#J(a)SON: The Dog Living Inside a Mistake

[bryce-bucher]

J(a)SON Post #2

Interfacing:

Games like Deus Ex, VtM:B, Prey 2017, etc. include interesting interfaces for things like computers, security terminals, etc. Rather than just simply showing the player the information they need to see and then moving on, they opt to allow the player to explore an interface with a degree of control closer to that of a real device or an operating system. The first time I saw the interface for controlling cameras in Deus Ex, all of the synapsis in my brain fired at once when I realized you can just manually rotate the cameras and enable /disable them individually. It doesn't take that much extra effort to include this degree of interactivity, and it baffles me as to why so few big budget games do so. At a certain point in development, I realized I needed a system like this, so I set it up so that I could easily create and assign an interface to any device that needs one. As you can see in the photos above, each interface has its own pre-render that depicts a closeup of whatever the player is interacting with. This allows me the freedom to basically do whatever I want with them, and it opens up the door to some pretty fun possibilities. On a surface level it allows a higher degree of player freedom as they can do things like manually set the timer on the c4, but it will also allow me to do some more ambitious stuff like create a micro-os for the computers that lets you check email, mess with a pseudo-code terminal, and play picross. This week I've been working on the ATM, which will allow you to enter any bank account information that you come across and drain whatever amount of money you want from the account. I'm looking forward to sharing more of the interfaces as I develop them, so I guess you'll see them then.

Conclusion:

Twas tha night before christmas when I wrote this post, but sadly I have not even remotely been in the christmas spirit this year. There isn't any particular reason or anything it just hasn't even felt like december weirdly. I think this post is kind of spiritually connected to my second Basidia post, as it similarly showcases my love of fun and interesting ui in games. Anyway, I hope ya'll have a happy holidays, and I'll see you again next week when I make yet another J(a)SON post.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Someone Else Sees

Most of the discussions I've had with my son this school year, that weren't about future travel plans or school event logistics or music, have been about social anxiety. He has it too. And it unfortunately manifests basically the same way mine does. He's never really sure where he stands with other people. Did he say or do something wrong that made them angry or sad or something else bad? I tell him he's a lot like Charlie Brown.

Charlie Brown is very socially anxious. He thinks no one likes him. But he can somehow get eight other kids (not including Peppermint Patty and Marcie and Franklin even) to show up to play baseball with him basically whenever, even though they lose every game. AND they let him continue pitching and managing the team, even though they lose every game. Those kids definitely must like him. Just saying. And his dog is so talented, he could definitely survive on his own, or run away to live with another family (and in Snoopy Come Home, he DOES that for a while), and he has brothers and sisters who live all over the place he could go stay with, but he still chooses Charlie Brown. Snoopy loves Charlie Brown. And Chuck is a good friend too. And people recognize that. He accepts Linus with his blanket habit others think is immature. He's still friends with Bossy Lucy. He indulges Patty's and Marcie's weird crushes on both him (and probably each other), and tomboy/nerdishness. He's down with Schroeder's savant-like talent and focus on the piano. Pigpen's lack of hygiene, even. The other kids know they can count on Charlie Brown. And it's honestly a shame he doesn't see that. But I see it. And I told my son, I see his friends like him and depend/count on him too. Having trouble with math? Call Boy. He'll help you. It's raining and you need to run for cross country today? Boy has a treadmill in his basement you can get your miles on. Let's go trick or treating in Boy's neighborhood; his parents are cool with all of us meeting there. Three separate friends went to adults concerned about him this year, because he seemed so worried and sad. His academic team almost refused to play a match in protest during the regular season, because he wasn't eligible to play (he'd played too many varsity minutes to play JV too), because they like playing with him that much. But my son doesn't see that. He can't see the interactions and relationships he has from the outside, and from the inside where he is, the anxiety won't let him settle or feel confident. And I told him I get that too, because I'm like Charlie Brown too. I still wonder about all my friends too, even the ones I've had since I was his age. And my parents. And my brother. And *J*.

I still think shit like...What if I'm reading things wrong (which I only think when things are good; I never doubt my takes on bad shit, it seems)?

What if I make too many mistakes?

What if it's not real? And then this happened:

Boy: Mom? DAD?! You're worried about DAD not liking you?! Seriously? You've been married for like...ever. It's been 20 years, right? That's a lot of history to be questioning. I don't have that history. I'd like to think I wouldn't question THAT. Me: Well I know that, but people leave, break up, get divorced after 20 years or more together all the time. Boy: But DAD?! Come on, Mom. Dad super loves you. It's obvious. Me: I'm glad it's obvious to you all the time. :) Boy: It should be obvious to you. I mean...Dad doesn't really even LIKE any other people at all. Except you and me. Me: He definitely loves YOU. <3 Boy: Yeah. I know you and Dad love me. I don't ever question that. But I'm saying Dad definitely loves YOU. He kind of ONLY loves us. Other people make him tired and want to leave after like...max 3 days in a row. And that's *W* (J's lifelong best friend). He's with you every single day. For 20 years. Literally every second he's not working. That's...CLEAR love.

So I hope that me saying I can see it for my son (because I can see it; that his friends like him and value him a lot) was helpful for his social anxiety (which is definitely my 'fault' he has), because he was pretty helpful for mine. At least temporarily.

That guy must really love me. HAHA!

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ ROJO ❜

Songfic with ‘Rojo’, J Balvin.

Translation of the lyrics.

with Nestor Oceteva.

Request #1: Can you maybe do a Nestor imagine where you're Emily's cousin or half sister and you're living with Emily and Miguel temporarily. You've been flirting and teasing him and it finally comes to a head. Smut involved please?

BY ANON.

Request #2: hi hi! I have a steamy request~! (If it's not a bother, of course) Nestor + reader are at a club and they keep teasing him,, maybe you can include lines like “shit, mami, you made a mess” and “you just want the others to hear me fuck you, huh?” 😗👉🏼👈🏼 thank youuu c:

BY @glitchinqhoul.

Warnings: nsfw, smut.

Word count: about 3.6k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to the author, I found it on google.

Masterlist.

A quién le mientes si en tu soledad quieres verme otra vez. Por ti respondo lo que tú me das, lo que nadie sabe…

Being Emily's half—sister hasn't been easy. She was a good student, the modelic daughter, always being kind, correct and polite. You used to be like the day and the night. But you supposed that this has to be with the fact that your blood isn't the same. She's american, and you're half—mexican. Different cultures, different cities, different people… Different lifes. But that wasn't a problem to adore each other. Emily and you have been best friends since ever, and even if you're the wild side she doesn't have, you admire her temperance.

When your college in Mexico told you that you could do the MIR at Santo Padre, you both were screaming by the phone for two minutes non-stop, until you heard Miguel telling you to stay at his home. That wasn't a bad idea, keeping in mind that you also could see Nestor every day, for the next six month. That man drives you insane since you met him, and he isn't very sane either.

You're checking the hour on the clock of your car, almost reaching the border with California, checking again that your passport and your papers signed for the University are on the copilot seat. So, when you stop at the frontier, you just have to roll down the window and offer them to the agent. Once that you're actually in American territory, you speed up by the empty road a little confused from not seeing any cars. Actually, you're just tired after almost two days driving. Because yes, you could have flown to San Diego, and rented a car. But you like your old Mustang. He has been with you since seven years ago. Coming back to reality, you see through the rearview two big black SUVs coming closer until one of them places itself after you, making you a signal to stop.

Stopping by a side, you step out of your car as Emily does, both running to each other to collide in a happy hug, screaming again and almost jumping.

“Look at you, doctora!” She says laughing and holding your hands, pulling herself away some seconds, before hugging at you again. “C'mon, let Frankie drive your car, so you can rest a little in ours”.

To your surprise, Nestor isn't the one who is driving, supposing that he's in the other black car before yours. But you're sure he's as excited as you are, waiting to have five minutes alone.

Me decido por ti, te decides por mí, a la misma hora. Me dan ganas de ti, te dan ganas de mí, a la misma hora.

Miguel has organized a party with his sober friends. And you're not in the mood to partying, but the tequila helps a little. You're jumping from senators and other politicians, to lawyers and other rich men, just because your brother-in-law is proud of you. And that makes you feel good, but it's kinda boring. So, when you find a space to disappear, you do it at the speed of the light. Finding shelter in the big garage between expensive cars of different sizes and kinds. Resting your back against the classic red Porsche, you light up a smoke among your lips to take a deep drag. You appreciate all the love that Mikey feels for you, and all the help he always gives you, but you're not the kind of girl who has these kinds of parties.

Turning around for an instant, when you hear the door getting opened, to watch Nestor walking towards you. Rolling your eyes, you smirk at him.

“Ay, ya, no me digas que te pusieron en modo perrito guardián, flaco”. (C'mon, don't tell me that Miguel made you be a guard dog). You laugh shaking your head.

“Más o menos”. (More or less). He says taking you off the cig to smoke from it.

“Okay, ládrame, ándale”. (Okay, bark at me, go ahead).

“Soy más de morder”. (I'm more into biting).

“Mírale… Isn't too early to start with that game?”

“Nah”. He replies bowing to the floor to leave the cig, before placing both hands on your ankles, pulling up the long white skirt of your dress too slowly.

Your eyes are fixed on his, getting somewhat darker as his fingertips touch slightly your skin, until he's able to settle between your legs, that you have been opening for him unconsciously. Soon, his lips find your neck, twisting it enough to give him all the space possible. Your hands go to his head, uttering a soft moan when he nails his hands on your ass under the dress. This is your game. You have it since you met, and it's one of your favorite things. A tug of war to see who gives more.

“Fuck, Nestor”. You mutter biting your lower lip, at the same time his teeth catch your skin, putting himself somewhat closer.

Te quiero sentir aquí. Me dan ganas de ti, te dan ganas de mí, a la misma hora.

“Hey, teens in heat, we're going to serve the coctel!” You can hear Emily's laughs from the other side of the door, making you feel your cheeks burning.

“We're going!” You reply a little loud, with Nestor chuckling against your neck.

Pulling him away to put on your dress well, you arrange your mane behind your shoulders before starting to walk back to the house. But when you're about to open the door, he grabs your wrist to make you turn around. Crashing your mouth with his, the man kisses you trying to hide how much he has missed you after five month without seeing each other. Even so, it becomes softer, slow, as if you have all the time you need. His arms surrounding your waist, and yours the back of his head. You're sure that he has never kissed you like that, but it feels too good. Nestor's touch has been ever so warm that could melt the coldest heart, actually, more or less like yours.

Tres y cuatro de la mañana, ven, mata estas ganas. Vamos a llegarle a mi cama, que todo lo he ignorado por ti, todo ha sido por ti. Mi cuerpo sin saber te llama.

You like to eat. You enjoy eating, and that coctel wasn't enough for you. So, waiting by reading some emails until the family is already sleeping, you step out of your new room silent like a cat. Going downstairs, you walk towards the kitchen to assault the freezer.

“Bendito Miguel”.

You whisper finding all the chocolate ice cream he has bought for you. Grabbing one of the tubs and a big spoon, you sit at the island in the center of the kitchen, with the lights off. And you were so concentrated on your task, that you didn't hear Nestor coming. Not even noticing his presence until he nails a second spoon into the tub.

“Shit! Nestor! Fuck… You're gonna fucking kill me one of these days”. You mutter, placing both hands on your chest, with the covered inside your mouth.

The man chuckles almost in silence, having some ice cream.

“Seriously, you need to stop of being this fucking silent”.

“Yeah, I know you like me being loud”.

Raising your eyebrows, you finally shake your head before such an occurrence.

“What about the kiss?”

“What kiss?” He asks a little confused. “Oh! Ya. What happens with that? It was just a kiss?”

“Yes, for sure”.

“I was just happy for you being here. We're friends, it's been five month since we met last time”.

Right in the friend-with-benefits zone, while you were thinking that finally he was catching the same feelings you have for him.

“Cool”.

“Cool?”

“What?”

“It sounded as if I just stabbed you”.

“Why would my friend like to stab me?”

Y estas no son horas de llamar, pero es que el deseo siempre puede más. Podemos pelearnos y hasta alejarnos, pero cuando llega la hora.

You didn't know that Miguel was a friend of the director of the hospital you're going to work at. And he settled a dinner to meet him. Another boring one, and you start to think that your brother-in-law wants to kill you and doesn't know how to do it. You love your work and what you do, but the work stays in the hospital, and you were too distracted about Nestor's words last night. You have been avoiding him the whole day, not even looking at him in the dinner, placed some meters away from the table studying the perimeter. And you know that he's getting more nervous as the hours pass by.

After finishing the meeting, you finally can breathe again inside the big car, checking some messages from your father asking how everything is going. You better don't reply. Keeping it inside your small bag, before leaning towards the front seat with both arms on them.

“Hey, Cartel daddy”.

Your sister breaks into laughs because of the sophisticated name, while Miguel turns at you frowning.

“Listen. Why don't I pull out the stick inside your ass and we go to a real party, ah? There's a new club some minutes ago from Santo Padre, and looks cool”.

“Did you ca—”.

“Hey, Pocahontas, that's the address”. You say to Nestor, offering him your phone to grab it.

Emily is drowning with her own laughs by your side, making you laugh too, when she remembers that you're not allowed to drink red wine because of this. You have the mania of giving funny names to everybody around you.

“What? Cartel daddy and Pocahontas. Sounds like a bad netflix tv-show I would watch”.

Tratan y se caen de la mata, quieren comprarte siempre con plata, pero ese tesoro tiene pirata. Me voy a toda por ti.

While the men prefer a reserved, watching the whole dancefloor from there, and talking about business and appointments, Emily and you enjoy a bunch of mimosas among the crowd jumping and having fun. You really needed it. And you're aware that she already knows that something is happening between the head security and you. Something bad. She doesn't have to be the most intelligent person of the world.

“I would tell him what I feel!” Your sister says, trying to make you hear her above the noise.

“He kicked my ass to the friend zone last night!” The blonde wrinkles her nose confused, seeing you nodding and drinking by your straw.

“Are you kidding me?! He was super excited to see you again! Like super excited!”

“Yeah! He kissed me! But he kissed me like Miguel kisses you! Then he told me it was just a kiss!”

“He's in love with you!”

“No, sista! He's only in love with your husband and with himself!”

“Tell him you don't want to be just his friend!”

“Me?! Oh, no, darling! I'm not gonna humiliate myself like that!”

“C'mon! You fucking pendejos!” She pouts at you.

“You just want Nestor to have a girlfriend, so you can spend more time with your husband! Bitch, I know you better than anyone!”

“I want my little sister to be happy!”

“You want your Cartel daddy!” Breaking into laughs, you place an arm on her shoulders to come back to the reserved.

“What's so funny?” Miguel asks pouring some champagne on two glasses.

“Your wife wants to settle me on a blind date”.

Me decido por ti, te decides por mí, a la misma hora. Me dan ganas de ti, te dan ganas de mí, a la misma hora.

“I'm not going to let you go on a blind date”.

You were refreshing your nape and wrists with water, when you heard him coming closer after locking the bathroom door of the reserved Miguel rented. Looking at him through the mirror, you give him your back to grab some paper and dry your hands. Throwing it into the bin, you turn around to face him.

“Why?”

“It's dangerous”. He just says, tangling his hands on a fist under his abdomen.

“You stabbed me last night, and I survived. I'm pretty sure I will survive to a blind date”. Good point, taking the advantage to pass him away.

But he stops you with an arm surrounding your waist. His chest meeting your back, while his free hand wraps your throat. You're feeling the characteristic heat that Nestor produces in you being so close, running up your legs to your low belly. His thumb caresses your skin, over the jugular vein, leaning towards you to kiss the line of your jaw. Biting your bottom lip, wrapping his wrists letting the free hand goes down by your stomach with a clear destiny.

“We are made for each other”. Nestor mumbles into your ear with a horse tone of voice.

“Yes, to be friends”. You tease him, grabbing his wrist to make him stop, wanting to hear the reality coming from his mouth.

“To be together”. He corrects you then, without a single doubt hitting his vocal chords and turning you under his hands.

Crashing his lips on yours, he makes you walk backwards until your body finds the cold wall. He's as eager as you are, lifting up a leg to surround his waist, while his hand toures your skin until being able to squeeze your ass with a warm growl dying inside his throat.

“I want you in all the ways possible, (Y/N)”. He mutters, trying to hide the anger he feels imagining you with another man. “I want you with me. Only with me”.

Pulling him to the black and golden velvet armchair, you watch him undoing his belt and his pants zipper, noticing the rock under his clothes. Seeing him rolling them down his legs to his ankles, while you take off your dress to leave it over the sink, to sit over his lap with his body between your legs. You haven't taken off the white lace panties, because you know how much he likes the friction of them in every move he does, on a side of his sensible skin. While one of his big hands massage your breast with some strength, the ringed one strokes his needed cock, lying back on the couch.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” You whisper into his mouth, unbuttoning his shirt to stroke his bare chest.

“You don' know how much I need your pussy, cariño”. He just says, looking at you with parted lips grabbing his erection between your fingers.

“I don't think that's enough”. Teasing him, you guide his throbbing and warmth glans to your folds, pressing it against your wet clit and swinging softly your hips.

“I've been waiting five months for you jumping over my cock, mami. You know I am fucking desperate for your soaked pussy suffocating me and pushing me into the limit”. Nestor almost begs, placing his hands on both sides of your waist. “Ride your cock, baby. Look at how hard it's because of you. It fucking painful”.

“And what if I punish you about what you said last night… putting my clothes on again and leaving you there alone, ah?”

“Don't do that shit, (Y/N). I fucking implore you”. He quickly complains pecking your lips with short kisses. “You're already fucking killing me”.

Leading a little back his hardness between your legs, you dig it into you slowly, feeling every inch of his erection pressing your tight walls. He's thicker than you can remember, having passed too much time since the last time, needing some seconds to mold your body to his. A soft moan escapes from your mouths when his glans pushes your g-spot, urging you to spread more your legs forcing you to feel him completely. And you can't describe that sensation.

“Tell me you didn't miss my cock…” He chuckles, erasing that fancy smile from his lips by swinging your hips just one time.

His growl echoes throughout the bathroom, before catching your lips between his to bite them, making you dance on top of him. The pleasure is immeasurable, bouncing over his hard rock once and again. Once and again, arching your back under his arms, while his mouth now devours the skin of your neck, wetting it with his saliva and marking every inch with his teeth. The pace becomes rough and faster, slapping your ass with both hands to squeeze your buttocks so needed that you're desiring to feel his cum filling you up. But you like his cock pounding you.

“I'm going to make the others hear you being fucked by me, mi amor…” He bellows, making you beg when pulling out himself from you to get up.

Guiding you quickly to the sink and giving him your back, placing a hand on your nape, he makes you lean over the sink before putting aside your panties to thrust his soaked cock back to your pussy. The scream you utter when his pelvis hits you so rough, isn't normal. Being sure that your sister and Miguel already heard you. His hands nailed on your hips make each lunge deeper, watching him through the mirror the pleased look on his face, while his gaze is fixed in your. He enjoys seeing you bite your bottom lip and closing your eyes, every time he slaps you with his ringed fingers, knowing that this pleasure it's going to fuck you up tomorrow. But you love the way he has to uninhibit himself, after being the whole day following orders.

“Shit, baby… I want you all my fucking life”. He gasps leaning his head back with closed eyelids, impaling you against the marble counter of the sink.

Maybe you should have taken off the heels to not lose the balance, but you didn't think about it, and now you're fighting against your shaky legs.

“Look how good you take it all… my fucking god, (Y/N). You're fucking drenching me”.

Yes, you can feel it. You can feel your juices and his slipping down your thighs, producing a soaked dirty sound every time his body collides with yours so hard. Urging you to incorporate your chest from the sink with a hand grabbing your throat and the other arm surrounding your waist, Nestor arches your back, placing his face on your shoulder.

“Drown my fucking… dick with your cum, mi amor…” He begs you, biting your love, without removing his darkened orbs from yours, through your reflections.

“Shit, Nestor…” You're not sure when you start to cry because of the pleasure, needing more, needing to reach the orgasm. “Fuck me harder, I fucking beg you… Por favor”.

You can't barely breathe when his finger finds your clit, stroking it with the same pace he's embedding you against the furnishing. Your moans dance all around the bathroom, while he's gasping over your ear how much he wants to fuck you for the rest of his life, everywhere, at anytime you want it. And by crying out his name and clinging to him, a lash of heat evolves you, making your pussy twitch uncontrollably as the tears fall down your cheek. Your palpitating walls clenching his cock, making his vocals get louder as long as he continues diving his warmth hardness into you, closer from his own ecstasy.

You don't need to tell him that you want him to cum inside you, mixing it with yours, because he already has other plans. Pulling himself out and jerking off his dick, he spills his seed over your wet panties, bathing them on it as his throat collapses because of the pleasure. But don't waste time putting them to the side again to pound you again, pressing his body against yours as much as he can, holding your anatomy into his arms.

Te quiero sentir aquí. Me dan ganas de ti, te dan ganas de mí, a la misma hora.

It's four am and you can't sleep thinking about what he said to you. Sighing, you sit up on your bed, curling your knees against your chest and surrounding them with both arms. He already told you that he wants you, but was he talking or his jealousy? You're doubting about going to his house, or texting him, or doing anything. Grabbing your phone from the nightstand and a cig from the packet, you step out of your dorm to walk downstairs towards the terrace. Sitting on one of the sofas outside, you light the smoke to have a drag, unlocking your phone. Your trembling fingers touch the screen over the keyboard; writing and deleting, writing and deleting. But you're unable to send any message. Feeling stupid, you finally write him that you can't sleep, listening the ding of your own notification so close that makes you frown confused.

“Me neither”.

With your lips pursed and a leg curled over the sofa, you turn ashamed towards him. Nestor is wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a white big shirt. You're sure that you have never seen him before without wearing a suit. And you are falling loudly for him much more than ever. Putting out the cigarette, you stand up on your feet to lead them towards you.

“Stay with me, at least tonight”. You mutter, tangling your fingers with his.

“But move with me tomorrow”. Nestor asks you then, before hugging you as close as he can.

“Deal”. You reply, placing your chin on his chest to look at him, receiving some short kisses all around your face that make you laugh.

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[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Interim- Chapter 4

(oh, did I say the next few days? It’s today :3

Also, please not that while this chapter is written in second person, it is not a reader-insert.

Don’t forget to LIKE, COMMENT and REBLOG!!!)

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (find more stories here!)

~~~

It would be easy to say that your life goal has been very simple: Reunite with your parents and live the rest of your lives in peace. That's all you wanted, at first. That's the only thing that made sense.

Well, besides the fact that your mother was dead. For some reason, that never really deterred you. 

You remember the look on your uncle's face when you first said you wanted to see her. In retrospect, you feel bad. The lines on his forehead had deepened and he was speechless for a moment as you waited expectantly.

"Your… you can't see your mother anymore, Liam," he had said to you, as gently as he could. His eyes were misty but resolute. "We buried her in November, remember? Did you want to visit her graveside?"

You had shaken your head. No, you wanted to talk to her in person. You had questions that only she could answer. Uncle Damien hadn't been able to say anything else and Aunt Emma had spoken up. "Maybe we can talk about this when you're older, dear."

You were a reasonable child. You waited until about five years later, a week after your tenth birthday, to bring it up again. (You had waited a week in order to avoid interrupting the festivities.)

"I want to talk to my mom and dad," you had said, in the most grown-up tone you could muster.

Emma and Damien had exchanged glances.

Damien left to make a phone call.

All three of you woke up with bloody noses that night. 

~

Col. William was in a good mood when you sat across from him at the big metal table in the big cold room. A guard in a uniform stood nearby, but the Colonel was handcuffed. You weren't afraid of him, anyway. 

“Hello, Dad,” you said in a friendly tone. You sat politely in the big chair, your feet dangling several inches from the ground, with your hands in your lap.

He didn't look up from his notebook for a while, but when he did, he looked surprised. "Well, good morning, my boy," he said kindly, even though it was early afternoon. "My name is William J. Barnum, but you may call me Colonel. I'd shake your hand, but…" He gestured with the handcuffs on his wrists. You smiled slightly, and he continued. "What brings a young lad like you to a place like this?"

So he'd forgotten already. Emma had warned you he would. "My name is Liam," you said patiently. "You forgot me, but I'm your son."

"Son?" He shook his head, laughing. "Oh, I can't have a son. Celine would never allow that to happen. Her husband is quite the unpredictable man, you know."

Celine. Your mother. You grasped onto that, leaning forward. "What was Celine like, Colonel?"

He paused and tilted his head. "Celine is… strong. Stubborn, but brilliant, vivacious, enrapturing…" A sigh escaped his lips and he smiled dreamily. "My first love. My only love, truly."

Quickly, before you thought to lose your nerve, you asked, "Was she a witch?"

"Heavens no!" You were thankful that the Colonel laughed, instead of being offended. "Goodness, where could you get an idea like that? Ah, wagging tongues, most likely. Most unfortunate." Shaking his head, he looked down at his journal and laughed to himself. "No, she was not a witch, my boy. She was fascinated with the supernatural, had been since she was but a slip of a girl. I never discouraged her, but… I'll admit I did worry." He shook his head again, his smile fading. "But she was always quite a bit smarter than I, so I didn't question her. I assumed she knew what she was getting into." 

Suddenly, he frowned, and looked up at you. The sharp gaze of his dark eyes was sad but incredibly intelligent. "... How could this be?" he asked softly. "She told me she gave you up."

It took you a moment to realize that he knew who you were. "She did. Uncle Abe found me and took me to Emma and Damien."

He nodded, not seeming surprised. "Honest Abe… so he did hear me," he murmured. "You're a fortunate boy. Damien's probably a better father than I could ever be."

You never even tried, you thought you might like to say. But you didn't, because your father was here and he recognized you and you could be a family now.

"They'll raise you to be a good man," he continued, and your heart dropped. "I'm not getting out of here any time soon, so I hope you visit me again. It'll be a nice change from only seeing Abe every few months."

"But—" This isn't how it's supposed to go. You found him, he knows you. He's supposed to take care of you. "Why can't I stay with you?"

He smiled, and this one was sadder than ever. "Prison isn't a good place to raise a growing boy, I'm afraid. Besides, I'm…" He looked down at his journal. "I forgot again, didn't I? I remembered the wrong things."

"I remember wrong things too!" you insisted, but he shook his head gently at you, not looking up.

"Not like this. Like this, I'd… I couldn't do right by you. Emma and Damien are good people, they aren't… like me."

"What's wrong with you?" you demanded, hurt and scared and naive.

He didn't answer then, so you asked again. But he didn't say anything even when the guard came to pull you out. You weren't sure why the guard had come until you felt moisture on your face and your throat was sore, and you realized you'd been crying, which had escalated into screaming, and you didn't know how to stop.

The guard passed you off to the warden, nursing a bloody nose, and you didn't remember hitting him but you were sorry, and you tried to apologize but the only noises you could make were sobs and cries like a wounded animal’s.

Uncle Abe was waiting for you in the front office. You couldn't stand the look on his face when he saw your state, so you turned your face away, allowing yourself to be handed off like a limp marionette and burying your face in his shoulder.

He didn't say anything to you as he buckled you into his cruiser, but he did squeeze your shoulder. You guessed that that was his attempt at comforting you, so you decided to appreciate it.

The warden came out to the car, then, and Abe shut the door to talk to him in relative private. After a subdued but tense conversation, the warden handed Abe a package, which he tucked into his jacket.

He didn't say anything at all until he asked if you wanted to get some ice cream, to which you nodded miserably.

He let you choose a park bench to enjoy your treats. You always got chocolate with liberal amounts of sprinkles, and he indulged in a simple scoop of strawberry.

The park bench was too tall for you, but you were a bit small for your age. You didn't mind getting to swing your legs, and it's hard to cry when you're eating ice cream, because the salt doesn't taste very good, so you were starting to feel better.

Abe passed his cone to one hand and reached over with the other to ruffle your wild black hair. "Didn't go how you expected, huh?"

Wordlessly, you shook your head. 

"That's okay, kid. Nothing can really prepare you for that." His hand fell back to his lap, and you contemplated his statement.

"What's wrong with… with William?" you asked finally, having decided not to call him by either "Colonel" or "Father", for he was neither your friend nor a paternal figure. He had forfeited that right.

Abe sighed, took off his hat and ran his hand over the fuzz on his head. "He's… well, I dunno for sure, kid. He's not all there, yknow? Forgets things. Remembers things wrong. Thinks things are true that aren't. Stuff like that."

"I do that too," you point out, because it's true. Just the night before you had woken up thinking you had a dog, and Damien had had to keep you from going out in the cold to find her because she had "gotten lost in the golf greens".

It still felt like you had a dog, but there was no dog there, so you'd decided to believe Damien.

Abe knew you weren't lying. He simply searched your face, nodding thoughtfully, and finished his ice cream with a pensive scowl. As you both crunched on your cones, he spoke up again. "Liam, there's something the Colonel wants you to have."

You immediately abandoned your determination to forget William ever existed. "A present? For me?"

A small grin crossed his face as he reached into his coat and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. You reached for it instinctively, then remembered yourself and placed your hands back in your lap, waiting for him to speak.

Taking note of your rarely-seen excitement, Abe passed the package to you. "I think there's a note inside, but it might be hard for you to re—"

Before he could even finish speaking, you'd already torn the string and paper off and were reading the handwritten note tucked inside the cover of a small, plain, blank notebook.

The note was written in elegant but firm script. Some of the words were crossed out and rewritten, and you noticed that most of them were when he referred to things in the present when really they were in the past— a mistake you'd been known to make as well.

My Dear Son William Jr.,

I hasten to write this while I still have my mind. It comes and goes these days, and I fear that you may be predisposed to the same problems. Hence, this little gift.

My boy, sometimes the world will not make sense to you. Sometimes, you may forget things, or remember something that didn't really happen. In times like that, it may be helpful to have something you can look back on, something that you know is correct and unchangeable. 

The written word is a powerful thing, my boy, and I pray that someday you realize just how true that statement is. 

This journal is a tool, my dear son, to help you keep your mind in order. Everything you experience, every thought you have, write it down in this little book. It may feel silly at first, but I promise you, the minute you remember something that no-one else does, you can look back in this book and find the truth.

I hope you find it useful.

All my love,

The Colonel

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad​@markired​@blackaquokat​@pleaseletthisjimbetaken​@gravitykaz​@jojored22​@neverisadork​@withjust-a-bite​ @gmcfyuffins​ @satansladydoor​ (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[mxliv-oftheendless]

The Shocking Case of O.J. Simpson (Part 2)

And we are back! So in Part 1 we looked at an overview of the case; here in Part 2 we’re gonna look at the suspects! I’m thinking this is how it’ll go for true crime episodes in the future. Speaking of which, if any of you guys have an idea of an episode for me to do next, whether it’s supernatural or true crime, feel free to suggest it! 

Now that we’re getting into suspects, I feel I should reiterate my warning from Part 1: we’re gonna get into some of the... heavier details in this part. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or distressed by what you read, you are totally free to stop reading. I personally had no problem with what is addressed, but I realize not everyone is me. Your feelings are valid, and you are not a lesser person for wanting to stop reading. 

And now, without further ado, enjoy!

Tag list: @cosmicrealmofkissteria​  @ashestoashesvvi​  @kategwidt​

VINNIE [voiceover]: Now that we’ve covered the timeline and important events in the case, let’s get into the suspects. Unlike our other cases, this case has one clear top suspect: O. J. Simpson. So we’re going to break this down into two sections; why O. J. is the killer, and why O. J. is NOT the killer. Let’s start with why he could have done it. First off, let’s start with a possible motive. O. J. and Nicole Simpson had been going through a break, and at the time of the murders were living in separate residences. Also at the time of the murders, Nicole and Ronald Goldman had grown increasingly close, leading some to speculate that they were perhaps more than friends. Though Goldman said this was not the case.

That is obviously a clear motive right there.

Yeah, obviously. Even if Goldman said it wasn’t the case…

O. J. could still think he’s lying and they’re getting romantically involved.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Now, let’s return to the timeline. If the murders did in fact occur around 10:15 PM, the time the dog barking began, that would give O. J. enough time to commit the murders, clean himself up, and be back at his house by 11 PM, in time to greet the limo driver.

[cut to the three driving in the car in Brentwood. It is now night]

VINNIE: Right now, we’re headed to O. J.’s Rockingham Estate, which, not-so-fun fact, was only six minutes away from Nicole’s townhouse.

PAUL: Oh man, really?

GENE: So it’s definitely feasible, especially if he was booking it.

[car stops, and they all look out the window]

PAUL: Is that it?

VINNIE: That is it. [camera pans over a gated entrance as Vinnie speaks] So this the former site of O. J.’s Rockingham Estate. It was demolished in 1998, but… probably very happy to leave.

[screen cuts back to the slideshow]

VINNIE [voiceover]: Going into DNA evidence, O. J.’s blood, as well as Nicole’s and Goldman’s, were found on the glove left at the scene of the crime. Further damning is the fact that this glove matched a glove found at O. J.’s estate behind the guest house, near the area where O. J.’s friend Kato heard loud thumps at 10:40 PM. Both gloves had blood on them that matched Nicole, Goldman, and O. J. O. J. also had a cut on his finger the day after the murders when the police interviewed him. The knitted hat contained hairs that were proven to be O. J.’s by the FBI hair and fiber laboratory. Also found at O. J.’s residence was Nicole’s blood on a sock, and blood was also found in his driveway. The bloody shoeprint found at the crime scene matched O. J.’s size, and the sole pattern matched another pair that O. J. owned at the time. O. J. had also purchased a knife matching the type the coroner predicted had been used. Though, the knife and the shoes were never found.

I’m sorry, how is this an unsolved case again? Because it seems pretty obvious to me that he did it.

Well… *sigh* I don’t know how to answer this question…

I’m pretty sure this is where most people draw the line and say, “Yep. He’s guilty.” I think this is where my grandfather was convinced anyway.

Wasn’t your grandfather kind of a dick, though?

Okay, regardless of whether or not Gene’s grandfather was a dick, I will say that yes, this is where many people draw the line.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Another key detail was the fact that O. J. had been a perpetrator of spousal abuse against Nicole Simpson in the past, reportedly resulting in nine police visits to the Simpson residence responding to domestic disturbance calls. In 1989, O. J. was found guilty for spousal abuse, and plead no contest to the charges. Bizarrely, in 2006, O. J. himself wrote and published a book called “If I Did It”; a hypothetical account of the murder. Though the book was first cancelled due to public outrage, it was still later published, with all profits going to the Goldman family.

Wait wait wait, hang on a sec.

Uh huh?

So O. J., the man everybody thinks did it…

Yes.

…after getting acquitted for these murders…

Yes.

…writes a goddamn book on what could have happened if he did it?

Yes.

…

*wheeze*

*laughter* What the fuck, man?

This guy’s got some balls on him, that’s all I’ll say.

VINNIE [voiceover]: For those that are new to this case, O. J. Simpson was found not guilty. Despite the DNA evidence found at the crime scene, the defense team called to the attention of the jury technical mistakes made by the forensic team, which created some doubt over the evidence. Evidence was not packaged correctly and even left in a van to overheat. This ultimately led them to suggest that the crime scene may have been contaminated.

So, do we have any commentary on this?

*sighs*

Nope.

I got nothin’.

Okay then.

VINNIE [voiceover]: During the trial, the defense team had O. J. try on the glove found at the crime scene, and it was too small, leading to the now famous line by his lawyer, “If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit.” Though, it’s worth mentioning the prosecution team was against having O. J. try on the glove, because it had been frozen and unfrozen multiple times as a preservation method, and it also had been covered in blood.

Oh, THAT’S where that line comes from!

Yep, this is where it’s from.

I was wondering what line they were parodying on that one Rick and Morty episode.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Many also believe that race played a factor in O. J.’s acquittal, due to the events that surrounded the trial. In 1992, race riots occurred due to the LAPD’s senseless and horrific beating of a black man named Rodney King; a beating for which the assaulting officers were acquitted of all charges. The defense strategically used law enforcement racism as a reason for O. J.’s charges; they showed a video of Simpson handcuffed as soon as he returned from Chicago, demonstrating the rush in judgement by the police. Perhaps one of their biggest arguments was centered around Detective Mark Fuhrman. During the trial, the defense played for the jury a tape of audio in which Detective Fuhrman was recorded using racial slurs over FORTY times in one recorded sitting.

What the fuck?!

Jesus…

VINNIE [voiceover]: This is noteworthy, because Detective Fuhrman was also the first person to step inside O. J.’s Brentwood Rockingham Estate after the murders occurred, a feat he accomplished by jumping over the wall of the estate. This is a critical detail, because according to Fuhrman’s own testimony, it was during this time after he jumped the wall that he alone discovered the notorious, matching bloody glove behind O. J.’s guest house. With this information, the defense was able to suggest that Detective Fuhrman planted the glove and perhaps all other evidence found at O. J.’s estate, effectively tainting the evidence regardless of whether or not it was true. Christopher Darden, a deputy district attorney assigned to the O. J. case summarized it in this quote: “It will do one thing. It will upset the black jurors. It will say, whose side are you on, ‘the man’ or ‘the brothers’?” The jury was made up of eight black people, one Hispanic person, one white person, and two people of mixed race. All these things considered, the jury reached the verdict of not guilty, after only four hours of deliberation. However, it’s worth mentioning that O. J. lost the eventual civil case for the wrongful deaths of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman, with the jury awarding their families $33.5 million in punitive damages.

[cuts back to the office]

PAUL: This episode is gettin’ me down, man.

VINNIE: Yeah, I— [starts laughing]

PAUL: This sucks.

GENE: I agree, this is the worst.

VINNIE: Yeah, it is not fun.

PAUL: Jesus, I’m getting JonBenet Ramsey flashbacks. This is the fucking worst.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Though, if O. J. Simpson didn’t kill his ex-wife and Ronald Goldman, then who did? Let’s get into some alternate suspects. The first suspect is convicted serial killer Glen Rogers. In an investigation discovery documentary, Clay Rogers, the brother of Glen Rogers, said that while on death row, his brother Glen confessed to murdering Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman. Though, even if this theory is true, O. J. would still be guilty. Glen Rogers had reportedly been hired by O. J. to steal a pair of earrings from her condo, but was told to kill her if she got in the way. However, it’s possible that Rogers was serving a six week jail sentence at the time of the murders, and therefore lied about his involvement.

So O. J. hired a serial killer to steal a pair of earrings?

Yeah, that… that doesn’t make a lot of sense.

No, it really doesn’t.

Those must’ve been some pretty damn expensive earrings.

VINNIE [voiceover]: The last suspect is Jason Simpson, O. J.’s son, and is the sole theory of famed private investigator Bill Dear, one of the few private investigators to be inducted into the Police Hall of Fame. Though, it’s worth mentioning that people have discredited Dear’s case as entirely circumstantial.

I already am suspicious of this theory.

Oh, just wait.

Is it bad?

Well, I don’t know if I would call it “bad” per se, but it’s… it’s kind of fucked up.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Nonetheless, Dear presents his theory in a book, and the highlights are as follows: At the time of Nicole and Goldman’s murders, Jason was on probation after having attacked his former boss with a knife. According to Dear, Jason had also attacked a former girlfriend named Jennifer Green. Dear also spoke to another former girlfriend of Jason’s named Dee Dee, who claimed Jason almost broke her back after throwing her into a bathtub, and perhaps even more suspiciously, cut off her hair with a knife, giving Jason two reported assaults involving a knife. Dear also reportedly obtained medical records of Jason’s—illegally, some might add—by dressing up and impersonating a doctor at Cedar-Sinai Hospital, where Jason had been a patient, for two weeks.

Okay—wow.

He, *laughing* he impersonated a doctor for two weeks just to get this kid’s medical files?

*wheeze* It does sound ridiculous when you put it like that.

Why didn’t he just ask the hospital for the records?

Well, there were probably a ton of hoops he would’ve had to jump through if he did that. Like, I know there’s a law protecting doctor-patient confidentiality for one thing.

… Okay, that makes sense. But still… weird.

Definitely weird. The Police Hall of Fame didn’t seem to think it was weird, though.

Is that really a thing?

Yes.

Okay... I dunno how to feel about that, but okay.

VINNIE [voiceover]: According to Dear, Jason had been diagnosed with Intermittent Rage Disorder, and around the time of the murders, Jason stopped taking the prescribed antipsychotic drugs. This was also during the time when Jason reportedly told doctors he was “going to rage.” Jason’s alibi was that he was working at a restaurant that night. Dear feels this is a flimsy alibi, due to the fact that his timecard is reportedly handwritten, which could suggest it was written after the murders. This reportedly handwritten timecard is even more suspicious when you consider the fact that the electronic time clock was fully functional that night. Dear also reportedly has pictures of Jason wearing a knitted hat that bears resemblance to the hat found at the scene of the crime, pictures taken before the murders and not after. To cap this off, Dear suggests that O. J. was only present at the scene of the crime to protect his son, and that this would explain his bizarre behavior such as the famous Bronco chase. But as mentioned before, many have discredited Dear’s case as almost entirely circumstantial.

I will say this: he does make a solid case.

Yeah, but… I dunno…

I hesitate to say this theory is good, because unlike with O. J., there’s no definite, hard evidence that he did it.

Yeah, there is that.

There’s no DNA evidence, his theory on the alibi is kinda shaky…

It’s almost as if he’s twisting around facts to support his theory…

It really does.

Which as we all know is intellectually dishonest.

Very intellectually dishonest.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Unrelated to this case, on September 16th, 2007, O. J. was connected to a robbery in Las Vegas, Nevada. In the 2008 trial that followed, O. J. was found guilty for twelve counts, including armed robbery and kidnapping, and was sentenced to 33 years in prison. According to a CNN survey, the overall percentage of Americans who believe O. J. did murder Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman has increased from 66% in 1994 to 83% in 2014. Perhaps one day we will have a definite answer to the question of who murdered Nicole Simpson and Ronald Goldman. But for now, the case officially remains… UNSOLVED.

[as the credits roll, we cut back to the office set. Paul, Gene, and Vinnie all look unsure of what to do next]

PAUL: Jeez… Well, thanks for this, Vinnie. This has been fun.

GENE: Yep. We got into some heavy shit this episode.

VINNIE: Well I’m sorry for heeding the request of the masses. [gestures to the camera] They’re the ones that kept suggesting this case.

PAUL: I will say, this did not bum me out as much as JonBenet Ramsey.

VINNIE: I mean, all of us were bummed out by the JonBenet Ramsey case.

GENE: You guys are givin’ me flashbacks.

[beat of silence]

VINNIE: [sighs] I need a drink. [stands up. Paul and Gene follow]

PAUL: I feel like I need a shower.

GENE: I’m gonna go watch some Looney Tunes. I need some humor after all this heaviness.

PAUL: Good idea. [looks and points at the camera] All you guys, go watch some Looney Tunes. Give yourself a laugh. Self-care is important.

BUZZFEED UNSOLVED TRUE CRIME

What unsolved mystery do you want to see next?

[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 3: The Beast Within (Transcript) - 6th April 2015

tw: murder, rape, death of children, bodily mutilation, cannibalism, graphic descriptions of violence, ableist language, disease, werewolves

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Ask anyone in the mental health profession about full moons and you’ll get a surprising answer. They’ll respond with something that sounds incredibly like folklore and myth. The full moon has the power to bring out the crazy in people. We’ve believed this for a long time. We refer to unstable people as “lunatics”, a word that is Latin. It’s built from the root word luna, which means “moon”. And for centuries, has operated under the conviction that changes in the luna cycle can cause people to lose touch with reality. Just ask the parents of a young child and they’ll tell you tales of wild behaviour and out-of-the-ordinary disobedience at certain times of the month. Science tells us that just as the moon’s pull on the ocean creates tides that rise and fall in severity, so too does our planet’s first satellite tug on the water inside our bodies, changing our behaviour. As modern people, when we talk about the full moon we tend to joke about this insane, extraordinary behaviour. But maybe we joke to avoid the deeper truth, an idea that we are both frightened and embarrassed that we even entertain. For most of us, you see, the full moon conjures up an image that is altogether unnatural and unbelievable. That large, glowing, perfect circle in the night sky makes us think of just one thing: werewolves. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

Science has tried many times over the years to explain our obsession with the werewolf. One theory is a disease known as hypertrichosis, sometimes known as “wolfitis”. It’s a condition of excessive, unusual body hair growth, oftentimes covering the person’s entire face. Think Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf. Psychologists actually have an official diagnosis in the DSM IV handbook known as “clinical lycanthropy”. It’s defined as a delusional syndrome where the patient believes they can transform into an animal, but the changes only take place in their mind, of course. Delusions, though, have to start somewhere. Patients who believe that they are Napoleon Bonaparte have some previous knowledge of who he was. I think it’s fair to assume that those who suffer from clinical lycanthropy have heard of werewolves before. It’s actually pretty easy to bump into the myth, thanks to modern popular culture. Werewolves have been featured in, or at least appeared in, close to 100 films in Hollywood since 1913.

One of the earliest mentions of something even resembling the modern werewolf can actually be found in the 2000-year-old writings of the Roman poet Vergil. In his Eclogue 9, written about 40BCE, he described a man named Moeris, who could transform himself into a wolf using herbs and poisons. About 50 years later, Gaius Petronius wrote a satirical novel called, appropriately, Satyricon, which I think is basically the equivalent of Stephen King writing a horror novel called “Frighticon”. In it, he tells the tale of a man named Niceros. In the story, Niceros was travelling with a friend, and when that friend suddenly took off his clothes, urinated in a circle and transformed into a wolf right before his eyes, before running off toward a large field of sheep. The next day, Niceros was told by the sheep-owner that one of the shepherds stabbed a wolf in the neck with a pitch fork. Later that day, Niceros noticed that his friend, now returned to the house, had a similar wound on his neck.

In the Greek myth of the god Zeus and an Arcadian king named Lycaon, Zeus took on the form of a human traveller. At one point in his journey he visited Arcadia, and during his time in that country, he visited the royal court. The king of the land, Lycaon, somehow recognised Zeus for who he truly was and tried, in true Greek form, of course, to kill him by serving him a meal of human flesh. But Zeus was a smart guy, after all, and he caught Lycaon in the act, throwing the mythological equivalent of a temper tantrum. He destroyed the palace, killed all 50 of the king’s sons with lightning bolts, and then of course cursed King Lycaon himself. The punishment? Lycaon would be doomed to spend the rest of his life as a wolf, presumably because wolves were known for attacking and eating humans, and he tried to serve human flesh. Most scholars believe that this legend is what gives birth to the term lycanthropy: lukos being the Greek word for wolf, and anthropos, the word for man.

Werewolves aren’t just a Greco-Roman thing. In the 13th century, the Norse recorded their mythological origins in something called the Völsunga saga. Despite their culture being separated from the Greeks by thousands of miles and many centuries, there are in fact tales of werewolves present in their histories. One of the stories in the Völsunga saga involves a father and son pair: Sigmund and Sinfjotli. During their travels, the two men came across a hut in the woods where they found two enchanted wolf skins. These skins had the power to change the wearer into a wolf, giving them all the characteristics that the beast was known for: power, speed, and cunning. The catch, according to the saga, was that once put on, the wolf pelt could only be taken off every 10 days. Undeterred, the father son duo each put on one of the wolf skins, and transform into the beasts. They decided to split up and go hunting in their new forms, but they made an arrangement that if either of them encountered a party of men over the certain size of seven, then they were supposed to howl for the other to come join them in the hunt. Sigmund’s son, however, broke his promise, killing off a hunting party of 11 men. When Sigmund discovered this, he fatally injured his son. After the god Odin intervened and healed him, both men took off the pelts and burned them. You see, from the very beginning, werewolves were a supernatural thing, a curse, a change in the very nature of humanity. They were ruled by cycles of time and feared by those around them.

Things get interesting when we go to Germany. In 1582, the country of Germany was being pulled apart by a war between Catholics and Protestants, and one of the towns that played host to both sides was the small town of Bedburg. Keep in mind that there were also still outbreaks of the Black Death, so this was an age of conflict and violence. People understood loss – they had become numb to it, and it would take something incredibly extraordinary to surprise them. First, there were cattle mutilations: farmers from the area surrounding Bedburg would find dead cattle in their fields. It started of infrequent, but grew to become a daily occurrence, something that went on for weeks. Cows that had been sent out to pasture were found torn apart. It was as if a wild animal had attacked them. Naturally, the farmers assumed it was wolves, but it didn’t stop there. Children began to go missing. Young women vanished from the main roads around Bedburg. In some cases their bodies were never found, but those that were had been mauled by something horribly violent. Finding your cattle disembowelled is one thing, but when it’s your daughter or your wife, well, it can cause panic, and fear, and so the community spiralled into hysteria.

Now, we think of historical European paranoia and we often think of witchcraft. The 15th and 16th centuries were filled with witch hunts: burnings, hangings, and an overwhelming hysteria that even spread across the Atlantic to the British colonies, where it destroyed more lives. The Witch Trails of Salem, Massachusetts are the most famous of those examples, but at the same time, Europe was also on fire with fear of werewolves. Some historians think that in France alone, some 30,000 people were accused of being werewolves, and some (hundreds, they say) were even executed for it, either by hanging or being burnt at the stake. You see, the fear of werewolves was real, and for the town of Bedburg, it was very real.

One report from this event tells of two men and a woman, who were travelling just outside the city walls. They heard a voice call out to them for help from within the trees beside the road, and one of the men stepped into the trees to give assistance. When he didn’t return, the second man entered the woods to find him, and he also didn’t return. The woman caught on, attempted to run, but something exited the woods and attacked her. The bodies of the men were later found, mangled and torn apart, but the woman’s never was. Later, villagers found severed limbs in the fields near Bedburg, limbs from the people who were missing. It was clear that something horrible was hunting them.

Another report tells of a group of children playing in a field near the cattle. As they played, something ran into the field and grabbed a small girl by the neck before trying to tear her throat out. Thankfully the high collar on her dress actually saved her life, and she managed to scream. Now, cows don’t like screaming apparently, and they began to stampede. Frightened by the cattle, the attacker let go of the girl and ran for the forest, and this was the last straw for the people of Bedburg. They took the hunt to the beast.

According to a pamphlet from 1589, the men of the town hunted for the creature for days. Accompanied by dogs and armed for killing, these brave men ventured into the forest and, finally, found it. In the end, it was the dogs that cornered the beast. Dogs are fast and they beat the men to their prey. When the hunters finally did arrive, they found the creature cornered. According to the pamphlet, the wolf transformed into a man right before their eyes. While the wolf had been just another beast, the man was someone they recognised. It was a wealthy, well-respected farmer from town named Peter Stubbe, sometimes recorded as Stumpp. Stubbe confessed to it all, and his story seemed to confirm their darkest fears. He told them that he had made a pact with the devil at the age of 12. The deal? In exchange for his soul, the devil would give him a plethora of worldly pleasures, but like most stories, a greedy heart is difficult to satisfy. Stubbe admitted to being a, and I quote,  “wicked fiend, with the desire for wrong and destruction”, that he was “inclined to blood and cruelty”. Now, to sate that thirst, the devil had given him a magical belt of wolf skin. Putting it on, he claimed, would transform him into the monstrous shape of a wolf. Sound familiar?

He told the men that had captured him that he had taken off the belt in the forest, and some were sent back to retrieve it, but it was never found. Still, superstition and fear drove them to torture and interrogate the man, who confessed to decades of horrible, unspeakable crimes. Well-known around the town, Stubbe told his captors that he would often walk through Bedburg and wave to the families and friends of those he had killed. It delighted him, he said, that none of them suspected that he was the killer. Sometimes he would use these walks to pick out future victims, planning how he would get them outside the city walls, where he could, and I quote, “ravish and cruelly murder them”. Stubbe even admitted to going on killing sprees simply because he took pleasure in the bloodshed. He would kill lambs and goats and eat their raw flesh. He even claimed to have eaten unborn children, ripped straight from their mothers’ wombs.

The human mind is always solving problems, even when we’re asleep and unaware of it. The world is full of things that don’t always sit right with us, and in our attempt to deal with life we… rationalise. In more superstitious times it was easy to lean on old fears and legends. The Tuberculosis outbreaks of the 1800s led people to truly believe that the dead were sucking the life out of the living. The stories that gave birth to the vampire mythology also provided people with a way to process Tuberculosis and its horrible symptoms. Perhaps the story of the werewolf shows us that same phenomenon, but in reverse. Rather than creating stories to explain the mysteries of death, perhaps we created the story of the werewolf to help justify the horrors of life and human nature. The tale of Peter Stubbe sounds terrible, but when you hold it up to modern day serial killers, such as Jeffery Dahmer or Richard Trenton Chase, it’s par for the course. The difference between them and Stubbe is simply 400 years of modernisation. With the advent of electrical lights pushing away the darkness and global exploration exposing much of the world’s fears to be just myth, it’s become more and more difficult to blame our flaws on monsters. The beast, it turns out, has been inside us the whole time.

And Peter Stubbe? Well, the people of Bedburg executed him for his crimes. On October 31st, 1589, (Halloween, mind you) he was given what was thought to be a fair and just punishment. He was strapped, spread eagle and naked, to a large, wooden wheel, and then his skin was pealed off with red hot pinchers. They broke his arms and legs with the blunt end of an axe before finally turning the blade over, and chopping off his head. His body was burnt at the stake in front of the entire town, and then his torture wheel was mounted on a tall pole, topped with the statue of a wolf. On top of that, they placed his severed head. Justice, or just one more example of the cruelty of mankind? Perhaps in the end, we’re all really monsters, aren’t we?

Lore was produced by me, Aaron Mahnke. You can find a transcript of the show, as well as links to source material, at lorepodcast.com. Lore is a bi-weekly podcast, so be sure to check back in for a new episode every two weeks. And if you enjoy scary stories, I happen to write them. You can find a full list of my supernatural thrillers, available in paperback and ebook format, at aaronmahnke.com/novels. Thanks for listening.

[readbykena-blog]

13 years - 305 books

I am an avid reader and friends frequently ask me what I am reading. Here I will try and post a brief review of each book I read. To begin with here is a list of books I have read over the last 13 years. Feel free to ask me any questions.

2017: (22)

-Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

-Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell

-Corporate Communication, Theory & Practice by Joep Cornelissen

-Mariette in Ecstasy by Ron Hansen

-Where'd You Go Bernadette by Maria Semple

-A Long Walk to Water by Linda Sue Park

-Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance

-Theorizing Crisis Communication by Timothy Sallow and Matthew Seeger

-Infamous Scribblers: The Founding Fathers and the Rowdy Beginnings of American Journalism by Eric Burns

-The Global Public Relations Handbook by Krishnamurthy Sriramesh and Dejan Vercic

-The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

-When My Name was Keoko by Linda Sue Park

-The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales by Oliver Sacks

- Introducing Communication Research by Donald Treadwell

- We are never meeting in real life by Samantha Irby

- Ethics in Public Relations by Kathy Fitzpatrick and Carolyn Bronstein

- The Gene: An Intimate History by Siddhartha Mukherjee

- Freedom by Jonathan Franzen

- Origin by Dan Brown

- What Happened by Hillary Rodham Clinton

- Social Media Communication by Jeremy Harris Lipshultz

- A Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela

2016: (20)

-A Renegade History of the United States by Thaddeus Russell

-Being Mortal by Atul Gawande

-The Underground Abductor by Nathan Hale

-Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote

-The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

-The Other Wes Moore by Wes Moore

-The Speechwriter by Barton Swaim

- In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

-The Aviator's Wife by Melanie Benjamin

-The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah

-But What If We're Wrong by Chuck Klosterman

-Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

-Brewster by Mark Slouka

-Rosemary The Hidden Kennedy Daughter by Kate Clifford Larson

-The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman

-The Diary of a Nobody by George and Weedon Grossmith

-Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

-The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid

-The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

-A Man Called Ove by Frederick Backman 

2015: (29)

-All The Truth Is Out by Matt Bai

-Double Down by Mark Halperin and John Heilemann

-The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri

-Dad is Fat by Jim Gaffigan

-Yes Please by Amy Poehler

-A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines

-All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

-The Girls of Atomic City by Denise Kiernan

-The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

-To Have and Have Not by Ernest Hemingway

-In Our Time by Ernest Hemingway

-A Country Doctor by Franz Kafka

-The Garden of Eden by Ernest Hemingway

-Persuading Scientists by Hamid Ghanadan

-The Splendid Things We Planned by Blake Bailey

-Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari

-A Heartbreaking Word of Staggering Genius by David Eggers

-Polio, An American Story by David Oshinsky 

-The Naked and the Dead by Norman Mailer

-Go Set A Watchman by Harper Lee

-One Summer America, 1927 by Bill Bryson

-Brain on Fire by Susannah Catalan

-The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

-The Making of Modern Medicine by Michael Bliss

-People I Want to Punch in the Throat by Jen Mann

-Internal Medicine by Terrence Holt

-The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

-The Five Dysfunctions of a Team by Patrick Lencioni

-The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd

2014: (10)

-David and Goliath by Malcolm Gladwell

-Why Grizzly Bears Should Wear Underpants by The Oatmeal

-Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer

-Wild by Sheryl Strayed

-Stiff by Mary Roach

-An Abundance of Katherines by John Green

-Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi

-Dataclysm by Christian Rudder

-Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracey Kidder

-Columbine by Dave Cullen

2013: (13)

-The Next Best Thing by Jennifer Weiner

-The Path Between The Seas by David McCullough

-Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls by David Sedaris

-I Wear the Black Hat by Chuck Klosterman

-Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama

-A Hologram For The King by Dave Eggers

-Inferno by Dan Brown

-The Orphan Master's Son by Adam Johnson

-Heads in Beds by Jacob Tomsky

-Monkey Mind by Daniel Smith

-The Brief Wondrous Live of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz

-Truth in Advertising by John Kenny

-The Cell Game by Alex Prud'Homme

2012: (16)

-Walden by Henry David Thoreau

-Civil Disobedience by Henry David Thoreau

-The Visible Man by Chuck Klosterman

-Overtreated By Shannon Brownlee

-Listen To Your Heart by Fern Michaels (TERRIBLE BOOK!)

-The Ten, Make That Nine Habits of Very Organized People. Make That Ten, by Steve Martin

-The Pleasure of My Company by Steve Martin

-Baby Proof by Emily Giffen

-Natural Experiments of History by Jared Diamond

-The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein

-The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander

-Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson

-Secrets of The Baby Whisperer by Tracy Hogg

-A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson

-The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

-Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver

2011: (20)

-Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

-I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron

-Tinkers by Paul Harding

-How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie

-What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell

-The Jungle by Upton Sinclair

-The Emperor of All Maladies by Siddhartha Mukherjee

-An Object of Beauty by Steve Martin

-Tea Time For the Traditionally Built by Alexander McCall Smith

-Bossypants by Tina Fey

-The Pearl by John Steinbeck

-Summer Sisters by Judy Blume

-Crucial Conversations by Kerry Patterson, Joseph Grenny, Ron McMillian and Al Switzler

-Beautiful Boy by David Sheff

-The Paris Wife by Paula McLain

-Of Thee I Zing by Laura Ingraham

-A Dog's Purpose by W. Bruce Cameron

-Rules of Civility by Amor Towles

-The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

-Trust Me I'm Dr. Ozzy by Ozzy Osbourne

2010: (26)

- History's Worst Decisions and the people who made them by Stephen Weir

- Junky by William S. Burroughs

- One Fifth Avenue by Candace Bushnell

- Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman

- Food Rules by Michael Pollan

- Noah's Compass by Anne Tyler

- Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler

- Drive by Daniel Pink

-The Help by Kathryn Stockett

-The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

-US Americans Talk About Love Edited by John Bowe

-For You Mom, Finally by Ruth Reichl

-The Financial Lives of the Poets by Jess Walter

-Cowboys Are My Weakness by Pam Houston

-The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson

-Barrel Fever by David Sedaris

-You Are Not a Stranger Here by Adam Haslett

-Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck

-The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

-The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson

-I'm a Stranger Here Myself by Bill Bryson

-The Heretic's Daughter by Kathleen Kent

-Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk by David Sedaris and Ian Falconer

-Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

-A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel

2009: (22)

• Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell

• Remember Me? By Sophie Kinsella

• A Long Way Gone, memoirs of a boy soldier by Ishmael Beah

• Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher

• Slummy Mummy by Fiona Neill

• Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet

• Crawfish Mountain by Ken Wells

• My Horizontal Life by Chelsea Handler

• Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee

• A Fraction of the Whole by Steve Toltz

• Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

• Mistakes Were Made, by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson

• Gertrude by Herman Hesse

• The Sportswriter by Richard Ford

- Born to Run by Christopher McDougall

- The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold

- Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

- When You are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris

- Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris

- Bright-Sided by Barbara Ehrenreich

-The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown

-Super Freakonomics by Levitt and Dubner

2008: (21)

• The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama

• Inside the Minds, The Art of Public Relations by CEOs

• Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

• Savage Inequalities by Jonathan Kozol

• The Pig Did It by Joseph Caldwell

• The Known World by Edward P. Jones

• Dark Roots by Cate Kennedy

• East of Eden by John Steinbeck

• Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susan

• Wired by Bob Woodward

• One Pill Makes You Smaller by Lisa Dierbeck

• A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley

• Secrets of the Baby Whisperer by Tracy Hogg

• Pound for Pound by F.X. Toole

• All the Way Home by David Giffels

• Bonk by Mary Roach

• In Patagonia by Bruce Chatwin

• Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris

• The Sea by John Banville

• Downtown Owl by Chuck Klosterman

• Female Chauvinist Pigs, Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture by Ariel Levy

2007: (28)

• Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

• 1984 by George Orwell

• What Ifs? Of American History edited by Robert Cowley

• The Executioner’s Song by Norman Mailer

• Rabbit, run by John Updike

• Life of Pi by Yann Martel

• The Armies of the Night by Norman Mailer

• Pigtopia by Kitty Fitzgerald

• FiSH by Stephen Lundin, Harry Paul and John Christensen

• The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories by Agatha Christie

• 1776 by David McCullough

• Summer at Tiffany by Marjorie Hart

• Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides

• Absurdistan by Gary Shteyngart

• Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

• Fall on Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald

• Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver

• Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis

• The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards

• Men at Arms by Evelyn Waugh

• A Dog Year by Jon Katz

• 1491 New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus by Charles Mann

• IV by Chuck Klosterman

• Devil in the Details by Jennifer Traig

• The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith

• The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan

• Born Standing Up by Steve Martin

• No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

2006: (27)

• Collapse, How societies choose to fail or succeed by Jared Diamond

• The World is Flat by Thomas Friedman

• Freakonomics by Levitt & Dubner

• Harry and Ike by Steve Neal

• State of Denial by Bob Woodward

• Crossroads in American History by James McPherson & Alan Brinkley

• The Lexus & The Olive Tree by Thomas Friedman

• The Lessons of History by Will & Ariel Durant

• Strategery by Bill Sammon

• Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins

• Japanese Canadian Redress, The Toronto Story

• The Untold Story of the Yom Kippur War by Howard Blum

• The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles

• Cat Among the Pigeons by Agatha Christie

• Red Weather by Pauls Toutonghi

• Wifey by Judy Blume

• Frantic Transmissions to and from LA by Kate Braverman

• Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs

• Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald

• A Handful of Dust by Evelyn Waugh

• The Shipping News by Annie Proulx

• The Curious Incident of the dog in the Night-time by Mark Hadden

• A Million Little Pieces by James Frey

• Marley & Me by John Grogan

• The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd

• Lipstick Jungle by Candace Bushnell

• Boni y Tigre by Kathrin Sander

2005: (51)

• Guns, Germs, And Steel by Jared Diamond

• The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell

• Blink by Malcolm Gladwell

• Sex, Drugs, And Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman

• The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf

• A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf

• Mary Magdalene by Lynn Picknett

• Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson

• The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe

• Bob Dylan Chronicles Volumn 1 by Bob Dylan

• Smashed by Koren Zailckas

• Culture Shock Costa Rica by Claire Wallerstein

• The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs

• Dress Your Family in Corduroy & Denim by David Sedaris

• Naked Pictures of Famous People by Jon Stewart

• All the President's Men by Bernstein & Woodward

• The Final Days by Bob Woodward & Carl Bernstein

• The Secret Man by Bob Woodward

• Shadow (5 Pres. & the Legacy of Watergate by Bob Woodward

• All Politics is Local, by Tip O'Neill

• What's the Matter With Kansas? (How Conservatives Won the Heart of America) by Thomas Frank

• Don't think of an Elephant by George Lakoff

• Confessions of a Political Junkie by Hunter S. Thompson

• America The Book by Jon Stuart

• One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey

• The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett

• Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck

• Cannery Row by John Steinbeck

• Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

• The Call of the Wild and White Fang by Jack London

• Animal Farm by Goerge Orwell

• Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnecut

• The Stranger by Albert Camus

• Empire Falls by Richard Russo

• The Great Fire by Shirly Hazzard

• A Patchwork Planet by Anne Tyler

• The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

• Skirt and the Fiddle by Tristian Egolf

• Drive Like Hell by Dallas Hudgens

• The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown

• Angels & Demons by Dan Brown

• Deception Point by Dan Brown

• Digital Fortress by Dan Brown

• The Ship of Brides by Jojo Moyers

• Angry Housewives by Lorna Landvik

• The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield

• Loving Che by Ana Menendez

• Wolves in Chic Clothing by Carrie Karasyov & Jill Kargman

• Citizen Girl by Emma McLaughlin & Nicola Kraus

• And Sister by Sophie Kinsella

• Trading Up by Candace Bushnell

[bryce-bucher]

J(a)SON Post #3

Stealing Money For Fun & Profit:

Most of my week was spent playing dark souls 2 again, but aside from that I spent most of my time working on the ATM's functionality. The ATM is heavily inspired by the ATMs in Deus Ex, and just like in that game you can input an account's information and then drain it. In the gif above you can see an example of me sneaking into the nefarious Doctor Spider's evil bank account and stealing 200 bucks. You can also blow up the ATM to get 75 bucks worth of wads of money to come out of it, or you can try to hack the ATM and get it to lock up like a dummy. Pretty simple stuff, but it always feels amazing to sneak into someone's bank account and steal all their money, and in the game as well! For those interested, I used jwildfire for the background fractal textures on the ATM UI. That program is amazing and I'd highly recommended checking it out (especially if you have an affinity for y2k visuals).

Building a Gas Station:

After a while spent purely implementing devices and mechanics, I was really itchin' to make an environment. I decided to start putting together a gas station since it's the smallest environment segment I have planned for the main map. In the images above you can probably get a good feel for my process on an environment like this. I haven't ever really done whiteboxing before this project, but I've found it to be very helpful when having to make more detailed environments. I actually hate having to litter an environment with smaller details and objects, which is the main reason why most of the environments in my previous games feel pretty sparse. I can't just get away with broad strokes this time around though, so I started to employ "words" that dictate where a planned object should go. Texturing all of the products in the gas station is easily the most tedious part, and it burns me out pretty quickly. So far, I've only textured 4 chip bag variants and 4 cereal box variants, and most of the products are yet untextured. These environments always look pretty terrible before I get them in engine and all lit up, so I have to trust that it's gonna look and feel a lot better once that is done.

Conclusion:

It's new years eve the day I'm posting this, so I hope ya'll have a good 2023, and I hope that I can actually maybe release something next year lol. There is a big collaboration project that I have a game in that is supposed to come out early next year, so I'll be posting about that when it's out. Next week I'll be back on Basidia, but until then I'm gonna keep playing Dark Souls 2. See ya.

[tellerford13]

MO ASTOR- CHAPTER 18 Pt. 3

We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.” The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC. We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us. We will be posting on our Tumblr where we’ll have fun pictures from time to time as well. http://tellerford13.tumblr.com We’ll also be taking requests for one shots, preferences or imagines for all things Sons at our other Tumblr, so check it out and send your thoughts!http://tellerford13oneshots.tumblr.com/ And just for fun, we’ve decided to start a Pinterest for the story! So if you want a glimpse at our girls and see into our world, check it out! https://www.pinterest.com/tellerford/

                                                            A/N: Happy New Years! We’re coming into the New Year with both our couples done right by! Thank you to everyone for the kind words, reviews, and messages. We love them. They keep the words flowing. Hope you enjoy!!

                                                 Chapter 18 Part 3

Jax

I used to think people were full of shit when they got googley eyed at weddings and started thinking about their own lives, but I get it now. Watching my brother stare are my sister like she was everything important got me caught up in my own feelings when Lee walked down the aisle looking like a queen in a sparkling gown that set somewhere between blue and purple. The dress hugged her curves and showed off her cleavage without being vulgar. Her blue eyes popped against her tan skin, and I found myself grateful I had on boxer briefs so no one could see the wood I was sporting.

I don’t know how it took me so long to see what I had in front of me. You can’t ask for a better woman. She gets the life, loves my family, blood, and brothers, and they adore her. Hell, getting my mother’s approval alone makes her a fucking rarity. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her all night. Neither have a lot of men. That shit ain’t sitting well with me.

When we started out, secrecy sounded like a good idea. We could get our routine down without my mom butting in and the club giving us a bunch of shit. Her Godfather in particular. I ain’t never been a huge Tig fan. He’s so far up Clay’s ass; I think his job as an SA is compromised. It’s less about making the best decisions for the club and more about making Clay happy. A club needs an SA who can be objective and go head to head with the President if necessary.  I shift my weight and finish off my beer as the music lulls, and the DJ speaks.

“We need all the single ladies on the dance floor. The bride is going to throw the bouquet.”

I glance over at Chibs who looks happy to be nearing the time they can exit the wedding. I’m surprised the two of them haven’t spontaneously exploded. I saw him all but fucking her in the hall as Lee and I ushered people away from the alcove in the hallway. While neither of them minded, we figured Sugar and Menace could do without seeing them consummate their marriage live and in person. The crows rush to the floor, and I laugh out loud. Even if they caught the bouquet no one would be claiming them, let alone marrying them.

A female hang around, maybe. There were girls who liked to party with us, and occasionally took a lover, but never made it their hobby to be on their back. Hell, even some crows were respected if they played their card right. Men needed a release to keep them from blowing their stack and making mistakes. They play a pivotal role, and in turn, we take care of their needs. I’ve seen women come in , get their degree and go on to make something of their life. It’s the ones who get caught up on the prospect of being an old lady that grow bitter, get catty, and cause problems.

Chibs comes to stand beside me with Tig on the other side.

“Milkshake” by Kelis comes on, and I throw my head back and laugh along with the two men.

“Always knew Lips had fire.” “She’s something, ain’t she Jackie Boy?” Chibs asks with a grin made abnormally wide by his scars.

“That’s one way to describe her,” I say thinking of all the shit we’ve gotten into together over the years. She couldn’t be more my sister, if my mother gave birth to her.

“Shocker, her wife caught it.”

“Wife?” Tig roars. “Oh shit, that’s fitting for those two.”

The knowledge in his voice makes me want to ask him how much he knows. The thought of him knowing about their close connection before I do pisses me off for some reason.

“Time for me to go get me garter. You ready to fight for it, brother?” Chibs asks patting my back as he moves to take his place on the floor with his new wife.

Tig gives me a curious glance I ignore. He’ll be finding out soon enough. ‘Cause I’ll knock out teeth to get that strip of lace. Ain’t no other man taking shit off my woman.

Ten minutes later, I’m lined up with a bunch of hungry looking rowdy motherfuckers waiting to catch the garter. “You Shook me All Night” Comes on.  Before I can really react, the scrap of plaid is hurtling directly toward me. You sly dog. It brushes my fingers, and I close my hand around it. I fist pump the air. Lee takes a seat, and I walk toward her. I barely register the pats on my back as our gazes lock.

The mischief in her eyes makes me grin. She has no clue what’s about to happen. I’m done hiding, and the important people are here. I kneel in front of her and twirl the garter around my pointer finger.

“Be nice, Jackson?”

“Oh, I’ll be real nice,” I say as she hikes up her dress carefully and holds out her shapely calf. “Keep your hands to yourself” comes on and I slid the garter up her thigh, slowly. I grip the chair on either side of her and raise my body as I take her lips. Of all the hoots and hollers, it’s my mothers’ shrill cry of joy that catches my ear. I smile against her mouth as I slant my head and kiss her deeply. I’m in this shit, and I want her to know it. She cups the back of my head and the world around us recedes. We part for air, and I swear we receive a standing ovation. I turn to see Chibs and Journee wearing the biggest smiles of all. Cheeky bastards set this shit up. Not that I mind. They gave me the perfect venue. We stand, and I offer her my hand. She takes it, and we walk back to the crowd. My mother rushes up to her.

“You little shit! How long have you been hiding this?” She snaps.

“Not long, Ma. Just needed a chance to figure out what we were doing.”

“Uh huh. You’re lucky I like you both so much.” She points her finger. “You come over here and give me a hug. Didn’t I tell you? I knew it all these years.”  She pulls Lee to her, and I relinquish my hold. Even with me, Ma is the queen bee I differ too.

***

The clock is pushing three am when we make our way into the hotel. I wrap my arm around Lee and guide her to my room. I slip my key card in and scowl when it goes red.

“Really?”

She laughs. “Did I wear you out tonight?”

“No, but this is fucking with my plans of doing that to you.”

“Oh.”

I pat her ass and spin us around.  The ride downstairs takes ages.  We walk to the front desk.

“How can I help you, sir?” The gray-haired woman asks, all smiles.

“My keycard isn’t working.”

“What’s your room?”

“Four twenty-five.”

She takes the keys from me. “Oh, that’s because you’re room has been upgraded, Mr. Teller .You’re in the honeymoon suite now.”

I laugh. Fucking Baby J.”

Lee giggles beside me.

“Well, that would explain why the key isn’t working,” I say.

“Here are two new keys. Your room is now Six hundred and thirty-five.”

“Thank you.” I take the keys on the desk and hurry Lee back the way we came.

I grip her neck and pull her to me as the elevator takes us up. I slip my tongue into her mouth and give her a sampling of what I’m going to do to her pussy. She whimpers and I suck her tongue and pull her against me. She grinds her body against my cock, and I moan as the elevator comes to a stop with a ding.

I sweep her up in my arms and stride toward the room releashing her giggle. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I hitch her higher as I unlock the door. I step inside, turn on the light and let out a low whistle at the bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket and the chocolate covered strawberries beside it.

“She pulled out all the stops,” Lee whispers.

“Yes, she did. We’ll save that for after, when we need to replenish our strength.” I nip her bottom lip and move to the bed tossing her in the center.

She bounces laughing. Our gazes meet and the air in the room grows thick. She licks her lips, and I follow her down onto the bed, framing her in my arms as I take her lips and nudge her knees apart.

“You want this dress?”

“Yes.”

“Then roll over.”

I pull back and admire the view of her from the back. I unzip her dress and nibble my way down her spine as the skin is exposed. She shivers. Goosebumps dot her soft skin. I help her out of the dress and push the material onto the ground and roll her onto her back. Her full breasts with rosy red nipples make me moan. No bra, and no panties. Jesus Christ. I reach my hand between us and caress her clean shaven, wet pussy. She parts her thighs, and I inhale the sweet scent of her arousal. I slide down the bed and press her thighs open. She watches me as I lick her pussy. I hold her thighs apart as I fill her with my tongue, circle her bundle of nerves and suck.

Her hips rock and throaty cries spill from her lips. Our fingers twine and I sink into the deep connection we’ve formed over decades. My cock strains as she comes undone and yields her cream. I drink it down, a man in a desert who’s found an oasis. She goes limp, and I quickly remove my clothing and return to the place between her legs where I swear I could live the rest of my life. I stroke her slick lips with my cock.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.”

She whimpers.

“Did you get your test back?”

“I’m clean as a whistle. I told you when I made you mine I didn’t want anything between us. Your birth control still good?”

“For three more years.”

I grip my base and ease the tip into her tight pussy.

“God, you feel so good.” I continue to tease her moving in and out. She spreads her legs wider and digs her fingernails into my ass cheeks.

“No more teasing.”

“You ready for me? Cause I can’t do slow. Not with you. Not right now.”

“Who says I want slow?” She flashes me a wicked grin, and I drive home, stealing her breath. I grit my teeth allowing myself a moment to adjust. I could spill inside her right now and be happy. She’s wet, tight, and the first pussy I’ve felt without a rubber in nearly a year. She flexes her muscles, and I grunt.  The gleam in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing. Two can play that game. I pull out and thrust back in. She arches off the bed, and I continue the pace, bottoming out as our bodies slap together and her breasts bounce. I bend down and suck one into my mouth as I trap her against me and fuck her even faster.

“Yes, Jackson. Oh, God.”

She wraps her ankles around my thighs. We move together as one, and my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. Nothing has ever felt this good or right in my entire life. Buried inside the woman I love, I’m whole in a way I never thought possible. She tightens around me, pulsing as her body trembles. I’m tongue-tied as she comes like a star in the night, shining so brightly I can barely stand to look at her. I’ve never seen her look more beautiful. She grips me like a vice, and I follow close behind her, spilling everything I have inside. I collapse on top of her, careful to keep most of my weight on my forearms. I kiss her lips with the words I love you ringing in my head.

It’s too soon for her, but I know what I feel and what I want. This is my happily-ever-after, Harley Grazer is my happily-ever-after.

[snarksicleblog-blog]

Grimsby

Grimsby

By Danaë Brandt

Click.

A pale naked man looked up at the worn-out contraption.

Digital Board: 3 001 768 288 Served.

This naked man’s name is Carl if you must know. That however, is unimportant. He was but one, of countless “hopeful” (and just as naked) applicants, queuing up the narrow hallway to Mr. Grimsby’s door. He breathed a sigh of relief. I’m next. Bout’ fuckin time. He took a step forward toward the red tape on the floor, and stopped. He watched Frat Boy, the guy he had been standing behind, lower his head, clench his butt cheeks, and make his way towards the office door. He stopped just as he was close enough to smell the nauseating green lead paint. The only object around that was new enough to gleam. His left thumb went from tan, to red, to purple as the right pressed into it, suffocating the life out of his manicure.

Where the hell is the guard? Carl thought. He had gone on coffee break a while ago. He would have shoved this idiot in there already. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder, keeping his eyes levelled as to not catch anything below the belt. He could not see where the line ended anymore. The flickering lights were dying along the mile-long corridor, plunging the unfortunates at the end of line into complete darkness. One could be excused for thinking they were trying to gain entrance to the most in vogue underground club in the U.S. instead of a meeting with the terribly trivial Mr. Grimsby. One could also wonder why this place was so under-staffed, or why one man would be in charge of all the applicants in North America. After all, they were in the most notorious of places. Seems positively, unequivocally, really truly… Anticlimactic.

The people in line started sneering at the apparent cowardice of the Head of Gamma-Something-or-Other house.

“Gutless moron,” someone whispered at first.

“Yeah asshole? What happened to that smart-ass attitude?” asked a woman in a nasal voice.

“Not so tough without your polo shirt, huh?” said far way voice. Not the best heckler in the bunch.

“Where your bros at?” added another. Many applicants in line started joining in. The deluge of taunts made its eventual way to the folks so far back, they had never seen the front crowd. Soon enough, they were also mocking the pathetic guy at the door. Then, in a steady and decisive voice, Carl, the man right behind him, let out the last one Frat Boy wanted to hear.

“Pussy.”

The young boy turned around raising both his arms, like a priest during Acclamation… Or a frat boy after a keg stand.

“Oh yeah? Fuck you!”

He turned back swiftly and, in a hyperventilating fit, reminiscent of a child about to dive into glacial water, Frat Boy twisted the silver doorknob and stepped in. The line erupted in cheers. They were glad to be rid of the aggravating boy. Their long wait had been made even more unbearable by Gamma-Douche’s loud and incessant whining. From what Carl had gathered, Frat Boy had driven his Camaro into a minivan, killing a family of five. His parents had managed to bail him out. Clean record and all. Five months later, plastered Frat Boy got himself into yet another accident. Needless to say, a meeting with Mr. Grimsby was unavoidable. Mr. Grimsby could not be bought by daddy dearest. Or by Carl for that matter…

Click. Digital Board: 3 001 768 289 Served.

Carl’s head snapped back to the front. Already? The Digital Board had been so slow, Carl had found himself counting his eyelashes to cope with the painful wait. This time however, it had not been a minute before it was the next person’s turn. His turn. He slowly walked up to the office door and turned the heavy plain knob, inhaling longer than he would, hoping it would slow his frantic heartbeat. With a forceful exhale, he pushed the door.

Mr. Grimsby’s office reflected a life of bureaucratic exactitude. There was one desk in the centre of the room, opposing chairs, the white walls were bare, and the file cabinets neatly locked with the endless contracts he has drawn over the years.

“Take a seat,” said the little man, his attention fixated on the form in front of him. He scribbled with frantic movements of the wrist, his skeletal elbow anchored, steadying his writing arm with the precision of a printer. His green visor blocking his sure to be weasely face, framed his glossy bald head. Once he finished, he tossed the pen into the bin by his bare legs. Carl heard it hit the metal brim, then the floor. He got down to pick it up and toss it himself. He didn’t want to take any chances with the clerk, even if he looked like weakling. Surely he couldn’t be. The bin was already half filled with dried up ballpoints. Mr. Grimsby’s crossed his legs, giving Carl a front row seat to his— THUD.

“Ow! Mother-f—“ Carl cursed after slamming his head on the edge of the table.

“Shall we we proceed sir?” Mr. Grimsby suggested with an impassive expression. His spidery fingers twisted the form to face Carl. His beady eyes unwavering behind his Mat Steel Windsor eyeglasses, “You will need to sign these papers to be permitted passage. Sign on the first dotted line at the bottom of the first and last pages, and write your initials on the the others as you read.

“There must be thousands of pages,” Carl complained.

“Indeed. Isn’t convenient we have all the time in the World? Once you finish reading, and I do suggest you read every page carefully, we can then discuss your options.”

“My options?”

“As to how you shall be spending your time here.”

“I have a choice?”

“We all make choices don’t we? It is what has landed you here in the first place, sir,” his neatly filed fingernail tapped the dotted line. Mr. Grimsby reached for another ballpoint in his drawer, and started scribbling on another form. Carl looked down to the papers:

Nether World District - Perdition Application Admission (NB - 1318)

Permanent Resident (North American Damned)

Carl read through the numerous Hell Residency Situations. It all looked pretty standard. With escalating gravity, the road to purgatory would be lengthier and more torturous. To be expected. Carl identified with situation 329: You have lived a life of sin by committing fraud in the 2010 Synthetic CDO case, trading insider secrets with your competitors at Citigroup, causing your investors to lose their material possessions, emotional stability and in some cases, caused them to take their own lives. You have spent more time pursuing selfish pursuits, causing you to miss eight of your son’s baseball games, two of your other son’s dance recitals and all of your twelve anniversaries—

“I always sent Beth flowers!” Carl muttered.

“I’m sure she appreciated being sent flowers from your secretary. The one you were having an affair with.”

“So? She was a pill-popping washed-up socialite. I was done with her. She wasn’t a better parent anyway.”

“Very astute of you sir. She is scheduled to arrive here six years and two months from now. She still has quite a few wild oats to sow. Your children’s future is still to be decided.”

“Hmmph,” Carl rolled his eyes and signed before finishing the ten page long situation, “Nice first name… Barney,” he mocked as he signed he last page, noticing the small engraved name plate on the desk, “I have to say, I didn’t expect Hell to be so… civilized.”

“How so sir?” Mr. Grimsby asked going over the application and making sure he wouldn’t be cheated by a con-man. He had also worked as a clerk in law firm way back in the day. He had been the type dot all the “i”s, cross all his “t”s, measure the dots above both “i”s and “j”s, making sure they were always perfectly aligned. He also doubled-barred all his zeroes, because God forbid his unfaltering compulsion for order, could be perverted by simpletons. It’s that obsession for the penny-ante that had landed him there in the first place.

“Well look at us? You’d think we’re at the DMV.”

“I’m afraid the Department of Motor Vehicles was established after my time.”

“Where’s the fire? Where are the hook wielding demons? Where’s the big dog guarding the Gates of Hell? This is all I was supposed to be “afraid” of? A scrawny immigration officer in a shitty poker cap?”

“Shall we proceed to the options of residency available to you?”

“I was at least expecting some fucking second-rate James Earl Jones declaring “I am the Gate Keeper” or some shit,” Carl continued. He sat back comfortably in his chair. He had eaten bigger steaks than the pathetic paper pusher sitting opposite him.

“This is not about living up to your expectations of Hades sir. It’s about tailoring your punishment to your worst nightmare… You are now insignificant, and, for all intents and purposes, I am the Gate Keeper.”

“Sure thing sir. Whatever you say “boss”.”

“As you qualify for an extensive list of punishments, you must purge your soul through a minimum of 300 years process—“

“Say Barnster, what landed your sorry ass down here?” Carl interrupted.

“It is of no importance,” he answered, his face as stoic as ever. He had not lived a selfless life. His nit-picky attention to the insignificant, had poisoned his promising accounting career, his family life, and finally his soul. His death had been dramatic in its own pitiful way. His employer had found a mistake in the books. One Mr. Grimsby refused to admit. It had been a mere difference of a few dollars. Nothing worth offering a challenge for. Mr. Grimsby had often likened himself to the misunderstood Third Vice President, Aaron Burr. This would be a farfetched comparison, praising Mr. Grimsby all too much. One could argue for delusions of grandeur perhaps, but most would note an unmistakeable inferiority complex. His employer, his own Alexander Hamilton, had been a skilled marksman, and petty Mr. Grimsby well… He had been vain… And legally blind.

“So you are just some poor sap who died before confession. That explains it. I want to see your manager.” Now that was a new one.

“My manager? Sir?”

“Oh don’t play innocent Barnacle, I want to meet the the Top Dog.”

“I am not familiar with that title.”

“The Big Cheese.”

“Sir we need to sign—“ Mr. Grimsby started before flinching when the other man slammed his fist on the desk.

“Listen here Barnicus—“ Carl stood up fast, his large frame casting a shadow on the Gate Keeper.

“Was that meant to be an insult?”

“I want to meet Satan.”

“Satan?”

“Yes Satan! The Devil, Lucifer, the Morningstar, God’s whiny eternally grounded teenage son. He’s the one that runs this place right? I’m the man to run this dump back to its former glory.”

“Unless you know one of the original demons, you have no connection to Mr. Morningstar. No common damned soul meets with the Head of State here,” Mr. Grimsby explained. His expression static.

“And have you met him?”

“I have a key position in his administration now don’t I?”

“So who’s a guy gotta blow for a job down here? I saw some of the mandatory punishments I got to go through. I’m sure as hell not going through phase two. Phase seven and eight, I can manage. I draw the line at becoming anybody’s money shot.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t how it works, sir,” Mr. Grimsby spoke, with his straight lips starting to twitch at the corners. He was amused.

“Oh come on man, is there anything I can be of use to the Big Guy? I have a array of skills that should be more than useful down here. You need to slice up some bitches? I took anatomy in first year of College. You need to get people to talk? I’m a master extortioner. Just ask Chris Christie. That fat old blockhead stood like a whimpering idiot behind the T Man, all because I got him drunk enough to take pictures with a half naked Ru Paul. You need to teach a slut a lesson? I’ll—“ Mr. Grimsby held up his right hand, and rubbed his temples with the left.

“Please sir. You’re making this process needlessly long. I am behind with the line-up, and I would hate to underperform after turning in my best numbers to date.”

“Please Barney…”

“Mr. Grimsby, sir,” he said, grinning at the large man, cowering at the idea of losing his manhood. Idiot, he already had.

“Mr. Grimsby,” Carl repeated.

“Fine, I’ll show you the way to his office. Forgive me if I don’t follow you. I have no time.”

“Of course, of course. Thank you Mr. Grimsby.”

“Very well,” Mr. Grimsby snapped his fingers. A golden door, carved itself into the bare wall behind the desk. The carvings drew a modern man’s body, in a fitted suit, tossing a coin into the air. His head was that of a large bull. “Send my regards to Mr. Morningstar.”

“Is there anything I should know?”

“If I was welcomed in his administration, I’m sure a strong man like you would have no problem doing the same. Have at it.”

Carl entered the dark corridor, and closed the door at snail-like pace. As soon as it closed, the door disappeared, manifesting a new, and decidedly less ostentatious door in its stead. A horned red skinned demon wearing a security cap entered, holding a steaming white coffee mug with a powder blue logo saying “Jesus is my Bitch!” He looked back the the door, with a puzzled look.

“Did you open The Door?” the demon enquired.

“Indeed.”

“Who went in?”

“A new resident.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He tried to show you up didn’t he?” the demon ventured, and Mr. Grimsby shrugged, “You’re a sick bastard you know that Grimsby?” he remarked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“After over a Century down here… I am loathed to finally admit. I am petty. Send in the next one.” Carl follows the long narrow corridor, plunged into blackness. He made his way slowly, weary of what would be at the end. His eyes adjusted slightly, spotting flickering lights somewhere ahead…

Silence. Digit Board: 3 001 768 289 Served

[bryce-bucher]

Been dealing with some medical stuff, so I've been "taking a break" this week by learning how to model in the style of ps1-era FMVs. This is a WIP model of the protagonist of my game J(a)SON: The Dog Living Inside a Mistake. It has taken me a few days to chip away at the face, and the latest thing I've gotten done is the hair. Idk what I'm gonna do to get the whole ass body done, but I'm happy with how it's come out so far. I've never hard modeled a face like this, and I'm kinda surprised how fun and not a complete nightmare it is. This has also been a great way for me to nail down the design of the protagonist. Since it's a first person game and the only art of the character I've made before this is the little logo seen above, I hadn't really nailed down various aspects of the design. Mostly color stuff. In the middle of doing this, I realized it'd be best if the glasses were dark orange and the lips were black. Can't wait to get this model done and make some renders with it. This character currently doesn't have a name (they might never have one), but they are a goth, enby hacker. You can read more about that in my post(s) about the development of the game if u want idk I'm not ur dad.

[bryce-bucher]

J(a)SON Post #1

Introduction:

So I'm working on 3 projects right now, and I'm on a rotating schedule where every two weeks I switch to a different one. I figured that at the end of each week I'd make a post (if I remember) going over some of the work I've done over that week. Since this is the first post for my immersive sim "J(a)SON: The Dog Living Inside a Mistake", it will be a bit different. Instead of showing off the work I've done this week, I'll just be going over the project in general.

The Dog Living Inside a Mistake:

J(a)SON: The Dog Living Inside a Mistake is an immersive sim that I decided to work on for the 2021 HPS1 Madvent calendar. I wasn't able to complete the tiny scope I had planned for its initial release, so I decided to turn it into a full experience. It's set to be structured similarly to something like Bowser's Fury in that its one large map with several segmented areas. Inspired by a dream I had, the game stars a goth, enby hacker who has gotten word that their dog (J(a)SON) was kidnapped by a shady corporation operating inside of a fake exclusion zone. They aren't sure if J(a)SON is savable, but they do know that he is suffering inside of a giant parasite.

Mechanics & Gameplay:

Being an immersive sim, the game focuses on a plethora of interwoven mechanics, emergent gameplay, and detailed interaction with the world. The player starts with only their cellphone which is equipped to download the output data of virtually any device they may come across. They can then upload this output data to any other device in order to connect the two devices. In practice, this allows the player to do things like rewire an alarm to route to a bomb so that anyone who dares try to sound the alarm gets exploded. J(a)SON forgoes any kind of rpg mechanics that you might find in something like Deus Ex in favor of focusing on basic horizontal progression. This means that the player is going to expand their options through finding various weapons, gadgets, and bits of information rather than through skill points. I aim to make interactions with devices as detailed as possible, so most interactable have a pre-rendered interface that lets you set the specific time on a microwave and things like that. The game also has a sort of "chemistry system" similar to breath of the wild where objects can have properties such as "flammable" or "conductive" that allow them to be electricuted, set on fire, put out with water, yada yada. This leads to fun situations like putting metal in the microwave leading it to explode as a makeshift bomb and things like that.

Conclusion:

Well that's all 4 now. I hope to go into more detail about a buncha stuff like rat breeding and terminal hacking and all that when I get around to it. See ya next week when I'm working on Winds of Basidia.

[bryce-bucher]

Hello I have a tumblr now. I am currently working on 3 games on a rotating schedule, and I thought I'd make my first post an overview of some of my past and current projects (pictured in the order listed below):

Fatum Betula (2020)

A game in which you wander around strange areas in search of liquids to feed to a small birch tree in order to alter reality. Like most of my stuff, it has a very heavy focus on atmosphere, and it is dear 2 my heart. As of right now its probably the game that I am most well known for.

Mysteries Under Lake Ophelia (2021)

A relaxing fishing game in which you catch fish in a strange, slightly eerie lake. It has a simple progression system and a lotta underwater type creatures. Check it out if you are into relaxing OoT type fishing vibes.

J(a)SON: The Dog Living Inside a Mistake (WIP)

An immersive sim in which you play as a goth-hacker enby. They've broken into the HQ of Synergisticorp on suspicion that their dog was stolen and is suffering as part of some horrible experiment gone wrong. This game is setup for me to be as indulgent as possible, so it's gonna have a lot of mechanics. Right now it has a hacking system where you can connect any device to any other (similar to gunpoint), objects with interactable interfaces (so like u can press individual buttons on a microwave), and a "chemistry" system (kinda similar to breath of the wild where stuff can be set on fire and electrocuted and all that). I plan to add picross, a second type of hacking, rat breeding, and a bunch of other bullshit. Keep an eye on it if you are a fan of stuff like deus ex or prey 2017.

The Winds of Basidia (WIP)

I am co-developing this game with Modus Interactive, and it's a sequel to his title The Snow of Basidia. I don't want to go into too much detail but it is gonna be a western-style rpg primarily inspired by Majora's Mask, Fallout New Vegas, Pathologic, and Nausicaa. It's got a timeloop, political factions, gliding, a basidium plague, murderable npcs, etc. I'm very excited about this one, and it's been really fun to work on.

Midwest Lost (WIP)

Midwest Lost is going to be a bossrush, exploration based souls-like in which you play as a shit head emo kid in the american midwest. You have a big ass sword, a bunch of energy drinks, and are looking to pick some fights. This game is the earliest in development out of all of these projects, but I have a lot of very exciting things planned for it.