#SCUD race

[posthumanwanderings]

Sega's Masterpiece! Scud Race! SEGA's Model 3 Arcade Racing Game and the Alpha Dreamcast Version

[doamarierose-honoka]

Sega's catalog of racing games is impressive, but for those looking for truly exceptional titles, the following entries stand out among the rest.

Racing games are one of the oldest video game genres around, thrilling gamers since Magnavox Odyssey owners gave Wipeout (not that one) a go. Nearly every developer around the world has given racing games a try, with some getting more success than others. Mario Kart has sold a lot of units for Nintendo, and Gran Turismo became the biggest-selling game on Sony’s PS1.

However, it’s hard to think of a company that likes racing games more than Sega. They ruled the arcades directly with a wide range of titles that would go on to become classics in the genre. But which ones are Sega’s best racing games?

NOTE

These entries are not solely ranked by their Metascore, as this isn't always the best metric. Instead, the games listed here are ranked by their gameplay, features, thrills, and their impact on the genre, with Metascore just one aspect of their rating.

10

Sega GT 2002

Metascore: 82

Developer: Wow Entertainment.

Platform: Xbox.

Released: September 2002.

The original Sega GT was meant to be the Dreamcast’s answer to Gran Turismo, and it was a good game. But it wasn’t quite the big hit Sega was looking for, selling modestly on an already modest console. Luckily, the series continued after the Dreamcast’s demise with Sega GT 2002. It was bigger, flashier, and gave players 160+ cars to work with.

The game came with an interesting range of modes, from a Gran Turismo-like Career Mode to a Chronicle Mode where players could race and tweak vintage cars from the 1960s onward. They could even earn extra cash by completing extra objectives during the race. The biggest cash prize came from getting through a race unscathed, so it favored smooth racing over stock car-like body contact.

9

Super Hang-On

Metascore: 76

Developer: Sega AM-2.

Platforms: Arcade, Genesis, Game Boy Advance, Amiga, Atari ST, ZX Spectrum, Amstrad CPC, Commodore 64, Sharp X68000, Nintendo 3DS, PS4.

Released: April 1987.

Picking out the best of Sega’s 1980s racing output is tricky. Power Drift brought the action up close with its zoomed-in, swaying camera. Enduro Racer had wheelies and logs to jump over. Then there was the almighty OutRun, a tricky game where players had to master the driving mechanics to reach one of its five goals within its tight time limits.

Still, as popular as they were, the biker racer Super Hang-On deserves kudos. It brought on more tracks and a turbo function to out-race the competition. Players could even choose their own music track like in OutRun. But it could get just as challenging depending on which course the player chose too. The Africa course is simple enough at 6 stages, but Europe offers a whopping 18 stages to race through.

8

Virtua Racing

Metascore: 82

Developer: Sega AM-2 (original), M2 (Switch).

Platforms: Arcade, Genesis, 32X, Saturn, PS2, Switch.

Released: April 1992.

Sega was arguably the first company to make a pseudo-3D racing game with 1976’s Road Race. But when it came to actual polygonal 3D, they were beaten out by Namco’s underrated Winning Run and Atari’s stunt-filled Hard Drivin’. Yet they’re not as fondly remembered as Sega’s Virtua Racing.

It ran much faster than Hard Drivin’, looked more vibrant than Winning Run, and offered the player more bang for their buck. Players could pick multiple views over its forebears' first-person-only angle and featured 3D human NPCs during its pit sequences. VR may not have been the first 3D racer, but it was the best for its time and was certainly the most influential for the genre.

7

Scud Race

GameFAQs Score: 3.93/5 Stars

Developer: Sega AM-2.

Platforms: Arcade.

Released: 1996.

After the success of Sega’s Daytona USA, people at the company expected developers AM-2 to make Daytona USA 2 next. They would eventually make a sequel in 1998, but they wanted to mix things up for 1996. So, they made the similar but different Scud Race (aka Sega Super GT). It replaced Daytona’s stock cars with GT supercars and used the snazzy new Model 3 Step 1.5 hardware over Daytona's Model 2 tech.

While many of its elements still resembled Daytona, like the HUD and select screen, the gameplay was new. It introduced the ability to accelerate while drifting, giving players the edge over other racers if they could master it (and fishtails if they couldn't). It made for thrilling races, but it would ultimately be limited to the arcades as its Dreamcast port would get canceled.

6

Sega Rally Championship

Metacritic User Score: 8.2

Platform(s): Arcade , Sega Saturn , PC , Game Boy Advance , PS2

Released: October 11, 1994

Developer(s): Sega-AM3

Genre(s): Racing

Only a relatively small group of lucky arcade players really knew about Scud Race back in the day, but everyone practically heard about Sega Rally Championship. It may have only had 3 cars and 4 tracks, yet it gave players a new experience by replicating rally-style racing. For example, winning a race relied more on overtaking cars and staying within the time limit than constantly aiming for first place.

It certainly helps, but even if the player didn’t come in first on a track, their consistency could earn them enough points to win. The game was also more in-depth on how different surfaces affected the car’s handling. They could keep their grip on asphalt, then slip more on grass, then even more in mud. As simple as it sounds, it was enough to inspire other developers to make their own rally games and inspire players to get the game on the Saturn and PC.

5

F-Zero GX

Metascore: 89

Platform(s): GameCube

Released: August 25, 2003

Developer(s): Amusement Vision

Genre(s): Racing

Sega making an entry in a Nintendo game is mind-blowing to look back on. It's just as surprising to learn it was specifically made by Amusement Vision, who’d later make the Yakuza/Like A Dragon series and become better known as RGG Studio. Y/LAD creator Toshihiro Nagoshi also produced many of Sega’s classic racers, like Daytona USA and Scud Race, alongside design work for Virtua Racing.

In short, odd as it seems, Nintendo knew they'd do great work with F-Zero GX. It lived up to the wild speed previous F-Zero games reached but with improved visuals, more tracks, and an infamous story mode that really ramped up the challenge. Canny players could even use Gameshark/Action Replay to access hidden tracks from its arcade equivalent, F-Zero AX, and get even more hours of ultra-speed racing.

4

Daytona USA 2: Battle on the Edge

GameFAQs Score: 4.27/5 Stars

Developer: Sega AM-2.

Platforms: Arcade (original), PS4, PS5, Xbox Series X/S, PC ( Like A Dragon: Gaiden ).

Released: June 1998.

As groundbreaking as Virtua Racing was, Daytona USA was a vast improvement in graphics and gameplay. It had more cars, more impressive tracks, and adaptive AI that tailored itself towards the player’s skill level. So, it’s no wonder Sega would port and remake it multiple times, with the Saturn alone having 2 versions of the game. However, its sequel, Daytona USA 2: Battle on the Edge, would never leave the arcades.

The only way to play it at home is to get Like a Dragon Gaiden and find it under the new, non-license-infringing title, Sega Racing Classic 2,at the arcades. It has new drifting techniques like the ‘slingshot’, and extra modes like Grand Prix and Endurance. With much more on offer, it’s surprising that Sega never gave it a chance outside the arcades.

3

Sonic & All-Stars Racing Transformed

Metascore: 82

Platform(s): PS3 , PS Vita , Xbox 360 , Wii U , 3DS , PC , Android , iOS

Released: November 20, 2012

Developer(s): Sumo Digital

Genre(s): Racing

Technically, Sonic & All-Stars Racing Transformed wasn’t made directly by Sega. Both it and its predecessor, Sonic & Sega All-Stars Racing, were made by Sumo Digital, who previously made OutRun 2006: Coast 2 Coast for the company, and recently made The Texas Chainsaw Massacre game. Sega just published the game for its various platforms.

Still, it’s chock-full of references to classic Sega games, right down to its soundtrack, which is full of remixes of old-school tunes. The Transform mechanic also spiced things up beyond its ‘Sega Kart’ roots. At certain points on the track, the player's car will transform into a boat or aircraft to travel on water or in the air, complete with new physics and mechanics to work with. It’s an inventive game that could do with a modern re-release.

2

F355 Challenge

Metascore: 85

Developer: Sega AM-2.

Platforms: Arcade, Dreamcast, PS2.

Released: July 1999.

Sega has had a thing for Ferraris since OutRun used a Ferrari Testarossa Spider. It certainly was the start of their willingness to use actual motor licenses, from the different cars in games to the Daytona 500 NASCAR race itself. It culminated in F355 Challenge, a game that showcased producer/director Yu Suzuki’s love for the brand so much he (allegedly) raced his own Ferrari on tracks for data collection.

It also shows how closely he and AM2 replicated the F355. For 1999, it was the most realistic depiction of the car and what it’s like to race it on circuits. Combined with its use of real racing tracks, and the same real-time ‘Magic Weather’ system as Shenmue, it gave players an authentic racing experience come rain or shine, both in the arcades and at home.

1

OutRun 2

Metascore: 79

Developer: Sega AM-2 (Arcade), Sumo Digital (Xbox).

Platforms: Arcade, Xbox.

Released: December 2003.

The original OutRun inspired a host of follow-ups. Some of which are just as fondly remembered, like OutRunners. Yet there was only one game that got the distinction of being OutRun’s official sequel, and it came out 17 years later, in 2003. OutRun 2 is arguably the best entry in the series too, with some preferring its souped-up re-release OutRun 2006: Coast 2 Coast.

O2006 had more cars and more modes, including its exclusive ‘Coast 2 Coast’ Mode. But O2 had Heart Attack mode, where performing select stunts during courses earns the player heart points. O2’s journey home via the Xbox also had better controls than O2006's home releases. It also came with tracks from Scud Race and Daytona USA 2. Players who missed out on those underrated gems could finally give them a swing via O2.

[k9arcade]

Have YOU played Scud Race? / Sega Super GT

[gaminghearts1-blog]

Is Scud Race Underrated?

[retrocgads]

USA 1997

[dixons-sunshine]

Pregnant Pause | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your life was the epitome of a mess. You had just witnessed two of your friends get brutally murdered, your community was forced to serve an antagonistic group called the Saviours and your partner was taken by the same group, undoubtedly being tortured to try and force him into submission. It wasn't the best moment of your life, and it definitely wasn't the best time to start suspecting that you were pregnant.

Genre: Angst to a little bit of fluff.

Era: Alexandria, Saviour arc.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, mentions of death, typical TWD warnings

Word count: 6.9k

A/n: I had so much fun writing this! To the person who requested this (they asked to remain anonymous), thank you so much. I really hope you like this and I really enjoyed swapping ideas with you for this fic.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests, as well as Scud Frohmeyer requests.

—

Tears were streaming down your face with no sign of stopping anytime in the near future. In front of you, you could see the disfigured bodies of two members of your group, two of your friends. Glenn Rhee and Abraham Ford, brutally beat to death with a wired baseball bat. It was a fate that nobody deserved, especially not somebody as kind and pure as Glenn, or somebody as caring and courageous as Abraham. But they were gone, and with them, the remaining group's goodwill and hope.

Their deaths weren't the only things that weighed on your shoulders. Negan, the leader of the so-called 'Saviours', had taken Daryl, your partner and love of your life, hostage. You had pleaded to them to let him go, but your pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and with one last tearful look at your archer, the doors to the truck had closed and taken off, taking a huge chunk of your heart with the retreating vehicle.

You could vaguely hear the sound of voices conversing and the shuffle of footsteps around you, but your attention remained fixated on the dirt beneath you. Your mind was racing at the speed of light at that moment, and yet simultaneously, you struggled to think of anything at all. It seemed that with your partner's involuntary departure, your ability to function evaporated into thin air. You had no idea what to do.

You barely registered when Rick shook your shoulder, desperately trying to snap you out of your daze. “Y/N, look at me.”

You hesitantly looked up to meet the striking blue eyes of Rick Grimes, his eyes bloodshot from the tears he had shed earlier. He was tired, that much you could tell, and he seemed to be consumed by grief, the prior events to that moment taking an obvious toll on everyone, including your fearless leader.

“We have to go. It's not safe here,” he whispered, gently urging you to stand. He was patient and caring, knowing full well that the events that had just transpired bore down into your soul. This would traumatize each and every one of the people present, of that much he was sure.

You remained silent, refusing to say anything until you'd had time to fully process everything. The remaining people in your group wordlessly split, Maggie and Sasha heading to the Hilltop and the rest of you heading towards the Alexandria safe zone. Aaron dutifully walked beside you, glancing over at you in concern every few seconds. He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he could utter anything.

“Please, don't,” you whispered weakly, furiously wiping at the tears in your eyes.

Aaron frowned. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, careful not to alert the others who were walking in front of you.

You shook your head and let out a bitter laugh. “No,” you admitted, pursing your lips. “I'm pretty sure none of us are.”

Aaron's frown deepened, but he ultimately left it at that. The rest of the trek back to Alexandria was spent in a deathly silence, the only audible sounds being footsteps and animals scurrying around in the forest. When you all finally reached the safe zone, dread filled in your heart, because with the Saviours now fit to come knocking at the gates whenever they pleased, the safe zone would never truly be safe ever again.

—

Four days had passed. Four days since Glenn and Abraham had been brutally murdered in front of you. Four days since your partner had been taken hostage by the hostile group who claimed to be saviours. Four days since your world turned upside down.

The fellow survivors in the community had not taken well to the news of the Saviours' deal with Alexandria, but you had expected that much. They weren't there, they didn't know what could happen if you rubbed the Saviours the wrong way, but you did, and they would figure it out soon enough.

You sighed as you layed on the bed in the basement you shared with Daryl, staring up at the ceiling with a frown on your features. For four days you had tried to think of a solution to the problem at hand, but you had shot point-blank each time. And anytime you had even attempted to talk to Rick about retaliating, about fighting back, he had shut you down in an instant. You couldn't blame him, however. You had witnessed the brutality that Negan possessed and didn't wish to anger him again. You just wanted to find a way to get Daryl out of his clutches and back home, safe. You needed him there with you, especially if your suspicions about something proved to be correct.

For the last two weeks, you'd been way more tired than usual. Your body had grown accustomed to short hours of sleep or no sleep at all, but now it seemed as if you couldn't function even if you'd slept ten hours. You'd been getting nauseous quite frequently and although you had no way of keeping track between your periods, you were pretty sure it was late.

You weren't stupid. You knew what those implications meant and what they were leaning towards, but the possibility of it being true scared you. You and Daryl were as careful as you could be, but there were times when you weren't careful, when you were reckless, so the possibility of motherhood could be an impending thing.

You and Daryl hadn't ever really discussed having kids before. The topic came up once or twice, but that was during the earlier stages of your relationship back at the prison when neither of you were ready for that kind of commitment just yet. And with the whirlwind of chaos that ensued, from the Governor's wrath in Woodbury, to the Governor's annihilation of the prison, to Terminus and then to the fall of Alexandria when the walkers infiltrated, the topic never got the chance to come up again.

And now the possibility of you being pregnant was high, and there was a chance that you'd have to raise the baby without its father.

You quickly shook your head to rid the thoughts from your mind. Groaning in frustration, you got up from the bed and headed up the stairs towards the kitchen. There you found Rosita who was seated at the dining table, her features contorted into a frown while she was fiddling with a gun in her lap. She glanced up at you when she heard your footsteps and offered a silent nod of acknowledgement.

You gave her a nod back and headed towards the kitchen. You retrieved a glass from one of the cabinets and headed over to the sink, filling the glass with water. You leaned back against the kitchen island and slowly sipped at the water, your eyes trailed on one of little Judith's drawings that were stuck to the fridge. It was a picture of stick figures meant to represent everyone in the group, and your heart sank when your eyes trailed over the figure meant to represent the archer.

“What're you looking at?” Rosita asked, grabbing your attention.

“Just this picture that Judith drew of all of us,” you responded, half-heartedly motioning at the drawing stuck to the fridge.

Rosita walked over to you and positioned herself on your right, leaning back against the kitchen island as well. She smiled weakly at the drawing.

“Back when we were happy.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, averting your eyes from the drawing to the woman next to you. “Now everything's just gone to shit.”

“All thanks to that Negan puto,” she spat, her tone holding resentment and anger. Her anger was justified—she had witnessed Abraham getting beaten to death, and afterwards Negan had taunted her about it. He found what he did justified. You knew that Rosita wanted him dead, and you did too.

“Yeah,” you replied with a heavy sigh, placing the empty glass down on the countertop. The two of you stood side by side in silence for a few moments, before Rosita broke the silence again.

“What's up? It seems like something has you down.”

“Yeah, Daryl is being held hostage only god knows where and we have three days to find shit for those assholes or one of us dies,” you stated matter-of-factly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Rosita sighed. “I know, but that wasn't what I meant. It's something else, I can tell.”

You fixated your gaze on the ground, suddenly finding the tiles more interesting than anything else. “No, I mean... I don't know. It might be nothing, but...” You trailed off awkwardly.

Sensing your awkwardness, Rosita quickly tried to reassure you. "It's okay, you don't have to talk about it."

You shot her a grateful look and she gave you a small smile. You brought your hand up and lightly patted her on her shoulder before pushing away from the counter.

“Where are you going?” Rosita inquired, raising her eyebrows in question as she watched your retreating figure.

“I need some air.”

Without waiting for a reply from the woman, you closed the door behind you and leaned back against it momentarily, before pushing away and setting off towards the infirmary.

After a short walk, you arrived at the infirmary. After opening the door and seeing that nobody was inside, you breathed a sigh of relief. You wanted to get this done without anybody knowing. You didn't want people kicking up a fuss when there were bigger problems at hand.

Moving towards the cabinet you knew held the object you were looking for, you could feel your heart racing. When you retrieved the small box with the test that could literally change your life, you felt overwhelmed. You never thought that a small box would intimidate you, but that particular box did.

Wanting to be extra sure of the results, you grabbed another test from the cabinet. Slipping both tests out of the boxes and into your waistband and letting your shirt fall over them to cover them from prying eyes, you quietly slipped from the infirmary before anyone could notice that you were there. You walked with a haste in your step back towards the house, but the sight that awaited you at the gates quickly drew your attention. You quickly made your way over, where you saw none other than Negan beyond the gates, taking out an approaching walker.

You walked up next to Rosita, who looked over at you, anger dancing in her eyes. You were sure that your eyes mirrored the same emotion.

“Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy!” Negan laughed. His eyes strayed to his right, and you could see Rick following his gaze. From your point of view, you could see surprise spread across his face.

“Alright, everybody. Let's get started. Big day,” Negan started, talking to people who were out of your line of sight. “Hey, Rick. You see that? What I just did? That is some service! I mean, we almost get turned away at the gate. Who is that guy, anyway? Do I get mad? Do I throw a fit? Do I bash some ginger's dome in? Nope! I just take care of one of these dead pricks that could've killed one of y'all. Service.”

Your gaze strayed downwards when Negan locked eyes with you. He chuckled before walking through the gates, handing Rick his baseball bat. “Hold this.”

As Negan walked in, the rest of the people he brought with him followed after him. However, you looked up when Rosita let out an almost inaudible gasp. You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with Daryl, and your heart both soared with relief and filled with dread. You were relieved that Negan hadn't killed him, but you could see that he wasn't being treated fairly, either. He was dirty and his face was cut and bruised, and he wasn't wearing any shoes with his "uniform".

You frowned, your eyes not straying from Daryl. Your partner kept his eyes locked on you until Negan spoke up again.

“Hot digidy dog!” Negan exclaimed, his eyes sweeping over the community. “This place is magnificent. An embarrassment of riches, as they say. Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.”

You looked away from Negan and took a step towards Daryl, hoping to give him a short hug. “Daryl—”

“No. Nope. He's the help. You don't look at him, you don't talk to him, and I don't make Rick chop anything off of him,” Negan cut you off, his eyes shifting to Rick.

When Rick averted his gaze, Negan turned to you, his eyes holding a certain malevolence as he gazed down at you. “Do I make myself clear, darling?”

“Yeah, you've made yourself transparent. I can see right through you,” you spat bitterly, refusing to meet his mocking gaze.

Negan chuckled wickedly. “Careful. We don't want anything to happen to your little lover over there.”

You slowly looked up at the man, your jaw clenched as you glared at him. A few beats of silence passed until you broke the stare first, angrily walking away from him, back towards the house. Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you willed them away, refusing to let them fall. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of your tears, no matter if he saw it or not.

When you reached the house, you practically flung the door open, storming into the house. Carl, who had been sitting at the dining room table, looked up at your sudden appearance and gave you a concerned look.

You mustered up what you hoped was a reassuring smile and sat down on the chair opposite him. He gave you a questioning look, silently asking what was wrong.

“Negan's here,” you plainly stated, not missing the clenching of his jaw in anger.

“He said a week. He's early,” Carl stated angrily, curling his hands into fists.

“Yeah, but he's here anyway. And he brought Daryl.”

Carl perked up at the mention of the archer's name. “He's here?” When you nodded, he continued. “Is he gonna stay?”

“I doubt it. Negan said that Daryl's here as the help, so I'm pretty sure that Negan's taking him back as soon as he's done here.”

Carl's mood visibly deflated. He sighed and shook his head. “We can't live like this. We should just kill Negan.”

You shook your head. “Believe me, I want Negan dead, too, but even if we kill him, one of his other goons will step up and take his place. We have to kill all of them, not just Negan.”

“How? There's too many of them.”

“I don't know.”

Carl shook his head before standing up, pushing the chair back. “I'm gonna go check on Judith, make sure she's alright.”

At the mention of the small child's name, you suddenly remembered about the two tests that were stuck in your waistband. You got up, too, and nodded at the teenager. “Okay. I have to take care of something real quick.”

With a parting nod, you headed up the stairs and into the bathroom. Quietly locking the door behind you, you inhaled deeply, trying to ease the anxiety that had started to build. You took the two tests from your waistband and held it in front of you, knowing that the results that would show in a few minutes were going to change your life.

Shaking your head and inhaling deeply, you went over to the toilet, two tests in hand. You quickly did your business and placed the two tests on the countertop. You paced around in the bathroom, trying to work up the nerve to see what results awaited you. However, just as you were about to look at the results, a loud banging on the door startled you.

“Hey, hurry up in there! We don't have all day to wait on you!” A voice you didn't recognise bellowed from beyond the door, and you could only assume that it was one of Negan's men. Sighing, you grabbed the tests without so much as peeking at them and slipped them back into the waistband of your jeans. You walked over to the door and opened it, coming face to face with a Saviour.

“What were you doing in there that took you so long, huh, pretty lady?” The man asked, eyeing you up and down with a primal intrigue. You shivered in disgust, shooting him a glare.

Without a word at the man, you walked off, needing to clear your head. The pregnancy tests in your waistband pressed against your skin and reminded you that you had to look at them, but you decided that would have to wait. You weren't about to look at them around prying eyes.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the house. Startled, you sprinted towards where you heard the sound and saw Carl holding two Saviours at gunpoint, the Saviours in question holding crates with all of your medication.

“Put some back,” Carl started, pointing the gun at one of the men. “Or the next one goes in you.”

“Carl, what's going on?” You questioned, moving to stand next to the teenager.

“They said that they were only taking half, but now they're taking everything,” Carl explained, keeping his gun trained on the man in front of him.

The man simply laughed, wickedly smiling at the boy. “Kid, what do you think happens next?”

“You die,” Carl stated plainly, glaring at the man.

You looked over at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw Rick, his eyes meeting yours questioningly. You simply shrugged nonchalantly and put a gentle hand on Carl's shoulder. He looked over at you and you gave him a small, tight-lipped smile.

“Don't do anything stupid,” you advised, before leaving Rick to calm his son down. You passed by Negan, who shot you a teasing smile, but you ignored him, moving out onto the porch.

You leaned over the railing, observing the people quietly. You could vaguely hear the voices from inside, but you paid it no mind. After a couple of minutes of just standing there, you saw Aaron walking alone, a frown on his face. You walked down the porch stairs and hurried to catch up to him.

“Aaron, hey!” you called, stopping the man in his tracks. He turned around and saw you approaching, and he offered you a weak smile.

“Hey.”

“Let me guess, the Saviours are ransacking your house right now,” you stated matter-of-factly.

“They took our mattresses. Why the hell would they need that? And our coffee tables? What could they possibly need those for?” Aaron asked, exasperated. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, his form slumped.

“I think they're just taking them because they can,” you started. “They're trying to prove that what they say is law. They're trying to prove that we have no say, that they can take whatever they want simply because.”

Aaron sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. “I hate this.”

“Me too,” you agreed, nodding sagely. “But what can we possibly do about it now? We're outnumbered and outgunned. We can't take them on even if we wanted to.”

Aaron shook his head. Silently motioning for you to walk with him, the two of you set off, walking to nowhere in particular. “I'm glad to see that Daryl's okay.”

You slightly flinched at the mention of the archer's name and visions of his current state flooded your mind. He looked awful, not just from the filth on him but from the bruises as well. He was being tortured and you wanted to do nothing more than to kill Negan for making him suffer.

“Define "okay",” you sighed, walking up to Aaron's house with him.

“Alive,” he stated simply. The two of you sat down on the porch steps, keeping your gazes ahead on the Saviours who bustled around the community, taking whatever they pleased.

“Yeah, well, let's hope it stays that way,” you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes. You wiped them away in frustration.

Aaron placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving you a small smile. The two of you quietly sat side by side for a while, simply looking at the chaos of the afternoon. You'd catch glimpses of Daryl from time to time, and he'd shoot you nervous glances before returning to whatever task he was meant to do. Your heart shattered at the thought of what Negan was doing to the love of your life. You silently vowed to yourself that you would find a way to get Daryl away from them, one way or another.

“Aaron, Y/N, meeting in Gabriel's church in five,” Rick's voice called, snapping you from your thoughts. He appeared at the bottom of the steps, his tone holding a frantic urgency.

“Rick? What's wrong?” You asked, getting up from the steps, Aaron following your lead.

“The Saviours, they're taking all of our guns, but we're two handguns short. They're threatening to kill Olivia if we don't find them.”

“Who would have them?” Aaron asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I don't know. That's what we're trying to figure out. Like I said, meeting in the church.”

“Nuh uh. Not so fast.”

You clenched your jaw at the voice that resounded behind you. Turning around, you came face to face with Dwight, his mouth upturned in a mocking grin. He was nonchalantly leaning against the wall of the house.

“The missus over here is gonna take me back to whatever hole she and Daryl calls home and give me his shit,” he stated, pushing away from the wall and walking over to you.

You stepped back, glaring angrily at the man. “You already have his crossbow and his vest. What else could you possibly want?”

“His bike, but Rosita's already taking care of that,” Dwight said, crossing his arms over his chest. He turned back towards Rick and waved him off. “Go on, go find out where those guns are.”

Dwight moved forward and gripped your wrist tightly, wordlessly tugging you behind him. You exchanged a nervous glance with Aaron before turning your attention back to Dwight. You ripped your wrist from his grip and glared at him.

“Touch me again and I'll fucking chop your fingers off one by one.”

Dwight chuckled and walked ahead, expecting you to follow him. When he realised that you remained still, he turned to you with a warning glare. “Just so you know, I'm basically Daryl's primary caretaker at the moment. So your behaviour today can either persuade me to make his stay with us better or so much worse. Your choice.”

You hesitated for a moment, before sighing and walking ahead. Dwight's footsteps could be heard from behind you as you silently lead him back to the house, your jaw clenched in anger as you stared ahead.

After a short walk, you lead Dwight up the porch stairs and into the house. You opened the door and stepped inside, the man following closely behind you.

“This is your home?” Dwight questioned, slowly closing the door behind him as he looked about the house in slight awe.

“Mine, Daryl's, Rick's, Michonne's. We all live here,” you stated in a bored tone, walking forward until you reached the door that lead down to the basement. “Our room's down there.”

“You live in the basement?” Dwight asked dubiously, staring down the stairs in question.

“Daryl and I do. We wanted our own space away from everyone where we wouldn't be bothered, hence why we chose the basement.

“Well, then,” Dwight started, lowering his upper body down in a mocking bow. “Lead the way, m'lady.”

You rolled your eyes at him and descended down the stairs. You opened the second door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed inside, the warm air of your shared space with the archer suddenly feeling overwhelming. You disregarded the feeling, focusing instead on the man that followed you down.

You motioned over to the dresser that held most of Daryl's things. “There. You'll find it all there.”

Dwight raised his eyebrows. “All of it? In that one measly dresser?” When you nodded, he continued. “That can't possibly be it.”

“Daryl doesn't own a lot of things that hold sentimental value to him,” you shrugged, sitting down on the bed as you watched the Saviour rummage through the dresser, carelessly tossing pieces of clothing over his shoulder. “Jesus, can you stop? He doesn't have anything else you could want.”

Huffing in frustration, Dwight turned around to face you. However, just as he was about to let out a string of crude remarks, he stopped, spotting something poke out of your waistband. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up, before I make you,” he threatened.

You hesitantly stood up. However, you nearly stumbled back when he lunged at you. “What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed, trying to push him away.

Dwight ignored you. Before you could stop him, he pulled the two pregnancy tests from your waistband, taking a few steps away from you. He eyed the tests, and a look of surprise spread over his face.

“You're pregnant?”

Time stopped. Your heart started pounding against your ribcage, and your eyes widened. You were pregnant. Both tests came back positive. Words eluded you as you simply stared at Dwight.

Dwight shook his head and threw one of the pregnancy tests back in your direction, and you hastily caught it. He pocketed the other one. “Congratulations. I'll be sure to tell Daryl the good news.”

Before you could deny or force him to hand it over, Dwight hurriedly left the room. You sank to your knees on the ground, tears starting to well up in your eyes. You felt helpless, completely and utterly helpless. Sobs wracked through your body as you clutched the pregnancy test in your hand, wishing more than ever that Daryl was there to comfort you, to reassure you that everything would be okay.

But with him being in Negan's clutches, that wouldn't be a reality.

—

“Hell of a place you got here, Rick,” Negan told Rick, turning around to face him as you all walked towards the gates.

Roughly two hours later, the Saviours were done ransacking your homes and taking whatever they pleased. You had gotten your feelings under control and walked with your leader towards the gates, hoping above all else that you could persuade Negan into letting you at least give the archer a hug.

“Give me a second,” Rick replied, his eyes shifting between the hostile leader of the Saviours and the building beyond the gates.

Negan followed his gaze, before turning back to him. “No.”

“Please, can you just... Give me a second,” Rick pleaded, looking up at Negan.

Negan finally agreed, giving him a nod, a malicious smirk on his face. When Rick jogged over to the building, that left you in Negan's sights, and the man let out a chuckle.

“Well, darling. I see you've actually listened to me. No interactions with your loverboy whatsoever. I'm impressed,” he began, taking a step towards you.

Standing your ground, you simply glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sarcastic retort. That simply elicited another chuckle from the man.

“You know, there is a way the two of you could be together again. You could always come work for me. Be one of my soldiers, so to speak,” he began, eyeing you up and down. “Usually I wouldn't offer that straight away, but for a looker like yourself, I'd make an exception. Or you could make Daryl's life a whole lot easier if you want. You could become one of my wives.”

Unable to resist the urge, you drew your hand back and slapped Negan across his face. Taken aback, he stumbled, but that grin of his soon returned. His eyes raked over your form hungrily. “Just so you know, I'm so much more attracted to you now.”

You could hear a scuffle behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted an angry looking Daryl being held in place by Dwight. The archer glared daggers in Negan's direction, the urge to hit him evident on his face.

However, before anything could happen, Michonne came marching through the gates with a small deer over her shoulders, Rick hot on her tail. She wore a blank expression, refusing to meet Negan's stare.

“Look at this!” Negan exclaimed, eyeing the deer on her shoulders.

“I thought she was scavenging. She was hunting,” Rick explained to Negan, handing him a gun. “This one never came inside.”

Negan took the gun and smirked. “Look at this. This is something to build a relationship on. Good for you, Rick. This is reading the room and getting the message. I said it before, Imma say it again. You, sir, are special.”

Rick looked at you, sympathy clear in his eyes. “Now that you know we can follow your rules...”

“Yes?” Negan drawled.

“I'd like to ask you if Daryl could stay.”

“Not happening,” Negan refused. He turned around to look at you, a smirk on his face. “You know what, just to make the missus happy, maybe he can stay. Maybe Daryl can plead his case. Maybe Daryl can sway me.”

Negan turned to Daryl. The archer remained quiet, his eyes shifting between you and Negan. It was evident that he wouldn't beg to stay; Daryl's pride would never allow him to do that. Although a part of you wanted Daryl to just drop his pride this once, you were proud of him. Despite what he was going through, he remained steadfast in his beliefs. He would never bow to the likes of Negan, no matter what pain it could inflict on him.

“Daryl?” Negan pressed, amused by the archer's silence. When Daryl remained silent, Negan turned back to you. “Well, Rick tried. Sorry, darling.”

You looked down, missing the apologetic look Daryl sent your way. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl had wanted to do nothing more than beg Negan to leave him here with you, but he couldn't. Not when Negan had threatened to hurt you if he tried to return to Alexandria. Not when his hostage situation could ensure your safety.

“Now what you gotta do, is get over that tall wall of yours and try harder out there,” Negan began, looking at Rick. “Earn for me, because we're coming back soon. And when we do, you better have something interesting for us, or Lucille? She's gonna have her way. I want you to hear that again. If you don't have something interesting for us, somebody's gonna die. And no more magic guns. Arat, grab that deer. It's getting late. Let's go home.”

Michonne angrily dropped the deer and turned around. You shot one final lingering glance at the archer, your partner and love of your life, before following suite. Michonne put her arm around your shoulder and together the two of you walked back to your shared home, ignoring Negan's mocking laughter.

“Something's wrong, I can tell,” she whispered quietly.

You shook your head. “I wouldn't necessarily say something is wrong,” you denied. “I just really need Daryl more than ever right now.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “But not without Rick. I need his opinion too.”

—

“You're pregnant?”

You physically winced at the incredulous sound of your leader's voice. For the second time that day, someone had asked you that pivotal question, but this one finally made it register in your mind. You were pregnant. And Daryl wasn't there to help you through it.

Michonne wrapped an arm around you, allowing you to lean into her side for support. She rubbed your arm, hoping to bring you some form of comfort under Rick's disbelieving stare.

“Rick,” she scolded, sending her partner a pointed look, as if telling him to read the room.

“Sorry,” he apologized, shifting his attention back to you. “When did you find out?”

“Today,” you whispered, your voice hoarse all of a sudden. “Right after Dwight took me down to the basement to rummage through Daryl's things. He saw the tests and took one. I think he's gonna use it to torture Daryl mentally. How could I let that happen?”

Michonne pulled you tighter against her side, allowing you to cry into her shoulder as she whispered reassuring words into your ear. “It's not your fault. Hey, it's okay. We'll figure it out, I promise.”

You hesitantly nodded against her shoulder, withdrawing from her hold and standing up. You began to pace the room, anxiously fiddling with your fingers.

“What should I do?”

“Go to the Hilltop,” Rick advised, effectively stopping your pacing. “They have a doctor there who can ensure that you and the baby are okay. And you'll have Maggie and Sasha by your side. It'll be safer for you there.”

“I can't just leave,” you shut him down, shaking your head. “Negan is fit to come knocking at the gates whenever he pleases. We need more supplies, and soon. We need more people going out there.”

“Like hell I'm letting you out there,” Rick argued. “Daryl would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you or the baby, whether he knows about it now or not. The best thing you can do now for yourself and your baby is to go to the Hilltop. It's safer and it's out of harm's way. Please, if not for yourself, for Daryl. For your baby.”

Sensing your hesitation, Michonne stood up, facing you head-on. “Rick's right,” she began, capturing your undivided attention. “Go. We'll be okay here. Your primary focus should be your wellbeing right now. Once things cool down around here, I'll come get you myself. I promise.”

You remained quiet for a few moments, pondering over their words before nodding. “Okay,” you whispered. “I'll go.”

“We'll have a car ready for you in the morning,” Rick responded, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You're doing the right thing. Daryl would've wanted this.”

“I know,” you sighed. “It doesn't make it any easier, though.”

The next morning came way too soon for your liking. Packed up and ready to go, you exchanged goodbyes with everyone. You were busy hugging Carl, the teenager clutching to your shirt tightly.

“Don't die,” he told you when he pulled back from the hug.

“Don't do anything stupid,” you retorted, playfully pushing his hat down over his face, successfully coaxing a laugh from him.

After a few more exchanges, and another hug from Carl, you got into the car and drove off, heading towards the Hilltop Colony. The drive was spent in an anxious silence. You were wondering if you'd made the right choice, if leaving Alexandria for a while was really the best decision, but as your hand drifted to your flat abdomen that would soon grow, to the life that fluttered there, you knew that Rick and Michonne were right. Your primary focus should be your baby right now, and you'd be damned if you let anything happen to them.

After a while, the gates to the Hilltop came into view. You got out of the car as the gates opened, soon being engulfed in hugs by Sasha and Maggie. Jesus stood off to the side with a smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Maggie asked, pulling back from the hug.

“It's a lot to explain,” you said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“Come inside. We'll get you something to eat,” Jesus offered.

You smiled at him and nodded. “Sure. That sounds great.”

—

“That Gregory guy is such an asshole,” you spat angrily, sitting on the bench outside of Jesus' trailer.

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Welcome to my world. We've been dealing with this prick for two weeks now and he still hasn't gotten better.”

You shook your head, your hand absentmindedly rubbing over your stomach. One week with the Hilltop's leader breathing down your neck and you were just about ready to shoot him. He kept on sending crude remarks in your direction, voicing his obvious disdain that he had yet another Alexandrian he had to keep hidden from the Saviours. Thankfully Jesus was there to put him in his place whenever you were the object of his distasteful glares, and since the day before, Enid as well.

Suddenly, shouts could be heard from the gates, before they were opened. You perked up at the rumble of a motorcycle, standing up to move closer and get a better view, instantly spotting the familiar glint of a familiar motorcycle coming to a halt, and an even more familiar man getting off of it. Your heart started pounding against your ribcage, and before anyone could stop you, you started running.

“Daryl!” you called, running as fast as your legs could carry you.

Daryl turned around at the sound of your voice. As soon as he saw you, he started running as well, meeting you halfway. You practically flung yourself into Daryl's arms, and he instantly reciprocated the hug, burying his face into your shoulder. You hugged him to you tightly, holding the back of his head as you tried to withhold the tears flooding in your eyes.

“C'mon,” Jesus urged gently, prompting you and Daryl to pull apart. “There's a room in the Barrington house. You can use it to get cleaned up and changed into something else.”

Daryl hesitated, but you nodded. “It's okay. I'll be there with you.”

You took Daryl's hand in your own and followed behind Jesus. The two of you were soon in the aforementioned room, Daryl sitting down on the bed while you cleaned up one of the cuts on his face. He remained silent, his eyes locked on your face. He lifted his hand and cupped your cheek, halting your movements.

“What's wrong?” you asked, placing a hand over his one that rested on your cheek.

“M'jus' remindin' myself tha' this is real. Tha' this ain't some trick my mind is playin' on me. Tha' this ain't another dream.”

You gently took his hand and lead it to your heart, placing his hand over it to feel the steady beating of it. “I'm here,” you whispered. “You're here. This isn't a dream. It's real.”

Daryl swallowed and nodded, before letting his hand trail down to your stomach. “Is... Is this real? Are ya pregnant?”

Your heart dropped. The only way he could know was if Dwight did what you suspected—he mentally tortured the love of your life with the knowledge that you could've been pregnant.

Your silence confirmed it for the archer. He sighed and swallowed heavily. “Ya are. Yer pregnant.”

You nodded slowly, guilt creeping up in you. “I am. Did Dwight tell you?”

“He showed me the test. Said it was yers, tha' he found it with ya tha' day we were at Alexandria. I didn't wanna believe him at first, but the more I thought 'bout it, the more I started believin' him,” Daryl replied. “When did ya find out?”

“The first time Negan showed up with all of you,” you admitted. “Dwight took one of the tests from me before I could stop him. I'm sorry, I should've tried harder. You were already going through so much shit with the Saviours, and then he had to go put more shit on you because of me.”

Daryl pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “Dun' blame yerself. Wha' do ya have to be sorry fer? Findin' out yer pregnant?”

“For allowing him to take the test and use it against you.”

“Dun' be sorry. S'okay,” he whispered into your hair, stroking your back softly. Once you had calmed down, Daryl allowed one of his hands to travel back down to your stomach.

“Yer really pregnant?” he asked with a slight laugh, rubbing your stomach affectionately.

You laughed in wonder and nodded. “Yeah. There's a tiny you in there.”

“Nah, they're gon' be a tiny ya. Sweet, kind and a badass, jus' like their mama,” Daryl countered, placing a kiss against your forehead. “Our baby. Our lil' peanut.”

“You really wanna do this? Are you ready to start your own family?” you questioned, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“With ya?” Daryl began, pulling you closer to him. “M'ready fer anythin'.”

[norman-fucking-reedus]

I read your submissive Scud post and it literally had my foaming at the mouth. I was wondering if you would expand on that? (Especially the pegging part💀)

Thank you!! You’re awesome!!! I love your work!!

THE PEGGING THE PEGGING THE PEGGINGGGRAAAAHHHH 😝🎀🔥🦅🦅

We’re both foaming at the mouth okay I get the urge to fuck the shit out of him every hour of the day its not a want its a need I desire that I NEED THAT

Anyone who says Scud wouldn’t be into pegging needs to immediately get their eyes checked. That is a cock lover in the flesh. Like i’m telling you guys he loves to just get bent over any surface and be completely stuffed.

This brings me to my secret headcanon abt him, I firmly believe that he’s been double stuffed before. Maybe he bumped into some hot guys on a mission who he totally didn’t lure into the back of his van for them to literally ruin him, and he totally wasn’t getting his little throat and ass destroyed on all fours. Wrong guy. Not him. Never ever.

Now let’s not get it twisted Scud still loves women. Thing is, his cock has always had a lot more nerve endings than the average male, so he cums fairly quickly, but don’t worry because all of Norman’s characters come pre-equipped with pussy eating powers. And Scud is pussy eating machine. He wants it for breakfast lunch and dinner. He has to be forcibly removed and pried away before he thinks about stopping. The jaw cramps just means that hes doing the damn thing.

Back to the original topic.. When you first brought the idea up to Scud, he had absolutely no fucking clue what pegging was, until you dumbed it down for him, to which he almost immediately agreed. Getting his back blown out by a literal goddess? Umm, somebody better sign him up twice.

Now again, Scuds cock is a tender one, and good boys dont need to be cumming after a few thrusts, so you cutely and quietly stop that from happening. How?

“What’re ya tying?” Scud mumbled against your lips as he you looping something around his balls and the base of his cock, jerking slightly when you pulled the ribbon tightly, tying it into a small bow. “Just something special for you” You kiss him, and he needily kissed back, dick twitching from your gentle contact.

Scud gets very, very turned on by kisses. Especially ones that are deep and sloppy with lots of tongue and spit. He gets so drunk off them and it’s the easiest way to get him to submit, because lord he’d do anything you say just as long as you keep kissing him.

Okay the actual pegging part, Scud is not the foreplay type. He physically cannot take it and needs pleasure as soon as he can get it. He’ll whine and squirm as you finger him open, babbling out begs for you to hurry.

He likes to be fucked as if he were a literal ragdoll. Please pound into him as hard as you can, he needs it. He needs to be a moaning mess on the desk. Also Scud is so. fucking. loud. His whimpers and whines bounce off the walls for everyone to hear, and while yes kissing does work, yanking back on his choker works a lot better.

Scud has a choking kink to the max. A very dangerous one at that. He likes to be almost strangled, racing between his orgasm to see if he would cum or pass out first. His choked off gasps and sobs only get him fucked harder.

Oh and the ribbon. The amazing ribbon. When Scud’s orgasm starts to build, he can feel it in his gut, tingling in his toes and shooting through his spine, so close, getting closer and closer yet never quite falling off the edge. It starts to hurt, his dick starts to painfully twitch at the lack of release, whining loudly as you continued rocking into him, a smile pulling your lips. “Hey Scud. Wanna see how cool my cock is?”

He mumbles something out, lips glossy with spit as a small puddle started to form on the table. You fished a remote out from your pants pocket, clicking once, twice, glancing up to Scud’s twisting face. You swiftly pulled your hips back, leaving only the buzzing tip of the dildo before completely burying it all back into your boyfriend, pressing right into what you knew was his sweet spot from the lewd and loud whimpers that Scud couldn’t stop from coming out, each thrust sending his eyes so far into the back of his head.

Scuds cock ached, orgasm building so rapidly once again as you fucked him stupid, turning his brain into nothing but the sex clouded mess that it was made to be. When you amplify the vibrations speed, and it makes each snap of your hips pump pure ecstasy into his body, and he just needed so much more.

“Please, mmngh, please let me cum mommy, please fuck me so hard and let me cum,” He babbled, whimpers and moans tearing from his chest when he felt you increase your pace, skin slapping skin. “Is this what you want, hm baby? To be fucked like the dirt slut you are?” You cooed, leaning down over him. Scud brainlessly nodded against the table, choking on his words as he spoke. “Yes! Want mommy to pound me so deep- so, very fucking deep!” He gasped, shaking like a leaf when he felt the you pulling the ribbon loose, almost sobbing when his orgasm crashed over him finally, cumming harder than ever. You fucked him through it until he was twitching and whining, actually you fucked him until he came again, high moans spilling past his lips with every buzzing thrust to his sweet spot, so overstimulated and sensitive yet you just kept going.

Scud could barely keep his eyes open, groaning which each slap of your hips. You fucked him like he was your own sextoy, pulling orgasm after orgasm from him until he would just collapse, so used and destroyed. His toes curled at a particularly hard thrust, choking in surprise when you suddenly yanking his head back by his choker, holding him down onto your vibrating cock pressed blissfully into that bundle nerves inside him. Scud choked his moans and cries out, desperately rocking his hips as his third orgasm raced off the edge. Oh God, he was so fucking close, vision starting to turn black and his ears ringing as he practically fucked himself on your strap, orgasm slamming into him–

“Scud? Y/n?” Blade’s voice rang out from the hallway, and you quickly pulled out and away from Scud, who gripped the table as his orgasm continued washing over his whole body, bitting down on his lips as he muffled a pained yet so pleasured sob, hips thrusting into the air as ropes of white shot out from his swollen and totally untouched cock, “Fuckin’ hell Scud” You grumbled, shutting off the dildo and having to just stuff it in your underwear, pulling your pants up quickly and searching for anything to wipe up the mess you’ve created.

Blade approached the workshop, steps echoing throughout. You groaned when you couldn’t find anything, and settled for wheeling a chair ontop of it, shoving Scud in it so his still halfway exposed bottom was covered, leaning against the table as if everything was totally normal.

The man swung the workshop door open and lingered at the top of the stairs, staring down at you and Scud with a questioning face. “What are you two doing?” You shrugged, responding with a casual “Nothing.”

Blade’s eyes landed on Scud, who was still very visibly fucked out, eyes droopy and lust riddled, hair pushed back and messy, not to mention the bruises forming on his neck from his choker being pulled. “Mhm. Whenever you get done doing ‘nothing’, come find me” He spoke flatly, before turning and exiting the room, shutting the door behind him. You sighed in relief, glancing down at Scud and his ruined state.

You leaned down, tilting his head up to kiss him on his glossed lips, smiling playfully. “I am not done with you, Scudster”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I got a little carried way I just need. I need. I need him guys.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Survivor request is Rain for @poppinelle

Koboh changes in the rain. It’s quieter, duller, cooler. After five years on Bracca, Cal has done his best to avoid rain in the intervening years, and yet whenever it catches up to him, he remembers something.

He loves the rain. Or, more accurately, he likes what happens to places in the rain. Washed clean. Fresh scents. Thunder. Lightning. It’s a reminder of home.

Still feels weird to think of Bracca as home. Outside of the Temple on Coruscant, it’s the longest he ever stayed in one place… unless he counts the Mantis, but that was always more about the people than the ship.

He will not be letting Greez hear him say that.

Rain pelts his face. When he’s caught out in it, like he is right now, part of him misses his old poncho. The hood specifically. But Kata wanted some seeds for the garden, Cal knew where to find them, so off he went while clouds merely scudded the sky… and then proceeded to open over his head a few hours into his journey. BD suggested they find cover, maybe in the nearby Phon’Qi caves.

“BD, I know you like it down there despite the explosive acidic plant monster things, but you can’t smell it. I can. It is the worst. It is like Greez’s old sock drawer wrapped around dead fish left out in the sun. I don’t deserve that. No organic with a functional nose deserves it. We’ll just clean up when we get back to Pyloon’s.”

Hopping from foot to foot, BD insists they should get out of the rain because the incoming storm is bad. Really bad. Like storm of the season bad. Sighing, Cal glances at the sky. The Force churns, excited by nature’s dance.

His comm activates. “Cal, you there?”

“Hey, Greez. Everything okay?”

“The weather’s getting nasty down here. Where are you?”

Cal checks BD’s map. “We kinda went up the mountain a little way. We’re not that far from the foothills now.”

“Did you get the seeds for Kata?”

“Yep.”

“You got a nekko?”

“Nope.”

Greez sighs. “I’m gonna need you to find shelter. Like right now. You’re not gonna make it back here in time. When the weather turns like this, it gets real nasty fast.”

BD announces they could head into the Phon’Qi Caverns.

“I’m not heading into the caverns. There’s an old prospector’s shack nearby. I’ll take shelter in there.”

“You sure it’ll survive the storm?” Greez asks. “I don’t wanna hear about you getting blown away.”

Cal pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I get blown away, who’s going to tell you about it?”

Me! BD announces.

“No one’s getting blown away.” Lighting races across the sky, chased by a blast of thunder so loud Cal feels his heart miss a beat. “Whoa!” They had storms on Bracca, big, immense, work-delaying storms, but there was something reassuring about always having the wreck of a Venator overhead to protect him. This feels raw, and a lot more exposed.

“Call me back when you have a roof over your head,” Greez says. “And – hold on.” There’s a voice buzzing in the background. “Right, I’ll tell him. Merrin says if you do get struck by lightning and die, she’s resurrecting you.”

“If she does, tell her to leave my hair in whatever style it’s zapped into,” Cal replies.

He ends the call before Merrin can make any further threats and heads down the mountain, slipping and sliding in the rain. Soon, the storm is so loud he can’t hear anything beyond it, not even BD. He spots the large pool where he first met Skoova. Jumping into it with the very real possibility of being struck by lightning seems dumb, but if he moves fast, he’ll be fine. Totally fine.

“Hold on tight, BD!” he shouts over the storm and launches himself into the air. He hits the water a moment later, sinking deep. Kicking to the surface, it only takes a few strokes to see him across to the other side. There, Cal spots the hut nestled against the cliffs. He hurries over, uses the Force to shove the door open, and slides inside. It’s dark and dusty, but BD’s light shines and reveals a small bed and a stash of rations that are still edible. The layer of dust suggests no one’s been here in years, so Cal hopes no one will mind him helping himself.

The storm rages outside, the roof rattling. “I really hope that holds,” Cal says. He calls Greez, promises he and BD are safe and sound for the night, and swears he’ll be back at first light.

“Cal?”

He stops his rummaging for a heater – anything to dry out his clothes. “Yeah, Greez?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

He leans back against the bed, one hand resting on BD’s head. “Yeah.” He breathes. “I really like the rain.”

“Weirdo.”

“Hairball.”

[xwagnerplaguesx]

"Scud Race/Super GT"

Sega/1996

[thatwriterchaotic]

Listen I know you just completed a request from me but this has been in my head all da. But how would Murphy or Scud be like in a relationship with a Witch S/O?? (this could be for either of them)

Also you did an amazing job and please drink water and eat some food ☺️

Hey there lovely, hoping you're doing well :). I decided on Scud for this one since he does live in a vampire themed world. This was really fun to write. I did some research before writing this and I kind of leaned towards being a Green witch and crystal. Sorry it took me so long but I hope you like it. 💕

Our little secret

Summary: It was Scud’s first time coming to your apartment. Which you tried to avoid the most. Wondering how he would react to you being a witch and all.

Pairing: Scud x Witch!Fem!Reader

Word count: 831

Warnings: none. Mostly fluff and supportive Scud

Your POV:

You panicked as you rushed around your apartment. Making sure everything was clean and tidy. Scud would be coming over to your apartment shortly. You tried to avoid it as much as possible. Not wanting him to know about your little secret. Your relationship with Scud had been fairly knew. Still getting to really know each other. That's when you heard the him knock on the door. You felt the hairs on your arms stand up.

You took a deep breathe. Trying your best to relax. It was just Scud. He either wouldn't notice your large crystal collection and many herbs and dead flowers hanging on the walls. Or he simply wouldn't care. You heard another knock on the door and you sprinted into action. Well here it goes.

You opened the door with a small smile on your face. Happy to see your boyfriend. He looked handsome as always. His long shaggy hair and stoner like attire. “Hey there pretty lady” He greeted you as he walked through the door gently kissing your cheek. You blushed softly and shut the door behind him. Watching as he walked towards the living room and sat down on the couch.

You felt so antsy, knowing he was going to find out eventually. But was it too soon? How would he react? Would he dump you? You couldn't get your mind to stop racing. Scud looked at you and saw the complex look on your face. He patted the spot beside him on the couch. “Hey what's got you thinking so much? Come sit with me” He said softly wanting to comfort you. You sighed softly and sat down next to Scud on the couch.

He gently reached up and brushed your hair behind your ear. Draping his other arm around you on the back of the couch. You smiled a little and leaned into his side. Knowing it would be better just to come out and say it. Just be truthful and see how it goes. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as you thought.

“Okay.. Look I have to talk to you about something” You started off slowly. “I just don't want you to overreact or freak out okay. I know everyone has different thoughts on this. But I need to be honest with you.” You said to Scud as more serious look on your face.

"Okay, what is it? You know you can tell me anything” Scud responded softly, gently rubbing your back softly with his hand. It helped you relax a bit. Taking a deep breath. You looked at Scud. “I'm a witch. Specifically a green and crystal witch. I like to study remedies with herbs and dried flowers. And the energies of different crystals and what they are used for.” You explained. Feeling that heavy feeling in your chest ease at last. Finally telling your big secret to Scud.

He almost looked like he was going to laugh. Until he noticed how serious you are. “Oh you're not joking” Scud said looking at you. “Of course I'm not joking Scud. who would joke about being a witch” You said in a slight annoyed tone. Scud chuckled softly from the grumpy expression across your face.

“Well since we are revealing secrets.. I work for a half human half vampire called Blade. I make gadgets and gizmos for him to kill other vampires” Scud said with a serious expression on his face. You laughed and playfully hit his shoulder. Not believing him at first. Until you noticed he wasn't laughing with you. This whole time Scud was working for a vampire human hybrid and you had no clue.

“You're kidding me right? This whole time I was so panicked that you where going to dump me for being a witch. Yet you work for a vampire.” You said feeling kind of dumb. You sighed softly and ruffled up Scud's hair. He tickled your sides in the process making you squeal out loud. Laughing in the process. “And this whole time I never knew I was dating a hot witch. The things we learn about each other.” Scud said with a smile as he continues to tickle your sides. Leaning in to place a kiss on your cheek. Maybe you should have just told him sooner..

[champion-level-astroturfing]

[A video is posted.

When was it taken? Shardy's account has been quiet for a couple of days, but it's not like he doesn't get distracted. Perhaps he's been finally having some non-fraught family time with his brother and this is going to be a heartwarming gardening video?

It's certainly his brother's back garden on camera, and the time seems to be roughly mid-afternoon. Shardy- presumably- is walking towards the thoroughly overgrown far end, stepping over brambles and fungi and past fast-growing shrubs until he reaches the shed. Close-up it's even worse than it looked from the window, the planks warped and mossy, the small window's glass long since shattered, the door forced open against its hinges by intruding plantlife. The only part of it that seems largely untouched, other than the usual rust and wear from outdoor living, is the corrugated metal roof.

Shardy pats it affectionately, and says "Dad used to start seedlings in here. He had a little greenhouse but that fell apart years ago. Before he died."

The camera moves upwards slightly as the nearby branches sway in a sudden breeze; above them, pale clouds scud across a colourless sky. Without further comment Shardy moves onwards; now the vegetation is thick enough he has to actively push it out of the way, grunting faintly as he tries to keep it out of his face, hissing as prickles and twigs and jagged leaves snag on his clothing and his bared forearms.

"Have to put my gloves on if this keeps up," he comments.

As if in answer, a bramble-vine with thorns as thick as a thumbjoint scores an open wound through browned skin and hair, and a fat bead of blood wells up and races downwards to gather for a second at the end of flesh and then drop.

There's a sound that isn't Shardy's breathing or the crunch of boots on forest floor; the camera view drops as fast as the blood had and shows a tiny Morelull, translucent cap splattered with crimson.

It's looking up at Shardy; it's not easy to read the expression on a miniature mushroom Pokemon at the best of times, but this one seems especially indecipherable.

"Hi," says Shardy. Then he adds, "Sorry for bleeding on you."

"Lull," says the Pokemon, which could mean anything from 'it's fine' to 'get fucked, dickhead', and turns without haste to vanish amid the mass of roots behind it. Shardy breathes out, slow and just a little shaky, and moves to continue his journey.

He only needs to move a few more branches before they thin out before him, last few leaves brushing the lens of the camera like a benediction, the sound of his footsteps suddenly muffled.

And now the light has dimmed and thickened from the washed-out sun of early Autumn to a deep dusk that barely recognises the turn of the seasons, and now ancient trees rise up on either side with trunks so wide no human could hope to span them, and now fungi as wide across as he is tall lean towards him as glittering spores drift lazily from their gills.

The old fence, visible from the window in previous photographs, still stubbornly delineating the border between normal human property and somewhere else, must have been in much worse disrepair than it looked. After all, there was no sign of it once Shardy passed the shed.

"Are we doing it this way today?" Shardy asks, apparently addressing thin air. There's silence; he walks a few more steps forward. "Full on ooky spooky right from the get go?"

It's very difficult to tell when the Rapidash appears. Between one frame and the next it's there, standing just ahead. As soon as the camera pans over it the recording starts to glitch; it sticks and skips as artifacting drags mangled rainbows across the scene, and the Pokemon's elegant lines are warped by stutters into strange, stretched angles.

The last thing audible before it shuts off entirely is Shardy's voice, peaked and distorted by interference but unmistakeably rather annoyed.

"Oh, and you can fuck right off too."]

[gogglemouse]

"Ulysses"

"It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known—cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honored of them all,— And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains; but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the scepter and the isle, Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill This labor, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and through soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail; There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me, That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. Death closes all; but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with gods. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Though much is taken, much abides; and though We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are, One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." -Alfred, Lord Tennyson

[classic-games]

Off Road Challenge

Developer: Avalanche    Publisher: Midway    Release: 06/30/98   Genre: Racing When the 3d revolution hit racing games were one of the genres that benefited the most. To this day they continue to be showcases for new hardware and this was especially true in the 90s in the arcade. Daytona USA and Ridge Racer were showstoppers and I will continue to hope for a port of Sega’s Scud Race to the day I…

[discordapples]

PT. 8 Scripted Obession

Word count: 1.5k (6 mins read)

Characters: Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow, Livia Novik.

Summary

Ominis Gaunt is, in his turn, roped into Livia Novik's plan to find the Promissum Mortis, and he's about to regret agreeing to enact a scandalous scene to let her into headmaster Black's office.

Read the eighth chapter below.

Ominis | Hogwarts, Late August, 1893.

The sound of Livia’s heels eddies all around; a steady padam that tunnels right through Ominis’ eardrums. Her walk is spirited. Her presence definite, like a scud of coal-gray clouds heralding an impending storm.

Ominis barely talked to her. But people leave a footprint in their wake; an imperceptible aura decanting around them.

The demure and withdrawn give off a radiating emptiness; a bereft creature, desperate to be cherished. 

The gregarious and effusive blister their heat outwards like a vexed beast; just as feverish for the cage of affection.

Ominis has learned that everyone is an empty well. That all ache to be sated by another. That acceptance is the only currency that has any genuine value—albeit unconsciously. 

Livia Novik wants something, too. She longs to furnish her soul with the very thing she lacks. She has to. 

Yet Ominis cannot perceive her yearning under all of this noise. 

Padam padam.

She stalks into the jaws of her brazen plan with not a sheen of fear on her forehead.

What is she made of? 

Ominis cannot help but wonder as he tails her through the corridors, his wand pulsing in his pocket, alerting him to the treacherous corners and the crooked stones rearing underfoot.

Livia smells sugary, but her words are anything but. She wears silk, but her wit bristles with edges. She walks fast, but her gestures are measured—calculated. 

Something isn’t right with her. 

Turning west, she comes to a brisk halt. Ominis’ wand surges with the sudden inertia and he stalls by her side. 

“Here is perfect,” she says. 

The syllables are breathy. 

Is she… thrilled?

“Are you sure?” He asks her. 

A thirsty inhale. A faltering exhale. She is… eager? “Yes. Now it would be best if someone could see us.”

She is a deluge of signals now. The perfume of vanilla and black currant sours with her rising pulse. The breath she pushes between her lips is serrated. The whale-boning of her corset cracks under the pressure of her lungs heaving with oxygen. 

She is apprehensive… 

The question comes to him, not because he is interested in the answer, but rather to probe her reaction. When he speaks, his voice isn’t wavering. “You want someone to see us do what, exactly?”

“We need to make it believable. We need witnesses.” Ominis can hear her teeth skating on her bottom lip. “Press me against the wall and tear the buttons from my shirt.”

He wants to tell her this will scarcely make a difference in the narrative she’ll spin for Professor Weasley, but he is curious to test how similar she is to Sebastian. How thirsty for theatrics and attention.

Gaining an inch on her, Ominis almost wishes her to falter.

She doesn’t. 

So his knuckles curl around her waist, and he drives her back against the stone wall, wringing an astounded gasp from her throat. 

It’s his heart’s turn to pump his bloodstream full of elation. As his thumb mountains the slope of her neck, his mind howls with corybantic thoughts. 

How easy it would be to plunge his finger to the knuckle into the soft spot in her throat and listen to the cartilage pop. 

How fast he could feel the warmth dredge from her body if he only squeezed long enough. 

How many screams he could coax from her depths if he played her scenario with too much zealotry…

A stroke of red pulses at the back of his eyelids and the wretched thing that lives beneath his skin races back to its cage to lick its wounds. 

Crucio.

Learn your place, his mother spits, or I’ll nail the curse into your spine until it’s too broken for you to stand up to your own mother.

Stomach flooding with nausea, Ominis swiftly retracts his fingers from Livia’s skin. “I… I believe you can ruin your shirt yourself. I’ll make it believable when we have an audience.”

Her surprise is palpable. Her response, cautious. “Sure.”

The next sound that slashes through Ominis’ permanent darkness is this of fabric tensing and a hail of buttons snowing onto the floor. 

Without a warning, her fingers close around his right wrist and force his palm to connect with… wool.

Underneath the fabric, Ominis feels the curved shape of her thigh. His fingers notch mechanically into the crux of her knee and she lifts her leg, pulling him closer. 

His other palm splays onto the stone to break his fall. 

The air festers with tension, and his intrusive thoughts come blistering back into his skull until—

She screams. 

A mortiferous wailing that strikes Ominis right where he stands. 

He almost lets her go, his fingers detangling from behind her knee, until he feels Livia’s hand furl around his palm to keep him rooted to her. 

It takes only seconds for the wooden stairs above them to creak with the weight of many legs. 

The Ravenclaw tower, really?

“Mister Gaunt! What do you think you’re doing? Leave her alone!” 

Professor Weasley’s voice lashes through the air, and for an instant Ominis thinks Merlin himself plodded down his celestial throne to smite him. 

Livia pushes him away, allowing him a brief window of time to slide into the clothes of his imposed role.

He fake trips, bobbing his head without rhyme or reason. “Is it here I lost my flagon?”

A pack of girls giggle from above the railing. 

As he simulates a drunken hiccup, he wonders if Livia struggles to keep her own mask on. 

“What is this about?” Professor Weasley urges them.

What comes next confirms the Ravenclaw girl is as gifted in stagecraft as Sebastian. “He—” The world dies in her gullet. She sobs helplessly. Long enough to shove a spoonful of unease down his esophagus. “He slid his hand up my skirt…”

It’s in a thunder of laughs and a score of whistles that Ominis Gaunt is yanked away from the bawdy crowd by Professor Weasley and roughly shepherded towards headmaster Phineas Black’s office.

* * *

When the headmaster is done with Ominis, he has missed both herbology and divination. 

He also missed his breakfast and the ever-shrinking window of sleep his constant nightmares afford him every night.

Parched and surly, he makes his way—early—to the dungeons, then drags himself to potions class.

He gropes for the first empty seat, then slumps against the table, his cheek stamped against the coarse wood. 

If Ominis managed to keep the headmaster’s guillotine away from the tender flesh of his neck, he doesn’t know if he’ll survive the sentencing of Hogwarts’ social tribunal after his escapade with Livia Novik.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, Sebastian finds him before the inquisition does. 

“Got my hands on Dovetail’s book,” Sebastian boasts, sitting next to him. “Twenty points into the difficulty meter for crossing paths with Peeves and an extra ten for being in Reyes’ vicinity when she started her period this morning.”

His skull throbbing with a sharp hurt, Ominis aches to grind his friend’s face into a powder with the pestle, but instead he just surrenders to his exhaustion and says nothing. 

Sebastian isn’t deterred by his murky silence. “Did Livia find her candle?” Ominis shrugs placidly at the question, the discomforting feeling of the Ravenclaw’s skin still ghosting over his fingertips and cleaving through the haze in his mind. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Sebastian mutters. “You’re sour when you haven’t slept…”

Another bout of footsteps resounds outside, and as the belly of the classroom fills with students, so does the air with the thorough spreading of Ominis’ late mishap. 

Ominis sits through the hum of rumors, too tired to rear his head and show his fangs, until Livia’s presence pulsates next to him. 

“Did you find it?” Sebastian asks her, eager as he is to drink her ellipses and choke on her commas.

“Yes,” she says, her voice lowering. “All thanks to Ominis’ outstanding performance.”

“You owe me a full night of sleep and one breakfast,” he retorts, more curtly than he intends to.

If she has noticed his dim mood, her tongue knifes him regardless with one of her salient comebacks. “And you owe me a shirt, or at least some thread to sew my buttons back into place…”

“And while we’re compiling our debts…” Sebastian chimes in, his words bleeding with his despicable sarcasm. “You two owe me a story…”

Ominis’ spine unfurls. There is a need creeping in his mind, one that longs to hear the gears in Livia’s head steam and startle for the right words. 

Will she tell Sebastian the truth or will she wriggle out of the snarl?

The tale itself is of no significance to Ominis. But Sebastian’s bait, and how she will slip it from around her neck might tell Ominis more than he needs to know to figure her out.

To understand what she wants and how low she is ready to stoop to see her desires realized... 

Livia’s voice has stitched all of her aplomb back into place. It is miles from the quavering inflection Ominis experienced last night when he shrugged into the same feverish inch of air as her. “I suppose you could say that unlike what the situation appeared to be on the outside, I was very much the assailant. Then I disgorged a screech so loud, I suppose I’m the reason Ominis sports a splintering headache this morning.” He feels her lean close, the sheaf of her scents clawing into his nostrils. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Despite himself, the Ravenclaw’s badinage worms its way into the chinks in his armor.

He will blame it on the sleep deprivation, but for now, he allows himself an evanescent smile that cleaves through his anemic ire like a knife through butter.

He has already forgiven her.

[ostruka]

Ulysses

It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known; cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades For ever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

         This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,— Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil This labour, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

         There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me— That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'T is not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

(Alfred Tennyson)