#I’m sorry but GMs are not computers

[gorillastraylight]

There’s some XP To Level 3 video, I think one of the “gigachad DM” series? I usually like XPTL3 overall, but this one part rubbed me the wrong way. It was a group doing character pitches for a Curse of Strahd campaign, and the last player says he wants to be an Adult Red Dragon. There’s discussion (“do you want to be a cursed/transformed dragon?; No”), but when the rest of the players say that they’re okay with having this party member that will severely alter how they interact with NPCs and greatly overshadow them in combat, the DM goes “okay, fine, if you’re all okay I can make it work”.

And like. I don’t know, I think the “chadlier” response in this case would be to veto. Maybe the bit is that this DM is so crazy good that they can just alter the proposed game to accommodate it without any trouble, but it still bugs me. Regardless of if the other players are fine with it, I think “gigachad” practice in this case would be to stand up for your own enjoyment. You are a player as well, and if you have pitched Curse of Strahd, I’d imagine you’re looking forward to horror vibes and dark perils and whatnot, which are pretty incongruous with a full ass dragon in the party - to say nothing of having to significantly rewrite the module and especially the combat encounters. Bending over backwards and sacrificing your own enjoyment to accommodate one inconsiderate player isn’t gigachad shit actually, IMO.

I’m definitely reading into it too deeply but still.

With regards to this post, I think the people saying "a good DM could make it work" do have answer to the question of "but why would they?" But their answer is, basically, because it's a lot of work.

There are a lot of what I would call "hustle culture DMs," people for whom the amount of work and effort they put into their campaign is intrinsically good, proof of them being good DMs. Doing less work, even if it accomplished an equally good (or better!) end result, would be bad. The point is the grind, that's what proves how good they are.

And like hustle culture bros, they're mostly full of shit, they're not actually doing what they advocate for, and those who are doing it are burning themselves out for absolutely nobody's benefit. You should treat people telling you that "a good DM could make it work" the same way you treat people telling you to sleep four hours a day so you can focus on your side hustles.

[sydsaint]

Happy to say I have an addiction to this man. <3

Summary: GM Reader gets a concerning phonecall about her boyfriend being arrested after assaulting AJ Styles at his home.

It’s well past midnight on the road up through rual Geargia. You’ve been on the road for about four hours now, grinding your teeth and mumbling to yourself in frustration. Roughly five hours ago you were in the middle of a meeting With your fellow GM, Adam Pearce, and a few others regarding Wrestlemania coming up when you received the most peculiar call.

Shaun Ricker aka LA Knight, both one of your employee’s and your longterm boyfriend, has been arrested for assault and trespassing up in Georgia.

“That motherfucker is in so much trouble.” You mumble to yourself as you pull into the precinct that you got the call from.

You head inside like a woman on a mission and make your way to the officer at the front desk. “Hello, ma’am. What can I do for you?” The officer asks you when you come up to her.

“Hi, yeah. I’m here to bail out my idiotic boyfriend.” You explain. “Shaun Ricker? I got a call a few hours ago that he was being held here?”

The officer nods and types a few things out at her computer for a moment. You sit and wait for a minute before the officer finds the information that she needs. “Ah! Here we go! We got your man on trespassing and assault, ma’am.” She explains. “Right this way, I’ll take you to him.” She gets up from her desk and gestures for you to follow her.

You nod and follow the officer through the precinct and back to the holding cells. You spot Knight leaned back in his cell, head against the wall with his eyes closed.

“Mr. Ricker!” The officer goes up to the cell and fishes her keys out of her pocket. “Your girlfriend is here to bail you out.” She announces.

With a hand on your hip you watch Knight open his eyes and turn toward the cell door. “YN, darlin’!” He grins at you and rises to his feet. “I knew you’d come get me eventually.” He winks at you, arms out in front of him still locked in the officers cuffs.

“Stop talking.” You snap at your boyfriend as he steps out of his cell.

The officer shuts the cell door and fishes her other set of keys out of her pocket. She uncuffs the braclets off of Knight and puts them away. “You’re free to go, sir.” She steps out of the way.

“Thank you, officer.” You nod at the officer before grabbing Knight by the arm and dragging him out of the building.

You drag Knight out to your car in silence. You both climb inside the car and sit for a moment before you start it up again.

“Are you mad at me?” Knight speaks up after a lengthy silence.

“Oh, mad doesn’t even begin to describe it.” You grit your teeth.

Knight nods, knowing that he’s fucked up and you’re pissed at him. “Okay. Let me have it.” His lips crease into a line as he waits for you to start berating him.

“What the fuck is the matter with you, Shaun!” You raise your voice, trying to focus on driving. “It’s less than a week before Mania! And you go and do something stupid like this?!” You fume. “I was in the middle of a damn meeting! Do you have any idea how bad it looks when I have to step out of one of the most important meetings of the year to take a call and find out one of my employee’s has bee arrested for assaulting one of my other ones!?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Knight rubs the back of his neck. “Thank you for driving up here to come and get me.” He adds.

Your angry expression softens a bit of Knight’s apology. “Come on. I wasn’t going to let you rot away in there. It’d make me look bad. Both as your girlfriend and your boss.” You sigh.

“Why don’t you let me drive?” Knight offers in a soft tone, regonizing the bags under your eyes.

“Don’t try and butter me up!” You scoff. “I’m still angry at you.” You insist.

Knight bows his head and sets a hand on your arm. “Darlin’, I’m not trying to do anything.” He insists. “You drove all the way up here after you’ve been at work all day. You’re tired. Just let me drive, please.” He asks you again.

A sigh escapes your lips and you find a place to pull over to switch spots with Knight. He take over driving and you take some time to answer emails from your co-workers about everything going on.

“Great! That’s just great.” You grumble to yourself when you receive an email that you were dreading.

“What’s the matter?” Knight glances at you briefly.

You huff and shake your head before typing out a few words. “They want me to suspend you.” You glance over at your boyfriend.

“Well, I do sort of deserve it.” Knight shrugs. “I’ll take any punishment you dish out to me. And I won’t complain.” He assures you.

You shake your head, still typing your reply out on your phone. “After all the trouble your ass has caused me?” You roll your eyes. “Hell no! Your ass is going to work Mania night 2 against AJ and you are going to finish whatever this beef is.” You insist.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.” Knight nods. “Does your two boytoys know about my little run-in with the law?” He asks you, just trying to make conversation and lighten the mood at this point.

“Pfft. Who do you think paid your bail?” You laugh. “Cause it certainly wasn’t going to be me. Not in full anyway.” You joke.

Knight laughs with you and your anger about the whole situation begins to fade away. A few hours later the two of you finally make it back to your apartment so you can get some rest. Knight takes a shower and you finish up a few more emails before you can’t fight your exhaustion anymore.

Knight returns from his shower and joins you in bed. “Did I mention that I was sorry for making you drive so far to get me? And for getting you into trouble with your bosses?” He scoots over to you.

“You did, yes.” You nod and set your phone down on the nightstand. “It was kind of half-assed though.” You add.

“Well then let me make it up to you.” Knight replies and leans down to place a kiss on your neck. “I’m sure that I can find a way to make the trip worth your while.” He grins against your skin.

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Downfall (pt 1/2)

Hi guys, I’m back after a month hiatus. I meant to make this one part, but tbh I need to break this thing up a little - it’s going to be like 2 very distinct parts, if that makes sense. 

Anyway! This is per the usual a male-centric sickfic that features Elijah and Greyson, and it’s a big ol’ contagion dumpster fire. Seriously, if you’re not into contagion this won’t be your thing lol. Elijah is real bad at keeping his germs to himself. It’s based loosely on one of the prompts in my inbox, but nothing from the prompt features in this part (lol, sorry) so I’ll post the prompt at the end of the next part. Thank you to whoever is sending prompts!! I love and am inspired by all of them. 

Next part will hopefully be up tomorrow or Sunday! 

Onward :)

cw: male, colds, fevers, coughing, contagion, some mess

Downfall

“No fuckin’ way you’re sick again.”

Elijah rolled his eyes from behind a tissue and flipped Greyson off. “I don’t wandt to talk about it,” he said, collapsing into his rolling chair next to the chef and blowing his nose. “hhGTSHH-uhh! Snfr. And also,” Elijah tossed the tissue in the trashcan and looked pointedly at Greyson. “You stay the fugck away from mbe.”

Greyson recoiled and barked out a shocked chuckle. “Stay the fuck away from you? What, did you have a dream I tried to stab you or something?” He shuffled through their shared cabinet of medicines and plopped the dayquil and ibuprofen in front of his boss. “Or do you think I gave you this, your fourth cold in less than three months? Because I,” Greyson placed a hand on his own chest languidly, “have an amazing immune system.”

“Oh Jesus fuckigg Christ,” Elijah groaned, snapping open the bottle of dayquil and chugging.

“Well, congrats, Grey. You just fucked yourse – hhINGSTZUE! Snf. Yourself.” Elijah pulled more tissues from the box on their shared desk and blew his nose again while Greyson laughed.

“You’re so goddamn dramatic,” Greyson said, sitting back in his chair and watching his boss try to collect himself. “I would’ve loved to have met you in middle school.”

“Fuck off,” Elijah said, pressing his fingers deep into his aching eye sockets. Greyson, taking pity on him, pushed the ibuprofen towards the GM. “Thangks,” Elijah said, taking a few with a sip of an old water cup sitting next to the computer. He turned back to Greyson, his look no longer one of bemusement. “I’mb serious, though. Dond’t combe any closer than where you’re at right now.”

“I wish you were less cryptic sometimes. It’s like working with a troll that guards a bridge and won’t speak to you clearly unless you solve his riddles three.”

Elijah sighed and unzipped his jacket. “Grey, we have that wedding this weekend.”

“And?” Greyson asked holding his hands palms-up, expectant.

“And,” Elijah said, turning to cough into his sleeve, away from Greyson. “Mbatt cannot handle a fifty-persond, special mendu wedding on his own, Grey. He’s great, but he isn’t ready for that.” Elijah gave Greyson a look as if to say ‘are you getting it now?’, but Greyson was still bald-faced. Elijah sighed again.

“If you get sigck, we’re fucked,” he stated simply. “So you have to stay away fromb – hhNGSTH-ue! GTSH! Hhuuh...huhIGSTZHUE!” Elijah crumpled towards the wall to sneeze into his sleeve. He felt Greyson push the tissue box over to his side of the desk, and held out the hand not currently tending to his nose to stop the chef.

“Alright, alright, relax,” Greyson said, sitting back in his chair while Elijah pulled some tissues out and cleaned himself up. When he sat back up, he gave Greyson a watery glare.

“I’ll relax whend this week is over,” Elijah growled. “For ndow, just stay away. Okay? You cand help mbe out by leaving mbe alone and ndot getting sick. It’s our first wedding ever, Greyson, and I really wandt us to be able to do mbore. So it has to be perfect.”

“I’m sure the people getting married would describe ‘perfect wedding’ as ‘general manager of restaurant we’re getting married at sneezes through the ceremony’,” Greyson teased, standing and putting on his chef’s coat over his t-shirt. Elijah flipped the chef off, noncommittal.

“It’s only Mbonday,” Elijah said. “I’ll be good by Saturday.” He gave Greyson another very pointed look before the chef walked into the kitchen to begin the day’s prep. “You better be, too.”

“Oh, please, boss,” Greyson said, strolling out of the office and towards the prep table. “Like I said; my immune system is incredible.”

***

9:13AM

mornin, boss. just checking to make sure ur among the living.

10:42AM

hellooooo, lij, u good?

11:24AM

where r u??????

Greyson looked down at his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes; Elijah had read his texts, but hadn’t answered any of them. He tapped his foot impatiently and stared at the computer screen until he heard the ding of a new text.

11:36AM

Not coming in today. Sleeping off this plague so I’m 100% for the weekend. Did you need something from me?

The chef raised an eyebrow at his phone before typing out a response.

11:37AM

oh! k, nope im all good. feel better, if u need i can drop some soup or smthn off to u??

11:38AM

I’m alright. Thx. Text me if the numbers jump up, I’ll come in for service for anything over 100 covers.

Greyson clicked his phone off without responding; he wouldn’t text Elijah even if the covers jumped to eight million. If that man was taking a sick day, he obviously needed it.

Although he was surprised, Greyson couldn’t say he didn’t think his boss needed this sick day; Elijah had basically huddled in the office all day yesterday, only to be roused for the rush around 7PM. After an hour or so of table touching, he’d retreated back to his chair to cough and sneeze in peace.

“Christ, boss, where the hell did you pick this shit up?” Greyson had asked around 8 when he’d come into the office to do some paperwork post-rush. He’d leaned towards the GM to place a hand on his pale face, only to be rudely waved off.

“Dond’t touch mbe,” Elijah had croaked. “I’mb ndot risking you getting sick.”

Greyson had rolled his eyes. “Lij, please,” he said, “I haven’t caught any of your other thirty colds you’ve had this year, why would this be THE ONE?”

Elijah just shook his head, clearly too exhausted to answer. “Just trust mbe,” he said. “We ndeed you to be here for this wedding. I cand barely stand, Grey,” Elijah said; a rare moment of vulnerability. “Just give mbe the peace of mbind of you staying healthy.”

The chef sighed through his nose and took a step back. “Alright, boss,” he said, putting his hands up in defeat. “I won’t touch you. Just…I mean, just like, stay there. I’ll drive you home as soon as the guys are done cleaning.”

And that was exactly what he did. At ten, Greyson was waving to Elijah as the ill man trudged up the steps to his building, wondering how the hell he was going to make it all the way to the twentieth floor. By midnight, Elijah had stopped responding to his texts making sure he was alive, and now here he was, wondering who the hell this creature that slept in and took sick days was, and what it had done with his boss.

Greyson shoved his phone into his pocket and headed back into the kitchen. To his shock, Mark was standing at the prep table, obviously looking for him.

“The hell are you doing in my kitchen?” Greyson joked, clapping a hand on Mark’s back. The other man didn’t move, so Greyson walked around to face him. “Helloooo, earth to Mar -”

“HNGSTZHUE!” Mark, obviously unprepared for Greyson’s appearance, didn’t have time to raise his elbow all the way to his face. Greyson winced and attempted to step back, but the deed was done; he lifted a hand to his face and wiped the floor manager’s sneeze from his eyebrow.

“Oh shidt, Greysond, Chef, I’mb so sor – hh’TSHHzue! HhNGSTTZUE!” Mark managed to cover those with his sleeve, along with a crackling cough that went on entirely too long for anyone’s comfort.

“Yikes,” Greyson said, leading the floor manager into his office and easing him into Elijah’s chair. “Elijah got you good, man,” he joked, handing Mark the nearly-depleted box of tissues Elijah had left on the desk yesterday. Mark took one and held it in his hand, looking at Greyson miserably.

“I’mb so sorry Greyson, I didn’t mbean to sndeeze on you, Christ Elijah’s going to kill mbe,” Mark said, swiping the tissue under his nose and sniffling. Greyson chuckled at the younger man.

“I hope you mean you’re going to kill him for getting you sick,” he said, opening the medicine drawer for Mark’s perusal. Mark shook his head, not even bothering to look at the medicine.

“Ndo,” he said. “He’s beend like completely nuts about you ndot getting this… whatever, before the wedding. That’s why he isn’t here, he texted mbe this morning and asked if I could handle the floor on my own. He said he’s afraid he’s going to cough on you or something and the whole wedding will be ruined.” Mark looked up then, devastated. “But ndow it’s for ndothing, because I’m the one who’s going to get you sick.”  

Greyson slowly raised an eyebrow at Mark, then placed a kind hand on his knee. “Mark,” he said, “I say this with all the love in my heart: Elijah is a weirdo. He gets an idea in his head that something bad is going to happen and then it becomes inevitable in his mind. Trust me when I say that I have a great immune system, and I’m going to be fine. Okay?”

Mark nodded miserably and Greyson patted his knee again. “Good man,” he said. “Now, the real question is did you tell Elijah that you’re also sick as a dog?” Mark gave the chef an apologetic look, which Greyson knew meant no. Greyson pulled a hand down his face and sighed.

“Okay,” he said, digging through the medicine drawer. “Well. Take some of whatever strikes your fancy in here. I’m going to go have the hostess close the books for the night.”

Mark nodded, obviously exhausted. Greyson stopped himself halfway out the door to turn to the floor manager again. “And, uh...let’s not mention this to Elijah.”

Mark attempted a laugh. “Sure thing, Chef,” he said, swigging some dayquil. “We’re definitely ond the sambe page there.”

***

By ten PM, Greyson was more ready for a drink than anyone in the history of the world.

“Mark, go home!” he yelled through the kitchen doors when he heard the manager succumb to yet another coughing fit. “I’ll finish the damn paperwork, just gooooo.”

Mark slunk through the kitchen doors, shivering and sniffling, and barely acknowledged Greyson when he grabbed his coat and headed for the back doors.

“And don’t you fuckin’ dare come in tomorrow!” Greyson called as Mark gave a weak little wave goodbye behind his head. “I’ll tell Elijah you’re one foot in the grave.” Mark gave a thumbs up without looking back and pushed through the back doors, so only Greyson and his sous chef remained.

“Christ, he sounds like shit,” Greyson murmured, pulling a hand down his face. He turned to Matt, who was seated in Elijah’s chair looking through the schedule on the computer. “How’re you holding up?”

“Mmm, fine, Chef,” Matt said, scrolling through the document. Greyson could’ve been hearing things, but he swore Matt gave a liquid little sniffle afterward. He whipped his head towards his sous, eyes crazed.

“No,” he said, vehement. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

“It’s ndothing, Chef,” Matt said, still not looking away from the computer. Greyson audibly groaned and put both hands over his eyes, a weak attempt to escape the hell that was the pestilence Elijah had bestowed upon them all.

“Fuck, Matt,” Greyson muttered, sitting back up. “Okay, you go home. Now. I’ll finish your shit, too.”

“I’mb okay, Chef, really,” Matt said, pawing at his nose in an attempt to clear it. “I promi – ITSZH-ue!”

“Matt, oh my God, go,” Greyson said, exasperated. Matt flinched and nodded, logging off the computer and grabbing his jacket.

“I’ll be good by tomorrow, boss, I prombise,” Matt said, stifling a painful-sounding cough into his fist. Greyson gave him a look with eyes so wide that one started to twitch. Matt held up his hands and backed off. “Sorry,” he said.

“Matt, full offense, if you don’t get the hell out of this restaurant in the next three seconds, I’m going to drop kick you,” Greyson said, pointing towards the back door. “Go.”

Finally, Matt did as he was told and slipped out the back door, leaving Greyson to put his heavy head in his hands. Only one thing left to do.

Greyson picked up his cell phone from the desk and dialed his most-dialed contact.

“Hey, boss,” he said when Elijah picked up. “We, uh… we have a bit of an issue.”

[deathrattleofablasphemousorator]

INTRO POST —

Toki! Welcome to my trans and evil maze.

You can call me Dei [jan Teje in toki pona]

It/they pronouns, please alternate. Don’t use gendered terms on me [dude, bro, girl, etc. even if your intent is to use them in a gender neutral way.] I’m transneutral but don’t really use that as a label, queer as a gender but not necessarily genderqueer, and a polyamorous aromantic allosexual. Oh also I'm objectum. And weird about it on main. My bad. My pronouns page is here.

I’m the co-host of a system, this is my personal blog. You might recognize our main blog over at @dropitdoeeyes (that’s also what i’ll be following from.) I’m the symptom holder for a lot of shit I may or may not get into

Send me asks! I love talking to people. I’ll probably draw you a little something too, as a treat

I don’t have a DNI since I find them really useless, I’ll block you if you’re a troll, if you reblog untagged unreality, or if you reblog shit like "ooh reblog this or you're a horrible evil person" . Terfs explode.

Queer discourse is a complete and total mind killer, if you bring queer discourse on my blog I’m blocking you. Get a hobby & talk to queer people in real life. Stop trying to be palatable.

Some interests of mine —

Linguistics are my current special interest, and I’m learning toki pona [I don’t know it very well and can barely hold a conversation, but it’s been going smoothly!]

Also really into math, theatre tech, video essays on obscure topics, and TTRPGS [It’s been way too long since I’ve been a gm and I need to fix that.] Some viddy games I’m really into are Hades, Disco Elysium, Hollow Knight, Portal, and Subnautica. Big fan of weird gross horror games too [e.g. How Fish is Made] please do let me know if you have any recommendations. I'm terribly hyperfixated on Ultrakill at the moment.

I’m kind of a furry? I’m not active in the community and I don’t really consider myself one even though I am by definition. I enjoy anthro animals very much and may post some of my art if I’m in the mood.

I listen to a lot of music, but if you were to ask I’d say I mostly listen to goth, deathrock, glitchy music, breakcore, and folk. Big fan of Christ vs. Warhol, Femtanyl, Rosegarden Funeral Party, The Reverent Marigold, Nox Novacula, Vision Video, Tears for the Dying, Patricia Taxxon, Machine Girl, Heaven Pierce Her, Death Grips, and Black Dresses.

Tag guide —

[Under the cut since this is getting long]

Most recent edit : 7/12/24

#dei dreams — text posts by yours truly

#dei rambles — long or otherwise rambly posts that don’t mean much of anything

#dei doodles — art by yours truly! probably won’t post much of it but it’s worth having

#dei jams — music ramblings

#reblog — posts not by yours truly. will not tag this one reliably my condolences

#undescribed — posts containing images/videos without a description

#video games — posts about video games, either me rambling about my own playthroughs or reblogging something else related

#language — linguistics posts

#queerness — posts about queerness

#people — people being human

#angels — angels

#tech — pretty computers :3

#beastiary — creatures of all sorts

#stunning art — art by others!

#objectum — me talking about fucking computers. sorry.

I’ll be adding more tags as I go along, but for now, this is about it. I probably won’t reliably tag many triggers, I’ll try my best, but do be wary about that. Flashing lights and eyestrain will always be tagged

[jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka]

Well, here’s my 15 Questions for 15 Mutuals

Thanks bestie for tagging me! @puzzle-gvf

were you named after anyone?

Nope! But technically I was named after a state?

when was the last time you cried?

In May at my friends wedding! I was a mess!

do you have kids?

Yes, I have a toddler she’s 2 1/2 and precious

do you use a lot of sarcasm?

Well, sure I do. Because I train people at work all the time and sometimes you just have to use sarcasm to get through those times

what’s the first thing you notice about people?

TBH, if their shoes match their outfit 😅

what’s your eye color?

Hazel but mostly brown

scary movies or happy endings?

Scary movies alll day long. Happy ending? No thank you give me a gut turning psychological thriller to put me to sleep

any special talents?

Does constantly making the computers at work crash because I’m typing too fast count?

where were you born?

Central Texas

what are your hobbies?

Traveling

have any pets?

Two old cats and two crazy dogs

what sports do you play/have you played?

I played tennis for about 4 years then quit to do other things but I’d really like to start playing again

how tall are you?

5’9”

favorite subject in school?

Favorite subject varied depending on how good the teacher was but by far favorite class was creative writing

dream job?

My dream job is to get a promotion to GM at my lil airport, my second home, but other than that a hot PTA mom. I’ve got a while to work on that second one though

Sorry if you’ve already been tagged but I’m sending this to: @songbirds-sweet @anthemofgvf @sunfl0wer-power @obetrolncocktails @fallonfatality @a-beauty-lives-in-every-soul @safety-sam @takenbythestarcatchers @jakeyt @jmkho @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine @jakeykiszkas @belovedsamuel @andtherestishistory13 @sunandthemoontwinflames

And if we’re not mutuals I love your blogs!

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Revenge of CHAOTICA! - Episode 9

"I recall Nivasi likes using crocodile-men as hencthings.” "I heard he has a whole menagerie of evil creatures at his beck and call. Krakens, stone golems, doppelgangers, the works. A real monster society of evil.” GM OOC: He does no such thing. This is an original character (do not steal). Thunderchild: “So yes, too quiet. Something is bound to leap out and try to kill us. Watch your step. Did I miss anything?” Fiver: "You forgot 'I have a bad feeling about this’.” "Awkward pause so he can start monologuing at us over the public address?” "That is a lot of WorkForged.” Fiver: ”Sooo.....awkward question time but fuck it someone has to ask this. Is this like the Warforged equivalent of an orgy?” Amber: "No, no it is not.” Fiver: "Okay good, I was worried I'd have to ask Robbins to stay in the car. He's not ready for such debauchery.” Robbins: “We-had-a-car?" “Ah! You’ve arrived! Just in time to feel the wrath of my GEY, system! What does it stand for, cretins? That is it Great at Extermination? YES!!!” "Also, you named your super computer Gay?” "It's stupifying how often people think that, just because they created intelligence, that intelligence will want to do what they say.” “Grraaagh! Why do artificial intelligences disobey me as much as the non-artificial ones! You are Bad! Bad GEY!” "Well I'm suitably intimidated. How a bout everyone else.” “Look why don't we all sit down and talk through these family issues you two clearly are having.” "KILL IT WITH FIRE.” "I don't get that option until next level! Laser's'll have to do.” "That doesn't work much against metal.” "THAT'S QUITTER TALK.” Four-Paw Stomping Foot Technique! GM OOC: What are you targeting? OOC: Donkey-Borg. “Geek-the-mage.” "Wait, if monkey hate technology, and robot hate the monkey, shouldn't this thing hate itself?” Fiver: "See? What did I say? Kill it with fire. Glad someone here knows how to take direction. Thunderchild? You're getting employee of the month for this. I'm sorry Robbins, but leaving little carrot cakes on my bed isn't enough anymore. You need to step up your game man.” Thunderchild: “Oh great, so where's my paycheck then?” Fiver: "...You had it and you lost it. Robbins you're back on top.” "HEY GEY! YOUR MOTHER RUNS WINDOWS 8.” "The rabbit devil has dug out a special warren just for you Gey, so don't keep him waiting.” [insert gif of Loona answering phone] "No I don't know why Rabbit Satan is so hot. Stop asking.” GM OOC: Three hits. So… how do you want to do this? OOC: Bite off his head? "So who wants to piss on the body?”

"Good plan: makes running harder.” “If I make a full confession can you not do that?” "Robbins, no exploiting what are practically newborns!” OOC: Can't we just upload "communistManifesto.exe" onto the main server? Fiver: “So, it's fine we're leaving an army of burgeoning artificial intelligences with their own self replicating factory alone in space, right?” Thunderchild: “It's probably fine…”

“I will gladly tell you everything as long as my legs are unbroken and I get right of first refusal on the tell all book.” Thunderchild whispers: “Can I shoot him in a kneecap? Please?” Fiver: "Only if he runs." "Hey, the best way to learn how to do it right is to do it wrong first.” "Full disclosure I may have left a copy of the Brible back there.” "FIVER! Now they are going to make their own robot Devil and God.” OOC: So blowing up everything might be counter productive, until after we find evidence. GM OOC: Or killing everyone. Jonni: “Right. Arms and legs are fine, long as they don’t bleed to death. Jedi philosophy.” GM OOC: I hope you like aluminum diapers. OOC: And Robbins is comfortable enough with a larger steamer trunk as his quarters. OOC2: Moonpaw, as a cat, will sleep in a shoebox. OOC3: All Fiver wants is a tiny alcove he can make a shrine to El Ariaiah in. OOC2: With a secret smuggling compartment behind? OOC3: Naturally.

[s4turns-r1ngs]

DSMP - "Get in loser, we're going shopping."

Summary: Was it a good idea to be up at three in the morning on a school night? No, but here you are doing it anyways, dragging your friends along with you. (As you should.)

Pronouns: they/them

Warnings: Swearing

-> [a/n] - what the fuck is up gamers i'm back at it again with the typing and shit. lowercase is intended, as i am on my computer and i'm too lazy to capitalize shit. also sorry if stuff is spelled wrong lmao i'm tired school is stressful. smh. n e ways back to ignoring my french (why did i take french) homework. also, reader lives in america, bc i dunno anything about how anything is set up in the uk :pensive: also what??? two posts??? in less than 24 hours??? saturn on their content arc?????

-> p!cc!benchtrio + reader (more ranboo + reader than any of the others, but they're still there)

>—————————×××—————————<

you sigh, glancing at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 2:54 am. jeez you really should not be awake right now, especially since it's a school night. you were going to be so tired in school tomorrow.

you glace at the clock again. 2:55 am.

groaning, you sit up. there was absolutely no way you were going to fall asleep now and still be able to make it through your classes without falling asleep, but oh, how one could dream.

you know what? fuck it. if you can't fall asleep at a decent time, you're about to make it everyone else's problem.

you stand up, quickly changing into something slightly more presentable, but still comfortable. grabbing your phone, you open up discord.

---

chaos CHAOS

[user/n]: gm losers :]

ranboo: why are you awake

[user/n]: why are YOU awake then huh??

ranboo: i mean fair but

ranboo: still

tommy: what the fuck

[user/n]: tommy

tommy: [y/n]

tubbo: tubbo

ranboo: ranboo

tubbo: anwyays [y/n] why are you awake?

[user/n]: lmao man idk i coulddn't sleep lol,

ranboo: then get sleep??

[user/n]: no <3

tommy: idk big man you should probably get some sleep

tommy: didn't you say you had class tomorrow?

[user/n]: oh yea i do

[user/n]: but i've come to the conclusion that i Will Not be sleeping any time soon

tubbo: same tbh bossman

ranboo: at least get sleep soon??

[user/n]: mmm no

[user/n]: n e ways boo open your door

ranboo: wh

ranboo: why

[user/n]: :)

ranboo: LEAVE

tommy: what

tubbo: lmao L

ranboo: GO AWAY

[user/n]: :)

---

you knock on his front door again. "open up, bitchboo!"

"will you quiet down! the neighbors are sleeping!"

"fuck the neighbors! we're going to walmart!" you say, taking a step back.

"why?? it's three in the morning???" he says, opening the door.

"idk man. vlog content i guess." you respond, shrugging your shoulders.

"you're going to record a vlog in a walmart at three am?" ranboo questions, leaning against the doorway. it truly is a wonder that the neighbors are still asleep, especially with how loud you're talking.

"with you of course. why else would i be here?"

"because i am one of your closest and loving (/p) friends?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"ew. no. that's cringe. (/j)" you turn back towards your car. "anyways, loser, get in. it's time to go shopping."

ranboo paused for a moment, looking between you and your car. with a sigh, he responds: "i don't really have a choice here, do i?"

"nope <3"

"okay. hold on i'll be right back." he walks back inside.

you shout: "you better be! i'll be in the car."

---

"hey gamers," you tell your camera while walking into the store. "back at it again with vlog content. but this time it's at walmart and it's like...three-thirty in the morning i think."

"i have no clue why they're up, by the way." ranboo mentions from behind the camera. "they just showed up at my house and dragged me here."

"yup!"

"that's kidnapping, [user/n]."

"yup!" you repeat, with a smile covered by your mask. turning to look at him instead of the camera, you ask: "now, what should we get?"

"you're looking at me like i know."

"you should, shouldn't you? why did you come to the store then?"

"because you-"

"exactly!" you shout. you see some middle-aged man look at you from further down on of the aisles. "now go look for stuff."

with that, you run off towards the candy aisle.

ranboo sighs. "let's see how long it takes them to realize they left their camera."

not even fifteen seconds you run back and take the camera. "this is mine!"

"i was wondering how long it would take you." he semi-shouts on his way past you to what you think is the frozen food section.

"whatever, asshole! go find your...i have no clue what you buy at the store, but go look for it!"

you see him give you a thumbs up before turning a corner.

"cool now that he's gone, time to commit a crime-"

your phone buzzes.

boo: whatever you're going to do, don't. :)

"i guess not, then. doesn't mean i can't get a shitload of candy, though, so-"

---

you burst through your door, arms full of bags, ranboo not far behind you. it's nearly four-forty-five in the morning, and your first class is at nine. oh well. there's no way this could go wrong.

ranboo stands awkwardly at the entrance to your kitchen.

"just set them down on the counter, it'll be fine."

"cool, i guess?" he responds, doing as told. "what do we do now?"

you pause. what even is there to do? you could watch a movie or something. honestly, you could probably email your teachers and tell them that you can't make it (you make a mental note to do that later).

"i dunno. we could brag about it to tommy and tubbo? i'm too sleep-deprived to think straight right now."

"alright, i'm fine with that."

and with that, you and ranboo call the other two and laugh at whatever shenanigans ensue.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by mathmaticalknight) DND night at RI

“Doctor, are you-” Amiya entered the Doctor’s office late in the afternoon, about an hour before his shift ended, and found him putting on his coat. “-busy? Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah, I’ve got an appointment to catch. Didja need something before I leave?” He stopped, giving her his full attention for the moment.

The Cautus shook her head. “No, not if you’re busy.”

“Bunny, ya know I’m never too busy for you.” Neither was his fiance, after all. “What’s going on?”

“Some of the other Operators invited me to something they’re calling ‘Leviathans and Landships,’ and they said you would help me with a character?”

The Doctor froze. “They invited you to...Was it Blaze?”

“It was,” she smiled innocently. “She also said you might complain about having too many players already.”

“Damn. Well, if she wants ya to play with us, I’m not gonna say no to both of ya. Besides, I’m leaving early to prep anyway.” Oh, but how to introduce her-

Amiya cocked her head. “You’re leaving work early to play games?”

“No, to prepare to play games. Very important distinction.” He grinned. “I’m the GM, after all.”

“...The Game Master?” The Cautus knew full well he wasn’t the General Manager of anything - not since selling his Kazimierz Knights Club, at least.

He nodded. “Location, snacks, the events of the game itself - all my responsibility. Granted, this week it’s Kal’tsit’s turn to buy snacks, so those aren’t my direct responsibility-”

“Dr. Kal’tsit is playing, Blaze is playing, you’re running it...and I wasn’t invited sooner?” She stared at him hard enough to paralyze him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, bunny, it’s nothing like that, I just wasn’t sure how any of this was going to shake out, and then by the time I got comfortable, well...Sorry.”

The Guard/Caster sighed. “It’s alright. I’m playing now.”

“Right. Speaking of which, we do need to make you a character.” The Doctor continued walking. “I have all my books and stuff ready to go in the VIP meeting room, just need to get the ones with player options out for you to look at. How much alternative history do you read?”

“Alternative history, Doctor?” Amiya fell into step with him, as she so often did.

He waved a hand in the air. “You know, those books with goblins and magical swords and stuff? How much did Blaze tell you?”

“Um, not a lot. She said you’d fill me in.” He groaned, and she frowned. “Should I have asked her to tell me more?”

“No, but there’s a lot of information to give you and not as much time as I’d like to take to do it. Three hours for a character is already tight, but catching you up on the story, too? Damnit, Blaze, I’m not a miracle-worker even if I can do Arts...” Still, they’d already crossed this bridge. No turning her away at this point.

When the pair arrived at the VIP room, they weren’t the only ones there early. “Good afternoon, Doctor.”

“Good afternoon, Kal’tsit.” He gestured to Amiya. “Blaze invited her to play, so we need to make her a character. Would you mind helping out?”

“I’m leaving now to pick up the food for the game tonight, but I’m coming back after that.”

He sighed with relief. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“That is what a Medic does, isn’t it?” The Feline patted Amiya’s shoulder as she left. “I’ll take care of your vital statistics; after seeing some of his math for Surtr’s character, it will be better that way.”

“I legitimately misread the book,” he grumbled as he began flipping open book after book to its table of contents page, looking for a specific heading that’d tell him there were player character options in it somewhere.

By the time Dr. Kal’tsit returned, the Doctor had his computer open and was scrolling through some of Deepcolor’s character portraits to find one for the Cautus’ character, and she was leaning against his shoulder for a ‘better view’. “Comfortable, Amiya?”

“Mhmm- I mean, um, I need to see the pictures.” As luck would have it, at that exact moment, one caught her eye. “I like that one.”

“Do you, now? Kal’tsit, any issue with Amiya playing a Specialist? Pretty sure we have the basic roles covered, after all.” He pulled out a character sheet as the Feline walked around to see the portrait in question.

Specialist? “I see Enmity Guard here, Doctor.”

“Not Stalker? All the shadows scattered around him?” He caught himself there. “I mean, they don’t have to be a guy-”

“It’s fine, Doctor. I want to play a male character.”

Cool, moment passed safely. “But yeah, I’m pretty sure Stalker or Steadfast Specialist will work. We already have a Summoner, a Focused Medic, a Cleaver Guard, a Flagbearer, and a Chain Caster, after all, and Blaze’ll probably appreciate the frontline help. No offense to your Summons, of course.”

“None taken.” Monst3r was in their crystal at the moment, after all. “Same level as we are now?”

“Yeah, we’re bringing her in tonight. Now, the fun part: explaining how this person is joining the party while they’re completely unreachable from outside the Aura Sphere...” This was going to take awhile.

Twenty minutes before game start time, Manticore slipped into the room, her dice bag being the only indication someone had arrived. The Doctor found her almost immediately regardless. “Good evening, Manticore. Amiya’s going to be joining us tonight.”

“Oh?...How nice. What kind of...character...are you playing?” The Specialist took her seat on the right side of the Doctor (so he could hear her easily) as the Cautus moved her things to sit on the other side of the new arrival. “Did the Doctor...find a new tank?”

“New tank? And make Blaze mad at me? Sounds like a death flag to me,” he commented, otherwise absorbed in rewriting his plans for the night’s session.

Kal’tsit shook her head. “We built her a Stalker to match the portrait she liked.”

“A S-stalker?” The Manticore blushed. “You mean...like me?”

“When I saw the picture, I thought of you,” Amiya noted with a smile.

Manticore’s tail curled around her chair legs for safety. “You...you remembered me...”

“Hey.” Deepcolor strolled in, setting her dice down while leaving a seat between her and the Cautus. “Joining the party, Amiya?”

“Blaze invited her. Speaking of, Doctor, she and Surtr are still on a mission, if I remember the deploym-”

A *bang* from the hallway stopped the Medic in her tracks as another Feline and Sarkaz landed outside the door. “You can take that out of my paycheck,” Blaze sighed, picking the pair of them off the ground.

“We apologize for our la- Blaze.” Surtr squeezed her backpack strap. “We’re not late.”

“Well, yeah, because I blasted us here.”

She spun in place to stare her down. “You forgot the time change across the Kjerag border.”

“Wait, is it- oh, shit, I did.” By then, however, the Feline could see into the room, and so she knocked the Sarkaz inside to reach the empty chair next to Amiya. “BUNNY!!!”

“Ah!” The Cautus was lifted out of her seat and squeezed like a stuffed animal.

The Doctor sighed. “This is going to be a thing now, isn’t it?”

“I believe so,” Kal’tsit agreed, closing the door behind them as Surtr took her seat, and then taking her place next to the GM. “Now that everyone is here, we can begin...Once Blaze has set our Specialist on the ground again.”

“Aww, can’t I just keep her in my lap?” She gave her fiance the eyes-

Nope. “Ya both have sheets to keep track of...besides, ya don’t squeeze me like that when I come home from the office...”

“‘Cause you’ve got bird-bones!” Blaze finally sat down, allowing Amiya to do the same. “Just ‘cause you’re jealous...”

“Where’d we leave off last time, anyway? We just got done killing that Leviathan, right?” The Sarkaz steered the group back in the direction she was interested in going - continuing the plot.

The Doctor shook his head. “No, that was the session before. LAST session, well, things got interesting. Let me set the scene...”

[whoacanada]

I can hardly choose, but I'm a sucker for identity porn and/or supernatural shenanigans (watch this turn out to be a gay Jack lookalike being media trash in Vegas.) Doppelgänger AU?

Actually, this is the overarching file for my habs!jack au! if you’ve been following me for a million years, this started as a halloween prompt where Jack meets a ‘perfect’ version of himself and that double tries to kill him and take his place. Fun right? That evolved into the much more stable habs!jack au — but the homicidal drama of the original lives on.

There’s seriously about 70k of various versions of this au floating around on my computer. Once I throttled back the murder and started thinking about the practical applications of a Jack that ended up playing for the Habs and an Eric that kept skating, things just kind of steamrolled. Unfortunately this led away from my main goal of writing a story where Jack confronts a version of himself that has ‘succeeded’ and has to deal with the emotional fallout, and turned more into a deep character study of what would have happened to Jack Zimmermann if he’d never truly gotten the support he needed to overcome his vices.

Of course, now the beast of the project is editing because there are so many raw versions I’ve tweaked a little here and there. Supportive Bob vs. Distant Father. Substance Abuse vs. Alcoholism. A dozen different takes on how Jack could crater a secret relationship with Bitty (usually sacrificing Bitty’s public image to save Jack’s). 

It’s definitely my favorite project and it’s almost too big, now to be stitched into a Frankenstein’s monster of a fic, but I’m trying. In the interim, here’s version one from all the way back in 2017:

Bitty looks up and finds Zimms watching him intently, eyes pale as ice chips, gaze sharp and calculating. “You’re beautiful,” he says coldly. “You’re beautiful, he’s out, and you’re his.”

A shiver runs up Bitty’s spine, because the other man’s fingers are twitching and ‘beautiful’ doesn’t sound like a compliment; not to this Jack. However, his tone is as foreign as it is familiar, reminding Bitty of his freshman year and a Jack Zimmermann who couldn’t seem to process his emotions.

"I need your help to understand because I think you’re why I'm here."

“I am?” Bitty swallows, startling when he realizes he’s backed himself against the counter. In a heartbeat there are hands on his neck, a pair of recognizable lips hot against the curve of his cheek.

“I could have given him everything,” Zimms whispers, softly enough that the stubble catching on Bitty’s cheek feels like a threat, “You don’t even know, do you? You’d never have to work a day in your life.”

“I have everything I want,” Bitty presses a firm hand to Zimms’ chest though the action does nothing to dislodge the larger man. “I don’t need his money, or yours. I’m happy.”

This isn’t the answer Zimmermann wants.

“No, see, you think you’re happy, because you don’t know anything else,” Bitty flinches when Zimms rests his cheek against the top of his head. “You don't even know what you could be." 

“That’s enough,” Bitty gets his palm against Zimms’ ribcage, the sensitive spot left over from an injury in Juniors, and shoves, hard. Zimms stumbles back with a breathless curse, and refocuses on Bitty with a wounded expression.

“Please,” he begs. “I want to know what I’m missing, what I did wrong — why does he get to have you and I don't?”

The version of Jack Zimmermann with three Stanley Cups and a substance abuse problem currently cornering Bitty in his own damn kitchen does not deserve affection. Not if this is what it does to him.

Bitty's rearing up for a fight when a thought stops him cold: "Wait, do you know me?"

Of course this is the moment Bitty's true Jack steps in from off the balcony with an excited flourish. 

"Papa had a few ideas on how to resolve this and he's heading to the airport now. He should be here in a few hours."

Beside Bitty, Zimms stiffens.

“You called Bob?”

.

Bob moves in for a hug, or a handshake, or something, and Zimms leans away from the touch, sliding back a few inches. Bob's smile falters and Zimms seems to immediately realize what he's done and laughs it off. 

"Sorry, sorry, just, ah, worried about making this worse," Zimmermann stumbles, clapping his hands together to wring his wrists.

"Of course, of course," Bob says cautiously, "better safe than sorry, eh?"

Bitty leans into Jack's side and whispers, "What just happened?"

“I don’t know.”

.

Jack frowns, his expression too harsh for Bitty’s liking, and he says something hurried, accusatory, in a language Bitty still hasn’t quite learned to speak. He catches Bob’s name, the Canadiens, and possibly something about leadership? No, wait, it’s  ‘management’— Then Jack scrubs a hand through his hair and paces like he wants to be angry but can’t find the energy. Bob isn’t doing much of anything but he’s pale and there’s an unfamiliar furrow between his eyebrows.

Jack notices Bitty staring and explains, carefully, in English, “The Canadiens asked my father to be the GM in 2009 — he turned it down when I dropped out of the draft.”

It takes a moment for Bitty to understand the issue at hand, but when he gets it, the realization comes with an unfriendly twist of concern in his gut. 

“Zimms plays for Montreal — isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“That’s not the point,” Jack stalls out, trying to find the right words and failing long enough that Bob takes the reigns. 

“It took a lot to make me change my priorities when it came to my legacy, my family,” his father’s voice is thick with regret. “If those events didn’t happen, the other, ah, me, is still chasing glory.”

Jack leans in, nudging his father with a sympathetic shoulder, and Bob knocks him back with a tight, wavering smile, clearly unable to continue. There’s a lot of history here, more than Jack ever thought he’d need to share because most of it had been buried and forgotten. Or so they’d thought.

It’s Jack’s turn to pick up the thread of the conversation, at least while his father pulls himself together. “If Zimms is playing for the Habs —” he starts, drawing Bitty’s attention away from the hockey legend tying himself in knots, “— and his father is the GM, he’s not getting the support he needs. It’s not possible.”

[inkdemonapologist]

IF YOU HAVENT READ BOO’S RECAP for the previous session (chapter 4) of our Call of Cthulhu But With Bendy Added game YOU REALLY SHOULD......

okay are u caught up? You got the reveal? 

okay cool

SO WE FOUND OUT WE’RE DEAD!!! Well, specifically Sammy and Joey have been killed(?) and this whole adventure it’s just been Henry haunted by his two friends, and we have just been POSSESSING HENRY every time we interact with the world in any tangible way, and every time we have a conversation it’s just been Henry Having A Conversation With Himself to everyone else’s eyes, WHICH I GUESS EXPLAINS why everyone has been acting so unsettled and frightened every time we start bickering with each other!! I have been just LOSING IT thinking back through everything we’ve done and imagining Joey and Sammy’s expressions and body language on Henry’s physical form. INCREDIBLE.

Also, while Sammy’s mind/spirit/???? is stuck with Henry, his ink-drowned body appears to have gone a bit prophet-y and is running around with this cult talking about serving his lord and sacrificing sheep, which Sammy would just rather not deal with. Sammy Being Deeply Embarrassed By His Ink Self is my favourite genre of comedy

(also credits to @sketch-cryptid for their henry design..... he’s just, v soft,)

OUT OF CONTEXT QUOTES AGAIN!

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (sketch-cryptid), and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Sammy] [ooc] Unless one of them decides, “I'm not going to follow Henry, he seems responsible,” and just stays put at the hotel, then that doesn't help us-- [Joey] Well, Henry's "crazy," so [Henry] Honestly, yeah, I think maybe if we have Henry and Joey split off, then those might be the ones that they'll follow, which... leaves..... S a m m y  to talk to Senegal I guess;;;??? [Sammy] ...I don't know how to feel about the way that you said that.

[Joey] I guess once Joey's downtown he's going to, kind of look around and see if he was followed. [GM] Make a Spot (hidden) roll! [Joey] *rolls* [Joey] ... he is not going to look around and see if he was followed!

[Henry gets a hidden message in his sketchbook, "They're doing all they can, please don't blame them for leaving you."] [Henry] Okay, then, he's going to write back "who do you mean?" [GM] "Who do you mean?" [Henry] Yeah, who is "they"? [Sammy] Unclear antecedent. That's what I'm writing in the book, "unclear antecedent."

[Joey] Once he's back at the table, Joey is definitely drinking Henry's drink. I don't think he's noticed that it's not his, just, his hand came in contact with it and now he is drinking it.

[GM] Looking out the window, you don't see any guards, but you do think you see some black drips on the balcony-- [Sammy] UHHH CLOSING THE WINDOW. NOT ENGAGING. [Joey] Sammy Does Not See It... Sammy is Looking Away,

[GM] After a bit, he probably starts distantly hearing That Song again. [Sammy] WHY ME. UM.......... THAT’S FINE. It's just very annoying. It's hard to play music when someone is playing music loudly next door. [GM] It's quiet. But it's also Sammy.

[GM] There is a tough-looking individual that is holding a gun onnnnnn..... Henry! [Henry] Why me? [Joey] WHY HENRY?!

[GM] "Correct me if I’m wrong, but you're with Joey Drew Studios?" [Joey] Yes! And it's about fucking time you talked with us! [Joey] [ooc] Sorry, I rolled a one on my Bad Decision dice.

[Joey] [to our kidnappers] ...Can we have a car? [GM] ...........make another Fast Talk check.

[Sammy] ...Tom is the one being stabbed, right? [Joey] I guess? If he's already hosting whatever it is-- [Sammy] My dream ended with me getting stabbed... [Joey] Joey's gonna take a moment to kind of process that, and says something along the lines of, Well, we can't let that happen! Who else is going to write the songs? [Sammy] tHANKS,

[Henry] Really!! Can I get-- [Sammy] an amen [Henry] --a straight answer!

[Joey] Joey pockets the map, and he looks between the two of them............. and he bolts! [Sammy] oKAY, [Henry] Can I roll... to grab him.... [Sammy] Runs after Joey! [Henry] runs after Joey..., [GM] Um, okay -- [Henry] I want to make a roll to grab him, I will wrestle him to the ground. [Joey] I want to make a roll to lose them! [GM] uhhhh..... in retrospect I should've looked up the chase rules.....

[GM] *still looking up chase rules* Why is it all about cars?!? [Sammy] Get back in the car, chase after Joey! Sammy's gonna hit him with a car! [Joey] This is why he needs the cane later.

[Henry] DREW. You are not leaving us! You're not going by yourself, you're going to get yourself killed. [Henry] And then he's going to try to drag him to a halt. [Joey] I do think, Joey is just going to kind of stare at him,,, he wasn't ready for Henry to take that tone with him,,,,

[Sammy] I'm not really sure what decisions my past self thought most wise. Apparently, my past self thought coming on this trip was a good idea! [Henry] *mumbling* I don't think any of us thought this was a good idea.

[Sammy] Sammy really is impressed at the way that Joey is able to weaponise his worst qualities.

[GM] Make Spot (hidden) checks too, just for funsies. [Sammy] Oh! Oh just for funsies! Just a little, a fun activity, planned just for us!

[Henry] Have we ever gotten Binoculars’ name? [Joey] No. [GM] I know it, but no, you haven't. [Sammy] [in character voice] "Binoculars" works! We all know who we're talking about! [Henry] Oh, no, that wasn't in character! That was just ME wondering. [Joey] Henry's also wondering this, but just not saying it. [Sammy] Sammy just takes a moment to think about how much we don't need to know Binoculars' name!

[Joey] He is going to take out his gun, and then-- [Sammy] Oh! That's right! We have guns!

[Joey] Joey is going to toss the mask on the ground and step on it with his foot to break it. [GM] It... it snaps! [Sammy] [ooc] NO, MY LORD

[Joey] Sammy, is that you...? [GM] No reply. [Joey] ...Binoculars?! [Sammy] ........we really should've got his name.

[Joey] *pushes Sammy's voice out of the way*

[Sammy] We’ve gotta bring Joey back to life, so we can strangle him.

[Henry] Oh my god. I didn't expect ANY of this!! [Henry] I expected this game to be a short, fun session of, you know, Oh! That's neat! That's a Bendy, that's a Bendy right there! I DIDN'T EXPECT... THIS.

[Sammy] [ooc] I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT HENRY’S BEEN FAST-TALKING WHILE POSSESSED BY THE SPIRIT OF JOEY DREW.

[Sammy] Sammy thinks it'd be a great idea for you to go back and grab one of those Bendy masks, and put it on. [Henry] *sighs* ...would it make you feel better, if I went back and grabbed a Bendy mask? [Joey] NO.

[GM] And you hear a voice from the bushes say, "Anything for my Lord!" [Sammy] Oh god, it's me.

[Henry] NO WAIT, this is Sammy, I can't kill him! [Joey] Hit him with the back of the axe! [Sammy] Throw a projector at him, that works really well!

[GM] The creature skids to a halt, and the snickering happens again, and it says "I had you going that time, though, didn't I?" [Henry] Henry, uh, hesitantly stops running, [Henry] Uh, yeah, you did! Is this a trick, should I keep running. [Sammy] Well THAT's the sort of question that ALWAYS gets answered honestly!

[GM] It seems they're implying that whoever is currently the host made a deal that ended up with the Lurker starting to look like Bendy, and Henry being unable to die. [Joey] *distressed noises of realisation* [Sammy] That sure sounds like the kind of deal Joey would make, doesn't it?! DOESN'T THAT SOUND LIKE SOMETHING JOEY WOULD WANT, FOR HENRY TO NEVER DIE?!?!

[Joey] Joey is having his own breakdown now, because he finally accepted that he did something wrong, and thus his brain has gone into both overdrive and.... it's like a computer that's overheating, [Sammy] Joey doesn't know how to function when things are his fault.

[GM] Increasing your spiritual power, for lack of a better way to put it -- which you've repeated now, how many times? [Sammy] This buff stacks? That seems like an oversight. [Henry] No, don't tell the devs! [Sammy] I mean, admittedly, Joey has done a bit of, of cheating, I think? Which is unsurprising for him.

[Sammy] If Joey's the host, I wouldn't be surprised if whatever deal he made might result in him not dying in addition to you. [Henry] Yeah, it sounds like, in all the previous loops, either I died, or he died. [Sammy] I'm not really sure what I got out of this arrangement. [Henry] I'm not sure either. [Joey] *hopefully*... some quality time in Haiti?

[Henry] [to the ink demon lurker creature] Anything else we should know? [GM] It does a shrug. It looks real weird.

[a-portable-snack]

@writer-who-cant-write135​ Thank you so much for your ask! Wanna take a stab at what city I live in? 

Detroit and Chill

Kai looked at the rubber duck sitting next to his computer. He just read his entire code out loud to said duck but it still won’t run properly. And the duck didn’t warn him it won’t.

“Ugh! This doesn’t work.” He tossed the duck behind him.

“Ouch!”

Kai turned to realize he didn’t hear Adam come into their dorm… which is somehow impressive on Adam’s part for being so quiet and Kai’s part for being so focused.

“Sorry, man. This code is driving me insane. I want to send it over to Reeve to look over but I also don’t want to send it over and have him be like ‘This is 100% wrong’” Kai rubbed his neck and turned back to his computer. He knows its probably a simple thing he’s missing and he doesn’t want Reeve to find it.

Kai went to start typing but his chair was suddenly pulled back. Adam stepped in-between Kai and his computer and started typing something.

“Adam! Don’t mess with the code! I know you’re smart but I know you know NOTHING about code.”

“You’re right but Reeve does. I just sent it to him and you’re taking a break with me while he looks it over.” Adam turned back to Kai.

“You had no right to do that!” Kai stood up so he was eye to eye with Adam “Just because you seem to be ahead on your work and are bored doesn’t mean you can get between me and my work!”

“I’m sorry” Adam put his hands in the air to surrender “but it’s definitely the only way you’ll step away. I’ve been here for 20 minutes and you didn’t realize I came in. You’re hyper-fixating, overworking, and getting nothing done. I know I stepped over a line but I will do it again if it means you won’t work yourself to the ground!”

Kai knew he was right. Last year, Adam never stepped between Kai and his work and Kai’s perfectionist tendencies and ADHD had him almost to the hospital from overworking. Adam was just trying to help and take care of him. But Kai can still be mad.

“So,” Adam caught Kai’s eyes. “We are going out to do something fun. We’re going distract you until Reeve emails back saying what you’re missing and it’s ok that you needed help because Robotic and Megatronic engineering is hard as fuck.”

“Fine, but you’re fucking wining and dining me asshole.”

“Valid” Adam smiled and grabbed his coat. Kai had to change his close because his Pokemon pajama pants won’t cut it. Adam was on his phone searching for something when Kai came out of the bathroom.

“Let’s go!” Adam’s eyes were bright as he grabbed Kai’s hand. Adam pulled Kai all the way to Adam’s car.

“Adam! Not all of us are in perfect shape. SLOW DOWN!”

“Dude I’m so excited about this! It’s going to be so much fun” Adam jumped into his car. By the time Kai was in the passenger seat, Adam was buzzing. Adam’s excitement was infectious and Kai just smiled as Adam started driving. Kai couldn’t look away as Adam sped through the streets of Detroit.

Detroit is such an interesting place to live because there’s so many different types of people all smashed into southeast Michigan. So Adam could be taking him to anything between a cool tour of some car museum to Mexican Town having a deal on tamales. Kai really hopes its the latter. Adam’s mom has set standards for tamales that only Mexican Town can compete with.

When Adam followed the highway to the Riverwalk, Kai started to think they were heading to the GM building. But Adam turned away from it.

“Are we heading to Campus Martius?” Kai asked.

“Kind of! We’re going to Lafayette Coney then we’re heading to Campus Martius” Adam parked next to the historical coney place and Kai excitedly jumped out.

“Yes! I need a good coney! We can walk to Campus Martius from here. I’ll cover parking” Kai pulled this wallet out to put in the coins.

“No no no! Wining and dining remember!” Adam stood in front of Kai and took his wallet out of his hand. Adam reached around and put the wallet into Kai’s back pocket.

“I-i was joking” Kai couldn’t stop the blush from spreading across his face. Adam noticed and smirked at him.

Adam didn’t know what to do with Kai. The boy was adorable and smart and god they worked together so well. They’ve lived together for 2 years now in the dorms and they are a well oiled machine. It was almost impossible not to fall in love. But Adam truly did try. Adam tried to limit how much he talked with Kai over the summer so he could get some distance. Adam thought he had gotten rid of his feelings. He started to open up communication again and was ok with their relationship. Then Adam sent a snap of Captain America saying ‘My type of man’ and you want to know how this motherfucker responded?

I guess I need to work out. I GUESS I NEED TO WORK OUT. WHAT THE FUCK?

So Adam has feeling still and doesn’t know what to do. But here they were. On something that could be considered a date. Just, vibing.

“Let’s walk and eat” Adam said after he paid for the hot dogs. “I know the line at Campus MArtius will be long”

“Why?” Kai asked, mouth full.

“It’s the first day that the ice skating ring is open!” Adam put his hands up in excitement. Kai seemed to shrink down little.

“O-oh! That sounds fun! It’ll be great” Adam noticed the hesitance and feared he made the wrong choice.

“If you don’t want to ice skate we can do something else! I know there’s heated huts that shops rent out, the Riverwalk’s open, there’s a bar or two…”

“It’s fine! I’ve just never ice skated before so I’m kinda nervous” Kai fiddled with the wrapper on his coney.

“Don’t worry,” Adam snuck an arm around Kai’s waist and whispered in his ear. “I won’t let you fall.”

For moment, Adam thought Kai was going to jump away and blush but he was surprised. Instead, Kai leaned into Adam and said, “You better not.”

It was Adam’s turn to blush and become a flustered. Adam can usually serve out flirtatious comments like nothing but the moment they come back at him, he’s a puddle. And receiving flirting back from Kai, who usually shies away? Nope, Adam isn’t emotionally prepared for it.

“O-ok”

Kai laughed and laced his fingers between Adam’s. He seemed hesitant at first but when Adam firmly held his hand, a smile spread across his face.

“Let’s go get in line”

They finished their coneys and ran to rent skates. There were already a bunch of people on the small ring but Adam was ready to get out there.

“Ok! This doesn’t look too hard!” Kai watched people going around as he laced up his skates.

“You think so?” Adam smirked.

“Yeah! I’ll be fine.”

He was not fine.

Adam hit the ice and skated right off. He was able to file into the crowd nicely. He was graceful and obviously knew what he was doing. Kai on th other hand put on foot on the ice and immediately lost control. He gripped the rail like a life line tried to figure out his feet. They kept seeming to go in every which way.

Kai looked up and saw Adam rounding the corner to come back to him. He held himself up against the wall and pretended he wasn’t struggling as much as he was. Adam skidded to a stop next him.

“How’s it going?”

“Oh you know! It’s simple. Just gliding” Kai tried to brush off the fact that he could barely hold himself up.

“Come on. Let me take you around” Adam offered a hand with a small smile. Kai smiled back at his and took his hand. Kai pushed off the rail and immediately lost his balance.

“Adam, why is this so hard?” Kai clutched Adam’s arm like it was a life source. Somehow Adam was just skating like it was walking. Fuck him.

“Ha, for some reason physics doesn’t work when it comes to ice skating” Adam laughed. Adam pulled away little and Kai pulled him closer.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Don’t worry!” Adam was trying so hard not to laugh at him. Adam held onto Kai hand and flipped around to skate backwards and pull Kai along.

“You just wanted to show off you could skate backwards”

“Maybe” Adam smiled “It’s also the best way to learn. Just focus on holding your hips steady and switching your weight from left to right. When you switch, give a gentle push.”

Kai followed Adam’s instructions, watching his feet and focusing on his weight. Kai found a rhythm as they made it around the ice rink at a reasonable pace. Adam smiled at Kai, unable to hold anything back. God, if only Kai knew what he did to Adam.

“You got it!”

“You’re right! This is easy.”

Kai looked up at Adam and he saw all the love and excitement. It was overwhelming. Suddenly, Kai completely lost all since of control and was falling. Adam wasn’t ready for it and fell with him. So there they were shocked, laying on cold ice, in the middle of a crowded rink. Suddenly and eight year old skated by with the grace of a figure skater.

“Tsk, lame”

Adam and Kai look at each other in shock then burst out laughing. Of course they would get called lame by an eight year old. Adam shift to get them up. Kai felt like a baby horse trying to find his legs on the ice. This rink really does seem to say fuck physics.

“Now that our pride is throughly bruised, can I interest you in a hot chocolate?”

“Definitely”

Adam led them to the edge and they stepped on to normal land.

“Is it bad I’m tempted to kiss the ground?”

“Definitely, this is Detroit. We have no idea what is going on down there.”

“Valid, not doing that.”

Adam was still holding onto Kai as they ordered their hot chocolates. They sat in the warming tent at a table. They talked and drank hot chocolate. They were completely lost within each other. Loudly talking about dumb teachers, and new Netflix shows, and that one kid on their floor who they swear is a wizard.

“No, I’m joking. He has a pet centipede in his dorm. I’m pretty the RAs are letting him keep it because they don’t want to have confiscate it. It freaks me out.” Kai laughed.

“There’s no way. I had a FISH they took away! I had to pull out a handbook to prove I could have him.” Adam shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” the girl that was working behind the counter came up to them. “It’s time for us to close down. You need to return your skates and head home so we can close.”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! We’re leaving right now!” Adam and Kai picked up their stuff and quickly left Campus Martius.

“Sorry I kept you out so late.” Adam said when they got to his car. He rubbed his neck nervously. Kai grabbed Adam’s free hand and pulled .

“Don’t be sorry. I should be thanking you. I really needed this. I would still be hunched over code, probably crying, if it weren’t for you. So, thank you.” Kai leaned gently into Adam with a soft smile.

Kai was suddenly kissing Adam. Kai wasn’t 100% what convinced him to do it but he couldn’t get the look Adam had on his face in the ice rink out of his head. Adam immediately leaned into the kiss and used his free hand to hold Kai’s cheek. Kai pulled back with a smile on his face.

“I’m so happy you kissed back because the drive would have been so awkward.”

Adam started laughing. He pulled Kai in for another kiss. His wide smile made it very difficult to properly kiss. Kai wrapped his arms around Adam’s waist. Kai pulled away and buried his face in the crook of Adam’s neck. Adam held him close.

“Let’s head back to the dorm.” Kai said. “I have a bag of popcorn and an illegal download of Mutant Spiders Paradise calling our names.”

“Sounds great” Adam unlocks his car and they went home.

[yespolkadotkitty]

About That Night, pt 1

A Clark Kent x OFC AU

Come on, come on.

Jess Kazinsky tried to tamp down on her impatience as she waited in line at the airport hotel - unusually nice for a budget outfit. Flowers on the desk - fresh ones, not fake. And the staff looked as if they didn’t hate being here.

Unfortunately, no one in line, including Jess, felt the same way.

Connecting flights had been grounded due to a freak snowstorm. Not unheard of for April, but definitely unwanted, and so three planes’ worth of people waited, disgruntled, as the two overworked desk clerks tried to find them enough rooms for one night.

Jess just had to cross her fingers and hope that the rooms didn’t run out before her turn.

With a sigh, she set her hard shell suitcase on the carpeted hotel lobby floor and sat on it.

“Bad day, huh?”

She glanced up, and then back again, because no way was a guy this handsome speaking to her.

Jess looked behind her, forgetting she was sitting, and came face-to-ass with the behind of a stout Danny DeVito type.

“No worse than anyone else’s, I guess,” she answered, gazing up into eyes the blue of the sea in midsummer. The black-framed glasses he wore suited his face, only served to make those baby blues even bluer.

“Optimism. I like it.”

She smiled. “This far down the line, optimism is all I’ve got.” She meant it in several ways, actually, but of course Tall, Dark and Gorgeous would only know about the hotel situation. “Where you headed?”

“I’m on my way home.” He didn’t elaborate, but his manner was friendly, as was that smooth American accent. “You?”

“To a will reading. My Babka died.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere. A genuinely nice guy. Perhaps the only one left in the known world.

His phone chirped and Jess swivelled on her suitcase to let him answer it with at least a modicum of privacy. She tuned out his velvet-smooth voice as the line moved, and when space allowed, she righted her suitcase. A few people had left the queue in search of another hotel - good luck, guys! - and then suddenly it was her turn.

“Hi,” she began, trying charm.

The clerk looked up. His eyes were dull, probably from dealing with so many stressed customers - not all of whom would have been kind. Or even civil. His badge read OWEN.

“We have one room left.”

“I’ll take it!”

“Excuse me,” Mr Gorgeous piped up from behind her. Jess noticed that he was last in line. “Did you say you were completely out of rooms?”

“Yes Sir,” Owen confirmed miserably.

Jess looked from the clerk to Mr Gorgeous. She was a woman travelling alone. Surely she trumped the tall, handsome guy’s need for a room?

“I wasn’t butting in,” Mr Gorgeous told her. He didn’t seem to have an evil ulterior motive, but you never knew, these days. “You should have the room.”

“Well, I was here before you,” Jess said sweetly. “And, I have a tragic past.”

“That trumps my teenage acne,” Mr Gorgeous deadpanned.

Jess mentally rolled her eyes. No way had this guy ever been short of pant-droppingly hot.

The second desk clerk finished her admin and looked up. “Oh, hey, Mr Kent! How are you?”

Jess got her passport out for ID as Mr Gorgeous - no, Mr Kent, make that - moved to stand next to her at the curved check in desk.

“Hey, Sandy. How’s it going?”

“Oh, just fine. It’s too bad about the snow, but a good night for business.”

Jess’s clerk asked her some standard questions as she tried to eavesdrop on Kent’s conversation with the cheerful clerk. 

“I’m sure we have some staff space…” Sandy was saying.

Jess’ curiosity got the better of her. “Excuse me. Do you…. Work here?” she asked the tall stranger.

“No, actually, I own the hotel.”

“Oh.” Had she said that out loud? “Er….” What was she meant to do now? Give up her room?

“I don’t expect you to give up your room, by the way.”

“Oh,” she said again. Dammit Jess! Use your brain! “Er, great. You should have said. About you owning the hotel.”

He smiled slightly. “Seems to me like that would have been a dick move, and I try not to be a dick.”

“Well, you not being a dick means I get to be cosy tonight, so, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Er, Mr Kent - I’m sorry, but we haven’t been able to send all the staff home after their shifts because of the storm. We’re out of space. Entirely.”

Jess tried to make herself as small as possible as Owen studiously tapped her details into the computer. I got here first. He has way more money than me, he owns the place, for God’s sake!

“Is there a spare office with a couch?” Kent asked.

Jess leaned forward. “Er, how big is my room?” she whispered.

“A twin,” he whispered back. 

“There is the GM’s room, but the couch… isn’t the best,” Sandy replied.

Kent shrugged. “It’s only one night.”

“Hell, I’d share a room with him,” Owen muttered, and Jess swallowed back a laugh.

“It’s yours if you want it,” she whispered.

“Mr Kent doesn’t bat for my team, unfortunately,” Owen mourned. “All done for you, Miss,” he said, brighter now than when she’d arrived at the desk. “Room 103. Last room available.”

Jess took the offered keycard and glanced over, where Mr Gorgeous was wrapping up his conversation with Sandy. Where would he sleep? She pictured his long legs hanging over the edge of a short couch.

One night on a lumpy couch wouldn’t kill him. 

Still…

“Hey, tall dark and gorgeous,” she said, lifting her voice.

He looked over, his expression more curious than anything. He’d wondered if she meant him. Who else was there?

“Can I buy you a drink? It’s the least I can do after stealing your bed.”

Thanking my beta, @princess-of-riviaa 

Tagging my Henry pals and anyone who might like this (Please ask to be added or dropped from the tag list): @alyxkbrl @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles @mitzwinchester @ohjules​ @promptandpros​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @mrsaugustwalker​ @wanderinglunarnights​ @dancingwendigo​ @littlefreya​ @andahugaroundtheneck​ @watermeloncavill​ @dr-kayleigh-dh​ @omgkatinka​ I’m sorry if I missed you out!!!

[fuck-customers]

I work at a movie theater. Most often then not I'm in concessions, but I know every position. Because of that I'm someone they use to cover for other people when they are on break. I think its perfectly fine, I won't get bored. 

One, slow, Monday afternoon I was asked to cover for the person in box (selling tickets), and I happily did. Not even five minutes of being locked in a room smaller then a jail cell the phone rings, which the box person is in charge of unless the caller needs a manager. I answer joyfully, because I'm not actually hating life right then and there.

I should of known that that was a bad sign.

"Thank you for calling [Redacted], how may I help you?"

"Yes, is the 11[couldn't understand] North [still can't understand]?" The women on the other end of the line reply's in a no-nonsense tone of voice off the bat.

I answer in the affirmative, because even though I couldn't completely hear the entire address what I did hear matched up perfectly. I also reaffirmed the company's name, because so many people don't pay attention to where they are buying tickets/what theater they are calling.

"Do you have 'Emanuel'?"

I remembered without looking that yes, we had a 7 pm showing and that we had sold 63 or out 79 seats sold, because I literally just saw that moments before I went into box. I had no clue what the movie was about, but I knew we had it.

As I told her that we did have it, and what time, I proceeded to look up the seating arrangements on the computer because the thing about out theater as that we have something called "reserved seating." When you buy your ticket you pick where you want to sit out of the available seats. You can do this online and in person.

That movie literally only had the ENTIRE first row open. That was all that was left. So I told her.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but it seems that we only have the front row by the screen available, maybe another theater has more options if you don't like the front."

"I was told this was first come, first serve."

"Yes ma'am, it is. The first to buy the tickets are the first to reserve the seats that they would like."

"I don't believe this, I wasn't told this was reserved seating."

"I'm sorry ma'am."

"Well, what am I supposed to do I already have my tickets. Someone already gave me my tickets."

"Oh! If you have your tickets then you should have your seats, ma'am."

"I have a 25$ [company we don't take] card that someone gave me for this."

"I'm sorry, ma'am but we don't take [that company]."

"Well, I was told you did."

"I apologize, but we don't."

"I can't believe that you guys have reserved seating. I was told this was first come, first serve."

"I'm sorry ma'am. If you would like I could transfer you to my manag-"

"This movie was produced by Viola Davis and Stephen Curry and directed by Brain Ivie for the families of the victims of the Charleston Shootings."

"I am sorry, ma'am, I can give you to my-"

"Look, I need you to stop lying and tell me the truth. I know you don't have reserved seating."

"I-I'm sorry?"

"I can't believe this. I'm going to call and complain..."

She went on about who she was going to complain to, but honestly my mind stopped at being called a liar. I can handle being called many things, but a liar. It broke my mind. 

I didn't care if she complained about me, its situations like this that I don't introduce myself on calls, but she wouldn't let me transfer her, I couldn't contact my manager because the walkie was to far and I didn't want to stop listening to the women incase I could still help her, AND a line was growing to buy tickets. 

I was beginning to internally panic, but I kept it out of my voice, and my mounting irritation.

"I really do apologize ma'am but-"

"Bye!"

And she hung up.

I stood there flabbergasted for a good few seconds before I went to work on the line. Once that was done I told my manager on duty, the GM, what happened. She reassured me that if the women did call to complain then she'd make sure nothing would come of it and to not worry.

I told her I wasn't worried, I was pissed.

I couldn't get what happened out of my head, a liar. What the fuck?

Still stewing in my irritation I get another call. I take a deep breathe, and answer happily.

"Thank you for calling [redacted], how may I help you?"

"Yes, I just wanted to confirm that you have Emanuel?"

Oh.... fuck.

Her.

Without missing a beat, or falter in my Barbie voice, I responded, "Yes ma'am, we sure do. We only have a 7 pm showing today and the only seats we have are the entire first row."

"Okay, I need you to stop lying to me right now. I checked online and it says that you do take the card. I can not believe that you have reserved seating, I need you to stop lying to me."

"I'm sorry ma'am, as far as I am aware of I have not lied to you. When you buy a ticket, no matter what time, it saves the seat that you picked, as long as it is available."

"I need you to stop lying to me right now and tell me the truth. I know you take the card. I can't believe your doing this to me."

"My apologizes, ma'am, maybe my information on the card is old, and I am sorry about that, but as far as I am aware of we do not-"

"Are you calling me old!?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Thank God I'm recording this. Bye!" She hung up.

"....I'm sorry, wat?"

I'm just.... I'm so... what the fuck!?! 

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Downfall (pt 2/2)

See? I didn’t lie, part 2 is here and it’s only...11:00PM Sunday night lol. Wow guys, this part got long (like 3.5k words long. Oops.) and *sappy*. But, you know what I love about snz fic? We always give the people what they want. You see a smoking gun in act 1 you best believe it’s going off in act 3. Lmao. Also, I’m sorry if there’s continuity/grammar/spelling errors, I’ll read it through again in the morning and fix them I just can’t do it tonight haha.

Anyway! Hope you guys like the second part.

cw: Male, colds, contagion, mess, there is a passing-out moment in here as well. Shit gets wild lol. This part is heavily inspired by 3 prompts in my inbox, so if you sent a prompt it’s probably featured here!

Downfall - Pt 2

When Elijah opened his eyes Friday morning, he nearly cried in relief; after three full days of feeling like death, he finally, finally felt like he was on the other side of this shit.

The past two days had been a nightmare. After Greyson had called him Tuesday night and told him that not one but two other managers had gone down, Elijah had to mentally prepare himself for a full week of work with one of the worst colds he’d ever endured. He’d walked into the kitchen Wednesday morning stuffed to the gills with dayquil, cough syrup, and ibuprofen; a combination he was sure was actively taking years off of his life. Greyson was already hard at work, despite the fact that Elijah knew he’d been at the restaurant until well after midnight the night before.

“He lives!” Greyson said, throwing his arms up as though Elijah had just scored the winning goal for their nonexistent soccer team. “You look god-awful, and I’m so glad you’re here!”

Elijah coughed out a laugh, and Greyson lead them both into the office. “So, here’s the deal,” Greyson said as they both sat. “I told both Matt and Mark to stay home til Saturday – just to make sure they don’t infect anyone else. I closed the books at 50 covers tonight and tomorrow – and I know, it’s barely enough to cover labor, but we’re in survival mode here, so don’t give me that look. I got in at six, most of my prep for the evening is done, so I figured when we open I can throw on a button down and help on the floor while you expo back here during the rush. Does that all work for you?”

The GM blinked, blindsided. He knew Greyson was good in a shit situation, but damn; the kid should’ve been a fighter pilot or an ER doctor. “Yeah,” Elijah said, “sounds great, Grey.”

So that’s what they’d done. Both Wednesday and Thursday. Elijah had holed up in the office until the servers needed him for preshift, and Greyson had prepared his cooks for two weird nights of Elijah expoing. Service had been moderately slow both evenings, which would’ve been great, if it hadn’t allowed Elijah to hyper-focus on his lingering symptoms and Greyson to flit and fret over him every time he stepped into the kitchen.

“Do you need anything, Lij? Water? Tea? Meds?” The constant stream of mother-henning had eventually worn on everyone, and even Greyson’s cooks had finally said, “Chef, he’s fine.”

But they had gotten through it. Elijah had sneezed and coughed and cursed his way through garnishing dishes, and Greyson had awkwardly talked to tables until finally the week was nearly over. And now it was Friday, one day til the big wedding, and Elijah was finally, finally feeling better.

Elijah walked in at 9AM to a thankfully-empty kitchen; he’d told Greyson the night before to sleep in, prepare himself for the weekend, take some Emergen-C and be absolutely sure he wasn’t going to succumb to the rot Elijah had brought in, but he was surprised that the chef had actually listened to him. The GM placed his things down in their empty office and took a breath; it was going to be okay. Mark and Matt would be back for the wedding, they would be relatively slow tonight, and Saturday would be perfect. Manifest it, Lij, he said to himself, sitting at the desk and turning the computer on. Manifest it.

After an hour or so of paperwork, Elijah heard the back doors open as Greyson let himself in. The GM pushed away from the computer and cracked his neck, anticipating the usual barrage of word vomit Greyson was wont to spew out the moment he walked into the restaurant. “Morning, Chef,” he called out before even seeing Greyson, marveling at how much clearer his voice was today. Fuck that fucking cold.

Greyson stepped into the office and silently saluted his boss, a Starbucks cup adorning each of his hands. “Hey, boss,” he said, placing one in front of Elijah and one next to his own computer. The chef didn’t sit down; instead, he took off his hoodie, grabbed a clean coat from the back of his chair, and buttoned it up before snagging his drink and heading into the kitchen. Elijah swung himself around in his chair, dumbstruck.

“That’s it?” he asked, watching Greyson unpack his knives a few feet away. “‘Hey, boss’? No big gameplan? No huddle to discuss the week’s insanity? No bombardment of questions regarding my health?” Greyson huffed out a laugh, but Elijah wasn’t having it. “You didn’t even tell me what you got me to drink,” he said, holding up the mystery cup.

Greyson raised an eyebrow at his boss and bit back a smile. “It’s a chai,” he said, bemused. Elijah threw his hands up, flustered.

“The amount that that doesn’t address 90% of my questions is truly amazing,” he said, taking a long sip of his drink, which – certainly wasn’t a chai. The hell was that?

“I don’t know what second-rate Starbucks you stopped at, Chef, but this is definitely not a chai,” Elijah said, pushing the cup towards the door. “What is that? It’s like...something lemon.”

Greyson colored a bit and picked up his own cup to look at the sticker. “Ah, fuck,” he mumbled, striding back into the office and switching their cups. “Sorry ’bout that. I switched the cups.”

“What is it?” Elijah asked, his face seemingly stuck in a mask of disgust. “So that I can remember to never order it.”

Greyson rolled his eyes. “Have you ever ordered something from Starbucks that wasn’t a chai?” he asked, sipping his drink. Elijah shrugged and turned towards that computer again.

“Fair enough,” he said, waking the screen by shaking the mouse. He turned to Greyson again when the floorplan popped up on his screen. “Can we take a quick look at tonight together? Since Matt and Mark are still out? Do you think we should cut the covers off now, or go to 75?” Elijah squinted, his face nearly touching the screen in concentration. After a few moments of silence, he peeled himself away from the monitor to glance at the chef, who was – the fuck was he doing?

“The fuck are you doing?” Elijah asked, snapping Greyson out of his trance. The chef had been turned almost all the way around, facing the kitchen. Clearly he hadn’t heard a word Elijah said.

“Huh? Shit, sorry boss. Lost in thought,” Greyson said, turning back toward the GM. “Uhh… 75. Yeah, that looks good,” he finished, lamely. Elijah raised his eyebrows.

“What’s your problem today?” he asked, though not with malice. Greyson chuckled.

“Just got a lot on my mind, boss,” he said. “Big weekend. Week’s been long. I need to get back to prep, if that’s okay.” Elijah gave Greyson another look, but nodded after a moment and shooed him out. Greyson smiled at his boss, held his cup out in a false ‘cheers’. “I’ll be prepping in the back kitchen if you need me,” he said, and disappeared past the line into the back.

It wasn’t Elijah’s fault, he reasoned with himself later, that he hadn’t seen through the ruse. He’d just barely gotten over a monster of a cold; he was himself busy and stressed; it was early and he hadn’t had enough caffeine. He couldn’t be expected to decode what was wrong with Greyson every time the kid acted weird. However, he couldn’t help but kick himself when he finally realized – thirty minutes before service – what the weird-tasting drink the chef had gotten himself was. Aptly named, of course, and something Elijah himself had only had once before, courtesy of Greyson himself.

A medicine ball. Greyson had gotten himself a medicine ball.

***

He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep this up, but it certainly wasn’t going to be through tomorrow’s wedding.

Greyson sat down, fully clothed, on the toilet and put his head in his hands for the third time that day. The fact that Elijah hadn’t noticed at this point was a mix of pure dumb luck and more sudafed than a human person should ever in their life consume. He assumed the former would begin to run out soon, as the latter had hours ago.

“Huhh...HNGSTH! NTSH! ITZSH! Fuck – HNGTSZHUE! Goddamn it.”

Greyson pulled a length of toilet paper from the roll and blew his nose until it made him cough. He checked his watch as he threw the toilet paper into the trashcan next to him – 9:15PM. When he’d stepped into this bathroom, dodging Elijah as he locked the door, all but one of the tables had left. He’d go back to the line, he’d tell Leo, his grill cook who’d been there nearly as long as he had, to check that everyone had cleaned thoroughly, and he’d sneak out the back before Elijah could question him.

And then what? Greyson asked himself as he stood and washed his hands. You somehow make a miraculous recovery between now and tomorrow morning? Have you seen how this shit took down Elijah, Mark, and Matt?

Greyson ignored the voice in his head and dried his hands. He assumed Elijah hadn’t noticed because they were both wildly busy before service, and once service had started, they were both worn thin being the only managers in their departments for the third day in a row. Greyson had managed to keep the congestion out of his voice with the aforementioned sudafed, and he had taken his happy ass to the bathroom or out back to ‘smoke’ when he really needed to sneeze or cough all night. Elijah had definitely given him some looks through the evening, but nothing Greyson couldn’t brush off by pulling a ticket distractedly and not making eye contact.

Tomorrow, though? When Matt and Mark were both going to be back, and they were all going to be prepping their asses off for the wedding? He genuinely had no idea what he was going to do to keep them from noticing.

Greyson exited the bathroom, stealthily managing to avoid his boss as he slipped into the kitchen. He gathered his things, put Leo in charge, and was nearly out the door, nearly safe, when -

“Chef!” Elijah called behind him, making him freeze in his tracks just outside the back door. Fuck.

“Yeah, boss?” Greyson asked, turning to face Elijah and hoping he didn’t look like the garbage fire he felt. Elijah crossed his arms over his chest in the cold of the alleyway and motioned to Greyson’s entire being.

“You leaving?” he asked tapping his foot. Greyson managed a smile and lifted his backpack and knife bag a little for inspection.

“Is it obvious?” he asked, quietly clearing his throat to mask the gravel of his voice. Elijah didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Leo shutting down the line?” he asked. Greyson nodded, swallowing around a throat on fire.

“Yeah,” he said. “Did you uh…ndeed something from mbe?” Fuck.

Elijah gave Greyson a pointed look. “Grey,” he said, voice low. “If you’re sick, you need to tell me. Now.”

Greyson felt his cheeks redden, but he immediately shook his head. “I’mb good,” he said, cursing once again the congestion that had sneaked into his voice. “Promise. I gotta go, I’mb gonna mbiss mby train.” Without missing a beat, the chef turned around and headed towards the street, hoping his boss couldn’t see him stifle nearly ten sneezes into his fist as he walked.

This was not going to end well.

***

It was worse than Elijah could have even imagined.

When Elijah walked into the restaurant that morning, the first thing he did was text Greyson.

9:01AM

Hey. I’m here, is there anything you want me to pull out/start on before you get in?

9:01AM

Also, how are you feeling?

Normally, he’d get a response in moments; when Greyson wasn’t at work, the man was glued to his phone, playing some stupid game or messaging one of his fifty Bumble suitors he kept on the line at all times. I get bored, he often said to Elijah. One starts annoying me, BOOM! Onto the next.

Today, though, nearly twenty minutes passed before Elijah’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out immediately and couldn’t help but wince at the text the chef sent.

9:18AM

great. no. ill be there in 20.

Anyone who texted with Greyson more than once in their life knew that if he wasn’t being his multi-exclamation-point, constant-joke-and-lol self over text, he was probably close to death. Elijah typed out an ‘ok��� to the chef, before making a thread with Matt and Mark.

9:31AM

Elijah

Hey, guys. Just making sure you’re both on your way in. Greyson’s gonna be down bad. Need all hands on deck asap.

9:32AM

Mark

???? is he ok??? down bad in what way?

9:33AM

Matt

ya, coming now. figured chef would’ve gone down by now. should I bring anything?

9:34AM

Elijah

Just your stamina. Gonna be a long day. Thx.

9:34AM

Mark

no one answered my ?

im so confused

oh

OH

shit, I knew I got greyson sick. fuuuuuuuuck. sorry, boss :(

9:35AM

Elijah

All good. Inevitable. Let’s just get this day done.

Elijah clicked his phone off and sighed. He could go for a whiskey, or even just a long, drawn out scream about now, but a cigarette and a prayer would have to do him. Twelve hours until the wedding was over.

***

How Greyson managed to make it to work was anyone’s guess, him included.

The chef pushed through the back doors and before he could even get past the prep kitchen he was doubled over, sneezing into the sleeve of his hoodie.

“HhhIGSTZH-ue! HuhESHHH-ue! HRRTSCHZUE! NGTSHZUE! Christ, fuck,” Greyson muttered, wiping his nose on his sleeve for what he could only wish he could say was the first time that morning. He cleared his throat, which was for naught since he could barely speak, and continued his trudge into the main kitchen.

When Greyson had made it home last night, he told himself he’d be able to continue to hide his burgeoning illness. He thought maybe more medicine, some Vick’s, and a good night’s sleep would give him the upper hand against it. He’d told himself he was stronger than his coworkers, that his immune system wouldn’t fail him on one of the most important days of his career.

Oh, how the mighty will fall.

“HhNGTSHHZUE! ITSZH-uhh! Fuuuuck,” Greyson moaned, stumbling into the thankfully-empty office and yanking a handful of tissues from the box on the desk. He wiped his nose, unwilling to unleash the volley of sneezes he knew would be behind a nose blow, and pressed his palms into his eyes to try and relieve some of the pressure. Who the fuck gets a cold this fucking bad, Elijah, he wondered silently.

As if conjured, Greyson felt his phone buzz with a text from his boss.

10:07AM

Bless. That sounds fucking awful.

Could a guy not get a moment’s peace in this fucking place?

10:08AM

i should call the cdc’s biohazard unit on u for unleashing this shit onto us.

An admission, but what else was he supposed to do? Elijah could hear him in the dining room. The game was over. Greyson put his head back into his hands until he heard his boss’s footsteps click into the kitchen.

“...chef?” Elijah asked, and Greyson wearily lifted his head.

“Mornding,” Greyson croaked, before turning to the side to cough, crackly and painful-sounding, into his sleeve. He felt something get placed on the desk next to him, and when he finally was able to compose himself he saw it was a Starbucks cup. Greyson smiled, weary.

“Chai?” he asked, picking up the cup. Elijah huffed out a laugh.

“Something like that,” he said, moving to sit next to Greyson. “Now, hear me out. I think I have a gameplan.”

***

At five o’clock, Elijah finally went to rouse the man of the hour with a knock on the office door.

“Chef,” he said, trying to wake Greyson as gently as possible. “Grey. We need you for plate-up.” Greyson nodded blearily and, with the help of both Matt and Elijah, managed to get to his feet.

It had been an interesting day for sure. Elijah’s plan had been for Greyson to try and help with some of the more intricate parts of prep in the morning, and then lay down from noon until it was go time, but that had proved nearly impossible.

Greyson had managed to prep for about three minutes at a time before dissolving into nasty coughing fits that lasted minutes at a time, or absolutely relentless bouts of -

“HTSHH-ue! HRSHH-ue! Hhuhh…NGTSHZUE! ITSZHUE! Huhh-ETSHZCH-oo!”

“Christ, boss,” Matt said, attempting a laugh after a particularly intense fit of sneezes, “When you go down you really go – oh, fuck.” In teasing his boss, Matt nearly missed Greyson’s eyes rolling back into his head and his knees buckling as he lost consciousness for a moment. “ELIJAH!” Matt called, catching his boss and lowering him to the ground as gracefully as possible.

Once they’d managed to get Greyson back to a standing position, Elijah had decided it was too risky to let him continue to be...vertical. Greyson had laid out for Matt exactly what he needed him to do to finish preparing the food, and retreated to the blanket fort they had all heavily utilized this week for a sleep that more closely resembled a coma than anything restorative.

Matt, Elijah, and even Mark had managed to finish the prep Greyson had worked so hard on that week by four PM. Once they felt ready, the three of them gathered in front of the office to stare at the racked-out chef.

“Should we… ask him if everything looks okay?” Mark had asked, ringing his hands. Matt and Elijah exchanged a look before Elijah shook his head.

“I think… I think he’ll be okay with just about anything at this point,” Elijah said. The other two nodded, unwilling to take this precious moment of sleep away from the chef.

When the guests were all seated and ready for first courses, it was, of course, Elijah’s job to wake the sleeping bear. Greyson, ever the trooper, took his place at the pass and regarded the three of them with all the pride he could muster.

“Thangk you guys. Really,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Ndow. Let’s get this shit over w – HGSTHH-ue! Snrf. Guhh,” Greyson held tight to the granite counter top and pulled himself back to his full height.

“Let’s get this done,” he said, pulling out his tweezers. “And whend it’s over, I’mb ndot answering mby phone for a fuckigg week.”

They all managed a laugh. They all assumed their positions for plating and running food. This certainly wasn’t the glamorous job it was portrayed in the movies, but they did have something all that media never seemed to truly capture; they had each other, and this place that all of them thought of as not a second, but a true home.

Greyson cleared his throat as the first of the servers came through the doors, bearing labeled sheets with seat numbers. “Order in!” he called, and they all put their heads down and began their work.

[crowandmoonwriting]

I read your post that you worldbuild a lot, and now I'm worldbuilding a fantasy novel, and idk how to organise stuff and so. Which tools do you use? How do you classify all the information? I'd like to know your thoughts

Hello! I have a loooot of thoughts on the matter, lol, so sorry if this is really long.

Yes, I worldbuild almost constantly. It’s as much a hobby as writing my stories. The way I see it, and the way I do it, there’s two ways to worldbuild: improvisation and preparation.

The first method involves just starting your story, and creating elements as you need them. Have your characters, but not sure where to put them? Draw a map! Start with a few lines on a page, make the rough outline of a country or continent (or city). Are they travelling out into the countryside? Add roads! It’s something I do as a DM in my tabletop games quite a bit, and it can be good if you’re not sure where exactly to start.

But the second method, preparation, is trickier and requires a lot more hours. I use a few programs to help me come up with and organize information:

World Anvil and Notebook.ai: these websites provide numerous categories for worldbuilding and fillable templates. You can create a personal wiki of sorts with articles on characters, countries, races and ethnicities, items, languages, myths and legends, traditions, religions, and more. For a more in-depth discussion about these two sites, see this post (x)

Evernote: this is my favourite document-writing and compiling resource EVER. I’ve been using it for about 5 years now. You can create numerous notebooks to compile notes, and stacks of notebooks to further organize. Evernote’s service syncs across your devices and all of your data is stored, so even if your computer dies, your data is safe. There are apps for your computer and your phone so you can access on the go. You can also assign search tags to each note to find it all easier. Check it out here (x).

Here are some sites I use for inspiration:

Pinterest, of course lol. There are numerous links to worldbuilding help articles, and organizing your favourites into boards can be quite helpful.

DeviantArt and other art hosting sites: enrich your eyes with fantasy art! It can provoke ideas better than almost anything!

Then there’s tumblr! All of my worldbuilding posts can be found here (sorry, shameless plug), and you can feel free to ask me questions any time.

Here are some general tips:

Read a lot of history and historical research. Even if you’re writing a fantasy world that you think has very few parallels with our own, history has so many lessons to teach regarding how cultures interact, how commodities affect countries and their people, how food factors into politics, etc. You can also gain a lot of plot ideas.

Read in your genre. High fantasy novels are wonderful for fun, but it can also be fun (for me at least, I’m such a nerd) to recreate the writer’s worldbuilding methodology. If you haven’t read Tolkien yet, please do! It may be a bit dry, but his worldbuilding is remarkable.

If you know a DM or GM of any tabletop, talk to them about how they create their encounters. I find they have some of the best worldbuilding tips out there.

Aesthetics? Playlists? Ambient mixes? All wonderful to make your world seem more real to you. The more real it is for you, the writer, the more real it will be to the reader. Stimulate your imagination with a wealth of media. I recommend the following sites: Spotify, 8tracks, and Ambient-Mixer.

Backtracking one idea you like can birth a thousand more details. I’m fascinated by food culture, for example, so sometimes I experiment, trying to create dishes my fantasy races would enjoy, using spices they might like. Then I backtrack and ask why particular spices are used in particular regions, expand on trade routes, etc. 

Keep in mind, everyone’s creative process is different, and everyone’s fantasy world has different needs. Maybe you don’t need to go into ridiculous detail, to know which currencies are used in which time periods by which factions. Maybe you do. I for one need incredible detail to bring my world to life, but not everyone does. Some are okay with just a few historical notes, and geographical maps, and that’s all. I’m so jealous of those people, lol.

Finally, no matter what advice you read or hear, remember you make the rules. This is your world, and until you get a horde of loyal readers, you’re going to live in it. Have fun with it! Explore its vast plains, its deep caverns, its lofty windswept mountains, its shimmering seas, and its sifting deserts.

I hope that helps!

[aire101]

Ferrum Chapter 2

Here’s chapter two, and my apologies for how closely part of it follows Episode 1 of SAO.  After this the story probably won’t follow much of the shown canon at all, though I will probably bring in SAO characters for the boys to interact with eventually.  But in SAO everyone has the same starting point.  But with the world being as complex as it is, I doubt I’ll ever really need to follow episode events or dialogue this closely again.  Though I might get the boys involved in the Level 1 boss battle, we’ll see.

Also, please excuse any incorrect computer/programming/gaming jargon.  I’m doing the best I can. T_T

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

Peter was a masochist.  That was really the only explanation for his current situation.  The person had even offered to go their own way before Peter had opened his big mouth and tied them together for the next few hours.

Peter knew it wasn’t really Mr. Stark, he did.  But the avatar looked exactly like the Tony Stark that Peter remembered— before the space starvation and the new stress lines of living in a post-apocalyptic earth.  And he sounded just like him.  He had the same weird humor that fluctuated wildly between arrogance and self-deprecation.  He got Peter’s stupid science jokes and the laugh he gave when Peter growled out “FINISH HIM” during a fight with a boar was painfully familiar.  Several times he had to stop himself from calling out the wrong name, and each time left him feeling like he was repeatedly prodding a gaping chasm of a wound.

“You ok, Ki— uh, sorry… Tor?”

And then there was that.  All in all, it was a perfect recipe for emotional disaster.

“Yeah, sorry… my mind wandered off a bit there.”

“In the middle of a pvp and monster spawn zone might not be the best place for that you know.  How does this game even handle respawns?” asked Ferrum, striking down another boar with a swift horizontal strike.  It taken a bit of trial and error for them to get the hang of activating the sword skills, but once it had clicked they had made quick work of the low level spawns in the area.

“You know, for someone who managed to snag a limited release of this game you know surprisingly little about it,” responded Peter.

“Yes, I known, I’m an enigma.  Humor me and explain please.”

“We’re supposed to respawn in the nearest town I think.  Given the bugs we’ve seen so far though I’m not sure I’d want to test that at the moment.  Might be one way to initiate a logout though?” said Peter.

“I’d rather not risk it, and I’d suggest you do the same until we hear from an actual GM,” said Ferrum, sheathing his sword.  “That being said, we’ve been out here several hours now, wanna head back into town and see if anyone has heard anything?”

“Sure,” said Peter, also putting away his weapon.  They stood in the middle of a clearing with expansive views.  Most of the beasts in this area hadn’t been ones to initiate conflict, and they would have plenty of forewarning if anything headed in their direction.  So for a moment Peter allowed himself to just relax and take a proper look around the area, marveling at the beauty and complexity of the world Argus had built.  Off in the distance he could see hills disappear into the haze of the the horizon and cities raised atop impossible pillars.  In a field not too far from them there were a couple other players likewise looking out, taking in the beauty of the glistening waterfalls and towns painted in oranges and reds as sunset came over Aincrad.  

“I have to give them credit.  When I first heard about their plans for this game I was a bit dubious on whether they would actually be able to deliver on the promise.  Concept art looks great, but actually being able to code a full sensory experience into an application?  And create an entire open world with that data?  I mean, I had thought about the concept before, but the technology needed to do it always made me a bit uneasy…  It would be way to easy for someone to use it in ways it shouldn’t be,” said Ferrum.

“What changed your mind then? I mean, since you’re here now?” asked Peter.

“…I don’t know,” muttered Ferrum, sounding distinctly unsettled with the admission.

Peter opened his mouth with a joke on the tip of his tongue, something to lighten the suddenly uneasy mood—

When the deep toll of a bell rang out from the Town of Beginnings, rolling through the air with the tone of a death knell.

“Huh, wonder if they’re finally about to make an announcement?” said Peter.  “I’m surprised it took so—”

Suddenly a white light enveloped him.  In those seconds he felt nothing, completely stripped of sensory.  Just as he felt himself starting to panic, the light released him and was gone as quickly as it had came.  He found himself and Ferrum once again standing in the center of the plaza of the Town of Beginnings.  All around them seemingly every one of the 10,000 players were similarly being teleported into the square.  

“What the hell?” said Ferrum.

“I don’t know.  Pretty sure they should be able to make announcements across the whole game regardless of player location.  Maybe its an opening event?  Would explain the theatrics of it,” said Peter.

The whole square was a buzz with nervous confusion as people tried to figure out what was going on, then Peter heard someone call out above the crowd, “Up there!”

Peter looked up, and above the square there flashed a single red polygon with the word WARNING.

The sky turned red as more and more polygons spawned proclaiming ‘WARNING’ and ‘SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT.’

Peter wanted to think that maybe they had found the bug.  Maybe they were announcing a fix or instructions for the players…

But even without his spidey sense, something felt wrong.

Then the sky began to bleed.

“What is that?” asked a player to the side in horrified awe as the blood-like liquid began to coalesce into a more solid state.  Within moments it formed into a hooded figure wearing familiar blood red robes with gold trim.

A Game Master— likely an a real one this time.

The crowd of players all began to mutter speculations about the figure or the possibility of an event.

“I have bad feeling about all this.”

Peter jumped.  He had forgotten about Ferrum at his side.  He looked over at the older looking man, taking in the tight lines around his mouth, his eyes darting around the area taking everything in, but not straying too long way from the god-like figure of the GM in front of them.

Peter wished he could reassure the man like he had earlier in the day, but Peter was suddenly very aware that in this world he was no different than anyone else.  Just as vulnerable, just as powerless… What had originally been a main draw for him was now a very real weakness.  

“It would be way to easy for someone to use it in ways it shouldn’t be…”

They were absolutely at the mercy of this monolithic system…

“Attention Players… Welcome to my world.  My name is Kayaba Akihiko.  As of this moment, I am the sole person who can control this world.”

And whoever controlled it.

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Ferrum, a look of horror on his face.

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed that the logout button is missing from the main menu,” Kayaba continued.  “But this is not a defect in the game.”

A shiver traveled up Peter’s spine.  A stone of cold fear formed in his stomach.  Surely not… surely someone along the way would have noticed something so horrendous in the code…

“I repeat— this is not a defect in the game.  It is a feature of Sword Art Online.”

“But how… how can he keep us here?  Surely someone on the outside can still get us out?” asked Peter.

“It’s the hardware, Kid.  He’s fucked with the user client hardware that everyone’s brains are wired into,” growled Ferrum.

“You cannot log out of SAO yourselves.  And no one on the outside can shut down or remove the NerveGear.  Should this be attempted, the transmitter inside the NerveGear will emit a powerful microwave, destroying your brain and thus ending your life,” said Kayaba.

Immediately Peter ran through all the specs on the hardware he was privy to during his time as Tony’s intern, and came to the same conclusion Ferrum already had— this mad man was not lying.  He had disabled the safety mechanism that would keep certain powerful data bursts from frying someone’s brain.

Data bursts such as an autosave or a death respawn.

“Unfortunately, several players’ friends and families have ignored this warning, and have attempted to remove the NerveGear.  As a result, two hundred and thirteen players are gone forever, from both Aincrad and the real world.”

“Two hundred and thirteen…”

Peter turned around to see Ferrum looking on with eyes wide, his right hand grasping his left wrist as his left hand gave small spasms.  

That motion was intimately familiar.  The similarity  was uncanny…

“As you can see, news organizations across the world are reporting all of this, including the deaths.” Multiple program windows opened, most featuring various news channels running live, corroborating what Kayaba was explaining.    “Thus, you can assume that the danger of a NerveGear being removed is now minimal.  I hope you will relax and attempt to clear the game.

But I want you to remember this clearly.  There is no longer any method to revive someone within the game.  If your HP drops to zero, your avatar will be forever lost.  And simultaneously, the NerveGear will destroy your brain.”

So he was right— it was both the autosave and respawn functions that had been weaponized in the headset.  The more he thought about it, the more angry he became.  The man had taken glorious innovations in technology—some of it pioneered by Mr. Stark himself—and twisted it into a personal hell for all these people, some of them undoubtedly children.  As if the world hadn’t been dealing with enough tragedy over the last few years.  He wanted nothing more than to punch Kayaba directly in the face with every pound of his spider strength.

But he couldn’t do that.  In this world, he was just like everyone else.

With great power comes great responsibility… but without that power, was that responsibility still his?

“There is only one means of escape.  To complete the game,” Kayaba said, bringing up a digital layout of the floors of Aincrad.  “You are presently on the lowest floor of Aincrad, Floor 1.  If you make your way through the dungeon and defeat the Floor Boss, you may advance to the next level.  Defeat the final boss on Floor 100, and you will clear the game.”

The crowd, which up till now had been mostly muted in shock, finally began to shout and rumble in confusion and denial.  And from the sound of things, this monologue was just about to wrap up.  When it did, all hell was going to break loose.

He had some choices to make, and fast.

“Finally, I’ve added a present from me to your item storage.  Please see for yourselves.”

Shit.  What now?

Peter swiped down to access his storage, feeling distinctly as if he were walking into a trap.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ferrum doing so as well.

An item labeled ‘Mirror’ had been placed in his inventory.

“I’m guessing this mirror is the ‘gift,’ though now I’m wondering if he programmed the auto-drop or did it himself, and if he’s aware of my… status,” whispered Ferrum.

That’s right.  Ferrum was a GM, however that had happened.

“Do you think you could—”

But he didn’t get to finish his question, as at that moment everyone in the plaza began to shout as they were all consumed once again by white light.

When it receded, everyone had changed.

Some looked younger, most looked older.  Quite a few people around him looked to have changed genders completely.  Peter glanced back down at the mirror in his to see his Thor-like appearance gone completely, and instead his true face reflected back at him.  

So that was the purpose of the all too thorough calibration he and Ned had gone through.

“Kid,” said a shocked voice at his side.  

Peter turned around towards Ferrum, wondering who had been behind the meticulous avatar of Mr. Stark…

Only to see that Ferrum was completely unchanged.  Perhaps being a GM had made him impervious to the magic of the mirror?

“Underoos… what are you doing here, kid?!”

With those heartbroken words, Peter’s carefully constructed walls came crashing down.

. . . . .

Peter couldn’t think.  He certainly couldn’t speak.

He could vaguely tell that Kayaba had continued with his closing speech, but he couldn’t tell you what he had said.

All he could process was Mr. Stark’s face in front of him, and the name that only he had ever uttered to him.

It was impossible.  He had seen the body—the horrific scorching where the universal energies had burned through him, the life support system shutting off, the brightness leaving behind a cold husk in a metal suit—

Peter’s whole body flinched when he felt that familiar hand rest on his shoulder.

“Kid!  Are you with me?  We need to get out of here.”

In the time Peter had spaced out Kayaba had disappeared, and now the whole crowd was devolving into a panic.  People were screaming in terror and rage, several had broken down into sobbing messes on the ground.

He wanted to do something— anything to make this better.  Tell people that it was ok, they would figure this out.

But more than that, he wanted someone else to tell him that as well.

Finally he brought himself to focus on what Mr. Stark was saying.

“What do you mean we have to go— where else is there to go?” asked Peter.  “We can’t leave the game, we’ve tried—”

“Not the game, we need to get out of town.”

“What— why—”

“We can talk more later, follow me,” Mr. Stark said before running down a nearby alley.

After a few minutes they stopped, and Mr. Stark started flicking through his user interface.

“This is a fantasy RPG… you can’t tell me there are no helmets…”

After scrolling for a while, he tapped an item on the list and spawned a basic metal helmet and quickly placed it on is head, before continuing to run out of town.

“Mr. Stark!  Wait!” cried Peter.

“Don’t shout that kid, otherwise the helmet is pointless!” Mr. Stark called back.

“Ferrum… why are we heading out of town?  Its about to be dark and the only safe zone we know is here!” shouted Peter.

“The people back there are panicking, Peter.  It won’t be much longer before they start turning on each other, looking for someone to take it out on.  Between my face and the fact that some saw me in GM robes earlier I don’t want to chance hanging around for someone to put the pieces together.  Not to mention this area’s resources are going to be swamped before we know it.  Resource management is built in to the Cardinal system to maintain balance and encourage player movement and activity.  There won’t be enough to go around.”

“But if we die on the road the resources we need won’t really matter!” yelled Peter, pulling to a stop.  “There’s only so much they can do to us in town, it’s a No PVP area.  Lets just find an inn on the outskirts of town and spend the night.  We need a better plan than just running out of the safe zone at twilight.”

Mr. Stark had pulled to a stop when Peter had, obviously unwilling to leave him behind.  He looked down the alley, obviously wanting to continue on, but after a moment his shoulders dropped in an obvious show of concession.

“Fine, lets go to the outer ring and find a place,” said Mr. Stark.

As he turned and started walking away, Peter allowed himself a moment to take in the familiar gait, the way Mr. Stark always walked with his back straight and his head held high, as if he were always prepared to walk onto a red carpet, even in his most destroyed workshop clothes.

He could recognize every familiar mannerism from their hours pouring over suit tech and web formulas.  In retrospect, perhaps that as much as his face was why he had latched onto the man to begin with.  

But the billion dollar question still remained… how?

Hopefully once they found a room to bunk in, he could work out what the hell was going on… preferably before he had a complete emotional breakdown.