#Imagine those two facing Pyramid Head

[gazkerber]

...Why does Goromi look so good wearing Maria's outfit from Silent Hill 2?

Obligatory Kiryu as James Sunderland lol

...The monsters don't stand a chance 😂

[gazkamurocho]

…Why does Goromi look so good wearing Maria’s outfit from Silent Hill 2?

Obligatory Kiryu as James Sunderland lol

…The monsters don’t stand a chance 😂

[threewaywithdelusion]

Mrs. Harrington (A Stranger Things WIP)

Delia remembers falling in love with Richard. 

It was junior year of high school. Delia was a cheerleader, but not the best cheerleader. She was in the middle of the pyramid — too weak to be the base and too big to be a flyer. She felt unnoticeable, propping the head cheerleader, Mandee, up so she could shine. 

Mandee had been dating Richard. The perfect cheerleader, all blonde hair and blue eyes and a petite body that made her a perfect flyer. Not like Delia, whose dark hair never lay flat and whose body was heavier but without that perfect hourglass Marilyn Monroe shape. Mandee came from a good family, one with money. Delia’s family was aggressively middle class. She could never go anywhere because they only had one car and her dad drove it to work every day. The only truly nice thing Delia had was her piano, which was her most cherished possession. Delia was a cheerleader because it gave her friends — she played the piano because it gave her life. 

All that meant that Delia had never expected to catch Richard Harrington’s eyes. Then, somehow, in the middle of a cheer, Delia had looked out at the crowd and seen Richard. His eyes hadn’t been on his perfect girlfriend at the top of the pyramid. They had been on Delia. 

After that, every time they did their routine, Delia always looked for Richard in the audience. She always found him looking back at her. 

The summer before senior year, Mandee’s family had gone to visit her grandparents in Florida. She hadn’t been gone two days before Richard pulled up outside Delia’s house at twilight, rolled down his window, and gave her a roughish smile. 

She’d climbed into his car. 

That summer had been the happiest time of her life. The two of them had been young and free — Delia and Dickie, taking on the world. Dickie had taken her to the drive-in and kissed her with his mouth tasting of popcorn. He’d driven her to Indy and to Chicago, where they had spent hours exploring new music like the Elvis and the Shirelles. They went to the lake and Delia lay on the shore until Dickie picked her up and dunked her in the lake, kissing away her shrieks of surprise. 

Dickie had money and he bought Delia records and dresses and jewelry. He made it seem like the world was at their fingertips. 

They’d spent their evenings lying on the roof of Dickie’s car, watching the stars and discussing their dreams. 

“If you could be anything, what would you be?” Delia asked. 

Dickie blew out cigarette smoke with a careless air, something that always reminded Delia of James Dean. 

“An actor,” Dickie said. “One of those handsome ones who gets to kiss all the pretty girls and save the day. Like Rock Hudson.”

Delia smiled and snuggled against Dickie’s shoulder. “You do kind of look like him.”

“I know,” Dickie said cockily. He tilted his head just so, in a way that invited Delia to laugh at his overconfidence. That was part of the magic of talking to Dickie — you always felt like you were in on the joke. 

Delia teetered on the verge of shattering the moment, then committed to it. “But what about for real? In a world where you aren’t a movie star. Do you think you’ll work for your dad?”

Dickie’s face went dark. “I’ll never work for him. He’s already got his golden child, doesn’t he? Michael is apparently getting straight A’s in college. He’ll take over the company once dad retires.”

Dickie frowned at the stars for a long moment before he remembered to pretend he didn’t care. He shook off his preoccupation and gave Delia a wide smile. “Let him have the boring business job. I’ll be busy getting rich as a movie star.”

Delia laughed because that was what Dickie wanted. She couldn’t imagine why Dickie’s father wouldn’t want him as his heir. Sure, Michael was a year older and he seemed to be good at all that school stuff. But Dickie was no slouch when it came to school and he was excellent at people. The mothers who worked as cashiers in town were always giving him discounts or free treats because he knew how to flatter them. 

Dickie shone. When he smiled, you couldn’t help but look. When he talked, you couldn’t help but listen. 

No one had ever looked at Delia until this paragon of rich, insouciant youth had noticed her. He’d seen her in the middle of the pyramid and thought she was worth watching. He’d let her drag him into her embarrassingly small house and watched her play piano, sitting atop the lid, looking entranced. He’d demanded song after song. 

He’d called her extraordinary. And when Dickie said it, Delia felt like it was true. 

“What about you?” Dickie asked. “What do you want to be?”

Delia stole the cigarette from between his fingers and took a drag, placing her lips where his had just been. “Yours. I want to be yours.”

Dickie smiled and kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, then her lips. They abandoned the cigarette in the dirt and crawled into the car and made love, fogging up the windows until a cop knocked and Dickie charmed their way out of trouble with a sweet smile and a story about young love. 

The whole time he’d spoken to the cop, he’d kept one hand behind him, holding onto Delia’s. 

Delia had thought, this is love. 

***

It’s August 1986 when Delia Harrington meets Robin Buckley for the first time. 

Hawkins is an empty husk of a town, ravaged by an earthquake and a chemical leak and a string of animal attacks. Delia’s son is covered in scars and has a wild look in his eyes that reminds Delia of the veterans she met at the memorial. She wonders if Steven will ever be able to live a normal life or if he��ll be like those veterans, jumping at backfiring car, never quite sure where or when they are. 

Wherever Steve is, Robin Buckley is as well. 

Delia’s first impression of her is that she didn’t think Steve would choose this type of girl. The last one, Nancy, seemed more like Steve’s type. Well-mannered, put-together, and from a good family. Pretty and smart with a confidence that had Steve watching her in awe whenever she spoke. 

Robin isn’t eloquent or quietly powerful like Nancy was. She rambles far too much and she flails her limbs when she moves. She fumbles basic conversation and she doesn’t hold eye contact with Delia for more than three seconds at a time. 

But when she’s around Steve, the tension drops out of his shoulders. He reaches for her constantly, checking she’s there with little taps to her shoulders or brushes to her wrists. They have entire conversations in silence, punctuated only by Steve’s loud laughter. 

Delia could never have predicted Robin Buckley would be the one to catch Steve’s eye. She sees Richard frowning at the girl and she knows he’s seeing all the ways she’s a wrong fit — too loud, too wild, too shameless. Her clothes too blocky and her hair too choppy. 

Delia wonders if any part of Richard is seeing his own high school sweetheart and the way he’d loved her in spite of the more proper choice. 

She’s not sure these days, that Richard remembers the summer of Dickie and Delia at all. 

But when Delia’s not watching Richard’s frowns, she sees Steve’s smile. She watches him light up when he opens the door to find Robin outside. She sees the way the screaming from nightmares lessens on the nights when Delia turns a blind eye to Robin fumbling her way into Steve’s bedroom. She hears Steve and Robin’s laughter echoing through the hallway. 

Delia thinks, this is love. 

[synnthamonsugar]

DESTINYTOBER: Day 2 - Tower

. . .

Sometimes the tower rests on a dark plain at the foot of the mountains. Sometimes, it rises from the rubble of the destroyed Last City, the debris fields of the Reef, or the Golden Age ruins of Venus, or a hundred other locations throughout time, real or imagined.

Today the tower cracks through the fields of Rathmore Chaos, ice sheets upturned to it from its violent eruption. The Pyramid hovers above, basking it in coils of red-orange energy, the darkened outline of Juptier behind.

Elsie is opposed by an army of three. The Guardian is flashy in their use of stasis, but she is able to parry their verglas daggers, evade their rime-encrusted fists, getting the upper hand with a foot sweep that drops them to the ground and allows her to drive an icy polearm straight through their chestplate. She lodges a knife into the eye of their Ghost when it arrives for the rez. 

No sooner than, the Drifter flanks her from a distance, pistol aimed. Tumbling, she dodges his shots before drawing her own rifle from a kneeling stance, a burst of rounds dropping him on the spot. His ghost attempts to change her, but she catches it midair, its sharp flanges thrashing against her until its eye gives way under the pressure of her fist. Metal crumples and glass shatters and she throws it aside. 

When Eris Morn arrives she's more human than Elsie has ever seen her, two dark eyes exposed, full lips bent into an almost-smile. Elsie thinks of negotiating but the thought disappears when Eris attacks, first with the Light, then soulfire to stasis to resonance. As she does, she physically transforms — from human to what most people would recognize her as, to something like a hive knight as chitin engulfs her body. She grows in size and ferocity as she takes on her hive-god form, before chitin peels away revealing the sleek blood-slick body of a Disciple, three eyes like spotlights beating down on Elsie as she runs from beams of resonance that crater the ice like shells on the battlefield. 

One hits her arm, ripping it off, another tears through her side, throwing her off balance without downing her. Rolling into one of the impromptu foxholes she fires off a barrage of stasis that encases her legs, toppling her with a monumental shudder across the ice. Before she can regain her footing, Elsie draws forth a gelid sword, leaping for Eris' mouthless face and driving it to the hilt through one of those bio-mechanical eyes —

Elsie wakes with a violent start, jolting onto her side and almost off the bed completely.

Disoriented, she takes stock of herself and her surroundings. The hum of the heater, the whistle of the wind outside the yurt, the myriad lights from the gadgets within the outpost, her cooling fans rattling her frame as they buzz as maximum capacity. 

A half-arm away from her on the bunk lay Eris Morn, straight-armed and open-eyed in the darkness.

"Sorry for waking you. I had a — a nightmare."

"There's no need to apologize," Eris replies. Before they agreed to share the cot, they'd both discussed the lightness of their sleep, their tendencies toward night-terrors, so perhaps it was unfounded. 

"I dreamt I killed you."

"Unforgivable." There's a wryness in her voice, a slight upturn in her mouth that eases a bit of the heaviness in Elsie's chest. This Eris is not the Eris of her nightmares, or the corrupted Eris of any of her countless timelines. This Eris is her confidante, and comrade against the Darkness.

"I saw the tower . . . the deep stone crypt. Not the Deep Stone Crypt, the one from our dreams."

"Eriana spoke of it." Sadness in her voice, but tenderness too. "May your next dream be of elysian fields. Of gentle passage to the tower."

Elsie rolls onto her back and rests her head against the pillow, fans powering down as her heatsinks dissipate built-up warmth. Powering off her optics, she settles in for what she prays will be a peaceful rest. "Thank you Eris. I hope so too."

[egg-emperor]

No you don't understand. He has all those pieces of art that have buff men with glistening, flexing muscles that he no doubt looks at numerous times a day and does NO fantasizing looking at them because he wants to be LIKE them. That's why he strokes the muscles in his free time too it's to think about how he wants to look like them (/j, cannot stress that enough)

No that's what I love though LMFAO I can see like two ways of Eggman trying to explain why he has the hall of buff guy statutes and they both just backfire and make it sound even gayer. Trying to deny it's anything but gay is already gay and having them in the first place is first of all

But also what reasons can he give besides "I just admire the male form and the arts" That's gay. Or "oh I want to be like them (so that's why I dedicated a whole hallway to statues of them in suggestive flexing poses and polished so shiny.)" Again gay as hell you didn't need to do all that but you wanted to

And nobody is believing him by saying he wants to look like them because he has such a big ego and loves himself so much exactly the way he is and makes statues and robots accurately shaped like him and his body. No delusions or desire to change his body shape his identity is themed around now

And he can't say they're supposed to just be a buff depiction of himself either because they don't have his face, an always important feature to him in his decor. A bunch of robots share his face, self made statues always have his face, his face is all over everywhere else on the Egg Carrier- on the walls behind these statues even

And even statues in places he takes over like his hidden pyramid base in SA2, where he defiles them to make them look more like him, despite not being accurate to his actual physique, he replaces the heads of the statues by adding his own face to them

He didn't do that with these statues. They don't have his face or shape, absolutely nothing of his visage. He really just wanted buff male torso statues in suggestive poses that look nothing like him. Just random buff guys in their muscular toned shiny polished glory

But then EVEN IF they had his face, with the way he canonically calls himself handsome and acts with his classic self in Generations, that actually wouldn't help his case either because he's gay for himself too lmfao he literally can't beat the allegations

And to top it all off it's in a place called HOT Shelter, we know that's why it's really called that XD

-

But no yeah totally he just walks down that hall staring at them multiple times a day because he needs to make sure they stay very shiny and in good condition because they're just so valuable

And he insists on polishing them himself despite having cleaning robots that clean everywhere else because again, they're very valuable and fragile and he runs his hands all over them during it because he needs to make sure he's polishing every inch perfectly/he's getting lost in thoughts of how he totally wants to look like them

And the way he bites his lip while running his hands over them is just because he's so impressed by their accuracy/he's totally imagining looking like that. And the way his mind goes to fantasies of imagining doing this to a guy for real is a natural given for everyone because it's just so realistic as such brilliant art

Ignore his bulge while this is all happening, you know how random unprompted boners that totally have nothing to do with this can be lol

[usafphantom2]

The Top-Secret Warplanes of Area 51

Bill SweetmanPublished Oct 1, 2006 10:00 AM EDT

Aviation photo

On a trip to las vegas in 2004, observing from my east-facing hotel room in the pyramidal Luxor Hotel at daybreak, I watched a fleet of six unmarked 737s make commuter flights to nowhere. These aircraft depart every weekday morning from a tidy, anonymous terminal on the western side of McCarran International Airport. A long line of cars pours into a 1,600-spot parking lot as the jets pull away from the terminal, taxi to the runways, and head out into the desert sky. At the end of the day, the shuttle flights return and the lot empties. The passengers go home and tell their families nothing about what happened at work that day.

Cut to April 4 this year. San Diego is hit by a rumbling shock that isn’t an earthquake. It is ruled out by the media as a sonic boom after military operators claim it is not one of their aircraft. San Diego Union-Tribune reporter Alex Roth does some digging and comes up with six puzzlingly similar incidents around the country since 2003.

Fast-forward to July, at the Farnborough International Airshow in southeastern England. Frank Cappuccio, the avuncular vice president of Lockheed Martin’s secretive Skunk Works division, opens a press conference by introducing what he calls a promotional video, “something to show the kids and families about what we do.” Two minutes into the show, a gray, cockpit-less airplane that nobody has seen before-it looks like a B-2 bomber’s chick-soars over a backdrop of stony, barren hills and mountains.

All these events are linked. They are the visible signs of an invisible, parallel world within the universe of aerospace and defense: the classified, or “black,” world of secret military programs. Those unmarked 737s were ferrying employees to the flight-test center near Groom Lake, Nevada, known to the public as Area 51. The gray airplane is Polecat, a next-generation stealth unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV)-Cappuccio’s video was his sly way of unveiling the program. Those earthquakes? Quite possibly sonic booms from a long-suspected hypersonic attack vehicle, a sleek aircraft that has consumed the imaginations of black-project enthusiasts and military analysts, including me, for two decades. Though seemingly dormant in recent years, the program appears to be on the move again, and with a renewed vigor that has me feeling, somewhat unsettlingly, a bit like the aerospace industry’s own Ahab.

Invisible Fighter

The Vehicle: Stealthy, unmanned combat aerial vehicle The Technology: Visual stealth, including active fuselage lighting that blends into background The Evidence: Patent filing, development of key technology, obvious gap in current arsenal

The black airplane world has, without question, produced the most significant advances in aviation technology. In the 1950s, it spawned the U-2 spyplane, which flew higher and farther than anyone had thought possible. It gave birth a decade later to the SR-71 Blackbird, the exotic, revered speed king. It also produced the slow but stealthy, origami-like F-117 fighter.

But for aerospace sleuths, there’s been little activity recently in the form of declassified vehicles that might hint at current efforts. (Classified programs can be unveiled to aid in broad combat deployment or when the technology appears in other programs.) The F-117 came out of the black world during the first Iraq war 15 years ago, and only three aircraft have been introduced since. One was Polecat. Another was Northrop Grumman’s ungainly reconnaissance aircraft Tacit Blue, nicknamed “the Whale.” The third was Boeing’s Bird of Prey, which tested visual stealth strategies, including shaping that minimizes shadows and contrast and, rumor has it, body illumination that allows it to blend into its background.

This dearth of unveiled prototypes does not mean, however, that the black-aircraft community is dormant. In fact, all signs point to steadily increasing activity. Google Earth reveals a newly constructed additional runway and multiple new hangars and buildings at the base. The usual vague, untraceable allocations in congressional budgets that often signal classified programs are on the rise, and modern technological innovations are now enabling aircraft designs that might have floundered in the black world for years. Further, there are significant gaps in the military’s known aviation arsenal-gaps that the Pentagon can reasonably be assumed to be actively, if quietly, trying to fill.

The need for such secrecy is simple: It is essential to preserving technological surprise. The Pentagon wishes to prevent enemies from developing strategies to counter the technology. The challenge is to figure out what precisely is happening-without betraying national security-because the bigger the black world gets, the better it conceals its activities. What follows is inescapably an educated guess, arrived at by analysis of the available evidence, at the tantalizing designs being cooked up on the sly at Area 51, including a radical special-forces transport, a stealthy UAV, an agile new bomber, and my own white whale-the mythical, hypersonic dragster and presumed source of those faux earthquakes: Aurora.

Recon Platform

The Vehicle: Unmanned flying-wing capable of long-duration surveillance flights, measured in days and weeks instead of hours The Technology: Autonomous flight controls and ultra-efficient electric motors powered by solar panels or fuel cells The Evidence: Patent filing, clear current need, recent development of key technology

Delivering Special Forces Behind Enemy Lines

One of the best pointers to a secret program is an obvious gap in the “white world” force, and one of these gaps is a stealthy, short-runway transport airplane. The U.S. Air Force’s special

operations community has talked for many years about stealthy transports that could take off and land vertically or on a few hundred feet of level ground (a soccer field is the classic example).

The new V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor transport is a partial answer to that problem, but the military would really like something faster, so it can fly farther into and out of enemy territory, and the Osprey’s big rotors quickly betray it to radar. So far, there is no sign of unclassified, white-world money developing such a vehicle. In 1992, however, Skunk Works engineers filed a patent application for such an aircraft. (New aircraft can take years to develop. A 14-year-old patent filing could easily represent a current program.)

Tailless, with a blended wing and body, the aircraft is powered by six jet engines driving rotor-like lifting fans ensconced in wide, round bays in the wings. For takeoff and landing, doors and Venetian-blind vanes cascade open, and the fans lift the airplane vertically. While cruising, the engines drive smaller, forward-thrusting fans. Why six engines? The engines and fans are interconnected by an elaborate system of cross-shafts so that any engine can deliver power to either side of the airplane. With six engines, the airplane can complete a mission if one fails.

Is something like that out there today? The job of a vertical-takeoff-and-landing aircraft still needs doing, perhaps now more than ever before, and, barring antigravity solutions from the friendly aliens at Area 51, an aircraft like this is one of the few ways to get it done. Technologically, it is probably benefiting from the innovations behind the Osprey’s power-sharing engines-in that aircraft, if one engine fails, the second still drives both propellers-and the development of the shaft-driven vertical-lift fan in the new F-35 Joint Strike Fighter, or JSF.

Special-Ops Infiltrator

** The Vehicle:** Vertical-takeoff-and-landing aircraft for transporting special-ops forces to hostile areas The Technology: Blended-wing-body design with six jet engines powering lift fans and providing forward thrust The Evidence: Patent filings, obvious gap in current arsenal, recent development of key technology

New UAVs: Unmanned, Invisible, Unlimited

Although manned fighter jets and bombers have long dominated classified programs, unmanned vehicles are rising as quickly in the black as in the white world, particularly because the Air Force lacks any kind of stealth-reconnaissance aircraft. It plans to replace the U-2 spyplane with the Global Hawk UAV, but even though the Global Hawk has the advantage of being robotic-that is, capable of longer flights and expendable, since there’s no human on board-it doesn’t fly as high and can’t carry the same hefty high-performance cameras as the U-2. Nor does it carry a jammer to spoof enemy missiles.

Polecat, just outed from the black world, is part of the answer. Lockheed Martin representatives talk about an operational version with U-2-like altitude and payload, along with technology to avoid visual detection (including features seen on the Bird of Prey) and, perhaps, an automated system that detects a contrail behind the airplane and tells the flight-control system to change altitude.

Other stealthy UAVs have probably been tested-among them, possibly, armed UAVs. It is known, for example, that engine maker Williams International delivered the first dozen or so of its new FJ33 small jet engines to the U.S. government four or five years ago, but no known project uses that engine. A recent report in Jane’s International Defence Review described another, larger vehicle that uses different engines from Polecat, apparently recycled from a 1960s UAV program. The article speculated that the engines are probably General Electric J97s, built for a UAV called Compass Arrow.

Why reuse old jet engines? There is only one good reason. The J97 was unusual in that it was designed to operate at up to 80,000 feet, an altitude at which most jet engines cough, stall, and quit. The Air Force does not send the stealthy B-2 and F-117 over hostile territory in daylight, because those planes could be easily spotted. But at 80,000 feet, six miles above a fighter’s cruising altitude, the sky is almost as black as night, and a UAV could survive at high noon. I suspect that both Polecat and the second, larger stealth UAV are currently undergoing high-altitude flight-testing at Area 51.

Some UAV projects may be much slower than even the stealth birds. A Boeing patent filed in 2004 describes a vehicle that is a cross between an airship and an airplane-employing both buoyant lift from helium gas and wing lift generated by forward speed, and capitalizing on recent developments in on-board solar power generation and autonomous flight control.

What would be the advantage of such a vehicle? For one thing, it would have long flight endurance, measured in days or weeks rather than hours. For another, airships can easily be made to accommodate very large and sensitive antennas. If you want to locate weak or sporadic radio transmissions-such as cellphones or scattered satellite phones used by insurgent groups-the airship is an ideal platform.

On-Time Delivery

The Vehicle: Aurora Mach 6-plus attack aircraft The Technology: Ramjet-powered delta wing The Evidence: Telltale sonic booms; unconfirmed sightings; unresolved history of long-rumored program; recent development of key technology; large, unexplained current budget allocation Is speculating on top-secret military technology a national security risk? Tell us what you think on the PopSci Blog).

Revived Avenger Offers Stealthy Ground Attacks

Another surprising gap in U.S. capabilities is the lack of an all-weather, stealthy ground-attack aircraft. The Joint Strike Fighter is supposed to do that, but not until 2014. The new F-22 Raptor, mostly an air-to-air fighter, will be able to do some of it eventually, but that jet carries a relatively modest 2,000-pound bomb load. The F-117 Stealth fighter can be flown only in clear nighttime weather-it has no radar to bomb accurately through clouds, and its black coating easily betrays it to ground spotters.

Fellow black-project sleuth Jeffrey Richelson, author of the 2001 book The Wizards of Langley and one of the leading historians of U.S. intelligence efforts, guessed in a recent conversation that a behind-the-scenes tour of Groom Lake might reveal a revived program to plug that gap sooner than 2014, when the JSF flies.

A hint about possible all-weather attack vehicles now in testing-ones available sooner than 2014 and capable of carrying significant bomb loads-could reside, aerospace historian Peter Merlin pointed out, in a test pilot’s unclassified biography. Daniel Vanderhorst, who flew Northrop’s Whale and six other secret aircraft in a 20-year career, evidently “tested modified landing gear and conducted initial tests of internal weapons bays and weapon separation tests.” What’s unusual about this is that most prototypes are simple aircraft without weapon bays, which suggests that this airplane was closer to an operational type. Specifically, I’m guessing, it could be an extension of the heavy-payload, all-weather attack jet A-12 Avenger II, which then”Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney canceled in 1991 because it was overbudget and not meeting its technological goals.

The flying-wing, carrier-based stealth-strike airplane was being developed under a tightly classified but not-quite-black program. The jet was only 11 months from first flight, and nobody has ever disclosed what happened to the partly built prototypes. If one of them had been completed and tested in a revived black program, most likely in the early 1990s, it could have pointed the way toward the F-117 replacement that Richelson suspects is flying now. Unlike the other stealth aircraft, an operational A-12 descendant would combine stealth ground-attack capability with the ability to shoot back at enemy fighters, packing a pair of anti-radar missiles and two AIM-120 air-to-air missiles.

Providing On-Demand Worldwide Attack

Lastly, there’s Aurora. The name itself is mysterious, evoking something you may or may not have seen. This code name leaked out of an unclassified budget document back in 1985. Such a vehicle-a ramjet-powered reconaissance and strike aircraft capable of flying at least five times the speed of sound and deploying anywhere in the world in a matter of hours-has been high on the government’s wish list. Aurora is certainly possible. The basic propulsion unit, the ramjet, is no more than a tapered tube with a fuel injector and burner in the middle and a thrust nozzle at the end. Basic ramjet-powered missiles have topped Mach 6. A wealth of aerodynamic data and test flights suggest that a wedge-shaped aircraft would work at these speeds.

I first heard about this kind of program in the mid-1980s, and the first public hint of the project popped up in 1988, when the New York Times reported that the Air Force was developing a spyplane capable of better than Mach 5-nearly twice as fast as the SR-71, then the world’s fastest airplane.

Two years later, the Blackbird was retired. In June 1991, the first in a series of unexplained shock waves rolled across the Los Angeles basin, rattling doors and windows and making people think of earthquakes. But they were not earthquakes, and the military adamantly denied that any of its vehicles caused the booms. In May of this year, I consulted with Dom Maglieri, an ex-NASA sonic-boom expert who has played a key role in the development of low-sonic-boom aircraft. We studied 15-year-old seismograph data from the California Institute of Technology, whose uniquely sensitive sensors could actually track the booms. “The data showed something at 90,000 feet, Mach 4 to Mach 5,” Maglieri says now. The booms did not look like refracted, “over the top” booms, as other reports had indicated-booms from aircraft miles away that had traveled up through the atmosphere and bent down toward Los Angeles. The booms looked like direct overflights by a supersonic airplane that no one admitted to owning. “The signatures are awfully different,” Maglieri says.

Shortly after the first set of waves appeared, Chris Gibson, an oil engineer and well-known aircraft-recognition expert, contacted me. In August 1989, Gibson said, he had been working on a North Sea rig when a colleague called him outside to see a formation of airplanes overhead. Clearly silhouetted against the sky were two F-111 bombers, a KC-135 tanker and-in refueling position behind the tanker-an unidentifiable delta-shaped airplane, about 90 feet long, a near-perfect match for unclassified studies of high-supersonic cruise airplanes.

This evidence helps establish the program’s initial existence. My investigations continue to turn up evidence that suggests current activity. For example, having spent years sifting through military budgets, tracking untraceable dollars and code names, I learned how to sort out where money was going. This year, when I looked at the Air Force operations budget in detail, I found a $9-billion black hole that seems a perfect fit for a project like Aurora.

Over the years, I’ve learned that few people investigate budget holes seriously. Analysts such as Steven Kosiak of the Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments, a Washington, D.C.”based think tank that pushes innovation in defense, doubt that Congress even knows what’s going on. “A fair amount of classified spending goes through in supplemental requests,” he told me. “It’s seen as must-pass legislation, and people don’t look at it closely.” This $9-billion gap and the most recent booms felt in San Diego and elsewhere are the most compelling evidence for the program’s resurgence. (We can’t analyze the new booms because seismic sensors of the same type were not present.)

But if Aurora has been active for years, why would it be surging forward now? The main hold-up has probably been fuel. The way to make a hypersonic cruiser work is to use circulating fuel to soak up the engine’s heat, but conventional jet fuel can’t absorb enough heat to do the job. In the 1980s, Aurora would have been designed to use fuels such as hydrogen or methane, which are gaseous at normal temperatures and had to be supercooled and densified to fuel the aircraft. Although that strategy is possible, it’s not operationally easy, and complicated refueling would be counterproductive for a jet intended to provide prompt overflight when the military needed it. Better fuels and engine technologies exist now.

The question, finally, is does Aurora exist? Years of pursuit have led me to believe that, yes, Aurora is most likely in active development, spurred on by recent advances that have allowed technology to catch up with the ambition that launched the program a generation ago.

Bill Sweetman is a PopSci_ contributing editor and author of more than 30 books on aerospace technology._

[senatushq]

NAME. Nikolai Gray AGE & BIRTH DATE. 127 & March 25th, 1896 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Druid OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Paul Mescal

BIOGRAPHY

New York City had been bustling with innovation, with progression to a brighter and better future; and twin boys with adventure in their souls had made it their playground. Born only minutes apart, the two boys had been like two peas in a pod, though neither one much resembled the other, as each took after their own respective parents. That small notion, along with a much bigger one that had yet to be understood in their adolescence, had never stopped the two from doing as brothers do. They tackled any problem together, discovered new games that perhaps put more gray hair in their mother’s hair than she should have had, and even further, they confided in each other every night.

It was in the darkness of their room, tucked under a blanket that Asher confessed to the memories that had yet to come. For the two had been born from druid parents, and had been expected to carry an age-old soul within their hearts, along with all the magic that had been passed through their bloodline. But for Asher, those memories hadn’t begun to come, and in the darkness of their room, Nikolai offered fragments of the small memories that had started to slip into his own head.

A ship at sea, headed for a destination that would ensure an adventure. The clashing of swords during a time that seemed so very unlikely to have occurred for such a small boy to imagine. The feel of nature beneath bare feet, the sounds of animals all around them that seemed unlikely to ever be possible in a city such as the one they lived in. These were the fragments that Nikolai offered to Asher, so that maybe, just maybe, they would spark the ones that had yet to come for him.

Though this had gone on for some time, twin boys hidden under a sheet while one told stories of memories, the truth eventually had to come out. For while Niko had begun to spring flowers from the dirt around them, Asher was left with nothing more than the same dirt beneath his fingernails. Where one could twist ivy and vines around his hands, wrists and up his arms; the other was left with nothing more than dead weeds at his feet. And that was when their lives became separate, each pulled in opposing directions until it had seemed that they were no more brothers than they were just friends.

The distance had begun to grow long before Asher had taken to the streets of New York City, when memories and magic had first separated them, and even more so, when their parents announced that another would soon join their family. While it had been a happy moment for their parents, Niko had felt the blow like a slap in the face, had shouldered that pain just as much as Asher had. And though their newest brother had been significantly younger than them, it seemed the days of running rampant in the streets of New York were beyond them. Their adventures would become separate, their duties in life on different paths as Asher took to human vices and Niko worked to hone the magic that had been passed down from generations, that flowed through his being so seamlessly.

Eventually, though he had tried his hardest, though he had inserted himself into the struggles that had begun between their parents and Asher himself, it became apparent that Niko would be required elsewhere. That his journey would take him to the streets of Rome, to the pyramid where the druids still studied the old ways of the Etruscans. It had been where Niko belonged, no matter if his heart had still been back in New York City, back in those treacherous streets with his brother as they ducked and dodged around busying bodies.

Yet any focus that should have been directed upon further studies, upon furthering his own expanse of memories from previous lives, had been directed solely upon what his twin had begun to get himself mixed within. Letters came from his parents, and though they had tried to hide what Asher had been mingling with, it was their younger brother who tattled upon the human. And it had been all that Niko had needed to read that had him scrambling back to the familiar streets, to the bars that Asher had hidden himself within. He’d returned just in time to save Asher from himself, at least, for the time being, as Niko pulled him from the clutches of whichever vampires he’d found himself mingled with.

However, Niko had only been able to stay for so long, given how much he had been needed back in Rome, given how much he himself had needed what the other druids could have provided him. So he’d returned, much to his own reluctance, and found himself once more immersed in the studies of the old ways. Yet, as his memories started to return, as past lives mingled with his current, it became apparent that Nikolai’s need to insert himself into the problems of others extended far beyond his brother, and his own family. The slightest disagreement on the streets had Niko interfering, offering to be the intermittent within the pair; the sound of an argument had the man stepping over to lend an ear, or a word of advice, or a shoulder to cry on.

Arguments, disagreements, minor or major problems, Nikolai had begun to insert himself into it all. And while many of these instances had reached a resolution, had secured the young druid a ‘thank you’ of praise, there had been one such occurrence that had not gone precisely how many of the others before it had gone. The magic had swirled around them unlike anything Niko had felt before, and though blood marked the palm of the other’s hand, it was the words of a curse that filled his ears. An apology had sprung forth upon his tongue, but the damage had been done and the curse had taken hold. Legs had transformed to roots, arms to branches as the once young druid was transformed into one of many trees within a forest just outside the city of Rome.

And that is where he had remained, unable to speak, to call out for help, but forced to listen. To the sounds of animals as they scurried along the forest floor, to the songs of birds as they soared high in the sky, and to the sounds of advancement as all that he had known shifted with the changing of times. Days turned to weeks, which turned to months, and soon decades had passed him by, while he remained as the tree that he had been cursed to be. The end of a bloodline, that was what the curse had ensured, which could mean too many decades or centuries would pass before his life was returned to him. Which would mean that Asher would be long gone, a distant memory for a druid whose soul would continue on.

One hundred years had passed since that day that he was cursed, and just as his mind had begun to break upon the last fragment it had clung to, roots had returned to legs and branches had shifted once more to arms. The last of the witch’s bloodline had been wiped from this realm, and the curse had been lifted. Once more, Nikolai was the druid that he had once been. Though, his mind was something different, his actions less human, and to repair his mind was a task that he had not yet begun for himself.

PERSONALITY

+ benevolent, altruistic, empathetic – bizarre, naive, foolish

PLAYED BY CHERYL. CST. She/Her.

[terrahillsposts]

Terra Cotta Warriors

Earthenware Champions it is an extraordinary disclosure in mankind's set of experiences and one of the eight miracles on the planet. The site is exceptionally positioned only close to the Pyramids in Egypt and the antiquated models in Greece, they are important fortunes.

The disclosure of the Earthenware Fighters was in Xi'an in 1974 by a neighborhood occupant. It set off the interest of Chinese archeologists who uncovered the 7,000 earth-made trooper and pony figures starting from the earliest stage. The most fascinating thing is that their face appearances and the "haircuts" of these fighter figures are not quite the same as one another. It required around 38 years with numerous experts to finish this verifiable task.

terra hill

In 221 BC, Head Qin Shi Huang of the Qin Line laid out the principal brought together administration in China. After his passing, his kin covered him at the north of Lishan Slope in Lintong Region. The burial place is a slammed soil hill with a level of 47m. In 1974, three huge pits of earthenware figures were found around 1.5km east of the sepulcher. Among those three, the biggest one is Pit No.1, covering very nearly 14,260 square meters. The pit is separated into eleven passageways showing 38 segments of mud heroes, chariots and ponies.

North of 6,000 mud fighters would have been recuperated from the pit on the off chance that they could be totally uncovered. This will be an imaginative return of many Qin's fighters. The figures, life-like formed and brilliantly painted, are of high imaginative worth. Presently, a major curve roofed presentation corridor is set up over Pit No.1 where the reestablished earthenware fighters and ponies are in plain view. There are huge number of sightseers from one side of the planet to the other visit Xi'an every year.

The Forest area Slant region as seen today in Toronto, comes from a significant history starting back in 1860. The principal home intrinsic the Boondocks Slant district was arranged on top of the incline inside the forest, yet while the slant really exists today, the forest area doesn't.

In 1923, the Forest Slant district was officially solidified as a town. Further progressions happened all through the 1920's and 30's, and the southern part of Forest Slant was done improvement by 1940. The majority of enhancements in the northern part of Woodlands Slant were industry and rail lines.

In 1957, Woods Slant definitively joined the City of Toronto. This region and Swansea Town were two of the last free towns to be connected with Toronto. The region is by and by tended to by a seal that shows a deer scratched in the stone window crown on the forward looking top over the passage to a station.

Today, the Forest Incline region is one of Toronto's regarded regions. It's eminent for it's gently slanting inclines, winding roads, colossal block and stone homes, open bundles, and various brilliant ordinary parks. A development guideline that has been gone on in the neighborhood since the 1920's is that all homes are supposed to have a tree planted at the front of each and every property. This has worked amazingly to help with redesigning it's remaining as one of Toronto's three most prohibitive and well off networks!

The houses introduced here are a piece of Toronto's best land, and the certified neighbouthood is segregated into lower and upper pieces of Woodlands Slant. The lower part offers heavenly block and stone manors that were worked in the earlier 1900's, by far most of which are actually worth in excess of a million bucks each. The upper part offers present day endowments worked some place in the scope of 1940 and 1960. These houses are at this point advanced towards the prosperous, but are consistently more reasonable than the estates found in the lower a piece of Woods Slant. You can similarly find different lavishness apartment tall structures, arranged on the western side of Boondocks Incline. Concerning styles, well most of the endowment in Woodlands Slant is Tudor or Georgian plan, however there is similarly all that from French Wilderness with pottery tiles to English nation domains with clearing yards!

Ceramic Warriors it is a remarkable revelation in humankind's arrangement of encounters and one of the eight wonders in the world. The site is astoundingly situated simply near the Pyramids in Egypt and the out of date figures in Greece, they are huge fortunes.

The disclosure of the Ceramic Warriors was in Xi'an in 1974 by a close by tenant. It set off the interest of Chinese archeologists who revealed the 7,000 earth-made officer and horse figures all along. The most captivating thing is that their face appearances and the "haircuts" of these champion figures are novel corresponding to each other. It expected about 38 years with various specialists to complete this unquestionable endeavor.

In 221 BC, Sovereign Qin Shi Huang of the Qin Organization spread out the primary united line in China. After his end, his family covered him at the north of Lishan Slant in Lintong Region. The internment place is a pummeled soil slope with a degree of 47m. In 1974, three tremendous pits of stoneware figures were tracked down around 1.5km east of the sepulcher. Among those three, the greatest one is Pit No.1, covering practically 14,260 square meters. The pit is isolated into eleven paths showing 38 fragments of soil warriors, chariots and horses.

More than 6,000 earth legends would have been recovered from the pit in case they could be completely uncovered. This will be an imaginative return of many Qin's warriors. The figures, life-like formed and clearly painted, are of high inventive worth. By and by, a significant bend roofed show hall is set up over Pit No.1 where the restored pottery champions and horses are on display. There are tremendous number of tourists from one side of the planet to the next visit Xi'an consistently.

The Woods region Inclination locale as seen today in Toronto, comes from a critical history beginning back in 1860. The essential home inborn the Backwoods Grade region was organized on top of the inclination inside the woodland, at this point while the inclination truly exists today, the timberland region doesn't.

In 1923, the Backwoods Inclination district was formally set as a town. Further types of progress happened all through the 1920's and 30's, and the southern piece of Woodland Slope was done improvement by 1940. By far most of upgrades in the northern piece of Forests Inclination were industry and rail lines.

[in3ptbean]

we all agree that PH has the thickest and juiciest peach. They had to nerf it for god Sake. Now imagine jealous killers - or survivors your choice - reaction to you casually just

“I want to smack his ass”

You're all just horndogs for PH's ass huh?

me too though!

We'll make this one survivor based just because I haven't written for them in a while!

Survivors reacting to S/O wanting to smack Pyramid Heads ass

Steve Harrington

This would most likely happen in your first trial against Pyramid Head

You'd be working on a generator with Steve and Feng when your heartbeat started thudding against your ears

Let's just say, you and Feng were literally stuck when he came into view

The guy was massive!

Steve would have to haul your haul out of the killer shack because you were too distracted to move away from the newest killer

"Come on, (Y/N),"

"Did you see his ass?"

He'd be confused, and then jealous

Was his ass not enough?

Would you leave him for someone who had a bigger ass?!

He'll never leave your side because he doesn't want to leave you alone with the Executioner

"Why are we following him again?"

" Because I want to smack his ass,"

He'd be dumbfounded at the revelation

Then he'll simply nod and carry on, becoming the distraction so that you can get near the killer's ass

The two of you will have to haul ass to make sure you don't get killed right away, all while laughing your asses off

Leon Kennedy

"You want to... what?” 

“I want to smack his ass,” 

Dead ass thought you were joking 

Will be unsure about letting you anywhere near the killer

Wonders why you suddenly wanted to touch the Executioners ass until that one fateful trial in the game 

You had pulled him aside, and covered his mouth with your hand before pointing towards the exit gate 

There he stood in all his glory, bare from the waist up, and apron fluttering ever so slightly 

Needless to say, his face was red 

he thought it was glorious, but your ass was better  

You’ll find it amusing when he occasionally glances as Pyramid Head’s ass, and then your own

Of the two of you, he’ll be the first to actually smack his ass 

“What the hell, Kennedy?!” 

“You snooze you lose, babe!” He’d yell as he’s carried off towards the basement 

Pyramid Head is confused as hell when it comes to the obsession that survivors had with his ass 

He doesn’t know he’s dummy thiccc 

Quentin Smith 

He’s all for it 

The sleepy gremlin would do anything to spend time around you

Even  if that means learning urban evasion from Nea to sneak around the realms with you to get a glimpse of that sweet ass 

“Come on, Quentin-” 

He’s fast asleep against the killer shack window 

You’re both ninjas 

The executioner won’t know what hit him - or his ass - 

You don’t know this but this boi is as excited as you are 

It’s the most fun you both have had in a while and he’s enjoying every second of it 

When unsuccessful, you both will return to the  survivor camp and plot your next scheme 

“Hey Felix, you got any paper on you?” 

“...” 

“Right, uh German,” 

Felix would nod 

“hast du - uh - papier?”  

Congratulations, those 2 years of German in high school paid off and you now have a piece of paper and a broke pencil 

“What’s all this for?” 

The two of you would stare at Jake silently before Quentin spoke up 

“We want to smack his ass,” 

Needless to say, everyone plays it off as a teen  joke or something until they hear either Quentin’s or your hand smacking Pyramid Head’s ass

[queen-of-elves]

Guardian angel

Steven Grant x reader (sort of Marc Spector x reader??)

A/N: This is sort of set before the events of Moon knight + I have no idea if I did my research on the artifact correctly so feel free to add or completely correct me. Also none of my fanfictions are proofread so I apologize in advance for mistakes and grammar.

Warning: reader is a cursing machine with no specific gender??, I am sorry if I missed something

Summary: Marc and reader had worked together for some years and have a love-hate relationship so when she finally found him after months of searching for him (Normalize paying your workers lol). She is shocked, ‘cause instead of snarky mercenary, she is met with Steven, handsome face of Marc however with a very sweet personality. + the brainrot imagine

Word count: cca 2.2K 🌻

***

You have known Marc for sometime by now, fellow coworker in the craft if you will. Most of the time the two of you were great partners in crime. Sometimes bickering like an old married couple, which indeed was annoying as hell, but working with him had its own set of perks.

You have been tracking down your old colleague after he disappeared a couple of months ago, still owning you, your half from the job well done. So, there you were in rainy London in one of those old dirty buildings, following him, hopefully back to his new place. He noticed you a couple of streets back and now was running up the stairs with you hot on his tail.

“Asshole, you really thought you could hide from me?!” Your voice boomed through the hall. Disheveled Marc looked at you dumbfounded before turning back to his door, the metal keys rattling in his shaky hands. Was he really running from you? “Marc!” Your voice shook with him so much, he almost dropped his keys, still fiddling with them trying to find the right one for the lock.To this moment unsuccessful in his escape from you, yet at least. 

“Listen… I don’t know who you think I am but I am not them!” Wheezing heavily, he shouted at you. Nervous eyes bolted to you, seeing you move closer to him as in response to his yelling. Your strategy consisted of shuffling your feet steadily down the hall. Inching closer to your prey, like a deer in headlight he stood frozen, keys still rattling in his grasp.

And at last he felt a wave of relief wash over him, he found the corresponding key for his flat. Swiftly unlocking the door, he squeezed in, almost shutting the door in your face. Almost. 

Ripping the door open you were greeted by a bookwormish flat and Marc staring widely at you. “You still owe me the money.” You shut the door behind you and strode over to him. Gripping his arm tightly, you pushed him to the door. 

His back hit the hard wall behind him and your hand planted itself next to his head, keeping him caged between the wall and your body. If he was nervous before now he was trembling. 

This time he won’t disappear, this time I will get my money out of him.

“So where is it?” You growled in his handsome face. Marc never acted like this no matter how hard he tried to keep his new mask intact, so what was his deal now? Hoping you will turn blind eye and let him spend all your sweet money? Nah. You worked hard for it and no charade could keep you away from it longer than needed.

“So-sorry, what?” He looked kinda adorable, all disheveled and confused. You had no idea Marc could sound so meak. However your now captured prey seemed to turn paler the longer you stood so close. 

“Your new identity is a cute bookworm or what?” Turning around you left him with a bit of room to catch his breath. While browsing his knit knacks, books and postcards on the aquarium tank, written by his mom (?), you could hear him taking heavy breaths, trying to compose himself. You lifted one of the paperweights in the shape of a pyramid, weighing it in your hand before throwing it in the air and catching it with another. His, Steven’s, flat seemed homey, that kind of comfy you only get if you properly live in it, not exactly Marc’s style. He usually either put practical stuff in the room or so basic that it felt like walking in a room in Ikea. Your coworker must have got a real knack for it in the meantime you haven’t seen him. The whole London flat exuded a sense of normality, a home you happily go to on a tiring day, full of personal items and loved things. He even got a pet, a one-finned cutie. Was the situation so bad he had to go into deep undercover? Maybe Marc has a sweet secret twin, cause you have never seen him put that much effort in a disguise, not even a new identity and this Steven Grant identity started to grow on you faster than you expected. 

“If you are in the middle of some other job… just say it. We both know you always need my help.” You grinned, snarky remarks and so awfully rude comments was something you often did to make Marc snap. “Or just give me what is mine and I will go.” This could be a great deal. Proposing not ruining his new mission was a magnificent leverage.

“You think you can play this game for a long time, hm? Marc.” You kept on strolling around his apartment. Enjoying the dominant hand you had, no bickering and fighting over the upper hand that’s how it normally was with you and Marc. Competition over who could put up with the other one's annoying self.

“Just shut up!” He shouted on top of his lungs, an unsettling feeling now sitting in the dark pit of your stomach. This for sure sounded like a Marc, now British accent and his mannerism seemed to set on the rougher side of the spectrum, not basically covering in the corner like before. You expected him to be angry for this stunt of yours but not like this. He sounded awfully distressed. This job must be incredibly serious even for someone like Marc.

“You have to get out. Now!” There was a vein on his forehead looking like seconds from popping and there was a sweat collection on his brows. You don’t remember Marc being stressed. Maybe on the job in Kahira or the one shoutout in China but that's been years.

You opened your mouth but he cut in again. “You have no idea what's happening and this time I can’t explain it to you, okay? You have to trust me and get out now!” He kept on yelling at you. 

“How can I help?” Marc shook his head, trying to sort his thoughts so he could give you at least a decent excuse to kick you out now, before everything went to shit. “You don’t have to explain a shit to me, Marc. I have known you for years and for you to act like this it must be something hella important to you.” Pausing so you could await his answer before adding. “By the way… the British accent is kinda shit.” Grinning at him, you could feel the tension leave the room, finally.

“Yeah, not my idea.” Moving one of the chairs in the kitchen area he lazily sat down. His back bent down under a new kind of tired you have yet to see him deal with.

“Wha-” “His name is Steven and I know it’s kinda hard to believe but he is not me, it's not another secret identity… it's just… him.” He started to murmur, clasping his hands together, his forearms set in his thighs as he proceeded to lean forward.

“I know it's weird but-,” he paused, looking at his tired reflection in the window and fixing his curls, “ could you keep him safe? Just for the time being, please.” Whispering just right above inaudible. You have known Marc for a very long time and he never ever pleaded for anything. This was serious.

“Fine, I kinda don’t understand what’s going on but fine,” you huffed,” I would actually rather work with him than you, he is sweeter.” Smile blossomed on your face.

The snarky comment made the mercenary chuckle in return. “For sure,”he lowered his gaze to the floor,” but remember you wouldn’t survive without me.” He laughed loudly. Marc was still quite pissed at the mess you have thrown him into. If it weren’t for you searching for him Steven wouldn’t have suspected anything. Serves him right for not paying you for the last job.

“Moron.” You growled.

“Idiot.” 

***

“So are you now following me around… because you mistook me for someone else? That doesn’t make much sense honestly.” Steven awkwardly laughed, trying to keep you engaged in any kind of conversation. It seemed over his head but he still shoot his shot. You hummed to acknowledge his question while stuffing your mouth full of sandwich. Said sandwich was not half bad even though you would never go for the vegan option. In fact you have never had anything vegan before, however silly Steven took pity on your rumbling stomach and gave you half of his lunch for breakfast. It was not a habit to be so goddamn unprofessional but it felt like Marc could bolt on you in any second, so constant pursuance it was.

He, Steven, you had to remind yourself, was going to work and you let him lead the way, stalking three steps behind him. London streets were crowded as ever, full of people rushing to work and appointments. The sky was painted gray with a breeze carrying any light rubbish in the air.

It’s going to rain soon.

Marc must have had reason to ask you to keep him safe. Were they still after him or did he pissed of new enemy? These thoughts were following you just as you were following sweet Steven to his work. “Sure.” You said with your mouth full, not registering if the egyptology fan kept on talking, he probably was. 

“W-What should I call you? I mean, probably your name, right? Of course, if you aren’t on some sort of a secret mission.” 

“Are you a secret agent?” He added, turned around and a puzzled expression met your face.

“You can call me your guardian angel, dummy.” Bumping his shoulder with yours as a signal to keep walking.

***

“I actually applied to be one of the tour guides in the museum, unsuccessfully as you can see.”Murmured the last part. He sure was enthusiastic about egyptology just like Marc, more nerdish tho.

“So you know all that stuff? For real?” You were one out of the team that was in the business just for the money. Who could blame you tho, the economy these days was bullshit. And paying rent was not enough. You had to get cash somewhere for new clothes and your other hobbies, right? Living a good life is hella expensive after all.

“Well, yeah!” Steven assured you softly. He looked so hopeful, so much happier than you have seen him in the last couple of days of the surveillance.

“That’s kinda neat…” You admitted to him.

“Tell me something about this one.” You pointed at an old yet still colorful panel with a figure painted on it. This request made him even more chipper, and put a bounce in his step. It made you feel warm seeing him so cheerful. As if on signal Steven turned around to look at you, but you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing you smile. 

“Oh, Fowling in the marshes, it depicts Nebamun fowl hunting in the marshes with his wife and daughter. It was found in his tomb and it’s said it’s one of the greatest paintings from Ancient Egypt-,” He sounded so at peace while talking about Egyptology, so comfortable in his own skin, “but I am no art critic, so.” Chuckling at his joke you looked at him with a smile, realizing your mistake, corners of your mouth dropped immediately.

“STEVIE! You are late again.” Harsh voice stopped him from continuing.It was that kinda voice that claws its way to your ears and enjoys sending shivers down your spine. And all of it was coming from a blond woman striding to you. His work superior? Considering her rude tone but must have been someone from a higher position than him. 

“Is he bothering you? Stevie, what have I told you about bothering our visitors.” She just kept on going and going until finally Steven cut her off.

“She is my friend actually.” His response was met with a pregnant pause from both of you. Were you two friends? Does following someone as a bodyguard count as being friends? 

“I didn’t know you had friends.” Remarked what you have later learned was Donna. 

Her scowl must have stayed on her face permanently after you had waved her off with a neutral expression. Your first impression of her was horrendous, what an insufferable person. Poor Steven that he must work with her so closely- “I-I like your smile by the way. You should smile more” He interrupted your thoughts just as you were thinking about him. Was it so obvious what you were thinking about? 

You could still see Donna standing by, tapping her watch and glaring daggers at him. This was probably your cue to let him go to work peacefully. Maybe you could browse around in the gift shop and visit some exhibitions before it would be the end of his shift.

“Maybe I should.” You affirmed. Changing your mind, you turned around and left before he could say his goodbyes, but still waved your hand as bye to Steven behind you. He didn’t need a babysitter at his work and what could go wrong in the British museum.

There were still so many uncertain things about Steven, of that you were sure. Maybe Marc will one day explain all the details to you. Wait- You still didn’t get back your money��

Damn Marc!

taglist for this fanficiton: @jadewillows1990 @lizzy-95 @ @saulgoode99 @remusstefon @laufeyamp @aarinisreading @loonymagizoologist

[darkdevasofdestruction]

An Angel and A Demon ~ Pyramid Head x Reader

Update 2: My laptop restarted when I was in the middle of writing this, and trust me when I say it, I am positively pissed off, and I want to end my days, that's how bad of a day this was.

And I didn't leave the house.

That says a lot about today...

Update 1: But, without further ado, I was half-way writing this story, and I received this ask, and let me tell you...

helloooo, i absolutely adored the fanfics you wrote about kazan and danny🥺 could i request one where pyramid head is just really whipped for and in love with the survivor! reader but he doesnt know how to announce it to them so he brings her random ,,gifts" in and outside the trials and protecting her bc well, im pretty sure he cant speak so he doesnt really have any other options on how to express his feelings??

I live for it.

Bless you for sending me this, it's the reason I'm still sane right now.

I love you, baby-cakes.

Update 3: I want to kill myself so bad. Just smash my head on a wall until it explodes or sth. I was so happy with how this imagine turned out, only fuck fucking tumblr to just fucking delete EVERYTHING just as I was about to put the last gif and hit POST NOW.

--------

For the 5th time writing this :

FUCKMEDADDY - but this time - FUCKMYBRAINSOUTPLEASEIWANNADIE

Thanks.

-------

Hell - What was that place, anyway?

Some would describe it as an infinite ocean of flames and lava, where it's eternally melting-hot, and a bunch of hooved, horned, tailed red demons torture you with acid, with their red pitch forks, or boil you alive in their cauldron for soup. Or maybe you just get tortured by Stalin, who knows?

But never would have anyone thought that 'Hell' could look so...Normal. Well, normal in a very demolished, desolate, ravished way, but still...Normal, by human standards. Albeit, the never-ending loop of madness, anguish, agony and desperation of getting killed in different gruesome ways or fleeing for their lives and feeling a myriad of emotions pumping adrenaline through their veins so badly that their anxiety-meter skyrocketed to abnormal levels.

All this darkness, this hatred, this...Everything...It changed all the survivors. They became selfish, stubborn, rude, some even went as far as to sacrifice their fellow survivors in trials, just so they could survive. It was a complete mayhem that defied all kinds of reason, normality, morality or even ethics. Everyone became devoid of any laws that used to bind them to their humane sides, and now, you weren't sure if the killers were saner than the survivors or not.

But even in this abyss where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your very eyes, there was a little star - A beautiful angel radiating brightness and warmth, someone who was somehow able to guide everyone's straying souls with her benevolence.

In reality, she was merely a survivor, not the little lantern from an angler fish's head, but she treated everyone with such an untainted kindness...It was beautiful, and yet, unrequited for most parts. Everyone was still putting their own lives above all - And who could condemn them? - Perhaps their cowardice, for the girl preferred to save her fellow survivors as much as possible, even if that oftentimes assured her place on the hook, to be a sacrificial lamb for the Entity.

On the other hand, she rarely ended up on the hook - Most killers prefer to kill her themselves, instead of letting her become pray for the horrible Entity who tortured so many of them for refusing to cooperate - The Trapper, Evan MacMillan - He knew the best, with those hooks digging into his flesh, impossible to extract. He was the first to protect this girl. It wasn't much, but if he had to, he'd rather give her a swift, painless death, than seeing her without that serene, angelic smile on her face, as the Entity feeds on the last bits of her soul's beauty, the last parts of her humanity.

The other Killers were confused at the Trapper's actions, but little by little, they began to understand why this girl was so precious and special - And this domino effect hit Rin Yamaoka next, with Y/N stopping in the middle of a chase and taking off her jacket, just as Rin was about to butcher her with her katana, and she smiled, extending it to her. 'You must be cold' she said, realising that the Spirit was merely wearing a few bandages, not even her school uniform, or her kimono.

The ghost girl was shaken up by this, and told the others at the killer camp, but they just shrugged it off - Rin was a little girl who faced close to no kindness, they weren't surprised she was so taken aback by such a feat. That is, until Adiris, in a particularly terrible day, when everyone at the camp was staying away from her, as her profane censer wasn't able to cover the stench of rotting flesh - Y/N came over, taking out a small yet elegant glass bottle with pink liquid on it, spraying some on her - And now, The Plague smelled of roses and vanilla - 'You can come to me for perfume whenever you want, I always carry some with me!' she grinned at the Babylonian High Priestess, before leaving back to the survivor's camp site, leaving the ancient God symbol to stare with her mouth agape at the girl.

These words began to spread, and it was no surprise when the killers saw Susie clinging and begging her Legion friends to spare Y/N, for she was there to hug away her worries more than once, to tell her sweet words, to play with her hair and play the guitar whatever songs she wanted to hear, to get reminded of her home - She was so home sick that she freaked out, but now she was better, thanks to Y/N - 'I know you miss home, but sometimes, home is where your best friends are, and all three of them are here!' she tried to encourage the cute pink-haired girl who could only squeal and hug her new friend.

Even Ghostface wasn't exempt from falling to her charms, and they would often take silly selfies and mess around, making fun of the old horror movie tropes and doing lots of puns and pranks - So much that she even got his trust to be told about the Danny/Jed thing, and how he began his killer profession - 'You're a very talented photographer, Danny! You deserved all that recognition you got, both as a journalist, and as a killer!'

And very soon, Y/N found herself in the crushing arms of an overprotective Anna, humming her mother's lullaby together with walking through the forest, Y/N making flower crows for all the female killers at the camp site, and little by little, she somehow managed to worm her way under everyone's skins.

Y/N was the survivor with the highest survivability percentage, and maybe the Entity sometimes got pissed off, but at least she still got killed sometimes, so who cares? Well, that was soon to change as soon as a new Killer was added to this sick game - Pyramid Head, the terror of Silent Hill, as Cheryl, the new Survivor, called him - or The Executioner, as he was known now. He was ruthless, merciless, grotesque - He had his own criteria of killing, his own moral compass, ethics, conscience and understanding of the concept of life and death. Nothing that could compare to the visions of humans, clearly - Everything was gravitating around Divine Retribution and Justice, but the from the outside, he was nothing but a killing machine.

He would kill everyone and anyone that crosses his path, without fail.

Y/N felt like her fortune ended completely the second she found herself in the new, overly cramped map, with Pyramid Head as the killer - She couldn't help but run around like a spazzic meerkat, trying to find and fix as many generators as possible, without having to get face to face with the walking hazard...

Only to run past a stuck Pyramid Head.

Slowly backtracing her steps, she saw the mountain of a man with his metal pyramid stuck in the frames a low window which he tried to walk over. He was trashing like a raged bull trying to attack a matador, but it was clear he was getting nowhere with this.

"H-Hey, u-uhm...Need some help?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, almost like a meek cat trying to test the waters, but in return, he started groaning even louder from the wrath he wanted to unleash upon the whole world. "Okay, uhm...I think I saw a can of vaseline in one of the chests around. I'll go fetch it and I'll come back for you. Don't move." she said, only to then realise how horrible that sounded, considering the situation, and it only seemed to anger the killer. "...I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm an idiot." she slapped herself pretty harshly before bolting out of there trying to find the chest.

However, Y/N cursed herself for not having perfectly memorised the whole map by heart already, since she found the vaseline can after the 3rd chest, and then, it took quite a while to find the bloody window that got the killer stuck - And by the time she got there, she was dead tired. "Okay, I'm here, I found the vaseline! Let's try to get you out of here." Y/N muttered as she put her feet on the low window pane to get to his level. "If it's not too much trouble, could you please hold onto me? I can't balance myself with both hands occupied, and I'd rather not fall." she explained as she opened the vaseline can, only to shiver as she felt two big, strong hands getting a firm grip on her hips. It was almost...Endearing, were she not too busy trying to get the killer unstuck. She kept massaging the metal edge, trying to push and pull, also praying to whatever deity that existed in her human world that she had her tetanus shot done on time - Until finally, she was able to get hear a loud screech, like a pop, and the killer got unstuck, and in the process, he stumbled backwards, while Y/N fell down on her butt.

"Ouchie..." she muttered, rubbing her back and sides to take away the pain surging through her body. "Are you okay?" she asked, almost intuitively, without realising it at first, until she heart a low grunt that brought her back to reality. "O-Oh...! You have glass shards stuck in your side! And you're bleeding too! Hold up, let me help." she hurried to his side, while the killer merely stiffened, feeling her delicate, slender fingers tracing his body, while he heaved and slouched his shoulders from the repressed wrath. "It may sting a bit, and I'm really sorry, but I promise it will be better soon." her voice was so motherly and warm, which also resonated in her actions, as she gingerly took a water bottle and imbued some tissues with it, to wipe away the blood smearing down his skin as she extracted the glass shards, and then..."This is grandma's marigold ointment. It's really good, and it smells nice." she explained as she carefully smeared a thick layer of the yellow ointment on the biggest wounds, while the little ones were covered by smiley-flower patterned plasters. They were cute, and colourful, and they never failed to make her smile. "Okay, there we go, all better! I hope you'll feel better very soon!" her voice got a tiny bit more cheerful and upbeat.

It made the Killer think about a trillion things, as he stepped in front of her, towering over her like the Empire states building next to a smiling pomeranian. What was with this girl? Why did she help a killer? And why did he feel so...Warm inside? He could sense a foreign kind of luminosity, a naivite and innocence that he only witnessed in children and animals. This woman in front of him was untainted by the darkness and evil of the world.

It didn't matter how many hardships she's been through, or how much sadness she had to endure - Her soul remained as pure as any snowdrop, as the first snow of winter, as the fleece of a baby lamb who let out its first 'meeeeh' to its mamma sheep.

He couldn't allow this human to be maimed in any way - Not by the world, not by the Entity, and certainly not by him. - Screw the Entity, Pyramind Head kills by his own rules, and now, he was blessed to be faced with a human who bore no real hatred for her peers, or for the world, despite the horrible situation she was thrown into.

He didn't understand, obviously, especially as he remembered the myriad of abominations that lurked through Silent Hill, all of them created by the torment of humans - The very torment that distorted their own reality, which resulted in him needing to solve the purpose as The Executioner - Eradicating the world of all evil.

"Th-This sword is so heavy...H-How can you carry this around like that...?! Your muscles must be so strained and sore...Y-You really need a massage, I'm sure." she stuttered as she tried to lift the much taller and heavier sword from the ground, only for the brute to simply bend and pick it up with extreme ease, putting the girl to shame with her complete lack of strength. "Hehe...You're really strong. I'm embarrassed now." she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.

Before she could leave or do anything else, Pyramid Head picked her up by the throat, careful not to hurt her or restrict her air intake - I mean, how else was he supposed to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her with his metal head or sword? - and it was pretty clear she didn't feel any malevolence from him, as she clinged on his forearm, trying to keep herself up, only to be dumped on top of the hatch, as the killer pointed towards it, so she would leave.

"O-Oh...! Thank you so much! You're really kind! I really appreciate this...I-I know it probably doesn't matter much to you, since you'll be doing this over and over again with all the survivors...But I really appreciate you for your kind gesture, and I appreciate you for being so nice with me. Thank you. Take care!" her dazzling smile lit the whole place up, but he couldn't talk, nor could he tell her how he should be the one thanking her for showing him that, despite the hundreds and thousands of years he had to roam the 'Earth' and execute the injust, miracles still existed.

As soon as she reached the survivor's camp, everyone cheered for her, asking how in the world could she have escaped the wrath of the butcher. "Oh, but he wasn't that bad. In fact, he's much more humane than I anticipated! I think he has a beautiful, blooming heart!" okay, she's lost it - the other survivors thought - but even so, she's always been a bit...Out of it, so who cares?

It took quite a while for the other three survivors to reach the camp, all bloody, in fact, like the new killer, who dragged himself with the same menace to the Killers' camp. "How the hell did you manage to survive?!" they yelled at her in utter shock, seeing that she got out of there unscratched. "Oh, you see...I found the hatch." she shrugged simply, not wanting to give away that the person who massacred those three was a soft one and he basically threw her down the hatch to her safety.

As she took a twig to roast a marshmallows, she noticed how Pyramid Head was standing much farther away from the rest of the killers - She knew that silent killers were bound to stay away from the more obnoxious one, remembering how Michael Myers almost killed Ghostface and The Legion at least a dozen times - But this time...He seemed kinda...Lonely? So Y/N took the matters into her own hands, roasted another marshmallow in another twig, and when it was done, she went to the killer's camp, calling out the lonely one's name - She has no idea why, but he actually followed her, pushing her further deep into the forest, until he was sure nobody was going to hear, see or interrupt them...

"Hey. You seemed pretty lonely out there...I thought you could use a friend. Thank you again for what you did at the trial...Here, this is a marshmallow. I don't think you've had many before...Cheryl told me of that horrible place you had to live in...So I hope this will make your day a bit better!" Y/N extended one of her hands towards him, so he could take the marshmallow - And a long, black tongue erupted from underneath the pyramid, snatching away the fluffy marshmallow and gulping it in one go.

What the hell was he turning into?

A towering man built of pure muscle, wrath and divine justice, with a pyramid representing the evil of humanity burdening his body, and a sword taller and heavier than the average human being constantly dragged in one of his hand...He now was a slave to a cute, innocent girl who was putting flower plasters on his minuscule wounds that would heal in a heartbeat regardless - He saved this girl who was now offering his these soft, squishy things that tasted overly sugarly, just like her upbeat and cheerful personality - If he could eat her, he was sure she would taste even sweeter than this - A sickish kind of sweet, that is.

She was indeed a beautiful angel in this tragic hell. But he didn't wait to snatch the second marshmallow either.

"Ah...! You liked it, didn't you? Well...Next time, I promise I'll give you more!" she grinned at him the same way a princess would to her chivalrous knight who saved her. The since he couldn't talk, silence took over them - It wasn't an uncomfortable one, per se, but it made it feel as if the conversation was over. "W-Well...I'll guess I'll see you around! Take care and I hope to see you again soon!" she waved cutely, trying to turn around back to her camp, only to feel a rough hand on her shoulder, turning her around and urging her to stop and wait for him and he went deep into the forest, leaving her alone and undefended by the potential malevolent forces of the forest.

When he returned, however, he stepped right in front of her, creating the perfect shade as he towered over her - Then he kneeled in front of her, so he would reach her eye sight, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a beautiful pink flower - As pink as the blush that started creeping on her face - He wanted to see her luminous face better, to highlight her dazzling smile and her glimmering eyes as the warm, silver light of the mother moon caressed her face.

Y/N felt her heart picking up the pace - It was beating so much faster than ever before - But this time, it wasn't out of fear or anything negative...It was something good. Something she never felt in her life, especially with her human acquaintances from back home. None was as chivalrous and gentle with her as this butcher of tormented souls - The bringer of justice, the merciless Executioner who was supposed to end the life of every living being that would cross his path.

It was insane how every Yin finds its Yang, even if that comes in the form of a little lamb of a small, frail girl, and a huge abomination of a brute man who knows nothing but death, bloodshed and carnage. It was truly crazy how opposites attract, and here she was, holding the killers large hands and gingerly putting them on her face, leaning into his touch - She felt safer now than ever in her life - Now, in the arms of an ancient killer.

An Angel and A Demon brought together in a perfect union.

As she leaned down, she touched the metal of the pyramid where she anticipated his forehead would be with her own forehead, and closing her eyes, she finally felt herself calming down. There was no need for words, actions spoke louder than anything, and she appreciated it...She appreciated him.

"Thank you." she whispered to him, knowing that yes, even though nobody else would hear it anyway, it was much more intimate than anything she ever experienced.

She was hooked.

Hope you liked my completely shameless pun, I couldn't stop it, especially after the pain I went through trying to write this...3 freaking times.

Yay.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

This may be oddly specific but what the heck, how about a scenario with a g/n reader where they’re a fashion designer, and they’re talking with the Adeuce duo in Mostro lounge about modelling their latest designs for a magicam photoshoot, but Adeuce are too busy and can’t help, so they’re trying to figure out who can substitute on short notice, all while a certain pair of twins can’t help but overhear their conversation (delete if this is too much)

I fastforwarded past the “reader talking to Adeuce about their designs” part so I could get to the more interesting bits~

I wanted to actually write the part where the twins modelled, but I hit my 1k word limit just doing the build up to it. If you’re interested in seeing the twins model, please consider submitting a follow-up request when I’m taking new ones!

Model Jade though--

[Image used is credited to KawaiiR.]

Imagine this...

Not enough. The hit of sugar from the fruit juice you downed wasn’t enough to settle your stress. As soon as your glass was drained of liquid, you slammed it down upon the counter, head snapping to the bartender.

“Another round,” you grunted, motioning for him to make it quick as you slid your empty container over.

Jade received your cup with a sigh and passed it off to his twin, who had taken advantage of slow business to invade the counter space. Floyd was collecting glasses and stacking them into a neat pyramid. His heterochromatic eyes peered out at odd bends through the curved cups, shining with glee as he used his newly acquired cup to crown off the formation.

Jade’s gaze returned to you, paired with a fake sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid I will have to ‘cut you off’. Drowning your sorrows with drink is not a healthy means of coping.”

If they keep this pace up, we won’t have anything left for the lunch rush. And how bothersome it would be if he had to take precious time out of his break to restock on their beverages.

“Who cares, as long as I pay for it,” you muttered, slamming a hand on the counter. “Another round, Jade.”

“You are already incurring a hefty tab.” He shook his head--a polite refusal.

“Good,” you grumbled sarcastically. “That means Octavinelle gets another indentured servant when I can’t cough up the cash.”

Jade chuckled, bringing a hand to his chest and not making any effort to deny your grim prediction. “Rather than drag yourself further into the depths of debt... May I ask what it is that troubles you, dear customer? Perhaps we may be able to hear you out and assist with your woes.”

“I’m not sure if you can,” you retorted, fingers rubbing at your temples. “I’ve just lost my two models, and I don’t know where I’m going to find replacements on such short notice.”

“You mean Kani-chan and Saba-chan?” Floyd asked, propping his face up with curled fingers. His cheeks squished against his touch, granting him a more innocent look than usual. “They were with you earlier and left all in a hurry.”

“Yeah. Deuce had a Track and Field Club meet he forgot about, and Ace got detention with Crewel for failing the last quiz,” you groaned, “which leaves me without models for my new collection.”

“Collection?” Floyd’s face suddenly lit up with interest. “Like a fashion collection?”

“Yup, that’s right.” You fished your phone out of your pocket and unlocked it, pulling up your Magicam account. The students of NRC may have boasted magical pens, but you wove your own magic with needle and cloth. “I share the outfits I design and make.”

You tilted your mobile device to show your page. Each image cropped nicely, expertly shot and edited to perfection--very aesthetic. Floyd “ooh”ed and “aah”ed at the designs parading across the screen, but Jade’s eyes immediately honed in on your follower count.

It wasn’t celebrity status like Vil’s cool 5 million count. It wasn’t even decent-sized influencer status like Cater’six digits. But it was at least a few thousand, and numbers like that had reasonable sway.

“I could take pictures of mannequins with my clothes, but it just doesn’t feel the same as when real, breathing people are wearing them,” you explained. “It’s hard to find the right types for this sort of thing...”

The twins hovered over your phone, nearly cheek to cheek and shoulder to shoulder, as they absorbed your Magicam gallery. Spitting images, reflections with slight differences--the shape and colors of their eyes, the black tufts of hair that swung like pendulums, framing their handsome faces. Features delicate, yet sharp.

Your voice trailed off as realizations lowly set in. The longer you stared at the twins, the more pieces seemed to fall in place of the puzzle. “Tall, broad shouldered, and the facial symmetry...” You brought a hand to your chin, brows creasing in concentration.

That’s it.

“You’re exactly what I’m looking for!!” you blurted out, abruptly standing and seizing each of their hands. “Please, be my models!”

“Mmm? Sounds fun!” Floyd threw his head back and laughed, eager to be amused by something new. He turned to his brother. “Ne, ne, Jade~ Can we?”

“Hmm.” Jade cast a cursory glance around the Mostro Lounge. Not a soul in sight. Then he returned to your Magicam page, and its tempting follower count. “Well, the Mostro Lounge has been looking to increase its social media presence. What better way to achieve that than by cross promoting with a fellow content creator? And what’s more...”

He snickered into his hand. “I could not possibly allow Floyd, nor myself, to continue to wallow in boredom.”

“Then...!!” You clutched their hands tighter, hope filling your heart.

“We will lend you our aid for this endeavor.”

“Yes...!! Thank you, thank you so much!!” You clapped in excitement, your legs caught up in a little jig. “Oh, I’ll need to take your measurements, then tailor Ace and Deuce’s original outfits to your sizes. We also need to find a suitable spot for the photo shoot--a place with natural lighting would be best--and, and, and...”

“There will be plenty of time to sort those details out,” Jade calmly reassured you. “Ah, but first... there remains the matter of your drink tab.”

“... Oh.”

“Furthermore, since you are contracting us... You will need to draw up a formal agreement with Azul, and agree to his terms and conditions by signing off on the dotted line,” Jade continued, his tone even and pleasant.

You swallowed hard. A deal with Octavinelle? It may as well have been signing your soul away.

“You got it, riiight?” Floyd inquired in a lazy drawl. “Cuz you’re a fashion designer and all. You must’ve worked with contracts before.”

“You understand, yes?” Jade pressed, chiming in with his twin.

“E-Er, now wait a sec...”

“It’s just business,” the twins recited in unison--their smiles dangerously devilish.

[isaacthedruid]

PART 7: OUT OF CONTEXT FOOLISH QUOTES

[PART 1] [PART 8]

currently missing mr foolish underscore underscore gamers right now so have this extra long list of quotes :)

“I forget the context to everything.”

“That’s hot.”

Dono [referencing a Tiktok song]: “What you know about rolling down in the deep?”

Foolish: “As in Adele?”

“It ain’t much but it’s somethin’”

“I’m out like sliced butter on popcorn.”

"Do you guys know the average size of a walrus?"

“Anyone want my sacks?”

“Absolutely dab.”

Referring to the Doozer tee, “I’m wearing your guys’ merch.”

“Lesbian rights, hell yeah.”

“I was quick with the hippity hoppity steps outta there.”

“I’m just gonna get the bubonic plague now.”

“I’m gonna be the start of zombie apocalypse.”

“Listen, a zombie apocalypse would be terrible but it would be kinda fun... at the start.”

In a deeper voice, “... for those dirty, dirty diamonds.”

Chat: You’re like a 5 year old

Foolish: I wouldn’t say a 5 year old, more like 7

“I will not whip or naenae. You have to save those for special occasions.”

Dono: Can’t wait to see you in MCC tomorrow! Get that coin shark boy!

Foolish, sadly: Yeah. Go team.

“I don’t die, I’m kinda immortal.”

“There’s something therapeutic about absolutely mauling these squids.”

"Math isn't really my strong suit, I'm much more of a philanthropist.”

“Pain is temporary, but beauty is forever.

“The whole pyramid should be conduit-isized”

Getting shot with an arrow, over and over again, “I love the pain!!”

“A little blackmailing’s always healthy to build a relationship.”

“At least I’ve still got my little quartz maker, that’s right you little quartz maker, you.”

“Yeah like BBH! That little psychopath!”

“Penguins are one of those animals that I would want to slap me in the face.”

“Would a penguin actually hurt me if it slapped me?”

“I’m a respectable person, who only does it [meowing] from money.”

“Alright, I’m takin’ the glasses off and my dignity.”

Replying to a dono, “Yes you are, my little unhelpful doozers.”

“Your streamer’s a genius!!”

“I was gonna say a little swear here and there...”

"Meow with the glasses? No I only do it for money-" [50 subs are donated] “-Oh, you mother fucker!”

“I think I just successfully didn’t make any noise for like 8 seconds!”

“Everything I thought I had figured out is just out the window.”

“I feel like I could look British.”

“I gave one mouse a cookie, and before I knew it, there’s three properties back-to-back-to-back.”

“I never thought I needed a trampoline in my life, but here I am, trampolining.”

“What the hell’s a fish finger?”

“I’ve never eaten Teletubbies.”

“You pissed on my bed.”

“Never say never, that’s what I actually always say, and so did the Little Mermaid.”

“What happens in Vegas, stays in...Nevadas.”

“You say implausible, I say...snowflake.”

“I’m like a robo-cop.”

“I’m a scaffolding dispenser-er.”

“Either there was not sex or way too much sex.”

“These motherfuckers. This is my land. This is my land!”

“Is anyone’s last name Calcium?”

“No. I don’t eat sand. Too many calories.”

Eret: Gaslight gatekeep girlboss

Foolish: What about my elbows??

Eret, a few moments later: Fuck your elbows

“Settle down there, beacon boy.”

“I partook.”

“Am I colorblind?”

“My eyes don’t have color.”

“I never imagined I’d see this many balls at one time.”

“What’s a grape?”

“You know what rhymes with bear? Hair.”

“I don’t believe in Happy Feet.”

“I am bilingual, I am, and some times I might even meow.”

“I will attornize myself.”

“Please give us your money, and we’ll get you sand.”

“ ‘Milk the sand?’ That’s a really weird phrase-ology.”

“Sounds like you are conspiracizing right now.”

“Can I get high?”

Micheal: [talking about AO3, the fanfic website]

Foolish: Isn’t that a rootbeer?

“I don’t know if that’s fair, two for one head deal.”

“So what’s worse, Puffy, being colour blind or left handed?”

[itssuppertim3]

Lean (Miraak x Reader):

Contemplating on writing for Pyramid Head every once in a while since I can't get the thick bastard off my mind but we'll see what the future brings

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

"Do you like winter, Miraak?" I asked the man strolling quietly beside me. "Not necessarily. However, I remember a time when I did. My temple always felt a bit warmer-- more enjoyable during that time." I snorted at him in amusement, to which he wasn't fond of. "I just imagined you stringing up holiday decor." He merely scoffed in denial, though we both knew it was true.

While searching for another conversation topic, my foot slid against the mud beneath me. "Careful," Miraak warned as his hands clasped firmly around my shoulders. My breath was trapped in my throat from the sudden startle, but somehow he only made it worse. Once my voice came back to me, I said, "uh...-- yeah. Thank you." Damn, his hands were so warm. I could feel the heat emitting from them even through my armor. Alas, the soothing feeling dissappeared as soon as he retracted his arms.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you hadn't already cracked your skull before I came along. It seems that you are always tripping and stumbling wherever you go." I scratched my cheek and chuckled sheepishly. "Ah, you know me so well."

"That is only because I stand witness to it," he uttered. We continued onward to Morthal in silence. A week ago, Jarl Idgrod sent me a letter of assistance; "potential murdurer on the loose," it had read. She noted that she wasn't one to fall victim to senseless gossip, but over the last several days she had been growing paranoid of the situation. Thus, she requested us to investigate. "I wonder why the jarl wants two dragonborn to take care of a killer instead of the guards? Gods, I feel like most of the soldiers are just using this pitiful war as an excuse to be lazy," I grumbled with my arms crossing.

"I agree. Though as far as I'm concerned, she wants you to handle it, not I." I perked up at his remark. "What do you mean? Everyone should know by now that you're just as powerful as I am. We've been traveling together for three months." Miraak diverted his gaze from me and pointed it straight ahead. "Perhaps, but you and I are still very different from one another. The people of Skyrim view you as a hero to be remembered for ages, whereas I will forever be remembered as a traitor-- if I was even remembered at all." The atmosphere around us suddenly became very dim. For a moment, the only noise that could be heard was the mire sloshing under our boots.

"That's bullshit," I retorted finally. Miraak was taken aback by my sudden change of attitude. "Excuse my language, but it is. Look at all of the good you've done since we've been together! We took down a vampire lord for crying out loud! And yeah, we weren't thanked for it or anything--"

"Y/n."

"But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that you put in a lot of effort to make the world safer, and I think that deserves respect."

"Y/n." By now, Miraak was no longer walking at my side. "What is it?" Before he was able to respond, the muddy ground had fallen loose beneath me and I plummeted into a brown socket of water. Oh yeah, I forgot that we were trudging through a swamp. The filth shot through my mouth and nose as I was completely sumberged. To make matters worse, the water was also incredibly frigid, making it even more difficult to sort through my panic. A pair of arms dove into the murk and proceeded to yank me up by my collar.

I gurgled, spluttered, and heaved strong breaths once I was dragged out of harm's way. Miraak shook his head at me all the while. I could practically feel the smirk hiding under his mask. "Oh, yeah. Real funny. Please continue... to remind me of how much... of a klutz I am," I rasped, still trying to flow air into my lungs. "I did try to warn you, you know. You were about to walk straight into the pond," the man defended. "Ok. I'll give you that." Miraak helped me to my feet after I finally regained my composure. "Oh, great," I sighed at the muck covering me head-to-toe. "I look so unprofessional." He skimmed over the grime coated over my outfit before scooping a clump of mud and smearing some over his robes. "I suppose we'll both have to look unprofessional, then." My cheeks tainted a dark pink at his actions, but I decided to blame it on the nip in the air.

My arms hugged my body when I started to shiver. Going for a dip in late autumn definitely wasn't the best of choices. Miraak scanned over the map and pinpointed our distance from Morthal. "We won't be able to arrive there before nightfall. We still have an hour left to go," he informed. I groaned to myself in reply. "Guess we'll have to make camp, then." He nodded, gesturing me to follow him.

In a matter of minutes, he had already secured a decent campfire and was now assembling the tent. Meanwhile, I was sitting on a nearby log with my bedroll enveloped around my trembling body. I was enjoying watching him, though. "I'd say you're a natural. When did you get so skilled at camping?" I inquired once he took a seat next to me. "By learning from you," he stated simply. Gods, how could he be such a jerk yet act so charming?! I avoided saying anything more and began scrubbing the dirt from my armor with a wet rag.

It was freezing, tonight. There was no comforting glow from the moon and stars due to the thick layer of clouds overhead, which only made it feel colder. I shuddered when a breeze travelled through the area and tormented my body. I was still wearing my undershirt and trousers, and even those were still damp. The cloth made my fingers sting the more I used it, until I felt Miraak's hand take ahold of my own. "Your fingers are red," were the only words that left his mouth before he grabbed my other hand and squeezed them both gently. I was so shocked by this that I couldn't even so much as blink. "Are you cold?" I had forgotten about the prickles climbing over my skin. "Um--uhh, kind of." How did my voice become so small?

Before I could protest, I was pulled closer to Miraak. And now that I left exposed, he felt even warmer than he did earlier. I wasn't even touching him! Not to mention how nice his hands felt. He was like a portable smelter! I stayed more silent than a moth as he continued to caress my fingers and palms. There was no telling what was going on inside of that brain of his.

"You may lean against me, if you like."

Oh.

Oh!

My heart was thrashing around inside of my chest. He wanted me to just... slide even closer and lean on him?! Just like that?! By now, my mind was spiraling in both confusion and embarrassment. Still, I was very cold. There wasn't any harm in doing it, right? He was the one who offered. I ultimately accepted his proposal.

It started off with our knees touching awkardly, and then with my head attempting to rest against his shoulder, which failed due to the golden scales protruding out from his sleeve and jabbing me in the side of the head. Miraak eventually lifted his arm, inviting me to scooch under it-- to which I did. As soon as I got situated, he let his hand ease onto my shoulder. I was so flustered that I could barely breathe. It was suffocating, practically unbearable, yet I only felt myself nestling further into him. "You're really warm," I mumbled.

Oh, dear.

Why on Nirn did I say that? I sounded like a pervert!!! What if he thought I was creepy?! My heart dropped as he held me still and turned to look at me. "Y/n, how do you feel?" It was made to be a question, but it sounded more of a demand. I sat tense for a long while, lips parted yet unmoving. "About...?" I gulped when he slowly placed my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heart throbbing at a rapid pace, as was mine. "Me."

Miraak's voice was low and sounded on edge. Perhaps he was more nervous than I thought he was? My next movements were reckless. Recklessness seemed to be my only sense of courage, right now. I carefully drew his hand towards me and slipped off his glove. He didn't stop me, however his muscles twitched under my touch. I stared at his pale skin for a long while. It was decorated with veins and had a scar stretched over his knuckles. Thanks to the protection of his gloves, his fingernails were in prestine condition. In short, his hands were utterly glorious.

I tilted my face down and pressed my lips against his scar, leaving him breathless. "Does that answer your question?" I asked Miraak with a flushed grin. Without responding, he brushed his thumb over my cheek and felt the entirety of my features. His hand was so calloused and smoothe! I cupped my own against it, keeping it there for as long as possible. Once again, I was pulled into another embrace, this one being much tighter and affectionate. Neither of us decided to speak, and somehow it felt more befitting that way.

With my head resting against Miraak's chest, I could hear his heartbeat quite clearly. It was much slower compared to earlier, more soothing than anything. He wasn't very sure where to place his hands, so he kept one firm on my waist and the other rubbing my hair. Sure, my face was hotter than a bonfire and there was still panic fresh on my mind. Then again, I also felt so calm in his arms. This may have been the first time in my life where I actually felt normal. Everything around me simply fell into place. It was selfish of me to inwardly beg for this moment to never end. As a dragonborn, I had my responsibilites, but for now I kicked those responsibilities aside. I had the right to be selfish every now and then.

"Maybe I should go diving into swamps more often," I teased, breaking through the comfortbale silence. I felt my heart flutter in the midst of him vibrating a soft chuckle. "That would certainly be an entertaining idea. Though I might not get the same reaction from you each time." I peered up at my new love interest with a quirked brow. "What kind of reaction?" In one swift motion, Miraak nudged up his mask to his nose and blessed me with a kiss. It was quick and simple, hardly lingering over my lips in time for me to process it. It was as if I had just imagined it!

Even so, the blush stained on my cheeks was already spreading to my ears. This man was a complete menace. His mask was already tipped back down, but the coy smile he was holding was evident. "You bastard," I hissed. He only shrugged his shoulders at me. "If you fall into the swamp again, I may even give you another kiss," Miraak jested. I proceeded to whack his bicep.

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

I bet Miraak got those plump ass lips :^3

[mediocre-writerr]

this is what it takes [quinn fabray]

Quinn Fabray x fem reader

Request: Quinn Fabray x reader, that takes place with Valentine’s kissing booth that Finn does (Reader is very outgoing and has a high status on the pyramid) and him and the r are competing for Quinn’s love and attention with a happy ending for Quinn and the r

*not my gif*

Out of all the shapes in the world: a circle, square, a freakin’ straight line! It was a triangle. You had to have been in a love triangle. With the quarterback and the head cheerleader. 

With all the high school stereotypes, it seems as if quarterback and head cheerleader would have to be together. But you were also on the top of the social pyramid, you were the captain of the girl’s volleyball team. 

Which had a better record than the football team...just saying. 

You were walking down the hallway with your letterman jacket when you saw Finn at a kissing booth he had set up. 

“Mr. Hotshot you’re literally gonna spread mono around the school.” you say leaning against the wooden board that created a barrier between the two of you, “All because Quinn Fabray doesn’t want to kiss you.” 

“Ms. Wannabe last time I checked you couldn’t get her to kiss you either.” he says with his shit-eating smirk.

I chuckled loudly, “Woah guys! Hotshot here won one championship game in all three years of being the star quarterback and now he thinks he’s all that!” you exclaim sarcastically, “Try winning all three state championship games and a national champion AND the captain.” I say copying his own shit-eating smirk.

He looked at a loss of words before Quinn passed by. The two of you watched her as she walked by. You smiled to yourself softly. There was so many things that made you fall for the blonde.

How she carried herself. How she was so beautiful. How beautiful her voice was not only when singing, but talking. How intelligent she was. 

God she’s beautiful. 

But all Finn saw was beauty and social status, but she was so much more. 

“Well, good luck lover boy.” you say patting his back, going to run off to catch up with Quinn. 

As you ran towards her you were met with a bunch of people’s waves and high fives. You may have been on top of the social status, but you always tried to be nice to everyone. That’s how you became popular. 

You touched her shoulder gently and she smiled at you softly, “Hey Fabray.” you say.

“Y/L/N, hello.” she says trying to fight back a smile.

“How are you doing today?” you ask politely as you swerve through the crowds of teenagers.

“Pretty good,” she says simply.

“That’s awesome!” You notice her shivering a little bit, “Are you cold?” 

“A little. I underestimated how cool it was today.” she says rubbing her arm with her hand. 

You immediately shrug off your letterman and place it over her shoulders, “Here take this! I have a hoodie in my locker that I can go grab.” 

A smile appeared on her soft features, “Thank you.” 

You nod smiling back at her as the two of you continued to walk, “You know Valentine’s day is coming up and I wanted to know if you would like to go on a date with me?” you ask confridently or as confidently as you can.

She stops to turn and look at you, a serious look in her eye. And you could tell that she was fighting back and forth in her head, “You don’t have to give me an answer right now. Just think about it okay?” you add on so she doesn’t feel pressured.

“Okay.” Quinn nods with a small smile.

No one has ever done that before. No one has ever relieved pressure on her and let her know that it was okay.

Finn? Never.

Sam? Never.

Puck? Oh don’t even get her started on that.

You give her a small kiss on the cheek before parting ways. Happy with how you left her and feeling confident in your stance on how she feels about you.

Glee club started and you took a seat next to Mike, waiting for everyone else including Mr. Shue to come in. You watched as Quinn and Finn walked in side by side. 

Even though you couldn’t hear their conversation you could tell that Finn was trying to make a move of his own. They sit in front of you and you pretend you’re not listening, when in reality you really are. 

“So ice rink for Valentine’s Day?” he asks still having his shit-eating smirk on his face. 

“I don’t know Finn. Y/N already asked about Valentine’s Day.” she says and you smile to yourself knowing she’s still thinking about you. 

He scoffs, “Really? You’re thinking about spending Valentine’s Day with Wannabe? C’mon Quinn, you and I have something special. Come with me.” 

You roll your eyes at his attempt at persuasiveness, “I need time.” she says simply as Mr. Shue comes into the room. 

“Then kiss me at my kissing booth! If you feel the fireworks you drop Y/N and go out with me.” he keeps pushing, but she’s not listening. 

The entire glee club you were preoccupied in your mind. Trying to figure out ways to get Quinn to be yours. 

She deserves better than what all the guys’ she’s ever dated have given her. Sam was the closest thing she got to something healthy and stable. You want to give her that. 

And you had just the idea. 

The next glee club you went up in front of the class for your assignment about love. Naturally, you decided to dedicate this song for Quinn. 

While Finn is peer-pressuring her into getting him to kiss her. You decided to sing her a song to let her know that she can take all the time she needs. 

“So I’d like to dedicate this to Quinn. You know, it’s no secret to everyone that I’ve had a crush on you for as long as I could remember. But this one’s for you.” you say, throwing your guitar over your shoulder, “But before I’d like to give you these.” 

You hand her a bouquet of her favorite flowers and she smiles softly. Finn who was sitting behind her just scoffs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. 

“Baby, tell me when you’re ready, I’m waiting. Baby, any time you’re ready, I’m waiting. Even ten years from now, if you haven’t found somebody I promise I’ll be around. Tell me when you’re ready I’m waiting, I’m waiting.” you sing the last verse and she’s smiling widely. 

The rest of the glee club claps and a bunch of whoop’s fill the room.

“Yeah you win her heart Y/L/N!” Santana yells and you laugh softly. 

She smiles at you softly getting up from her seat to give you a hug, “Meet me at Finn’s kissing booth after glee club.” she whispers in your ear and you nod. 

Once glee club ends, me, Finn, and Quinn headed towards his kissing booth. 

“Are you ready to kiss me Quinn?” Finn asks with a smirk. 

She hands him a dollar and you start to question everything. 

Why did she bring him here? Why did she make you watch? Why did she give him a dollar? Is she gonna kiss him in front of you? What? 

He takes the dollar and puckers up his lips and it makes you feel a little gross. Like you can’t believe Rachel Berry wants to kiss those lips. 

But to your surprise she cups your cheeks and pulls your face towards her. It took you a few seconds, but you finally start to kiss back. It’s so sweet and so soft. It was everything you ever imagined it would be. 

You placed your hands gently on her waist, tasting her vanilla chapstick off her lips. 

She finally pulls away and the two of you turn towards Finn. He was just staring in shock at how played he got. 

“Valentine’s Day?” Quinn asks. 

“Valentine’s Day.” you say nodding. 

[whitexwingedxdoves]

seven wonders        [request]

Pairing: Young Daryl Dixon x Young Reader Song: Indigo Night – Tamino | Requested by @sweatywildpanda​ Warnings: Language, FLUFF Summary: You had never met someone quite like Daryl Dixon before, his outlook on life seemed bleak and you made it your job to show him not everything in life is as sad as he made it out to be. A/N: THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST but also thank you for making me obsessed with a new song! I hope you all like it! – Requests are open!

You had been watching your friend throw herself on her new boyfriend Steven all night, every time she did you seemed to tip back the bottle of vodka that you coddled for most of the night so far. You were promised a party and so far you got a fire in a trailer park with about 5 guys, all far to obsessed with themselves to hold a conversation of any sort of meaning but it was almost like the god’s had heard your desperate plea as just as you gave up any hopes of a good evening, two men showed up... one was a little older than you but the other seemed around your ages and immediately caught your eye.

You ignored the interaction between Steven and the older boy and kept your eye firmly on the other, other than the obvious good lucks, he intrigued you, the way his slightly shaggy hair seemed to go unwashed, the way he held his shoulders as if the world laid on them heavily, slightly broody in the face as he watched in the interaction between the man he arrived with and your best friends boyfriend. His eyes scanned the rest of the circle before landing on you, taken back by the fact you were already looking at him, you offered him a warm smile not sure if it was the flicker of the fire or if the boy had a slight red glow to them as a result of your gesture. He looked away quickly but you couldn’t keep your eyes off him as you watched him walk away from the circle and plant himself under an old tree, fiddling with his fingers.

After yet another drink of the vodka, you pushed yourself from the chair and headed in his direction, thinking about the way your friends told you how annoyingly open you were when it came to meeting new people, joking how one day you’ll stumble upon your death because of how outgoing you had become. The thought made you laugh a little as you approached the mysterious man, his eyes slowly scanning your body before he met your smile once more. “This seat taken?” you joked, pointing to the spot beside him. He offered nothing but a shake of his head and you took that as your cue to sit down. “Im Y/N by the way” shifting into a more comfortable position, you offered your hand to the boy, hoping to put a name to his face.

“Daryl” he grunted, ignoring your hand. Your heart seemed to flutter at the bass of his voice, taken back by how masculine he sounded, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Nice to meet you, Daryl” you spoke softly before leaning against the tree, letting out a small sigh. “What brings you here?” you could tell your presence threw him off guard, possibly annoying him with how you just wouldn’t let the silence settle.

“M’ brother” he answered, a little defeated pointing in the direction of the man he came here with. You glanced over at him and watched how he held himself with cocky arrogance, your eyes rolling as he dramatically threw his hands in the air, telling some bullshit story to make the boys that gathered there laugh. “You?” you allowed a small smile pass your lips as he attempted to seem interested in your story, like you were his.

“I’m third wheeling!” you joked, pointing in the direction of your friend who remained on Steven’s lap, you could have sworn you heard the man scoff in amusement but you weren’t entirely sure. “She has Steven, I have cheap vodka!” you joke further but heard nothing from the man as he allowed his head to drop back to the hem of his shirt.

It stayed quiet for a moment as you drank back some more of the alcohol, almost emptying your bottle but the quiet was too awkward for you, you shifted slightly to face Daryl a little more, his gaze not leaving the button he started to pull at on his flannel. “You ever heard of the seven wonders?” you asked him with far too much enthusiasm, recalling back to a conversation you had with your mother about the subject, the one that made you utterly obsessed with the idea of seeing them all. You caught his confused gaze as he ever so slightly lifted his head in your direction, his eyes not leaving that stupid button. “Really? They’re like the most beautiful sights in the world” you gushed, your hands telling a story “ The great wall of China, the great pyramid of Giza?” A sigh leaving your lips at his silence, you shook your head ignoring his look “That’s what I wanna do, I wanna get out of here and travel, see the Seven wonders of the world!” your voice fell soft thinking about your dream, your eyes darting from star to star as you imagined yourself standing in front of the obnoxiously large Jesus statue in Brazil.

“Travellin’ aint all that” he muttered under his breath but it was loud enough to catch your attention.

“You travel a lot?” you questioned tilting your head slightly to capture more of his expression. Daryl just hummed in your direction, slowly nodding his head. “Must have seen a lot of beautiful places” you added, your interest fully peaking knowing he had seen much more of the world than you had.

“Ye’ don’t mean nothin’ though. Not when the world is full of shit!” he spat back at you, confirming his annoyance. You were taken back a little by his words, shaking your head disagreeing with him.

“You’ve got it all wrong!” his eyes met yours when you spoke, ready to bite back at you as to why he was in fact right but you cut him off “The world isn’t shit, it's the people in it.” The words fell out of your mouth almost too easily, like you had experienced your words first hand without seeing what the world had to offer you. He thought about how naïve to the real world you seemed but he couldn’t bring himself to break your perfect vision of the world, he figured you would figure that out on your own one day.

“So wha’ makes em wonders?” redirecting the conversation to avoid breaking your heart, his eyes finally allowing him to get a good look at you, you seemed to sway with the wind the strands of hair that fell from the poorly executed bun danced with you. He took note of the way your legs seemed to be scuffed with the dirt you sat on, thinking how dirty your dress might look once you stand up. He found it odd that you paired such a delicate dress with such stocky boots yet he liked it, it confused him for a moment, never really caring for fashion but he liked the way it looked on you. Finally he noticed the way your eyes seemed to drink up the light of the moon as you stared aimlessly into the sky, being careful not to be caught under your gaze. You laughed a little at his question, like he had fallen right into your trap. There was nothing more you loved to talk about.

“Well, they’re old right, so how people managed to build such magnificent statues back then is insane, like impossible insane! We now, would need machines and technology that just seemed like black magic back then!'' Anyone could hear the passion in your tone as you bragged about these ancient monuments, it almost made Daryl forget about the bad he had seen in the world and allowed himself to see the world through your eyes.

You watched the light in Daryl’s eyes flicker out as he came back to his dull reality, it made your heart sink a little before an idea sprung into your mind, like it was your mission to change this man’s outlook on life. You reached out for his hand and though he flinched when you touched him, he didn’t pull away instead he allowed you to guide him to his feet and drag him away and towards a small hill that surrounded the trailer park. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice how rough his hands were. You thought he was far too young to have such calloused hands; no man in their early 20’s should have such aged hands. You didn’t let it distract you too much as you continued to tug on his arm to make him walk a little faster as you walked up the hill, finally you let go of his hands once you reached the top, a satisfied sigh signalling the end of your journey. You sat down on a patch of grass and patted the patch next to you, signalling Daryl to sit beside you. He just sighed at your demand but obeyed his orders and slummed himself down next to you, leaning back on his hands with his legs stretched out.

His eyes followed yours, settling on the view that the hill provided, a body of water seemingly flowing perfectly still and the light of the moon reflected right on its base as the grass and water weeds surrounding it played with the wind. “If the world was so shit, we wouldn’t have this” you whispered, not really caring if Daryl heard you or not, only saying it for your own peace of mind. He remained silent as he took in every detail of the scene, his bleak view on the world gaining some colour the more he watched. He broke his concentration to take in your expression, wondering if it matched his, it didn't it looked so much more peaceful, like you had found where you belong in the world, like everything ever made sense. Daryl looked over his shoulder the sight of you seemed to be overwhelming, it was only then that he acknowledged the fact you had chosen to sit with him and not partake in the group ‘fun.

“why ya wastin’ ya time wi me? Any one of those guys would break their back just to hear ya talkin bout this shit” you scoffed at his question, your eyes fallen onto him now with an amused smirk creasing your lips.

“The world is full of pricks like them. It’s not every day you get to meet guy’s like you.” It was like his heart had skipped valuable beats when you spoke, swallowing a lump that formed in his throat.

“Na’ I ain’t worth ya time!” His words were shaky as he tried to leave your gaze but you never let him, your hand resting on his leg as you did.

“No, you're worth more” you whispered before your eyes wandered back to the view you sat before.

He wasn’t sure how he let a complete stranger come into his life and completely flip the way he saw the world but he was glad he did. He sat up a little, now crossing his legs hoping not to disturb the way you hand laid on his thigh teasing himself with the thought of placing his hand over yours and eventually he bit the bullet and did just that, his eyes now following the ripples of the water finding it fitting as he felt ripples of warmth flowing through his blood stream as he held onto your hand.

He sure as hell liked seeing the world through your eyes.