-generation’s Quirk is all good, but it also means that Overclock has limits to it that a newer-model Quirk will have evolved beyond. Nomura indicates his body has been modified to better handle the speed and length the quirk can be active for, but Koichi’s own power far outstrips Knuckle’s in terms of the sheer potential he possesses. 10) “And yeah, it was just like I remembered, his quirk is a “point and shoot” deal, while Koichi is not bound by that, he has a lot more freedom. This is not even going to be a fair fight, Koichi`s gonna obliterate him.”- In terms of a chase sequence, Koichi’s got him utterly trounced. In terms of combat, Nomura has the advantage, especially with Koichi’s reluctance to actually attack others. It all comes down to if Nomura’s able to pull Koichi out of his favoured battlefield and start fighting him on terms he better controls. 11) “Fuck off McBee, you pulled a gun on them, you are the one cheating in this shit”- He brought a gun, whilst Koichi’s packing an entire arsenal. He just isn’t willing to actually use it right now. 12) “Koichi is faster and he`s aware that you are going after him, do you really think that going a bit lower will do something to improve you odds? Even if he`s not seeing you, he already knows what he`s dealing with”- Going lower also reduces his wind-resistance, making him faster and less noticeable on approach when on a sprint. In a high-speed chase sequence like this, he only needs to tag Koichi once and his impaired performance would make finishing him off a breeze. 13) “BAHAHAHAHAHA-

HE FINALLY IS ON HIS WAY

OH MY GOD, THIS WHOLE PLAN IS GOING SO WRONG, McBEE IS SO FUCKED RIGHT NOW”- And since Endeavour had everybody clear out of the blast radius, the only people before him now must be villainous vigilantes, and therefore acceptable targets. By going off on his own, Nomura’s unwittingly appeared on the public stage as a villain instead of the troubled hero archetype he was aiming for. 14) “The last person I expected to see in this particular vertices of the hyperplane that we call this neighborhood, but I ain`t complaining this time, because that`s gonna be hilarious to see.

Murderdevor vs Koichi vs McBee, we finally are getting the three-way free-for-all that I thought we would get, oh now this is where the fun begins for sure”- Koichi and Nomura’s high-speed chase sequence just evolved into a race around a fire-themed Mario cart course, with Endeavour as the level hazard.

15) “Now, before anything else, don`t think that me criticizing McBee is me criticizing the story. I actually think that his plan is fine as a way to show case one particular facet of his character: He`s an absolute moron.”- He’s Koichi’s foil in many ways. Koichi is exactly as dumb as he looks, whereas Nomura tries to be smarter and more intelligent in how he goes about things, but keeps overlooking inconvenient facts that conflict with his envisioned narrative and failing to prepare adequately for them, resulting in him making similarly poor decisions and choices when confronted by an unexpected setback. @thelreads

[rhyske]

the only horror game I've ever played was Alien Isolation and I got so scared I cried hahah. but yeah, I can watch some playthroughs on youtube because it feels like it's a bit more of a distance to it. sometimes even that is too scary for me and I just look up explained or theory videos haha. zombies, however, are something that I have little interest in, partly because of a phobia I struggled with for some years. a phobia of decaying things and zombies are kinda close to that! even playing Halo (which I love) has some zombie-ish elements and I just remember feeling really nauseous while playing those levels. 😅

yeah, Ikemen Sengoku was a mobile game, while monetization was egregious, I liked the concept with the story and the romance.

people should be able to enjoy what they want without shame IMO. My brother often makes fun of me for my hyper fixations so I've learned not to care what others think.

what are your top 5 otome games? ^^ 💜

Oh man I remember when Alien Isolation came out. I can't even imagine playing it. The stress alone would kill me! 😆 A lot of horror games have really interesting lore. Have you heard of Outlast? That was a wild one.

Oh no! D: That sucks you have a phobia like that, but it's also kinda a healthy one? At least you won't be exposing yourself to bad stuff, y'know? I used to have a lot of zombie dreams as a kid, and in almost every one I'd kill myself before the zombies could get to me. If I ever did face zombies in real life, I feel that phobia. I wouldn't want them anywhere near me.

I will never forget the utter terror and confusion the Flood had to little middle school me playing Halo for the first time.

Yeah mobile games are notorious for their absolutely terrible monetization practices, which does suck cause some have really good ideas.

I always get self aware of my hyper fixations. At the very least I try to not drown other people in it, since that has to get annoying for others. I'm glad you decided to not care 💕 Learning how to just let people be mean and not take it personally is such a life changer.

Oh gosh. Okay, uh. Code:Realize and Hakuoki I will always sing praises for. Hakuoki was my first ever otome, and was also the first officially localized Japanese otome to ever be brought to the west, so it has a very near and dear place in my heart. Code:Realize has the best MC I've ever seen in the genre. Her character development, the fact that she isn't some helpless girl and in fact saves herself and others is such a breath of fresh air. Her horologium is actually one of my tattoos! Code:Realize also has a great steampunk medieval London setting going too, and it actually was the first time I was introduced to steampunk!

Let's see... Aloners by @sonnet009games is a game I come back to at least every year. There's such a charm to it, and Trash is such a deep, fascinating character. The personality options are amazing, and Trash actually responds to those personalities. This is one of the few games where no choice except one very obvious one changes what ending you get, so there's no stress on choosing a "correct" option.

A more recent one that gripped my mind for weeks is Gilded Shadows by @steamberrystudio. New routes are still being released as free DLC, but my gods is the world building alone just absolutely fascinating. Like, I was that one meme of the guy in front of a wall trying to connect everything together 😆 Each route would add something to the lore and I'd be that other meme of the guy pointing. Each route too has such a distinct love interest, and the banter. The banter.

I have one more to finish the list. Hmmm... I dunno if I'll ever actually play this game again, but Cafe Enchanté is one I will absolutely never forget. It had such a sharp genre change that still to this day has me shaken. It makes you think it's all happy and light and it'll be like, a cute cafe slice of life with supernaturals involved but everything about that game is fucked up. Each love interest comes from a world that has something so intrinsically wrong with it, and piecing the overall mystery and history together blew my mind. Every new route I started had me anxious to see just how dark and messed up it was going to go, and I was never left disappointed. The final, unlockable route had me sobbing so hard that I had to put my Switch down for a little bit because I couldn't see past my tears.

This ended up being kinda more of a review of my top 5, like a "you should play these and this is why." Oops 😅

(adding on that Animal Lover is also really good and recently got a port for all consoles and is also one I highly enjoy)

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

To be honest this Au is based off of two Fictive alters of my OSDD system they allowed me to turn some of their their pre breakage memories into a fanfic, but because my blog is so so dead I just lost interest...

This is the consequence of people not reblogging and not saying anything and just liking my posts. I think that nobody is interested in my stuff and I move on, it's been a really, really long time since I've had anybody say anything on my posts with anything I myself created,

So really thank you for commenting even though this post is so old, because it shows me somebody is interested in it, in something I made and makes me want to work on it again because I did write the first chapter and the 2nd partially I'll include them here as a special little sneak peek as a thank you

-----------------------------------------------

Zanes' optics blinked open, he processed his surroundings before sitting up and swinging his legs over standing up. He pulled off his pajamas tossing them in a nearby hamper to be washed, opening a chest at the foot of the bed, he tugged on a different shirt and pants, only then noticing how quiet it was in their Tree Home, it was odd his father wasn't awake. Calmly he grabbed a match striking it just as his father had taught him he lit one of the gas lanterns, it gave a soft glow contrasting the dark of the Tree House, flicking his wrist he put the match out.

He carried it, walking over to where his father slept, setting it on the nightstand, before turning to the bed,

"Father?" He gently shook his dad, repeating the action before his hand brushed his fathers, finally noticing how cold his father was, then looking his father over Zane realized his chest did not rise and fall,

His processor flashbacked to a warning his father had given a few years ago. He remembered sitting on this very bed as the man said

"Zane, I am nearly 70. Unlike you, I will not live forever. I don't know when the Creator will come to fetch me, but if you awaken to me not breathing and not responding, that means I have left in my sleep…. I have died.I"

Shock ran through his systems in realization, he collapsed to his knees as grief filled him as he grabbed his father's hand now cold and clammy

"Father," he murmured a few tears leaking from his optics, although he'd been warned nothing prepared him for the immense sadness that filled him as he mourned his creator's passing.

The android did not comprehend how much time had passed before he finally lifted his head and stood up, wiping away the tears before pulling the sheet over his Fathers lifeless form. Going to a closet, he pulled on a jacket before grabbing the shovel,

He knew he couldn't keep his father here in the tree house. This was the next step, and he had to take it on his own. As he stepped outside for the first time alone, it felt odd to him that normally, his father was behind him, watching closely now the man lay cold and his creation his son was taking the first true steps of independence,

Finding the place underneath the Birchwood trees where his other father lay, he gently dispersed the snow and ice. A gift from the other who had passed a couple decades prior, his creator and himself had been beyond heartbroken his processor remembers that his Father carried Papa asking for his assistance in doing the thing he now did for the other, it was the first time Zane remembered being reminded he would long outlast his human family.

Silently he dug the grave, the shovel the only noise as he dug exactly 6 feet before climbing out he dusted himself off went and retrieved his Fathers body. Soon, the other man rested right next to his spouse. Zane remembered referring to the other,

That night he decided to go into town to look for work, he still needed supplies and with his father now gone he had to provide for himself. He pet the falcon smiling sadly

"It is just you and I my friend" a soft coo in return,"Yeah, I will go into town tomorrow to look for work so I can stay close, but also keep our home running"

The falcon bobbed it's head dancing a bit making the Nindroid smile, he carefully blew out the lights heading to bed

The next morning he once again put on the jacket, he looked around their, no his tree home for once with sadness, memories flooded through him as he packed a backpack, his power source aching he just assumed it was the same feeling he had held the first time he had lost one of his parental figures, he reminded himself that he'd be back once he found work nearby as he climbed up the steps stepping outside. The falcon hopped playfully on a branch seemingly eager for the journey ahead. The large door shutting seemed louder to him. He settled the backpack looking towards the freshly dug grave, before walking towards the nearest town, the falcon flying after.

A wavy raven haired young man urgently wheeled down the street, smiling looking forwards to the day ahead, he wore a turtleneck black shirt with tan cargo pants aviator style glasses perched on his nose, wearing fingerless gloves. A backpack was slung over the back over his chair, it rattled as the wheels went over the uneven sidewalk he was careful to dodge the pedestrians already out, he heard footfalls behind him

"Hello, Cyrus! Big Day for your new venture right?" He smiled as he recognized the voice it was his long time friend, Citrine who was one of the Kabuki dancers in the Village her amber eyes sparkled with excitement

"Yeah! Grand Opening of the Repair Shop finally a job that won't make me shudder or fall asleep." He replied with zeal showing his eagerness

Citrine laughed immediately noticing how anxious the other was at getting to his new job

"Well, I'll leave you to it, Mr. CEO."

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head a small smirk on his face

" Oh I highly doubt it'll be that big just a small little shop here in the village repairing whatever technology comes in the future from other inventors you know."

She playfully elbowed him,

" Oh don't sell yourself short I'm sure it will. Your big brain always comes up with wild and kookie ideas. Yeah it may have ostracized you with the current generation,but I have a feeling one of those ideas of yours is going to take off like a bottle rocket. You'll be a household name."

Cyrus scoffed, like that would ever happen to him he was glad though she had such faith in him made him feel good that he was actually succeeding in something,

"Thanks Citrine you always know what to say,"

Her head bobbed in acknowledgement, bright wavy red hair bouncing along with her as she walked away, saying

"Of course it's what friends are for!"

A few moments later and he rolled up to his shop, the paint was freshly dried, he read the words

Borg Industries Arcade Repair

Which gleamed on the front, a few arcade owners in the area had already called him with on the fritz Machines, they'd been excited about his new business now they wouldn't have to drag the cabinets to the City a few days away,

Cyrus unlocked the store, there was one other person today he was excited to hear from as he wheeled over to the counter pulling a laptop out and plugging it into the main network which he'd put in with the renovations, turning up a speaker he called out

"Pixal?" He called out

"Good morning Cyrus, you have 7 bookings today."

He smiled sighing in relief his hard work had gone off without a hitch, finally he chuckled

"You know you don't need to be formal right?"

"I apologize, creator, it is in my nature."

Cyrus shook his head wheeling towards the counter pulling a backpack from the back of his chair,

"Well here's hoping I can get your physical form built eventually."

Silence answered him, he rolled his eyes his first attempt at A.I had been an astounding success, he had been inspired by the Legend of Birchwood and begun programming her at 15, now 4 years later she had a full personality though was very formal with him at times,

Around 9 his first customer came in wheeling a cabinet in front of him. Cyrus recognized the game as one of Milton Dyers' games they were old and hard to repair since the man had disappeared 10 years prior. Cyrus though had for a special price taken on the challenge

"50 for a down payment. If I fix it then it's the full price." He immediately said as the man tried slinking out

The other man sighed knowing he had been caught trying to cheat the disabled Inventor of his money. Unfortunately, Cyrus was used to this behavior. These types of people seemed to believe being physically disabled meant he wasn't bright or capable. They always learned the hard way he was the exact opposite.

The man begrudgingly placed the money in Cyrus's outstretched hand, the arcade owner disappearing before he could write his customer a receipt. However, when writing down the price, his brains wheels turned

"Perhaps an electronic system would be better suited for record-keeping" he muttered writing himself a note before setting his sights on the machine

He grabbed his tools, wheeled over to the back panel, and got to work.

Zane had tried everything, his skills weren't exactly needed per se in the small little village he had come across finally upon asking at an arcade the owner took kindness upon him telling him he had no need for workers but for some money he did need help moving three cabinets to the local repair shop. It wasn't permanent but Zane didn't mind he would continue his search after with a bit more cash in his pocket, however he was confused why the owner of the repair shop did not help him move these cabinets

When he inquired, the man who finally introduced himself as Alfie chuckled,

"You definitely are not from around here, not a bad thing in the slightest just not common"

Zane just nodded as they hauled up the first cabinet tying it down,

"The repair shop owner just opened today. He's named Cyrus and well he was born disabled, gets around in a wheelchair. Unfortunately people try to take advantage of that but I don't doubt Cyrus has already put plenty in their place" Alfie continued as they went and retrieved the 2nd Cabinet, Zane saw the man smile fondly" he's a real good kid with a good head on his shoulders. I only know of him because I know his parents they raised him and his brother Clifford after the passing of Clifford's dad real tragic accident,"

The Androids curiosity now was thoroughly piqued as they lifted it into the back of the moving truck,

"If I may inquire what happened?"

The man shook his head looking saddened

"Trains don't stop on a dime son, not even for fathers who just made one mistake of stepping over the tracks to get home quicker." Zane was stunned into silence. Nobody deserved fate like that, especially a man trying to get home to his family, Alfie sighed, continuing" Clifford was never the same especially after his Mom remarried, nothing wrong with her new spouse but that boy hated his stepfather. Then Cyrus was born, Clifford became more and more withdrawn and blamed everyone but himself. Finally he ran off to the big city about a decade ago now. Cyrus was only 5 or 6 years old. I have heard that Clifford has a new wife, and a very promising acting career. I hope he found what he was looking for."

He shut the truck after they got the third one in and secured it,

"Sorry I didn't mean to ramble to you" He chuckled nervously as they got into the cab

"No sir it's fine, honestly I just lost my father yesterday. It is actually why I came out to look for a job,"

"Oh I am sorry to hear that"

The android gave a gentle smile

"Thank you."

"Of course, we all look out for each other in this village"

Alfie started it and they were off.

Cyrus looked up as a truck pulled up, a smile graced his face as a familiar face strode in accompanied by a man who made him pause,

Their eyes met, the young adult stunned by the piercing icy blues that met his green

"Hello Cyrus, Hello Pixal!" He greeted a gentle smile" I brought those 3 cabinets I needed fixed," Alfies voice snapped him from his stupor he flashed a smile

"Of course, bring them in,"

Zanes eyes widened looking up as a Voice finally replied

"Hello Alfred"

Alfie didn't flinch however as he headed to go back outside

"Oh come now I've told you Alfie is just fine" he turned to chuckle at Zane staring up at the ceiling "Told you Cyrus is highly intelligent,"

Said man coughed sheepish,

"Oh it wasn't nothing. I was 15 and had heard of the Legend of Birchwood my entire life so," he motioned"Meet Pixal my Primary-Interactive-X-ternal-Assistant-Lifefoorm, my Artificial Intelligence,"

A feminine voice replied,

"Nice to meet you Sir,"

This shocked the Nindroid to his core, someone else had come up with AI? And so young. He felt Alfie clap him on the shoulder smiling

"Well let's get those cabinets in so he can do his work,"

Soon the 3 cabinets were inside nd the pair left, Cyrus watched as the mysterious man accepted some cash from Alfie

"Well I best be off to the next village," he heard him say"I must find a permanent job,"

Cyrus carefully rolled up curiosity getting to him

"If I may ask Mr?"

The man gave him a smile,

"Zane, Zane Julian,"

He smiled back, setting his hands in his lap

"Well Mr Julian, what is your skill set? I would think you'd find work here."

That made the other look sheepish as he said,

"I work on technology and record keeping your town has no need for such workers"

Cyrus thought for a moment, getting an employee in wouldn't be so bad especially to help around the technology bit was a bonus, however there could be deal breakers as he responded

"Well, I wasn't thinking of hiring for a while, but I could certainly use the help around here with that while I repair the arcade cabinets, though pay may be a bit low since Im still having to get this place going "

Relief flickered through Zanes eyes,

"I would take it anyways if you are offering"

He held his hand out, Cyrus took it as they shook on it, Alfie shut the truck beds door they turned to him

"Well you not only helped me, but it looks like you found yourself work, I'm glad I could help,"

The other looked to him,

"Thank you"

He shook Alfies hand as the other offered it,

"It was no trouble, again just grateful to help,"

Chapter 2 Begin

The pair quickly found themselves in a Rhythm.

Zane walked into the shop setting his satchel down, pulling the finance book towards him

"Good morning Pixal, did Cyrus have any appointments" he questioned looking through

"Good morning Zane and he has 4 today they are all Milton Dyer Cabinets-"

"So they're going to be troublesome" he finished her sentence picturing her nodding, "Thank you"

"Of Course"

Silence filled the store as Cyrus came from the back wiping his hands of something,

"Man, those Ninjatendo Cabinets always have wires going out on them in the weirdest places"

What Could Have Been A Cyrus and Zane AU

This is an au I am working on what if Cyrus and Zane had met when they were both young after all Zane is much older than the rest of the group what if Dr Julian passed before he could wipe Zanes memory leaving Zane on a completely different path to his canonical self

In this world Zane Julian upon discovering his father's passing buried him and realized he needed to now take care of himself so he went out and search for work and wasn't really finding anything until he helped a man deliver arcade cabinets to the local repair shop running into Cyrus Borg who was 20 years of age and just had opened Borg Industries Arcade Repair in the year 1995 before even a majority of the Ninja were born.

He first started out working for Cyrus and then it just developed into more, a relationship between the two developed, a lot of the details will be explained in this AU but just know that Pixane would be really weird in this World after all Zane Julian-Borg is her creator alongside Cyrus Julian-Borg along with her 15 other siblings.

[soft-boi-eli]

Hello Hello!

I just wanted to say I love your fics!

ALSO!

Could I request a CC!SBI X Gn! Insomniac Reader! Where the reader is an insomniac (Obviously-) but is somehow a pro at MC!

Like they are basically god at the game! They also REALLY enjoy horror games! They don’t get scared easily and LOVE horror movies! They basically love anything horror/creepy-

ANYWAYS!!

The reader lives off of ramen and Monster energy drinks (For fun-)! They have a Twitch (Which has about 18 mil followers and 14 mil subs!) and a YouTube channel (Which has 20 mil followers!)

They mainly play horror games (Obviously-) and MC!

You can do headcanons or scenarios/images with the SBI! Maybe like playing a horror game together or MC? OR! Maybe some things they do together? Or when they meet up? Or-to many ideas Nightmare-

ANYWAYS!

I don’t really care! And don’t worry about taking too long on it!

ALSO!

Maybe we could be friends? Only if you want too!

Remember to eat, drink, and get enough sleep!

<3

Yes. I lovesthese ideas and I'm gonna choose headcannons due to they are a bit easierfor me to write.

And yes I'm perfectly fine with being your friend! I'm actually happy to make friends on this app so yeah!

Pronouns:nonbinary

Tw: cussing. Insomia, mentions of horror movies. Mention of horror games. Fluff.

SBI with a horror streamer friend head cannons.

*Ahem* tommy wanted to paly a game with you so you choose a game that didn't look like horror until the middle. He screamed at the jump scare and it made both of your chats so happy.

When phil decides to play with you there is literally a silence after a jump scare. Everyone thought he had a heart attack and honestly so did you until he spoke up about accidently hitting his mute button when he jumped.

Wilbur. He's a bit better then tommy but more scared then phil would be. Any little noise won't get him but when it starts to get noticeable the noiseless to him. The jump scare, he'd fall out of his seat and stay on the ground for a bit. You ask if he's good and he literally doesn't answer. He's dead. You killed him. Congrats.

Techno. He'd handle them a bit better then everyone else. Not as good as you but heisnt very paranoid. He literally runs at the noises trying to get jumpscared. While you run after him telling him to stop because if he doesn't then you'd lose and die. And technoblade never dies.

If you all play together both tommy and wilbur pussy out. Techno last the longest and phil the second longest. While you remain the ruler of horror games.

Now how you all met was dream invited you to the dream smp to add to the chaos. Needless to say it got extremely chaotic due to you being on almost 24 hours. You first ran into techno. He seemed confused and skeptical.

You both found eachothers love for potatoes. You set up camp quote close to techno but not too close.

Phil popped in when he needed something for a build and noticed a new name. Talked to you in chat and asked to join your VC. You both found each other talking for a bit.

Wilbur was next. Wilbur got curious over the new person and just hoppedinto the same VC as you techno and phil. He was quick to realize that you were a famous youtuber. Mainly for your horror videos and your extreme Parkcore skills.

In minecraft that is.

Tommy noticing that all of you were in the same VC joined in with shouting. He was low key jealous that everyone was obsessed with you. Then he saw why.

You literally cracked jokes at his shouting.

"Is that an angry pomeranian? Nah nah. It's an angry child. Even better an angry blonde!" - you.

He was shocked and immediately started joking and laughing with you. He wasn't fully angry for long.

Now about your diet. When they heard that you had only eaten ramen and drank angry drinks they were concerned. You lived quite close to techno so when you guys met up he was shocked that you looked as healthy as you did.

He hated the fact that you literally didn't eat anything else.

You told him occasionally you have something other then ramen but you were just too lazy to really cook anything and that you didn't feel like burning the house down.

One month phil, tommy, wilbur, and techno decided to organize a month long sleep over so that they could celebrate your birthday. Phil being quote the father figure cooked different, but easy dinners every night just so you didn't eat only ramen that day.

When they actually arrived though you got a text from Phil asking about your address in your dms. Not think much of it you just sent him your location.

You were going to take a small nap. Just to bost your energy before you went and streamed later that night.

As you were sleeping there was a car heading to your house.

Phil, wilbur, tommy, and techno were all just existing in the car. And when they arrived to your house they didn't expect to actually see a clean house.

You woke to a loud knock.

When you opened the door in your half dazed state you expected a package. But to see four people standing on your porch.

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

You were stuck there blinking at them.

Finally snapping out of it you let them in. Confused on why in the ever loving fuck they were here.

Phil explained they were here to celebrate your 21st birthday and they were here for a month.

You stared at them for a while. Confused on what to do since you haven't had people over in almost 2 years.

But you got use to it.

So when you got done streaming and smelled something other then ramen you were thrown off guard. Like what was that. I haven't smelled that in years.

But after the second day you got use to it too.

For your birthday phil literally made a feast.

Like he found your favorite food other then ramen and cooked it. With that he prepared everything you could dream of.

Your sleeping habits. Let's dig into those.

I'm in no place to talk as right now it's 3:05 in the morning. And here I am.

But when they are over they don't let you stay up till no 3-4 in the morning. They all know the importance of sleep.

But there are those nights where no once can sleep and it results in a late night stream. And streaming for hours none the less.

The amount of accidental all nighters everyone has pulled was immense. But that's what happens with jet lag, adhd, and insomnia.

Literally you get tired randomly. Sleep for only 3 hours. Wake up. Drink coffee, energy drinks, highly caffeinated tea. And don't sleep till late at night.

Pillow forts.

It's a must and it happens. Horror movies, pillow forts, and snacks. Like you all are in this massive fort, watching horror movies, one by one you all are falling asleep. You and techno were the last up due to technos active mind and your body not letting you sleep.

You two literally just vide there, changing the movies from horror to some silly animated movies, like how to train your dragon, frozen, Luca, and many others.

You two pull an all nighter and it's actually a bet to see how long anyone else takes to notice.

You bet an hour. Techno says all day.

You won. Philza notices the worse eye bags under both you and technos eyes and immediately starts scolding.

He is papa bird and he won't let anyone of his children neglect their needs.

"Did you even drink water at all? You guys should of been sleeping not binge watching horror movies all night!" -philza

You could only offer a smirk, along with a laugh.

"I think we did I just can't fully remember. Also we were watching animated films. Not horror. Surprised you didn't wake up to let it go." - you.

You turn to techno.

"You owe me 15 bucks pig boy!"-you again.

Handing you the money he rolls his eyes. "Yeha yeah. Rub it in." -techno.

Ah yeah they found a horror game that you were scared of surprisingly. It was actually surprisingly you hadn't played it yet.

Outlast.

You had been holding off that game until you finished your other one but here you were. Bored out of your mind.

So you decided fuck it.

That game teriffed the shit out of you. It was so good though.

When you screamed they all came rushing up due to the fact that you never scream.

They say you out of your chair, on the floor, blinking. They thought you were hurt.

But you sat up and looked at your computer.

"Damn. That was actually really good." When you looked behind you and found the boys all staring you smiled and waved.

"You need something?"-you

"You screamed. We heard a thud. We thought you fuckin died!" -tommy.

"No I'm alive. My soul almost divorced my body but it's still quite here."-you

That day made highlights.

The popular y/n actually got jump scared. The one person who never screamed at horror games screamed.

When they left you were sad yes but they were still your best friends. Ready to talk when ever you want.

Sometimes I think that you guys talk all through out the night. Them forgetting that you were actually in a different time zone.

Sometimes they pop into your streams, be it MC, horror, you just talking to your fans, or even the once in the blue moon, cheerful games.

They just pop in and start talking to you. And you talk back like they were there since the beginning.

Phil is now one of your moderators too. Along with tommy, wilbur, and techno. When they pop in they make sure no one picks on you.

And since you are now close to the SBI. You are now part of it.

You didn't choose the fans did. But they are your new family. No matter what.

Even if they disagree with your eating habit.

Or energy drink addiction.

Or insomnia.

Or you mainly playing horror games.

Or you basically living in your streaming room.

Or even the nearly 24 hour streams.

I could go on but I'm not gonna.

I'm tired. But I can sleep. 2 days and I get to have a tour of my new school.

And it took so long to finally get into it.

We have been going through a huge hassle even before school started to get me enrolled.

And then we had to get me into this program.

But now on Monday I get to go in. Get a tour. Then start either Tuesday or Wednesday.

Anyway hope you liked. It's now 3:50 and it's no proof read I'm sorry